Author: alohawild

I rose at 7ish with my alarm. It took me a moment to remember where I was and what was happening. It was a grey day with threats of rain from a small Atlantic storm. While I ate breakfast and wrote the blog in the Cafe, the rain, more of a heavy mist, started. Changing the order of my morning rituals to align with the hotel and Cafe, I cleaned up and headed down. There was no formality and no serious person taking room numbers. Smiles, neatness, and fun seemed to be the call to action here. I skipped the fruit all lovingly cut and arranged. I eat nothing; I do not peel when it comes to fruit. Veggies are hot to be eaten. I found the hot food and the usual cheese, yogurt, and smoked meats. No pickled or smoked fish this time. Maybe next time. The baked goods looked wonderful. I had a chocolate croissant.

Coffee comes from a machine and is perfect with warm milk. There, watching the waves of dinners, most tourists, to my surprise. I continued to write for hours as it was a travel day. I did pass over some difficult events without some details or some of the people I met in the chaos. I wanted to finish so I could start my travels, and it was best to forget the bad things.

Cats are everywhere.

Next, I managed, even though my French was not usable, to convey my wish to see the city like a tourist. French is really needed, but I will muddle through. Soon, I was on my second tour agent (?!), and this tour was in English. I made the mistake of picking the time; I should have asked about their idea, and I wanted to see Casablanca soon. I said soon, and they were there in thirty minutes.

This meant the famous and open Mosque was still closed as prayers were ongoing—a beginner’s mistake. But it is on the coast, and while massive and impressive, the harbor and beach were more interesting to me. There is also a spa under the mosque (yes, under), which may be something to brave this week. The spas usually take non-Muslims.

Finding my driver was difficult. All the vans—I have one to myself—are black and look the same. I also got some offers for tours, but soon, my driver saw me. He was smoking and having a coffee, and we reconnected. That was another failure on my part. I had not taken his card or remembered what he looked like. I should know better.

Next was the tourist trap, Rick’s Cafe, from the movie. This is a created site, as Hollywood moved the original story to Casablanca, a more exotic place, and filmed it on a sound stage, but it is still nice to see. It was also closed (I started too early). As it is just a constructed version, and I can get back to it if I want, I was only surprised the driver did not know it was closed.

That was really it for sights, but my driver took me to a beach cafe, Tropcania, and suggested I get a coffee. The waiter offered me a fish plate, and I went with that. I had olives and bread while I waited. There, I met a lovely local gal now living in America who was happy to meet an American visiting her hometown. She now lives in Virginia.

My waiter on the coast.

I ate my dinner fast as I wanted to get back to the tour, but I loved to see the Atlantic crashing on the rocks and the leaden sky, suggesting more storms. It was like a painting. But soon, my driver took me to the carpet store. I forgot that these tours always include this economic part. Time to fleece the tourists. I was willing to participate and bought a rug that was too expensive. I went for a native pattern from the dessert. I wanted something that looked like it picked me, not the other way. I wanted something not gigantic, too. I offered only 50% of what they wanted. Not to be cheap, but it was a stupid amount. They accepted my last offer with shipping included and on my AMEX. I cover a $250 fee for the family fund in cash. They walked me to a working ATM to get the money in local currency. I paid, signed, and even addressed the package. The rug will likely beat me home.

After that, I was introduced to the potion and homeopathic options. I walked out. My age group suggested to my host  Aphrodisiacs and other things I would prefer to avoid. It was a Steve Martin moment, and I looked confused when they moved from overpriced rugs to this. I just got back in the van.

I remembered now how this went. My driver took me to the King’s Palace, and there was a special store for me in the market next to the palace. They wanted me to buy women’s clothing, but they understood when I told them I was a widower. I bought one overpriced shirt that did not fit when I tried it later—no surprise. I will put it as part of the goal now–the Casablanca shirt must fit!

The hotel at sundown.

And with that, the tour ended. While it was not as good as I had hoped—some of that was my own fault—I got to the lay of the town and enjoyed the ocean and the drive along the ocean. Dinner overlooking the water and meeting the gal from Virginia was worth it. The Mosque was also great.

