Blog

The sleepy town I was used to has transformed into a working town with traffic and people everywhere. Crossing the streets is now a game of nerve (I let the locals go first and sometimes follow their example with my hand in the air). Casablanca looks busy and hardworking.

Going backward (because I have not done that in a while), I am back in 1203 writing the blog as I wanted to share my day before it gets any later. I also had an expresso for finishing dinner, and that gave me the energy I needed to finish. Yesterday, I was stumbling-tired at this time, and tonight, I am fading, but I am not falling asleep. I did steal a nap this late afternoon.

So before this, I was at the rooftop poolside bar and restaurant at the top of the hotel. The food is good and not more overpriced than anywhere I would find after walking thirty minutes or taking a taxi. The staff has one older gentleman who speaks good English. The hostess tries to teach me French and Arabic, but it is lost on me. She also addresses in the French form, which I am not prepared for, sounding like Michelle. I apologized; it is not her fault that I am a dunce at languages.

I had a Casablanca brand beer and a chicken lemon tagine dinner. When delivered, it was sizzling hot, with one slice of preserved lemon and the rest mixed in and browning. Olives (with pits) were sprinkled throughout. The bread served was fresh and chewy and hard to resist. I made this at home and wanted to compare it. I make it in a big pot and can see the difference in making individual tagine dinners. Also, they use more lemon than I do. All interesting.

It was cold tonight, so I passed on sitting next to the pool. The inside bar is well-ventilated, which is good, as water pipes are offered. The smoke was polite, just an odor, and smelled sweet, not bitter—definitely not the stinking leaves of Portland’s decriminalized smoke. I will likely get some tagine cookware when I return (I will not even try to get some back from here). It was a pleasant dinner.

Moving back to 3, my driver delivered me to the massive mosque, and I stood in line for a ticket for forty minutes. I then crossed the huge courtyard to the entranceway. There, I was reminded to remove my shoes, told that my hat was allowed, and told that I could take photos–a surprise as I had been told in a video that photos were banded. I have been in many cathedrals in Washington, D.C., and Europe, and this worship dwarfed them all. Notre Dame could fit inside!  It is hard to imagine a worship space this large. The decorations were intricate and lost in the size of the space. It reminded me of the People’s Hall in China. While iconoclastic, the decorations were lovely. The top level, hidden by a balcony, showed brilliant white walls from the sides with painted decorations like what I saw in Istanbul. Breathtaking and holy, with the space reminding me of the lines of the Hebrew text that prayers rise like incense to God. I skipped the basement, which I am sure is great but does not rise like the main space.

Before this, my driver (I hired him for the afternoon) wanted us both to have a break. We tried Rick’s, but it was fully booked according to the unfriendly doorman (who, if transformed to black and white, looked like he could be in the movie). I was thinking of the scene in the movie when the French police chief discovers there is gambling (despite collecting his winnings) and closes the place. Switching themes twenty years, I instead had mint tea at Le Gatsby, enjoying the slightly aging Art Deco look and the view of the mosque.

Moving back to just past noon, I walked to the mosque. An older man with car keys told me the place was closed to tourists until 3 and asked me if I wanted a tour. I hesitated and then saw the standard red taxi and the grey-haired driver; there was no ripoff here—this was a great chance for him to make good money and me to see more of the town. I agreed to a price, and off we went. Perfect.

Soon, we were at the lighthouse I had wanted to visit from my last driver. You cannot go inside, which is sad, but I still have some nice pictures. The Atlantic waves break on the rocks nearby. A cat jumped on the storm wall, and I took its picture; it seemed to be posing.

Aside: I updated the Mac OS, and my internet access is now slow, and Grammarly is having some issues.

Next, we stopped at the beach, but only for pictures. I was told that the beach was not used until it was warmer (there were people in the water). I have heard similar illogical statements in other countries. Beaches are not respectable and not accessible during tours. I think the hotels may own the beaches and might object to me walking on their sand for free.