Back at the hotel, lunch was unsettled, and I was drifting a bit, too. I took a two-hour nap. I dreamed and woke, knowing where I was this time. I rose and headed down again after checking the rooftop spa and restaurant with a pool. It looked great. I headed downstairs and, with more difficulty, tried to get a tour of Marrakesh on Sunday. I was told they would call me in my room. So I returned and wrote. Time went by (like the song) and not call.

I returned, and I poorly understood. Finally, a man with keys on his lapels could handle everything. The concierge was back, and soon, I had a plan: Sunday at 7:30, travel and return. It was not cheap, as I paid for the whole trip (usually split between groups) but was happy. Done!

I went for a walk, wanting 10,000 steps today, and walked down the streets. I found a flower market and bought flowers to decorate the room. Next, after carrying the flowers to the room, walked again almost to the same market by the palace. The distances are not as far as they seemed in the van.

I returned to the hotel and went to the restaurant on the roof, where I had lamb and prunes for dinner, a Casablanca beer made here, and coffee for dessert. All of it was good. The music was blaring, but I recognized the alternate rock in a new party mix. Excellent.

I am now in 1203, working on the blog. I have to be up early. So sorry if it sounds rushed–it is.

Thanks for reading.

 

I am writing this on Saturday morning in the Mövenpeck Casablanca, Morocco, in the restaurant having the included breakfast. It is European style with local changes. More veggies and coffee are from a machine. I am always addressed in French, which is lost mostly lost on me, unfortunately, as is my English mostly ignored. It is a grey, damp morning. Looks like home.

I will try to briefly cover my travels. I want to walk outside, get some local money (all of mine was spent on the taxi), and score some tourist trips. Returning to Thursday-Friday.

All the plumbing changes were done at the house for about 1/3 of the cost of the whole trip to Morocco! I sat around for a while, said f**k it, and started to head on Thursday to the airport. It was good as the traffic was slow, but I had five (now six as my flight was delayed an hour), so I enjoyed the trip. I am, and it is hard some days to remember this, retired and have no reason to hurry. I will soon have no income, so I need to be more careful with my money, but I forget often.

Slow, with many Teslas, not sure if to go slow or fast, I was soon at PDX. I parked, again thinking I needed to save some money, and I was not rushed, in the Red Economy lot. I was thinking of all the times I have parked there with Susie for the next trip. One of my favorite pictures is Susie smiling in her blue cape coat (Z has it now) with the luggage behind her in the economy lot.

I took the usually crowded bus to the terminal with the happy, nervous people headed to places. We unloaded, I going last as I am not rushed and retired. I wandered the ticketing until I spotted the understated British Airways desk, checked in, got my boarding passes, and headed through the lines. I was not yet pre-checked, so I enjoyed the long lines and soon managed not to drop my pants during the scan sans belt.

I walked the long hallways to the ‘D’ terminal, noticing I was not tiring, limping, or uncomfortable–I was getting better. I found Deustues and the same waiter I have had for years–she was happy that I recognized her and had much better service than most. I finished the blog at 5ish, having hummus and a beer. I have overlapped a few moments here.

The gate, the last one in this terminal, was not busy for my flight. There, I tried to make some acquaintances. A couple headed on a safari. I would meet again in London as we had to do the same wandering to find our next flight. I had to purchase a Sound Plus to USB-C for my phone (again, from the same guy as last time), and soon was, after a long wait, on my plane in 25A.

I will not make fun of people or complain about people, but my seatmate in 25B was a challenge. She enjoyed too much of the wine, dumped her tray on the floor, and managed to spill wine on me multiple times. It was funny and a mess. At one point, the stewards had to tell me that my music was nice, but everyone could hear it. I had unplugged the headphones by accident. Oops. I try not to be that guy.

I managed to survive the flight with little sleep. I was out of practice sleeping on planes, and my feet swelled in the tight Air Force Ones—they made the wrong choice for a flight. I had taken them off, which meant my socks were damp when we unloaded in London, and I had to cross out of the seats. 25B’s floor was soaked in wine and food.

The walk was long, and I put back on my shoes with damp socks (which are in the bin now). I followed my fellow travelers to Africa to connect to another terminal, and some wonderfully helpful airport folks got us a bus that toured the least appealing parts of Heathrow for twenty minutes, including a work tunnel that seemed to be endless.

We then had to enter by security, and my fellow flyers were surprised that all the wine they had acquired on the last flight would not make it through this process. One opened the bottle to the delight of the friendly security folks and consumed the contents there. The surprised security folks offered glasses and turned down wine to share. Some more Americans added to the stories of crazy American tourists for the security folks!

We waved goodbye as they, happy and laughing, headed to their safari. I walked the length of the glittery terminal, which had high-end shops everywhere. There, I exchanged some money for pounds and Moroccan. I headed to a pub recommended by the guy at the exchange (who thought me nuts exchanging twice, once to pounds and then that to Moroccan- but time would show I was right).

That was an hour of near tears-introducing frustration as the place used barcodes (I learned I had sat in a less service area). “All I want is a sandwich and a beer,” was going through me. On the fourth time I typed in my credit card, I got an order through. I then got a panic message from the bank checking that I was OK with the UK-based use. ‘Yes,’ I texted back–I did call the humans, but the computer-controlled banking still panicked. A worried bus-gal saw I was still there with nothing, pointed out that I could just get a beer, and then found my beer and my food appeared a moment later. All was good again in the world!

The beer was warm (UK!), and the chicken sandwich was fresh chicken and excellent cheese. I properly covered the chips in a local vinegar; perfect! I got internet and my phone working. I even called my sister to check the call, and it was all good. I looked up tipping, and it was confused as I was in a pub with food. I had UK coins and left two pounds. I did not finish the beer, but it was still good to have food in the UK. I saw lots of bangers and mashed (ugh).

Royal Air Maroc had purple seats, purple plastic wear, and a friendly, relaxed manner. I was in an Exit row, but the center guy was heavy and made it a bit cramped. We made it work. I answered many questions, many about the upcoming election, after identifying myself as left and liberal. Soon, the plane was in the air, and my bag moved to an overhead bin as it would not be on the floor in an exit row.

Dinner was served, and I had the beef, surprised that it was not the usual chicken or veggie option of Oregon-based planes, and it was plainly spiced but suggested it holding back and could have been great: A stew of peas and beef. It was a short three hours, and I finally slept. I had my first mint tea on the plane.

It was chaos at the airport. I was told 32 planes had arrived within the hour. It was a madhouse. The lines were long, but they moved, and every station was full, with police and helpful people everywhere. The locals were making it work. Still, my situational awareness was maxing out, and as a single traveler, I was at risk. I moved in the crowds and tried to look like everyone else (except for the cowboy hat and not speaking French).

I finally got out, and the chaos became worse. A man hit a child with a pile of luggage, and there were tears. I walked around that, my situational awareness was pegged, and I looked for a taxi to get out of this. Karma works, and apparently, I must have built up some good stuff as a man appeared out of the crowd. He offered me an expensive ride to my hotel, and I accepted. He walked me through the parking lot to a clean, newish white Mercedes, and I got in. Nobody robs and drives that.

He spoke broken English and hoped I could change to French, Spanish, or anything else. Sorry. We managed to exchange words, and while he was easy to understand, he just nodded when I spoke. Soon, without any issues, we arrived at my hotel.

Everything returned to normal; I was checked in, prepaid, and in room 1203 in ten minutes. I showered off the travel, glad to finally strip off the wine-soaked items, and I even called Dondrea and spoke for a while. The phone, internet, and room are all working.

Soon I was a sleep, and while I know tonight will be a challenge for sleep, this first night I closed my eyes and was gone.

Thanks for reading. Sorry for some typos, but I want to see Casablanca and must dash!

Michael

Room 1203, Mövenpick Hotel Casablanca, Rond Point Hassan II, 20070, Casablanca, Maroc; phone 212 (0) 522 48 80 00.

I started early this Thursday morning, as I had a plumber coming. I had to write the blog, pack, shower, and dress. I started just after 6:30, trying to understand why I was starting so early, and then I remembered the list of items I needed to complete that day. I hopped out of bed, jumped in and out of the shower, shaved, and so on, and soon was swilling coffee and writing. I managed to finish before the plumber showed up. I reserved a pitcher of water and heated water in an electric pot for Corwin.

Earlier, I had completed my packing by sitting on the new suitcase. I got a suit, two pairs of pants, lots of shirts, underwear, socks, and dress shoes. The zipper is amazing. It actually closed and stayed that way!

The plumber arrived between 9 and 11, but I was told it was 8 to 9, so I called and learned he would soon be at the Volvo Cave. Ryan was soon cutting the walls and discovering that everything was easy–excellent. The water was turned off at the house with no drama (always a fear for me), and soon, the work started.

A new box was installed to connect hoses and drains; now code. The process was interesting as the house is copper, but everything is now plastic, which Ryan, the plumber, explained is easier, resists freezing better, does not break when frozen, and is what they use now. It was interesting to watch him install some of the new pipes and connect them to the existing copper. Ryan also fixed the drain in the bathtub with a snake. Likely junk in there from the 1970s and on. All working now.

There is a hole in the wall to patch, but the connection on the old pipes was corroding and failing—I was lucky. I was told the new stuff would outlast the copper. Excellent. It was all done by 1 p.m. and paid for, just a little under a nice round trip to Paris. I hate houses some days.

I received a box from the Women’s Bean Project. I ordered some kits for soup, chili, and cornbread from them. I recommend them to you; they help folks. I reused the box to send a gift that I got on the coast for Linda, my sister, and Jesse (my new husband). I took it the resealed and address box to the US Post Office and mailed it.

I made my favorite sandwich for lunch: roast beef thinly sliced, cheddar slice, coleslaw, and Thousand Island dressing on the bread. It is a bit heavy without the coleslaw. It quickly disappeared as I was hungry, having skipped breakfast—except for some madeleines I bought yesterday.

I was done and ready, but early still. F**k it. I left just after 2PM. Traffic was heavy and slow. It was 90 minutes to PDX. I parked, as I had plenty of time, in the Red Economy lot and then bused into the terminal. It took a moment to spot the British Airways desk as it has a color scheme that is close to United. Soon, I was headed to security. With no issues, I made it through security. Everything stayed on and was, while some reassembly was needed, restored.

I have a new wardrobe issue. My underwear seems too large and falls down inside my pants. I was happy my pants remained on for the scan in security! I may order a smaller size to be delivered to the house and leave most of the too-large behind. Crazy weight loss issues!

I found the Deschutes Brewery near my gate. I had hummus for dinner, a Black Butte Porter, and then coffee there. I was falling asleep. I talked to a gal headed to Amsterdam to get a free meal as her flight was seven hours delayed. I have done that one before. She was replaced by a couple taking the same flight I then connecting to Italy. They were fun to sit with. We might meet in the UK–we’ll see.

Well, almost time to board.

Thanks for reading. Sorry have to publish without some typos.

I decided to write this on Thursday morning and not Wednesday evening. It is a wet Thursday morning, and you can hear the water gurgling in the drains. The plumber is coming today, so all the laundry and dishes were run yesterday. I have to leave at 3PM for our international airport, named by its call letter, PDX, and British Airways will get me on my way at 7:15PM.

My morning started after 7ish, and I made coffee in the French Press, which is a French roast from Equal Exchange. It was very liberal. In my PJs, I spent the morning trying to describe my first day of not working for Nike, Inc. in twenty-seven years. The emotions and lack of structure (work) made writing difficult, and there were numerous typos. I did not dress until the afternoon, which was unusual for me. I skipped breakfast and lunch.

I collected a bag of Susie’s clothing, some more I found in the dresser, and various items, including stuffed animals and hats. Two bags. I then took the pile of umbrellas. Susie bought them every chance she got and scattered her lost ones all over the local area, long ago internationally, and in various states in the US. I removed all but one of her hats from the closet. These are mostly caps; I put the familiar fur and knot cap in the box to send to Barb for Susie’s Concert. I loaded this, three bags, and a few items, including a scale that I could not make work (too heavy), into Air Volvo’s cargo hold and headed to Goodwill. I also put gas in the car and, to make it rain, I ran it through the car wash.

I lost my US Debit Card again (!), and, with no time to replace it, switched to my investment banking checking account, Morgan Stanley Debit Card. I called eTrade and let them know I was headed to Morocco, and they did what they could to prevent a security lockdown. It took three transfers, as it may say Morgan Stanley, but it is really eTrade. I used the card to test it for the fill and the wash. I also tried it at the US Bank ATM. I was charged an extra $3, which was refunded later. I connected US Bank to Morgan Stanley without issues and transferred extra funds to the account. I am seeing some issues on Quicken; some transactions are not being registered yet, but I will see if they clear soon.

Lunch was veggie curries at the local Bombay Chaat House at the Aloha Carts behind the Walgreens. The food and naan was excellent. Air Volvo took me next to the bank and the post office. HIS website was revised, and to celebrate this excellent modeling company in the Czech Republic, I ordered a plastic model with their rigging kit, The Great Western. I had to sign for the package, so it was at the post office. Next, I withdrew $3,000 to get a pile of money for the trip. Morocco is cash-based, but I am unsure if USD will be OK. However, I will have plenty if my ATM card fails. But $2100 will pay off Corwin’s truck, and he can pay me back. This means the title and registration will be under his name; he will own it. This is a major event in Corwin’s life. He also has to only pay me back 1/2 (on time at $200 a month on every 26th) if he can do it every month on time–a lesson (parents will recognize this).

The afternoon was a rush of grocery shopping, laundry, and dishes. I soon was headed to First United Methodist Church in Beaverton. I stopped by Burger King, thinking I should have one hamburger before I left the USA. Mistake. I ordered a Whopper Jr., which was terrible. The bun tasted like sugared flour, the burger was bland, and the fries tasted of everything else they fried that day. Ugh! Not going back.

Dondrea, tired and stiff as she started running again, brought Z while she and others practiced for choir and then the Praise Band. Z was excited to play more of the new board game Wyrmspan. This is a reworking of the popular Wingspan, but with dragons and fixing all the glitches that made some plays of Windspan leave me frustrated. I have the new components with the metal coins and wooden resources (I think there are better resources for purchase on Esty). Z has this game’s mechanics and scoring down cold already. Some subtle dragon combinations have not yet become clear to Z, and I just squeaked by Z twice by five points with those. Next time, I will be under no illusions, and I will be crushed.

Aside: The UMC lost 1/4 of its churches in the USA when it split over gay rights and money issues (some of us think it was all money with gay rights as a smoke screen) this and last year. The UMC General Conference is meeting now, the only legal body for running the whole church. It has already faced pressure from the now non-members but decided to respectfully ignore them. This year, the UMC is trying to reduce its management (bishops) to be properly sized to a smaller church body. I read some of the notes coming out of the meetings. We all wish them well and success–it ain’t easy.

Hugging Z and Dondrea, I headed home; I wouldn’t see them again until I returned. Air Volvo delivered me to the Volvo Cave with no issues. I ran more laundry, including all the clothing I had on (I was in a robe). I pilled all the underwear, light shirts, and other items for the trip. I checked into my flights and discovered my seat to Morocco from London. I printed all the boarding passes and travel plans documents and arranged my carry-on. I made a 1/2 sandwich of beef, cheese, and coleslaw as I was hungry and wanted something that tasted good.

I showered, dressed for bed, and then tried to relax. Soon, despite my nervous energy, I was asleep.

Thanks for reading!

I was wide awake at 4AM. Should I start my day now, as I am driven to work on my first day of retirement, or should I respect the process now that I am likely stressed and sleep more? I picked sleep.

It was strange not to sign in to work and read emails and Slack updates. Then, I read the news to be ready to start my day at Nike and head to Swift on WHQ. Instead, I took my time making liberal coffee and enjoyed the process, French Press, of turning Equal Exchange grains into the liberal liquid that gets me started in the morning. I toasted a NYC bagel and added cream cheese. All this I took to the home office, now truly my office, and started on one of the things I am not changing, blog writing.

I struggled with three things while writing. The nervous energy that nearly had me blow off sleep was back, and it was doing calmy writing. The lack of a framework impacts my ability to remember and assemble the story. The boiler plates are gone, as most were based on working at Nike! My focus is gone. I am texting friends often or chatting on Facebook. I am on the Internet more than I have ever been. It is hard to focus, and soon, time disappears.

Aside: I am on word count 226 and it has been an hour. My usual is 600 by now.

I find my shacky written voice and start describing my last day at Nike, which was likely also my last day working a real job. Recalling the events and trying to be an observer is more like remembering a nightmare; not that it was terrible, but the memory is colored with emotions to the point it is hard to, like describing the color blue, to do more than recount events. I try to keep it light as I was, I remember, bemused by the events as it was so surreal. A cosmic joke: let us pay you about a year’s salary and cover medical expenses until the year’s end to make you do all those things you never had time for. F**k yes! Do I need to sign away my soul? No, we just need you to go away. That’s fine! Off to Morocco.

I was in my PJs until the afternoon. I had reheated leftover Jambalaya and ate that. I continued to surf the net and read various communications from friends who were just learning I was no longer an employee of Nike. Some folks are very unhappy that I am free. Those who remember who did most of the detailed work on the main system still running the money at the shoe company. They are unhappy that Nike would release me. I tell them all that I am fine.

I finally dressed, put on a T-shirt, and headed to the Hummingbird House. The owner, Michelle N., was there, and I wanted to say hello. Jennifer and her family were on vacation, and I chatted with Michelle. It was good to see her again. One of the residents remembered me and waved when I left. I did not go more than a few steps inside, as the emotions would spill out if I started to look for Susie.

Next, I drove to the Washington Square Mall. I walked through without getting tired or staggering–a vast improvement. While many things helped, I think the trip to Texas and New Orleans, with all the walking (and Absinthe), changed my health. I feel like I am returning to an even better me. There I found the luggage store.

For more than I f**king imagined, I bought the perfect bag for traveling. It’s insanely expensive: a suit bag that folds into a normal pulled overhead bag. Wow! After telling them I was headed to Morocco, I got a neck pillow and a boring name tag. They suggested something unimaginative, a grey metallic-colored name tag. I then rolled my new acquisition (it was so much that I should book it as an asset) out of the mall. Done!

I stopped at the ATM to get some cash, Morocco is cash-based, but I expect my ATM card will work in the new city (as they call it) Casablanca. Next, I stopped by RiteAid and visited the travel-sized section to get a folding toothbrush, cheap razors, a tiny toothpaste tube, and AirBorune from the cold aisle. With my immediate covered, I return home. Corwin is headed out. Later, he returns with an updated truck and a new muffler for under $400. We agree that I will pay off what he still owes on the truck and get the title and registration to put in his name. He will pay me back. If he managed to pay half of the time on time, I would forget the rest.

Corwin had called and asked for the cheaper muffler, but when he arrived, they had somehow sold that one just before he got there. Corwin, having met Dad Wild and hearing all my stories of bate-and-switch, graciously let them put on the more expensive and slightly better muffler for the same price. The guy was even called “Bob.” Corwin is rightfully proud that the late-model truck is sounding and running better. Excellent.

Aside: Parents will recognize this process. Corwin had a tough childhood on the streets, so some lessons must be redone. Be responsible, and we will make it easier for you—that kind of thing.

I read for a while, and poof, time is gone again, and I am headed to The 649. It is my delayed birthday dinner with Dondrea and Z. The 649 was the Trivia contest, and the tables were all booked, so we sat outside. We had a nice appetizer dinner and some drinks. Z got a fruity variation of a Moscow Mule with no booze she loved. Dondrea tried a cider, and later, I got her a sample of a sour beer that shocked her with how good it was.

The day ended, and the winds were frozen, hinting at the desert. I am too cold, and Dondrea and Z have homework to do. We closed out at The 649 with Natalia, and I introduced Dondrea to Crystal. The place was packed, so Natalia walked the card machine to folks to let them pay.

We headed to our homes, and once Air Volvo was parked, I put aside the iPhone and read. I wanted a break and was soon buried in the history of ancient Phoecian from 1177 BCE to about 600 BCE. Eric Cline, in his book After 1177 BCE, told an amazing story that is now updated with the recent scholarship. The use of iron is now more nuanced, as is the creation of the alphabet. If you like your history with endless footnotes and scholarship, then this is the book you want.

I remade the bed and completed my laundry. I showered, and soon after 11, I was comfy reading. I got up and bought seats for my flight (last-minute cheap flights require you to buy a seat selection or wait to enjoy one assigned—I paid about $150 for seats). After that, I could sleep knowing that the trip was ready. I did prove hydration twice. The night seemed to be gone, too, in a poof.

Thanks for reading.