Next, we toured the wealthy area, which was the land of extravagance. The driver drove us by the polo club, where the polo horses were being loaded and unloaded from expensive-looking trailers. I was not expecting to see that. I could follow the location on my phone and felt safe the whole time.

Parking the red taxi and being waved at by other taxi drivers (some of whom saluted my obvious senior driver), we did a walking tour of an Al Muhammadi Mosque with an impressive date of 1355 written on it. I thought it was more modern, but later, I learned that it is the date on the Muslim calendar, and it is also 1934. We then walked through the small passages and soon were in shops and other photo-friendly areas, with my driver suggesting I take some pictures here and there.

The olive market, with no more than ten stalls, was impressive and surprising. There are so many olives, preserved lemons, and other similar products. We walked and walked, and I was happy to retrace some of my steps earlier and learn how many of the streets connect. I am beginning to learn the city’s streets. I took photos of the cathedral and the park and could walk to either from my hotel now.

Yesterday, I noticed a spooky, rundown building dated 1916 and thought it was perfect for a horror story. When in black and white, my pictures would look 1920s. I took more pictures today and learned it is a military building (on Monday, it has flags, unlike the weekend). I think I will still use it for some Call of Cthulhu writing or a Howard story. More to come.

After first saying no, I agreed to use the drive at 10AM on Tuesday. My driver waited for me at the mosque, moving again to the end of the afternoon, and took me back to the Mövenpick Hotel for no charge.

Moving to the start of the day, I woke around 7AM and started the blog. I did not feel tired. It was over 2200 words, so I dressed, grabbed the laptop, and finished the blog at breakfast. Breakfast was at the hotel and was included in the room. Something I would recommend to most travelers is to pick hotels that supply breakfast; it makes the mornings easier.

The food was slightly changed, or likely a rotation you would learn if you stayed long enough (I have learned the rotations on some long business stays). The place was not the quiet dining of the weekend. It was close to a madhouse, with business folks everywhere eating fast and tourist groups finding their way to yet another brunch-styled feeding.

I ate extra and then wrote the blog, which took over an hour to complete. I headed upstairs to 1203, got my coat and hat, and headed out. I walked for hours to shake off the jet lag and tried to do what Dondrea would do: exercise to make you feel better. It did work, and soon, I was feeling more myself. I enjoyed the walk and took lots of pictures and posted some videos while walking. I headed towards the Old Madina and Cafe France (which did not impress me). The rain started, and the Madina was just waking up–it was still early. I was only accosted a few times, which disappointed me surprisingly. I was getting used to it.

The rain got worse. I was getting cold. Then the thunder started. I found the fortifications and cannons, which is also a restaurant, and I had coffee there with little baked goods. Some of the folks getting on a cruise ship were early and had also found refuge and breakfast. I had a few cups of coffee with milk and baked goods. I headed out when the rain stopped.

 

Rick’s was just opening but was “fully booked,” I was told (like later), and I walked to the Atlantic seawalls and the mosque. It was now a sunny, warm day, and I posted more pictures and videos. I met the driver I hired for the day, as I said above.

That takes us full circle.

I hope you enjoyed recounting my walking and riding through the busy Monday version of Casablanca.

Sunday started with me waking to my alarm, as I had the usual jetlag sleep-wake-sleep night. Today, I had a driver and a tour in Marrakesh. It is a two-and-a-half-hour drive to Red City, and I was paying the rate for a group—not cheap, but fitting with my plans of using Casablanca as my base for this trip.

When making coffee, I managed to miss the cup and pour boiling water on the table and floor. I ran to the bathroom and poured cold water on my foot, which was splashed. No injury, but a clear warning that jetlag does not make you smarter! I was also set on not buying another carpet or other items. I wanted some cooking spices and hoped for a tourist-ready set matching what I found in Istanbul years ago. A full-color collection worth a picture, and I have it on the wall in the kitchen.

Aside: I met a family of Americans but chose not to use their names as they are in business, and I thought it best not to share more information about them on social media. It makes the writing sound a bit over-formal and frankly ham-fisted, but I thought it best to protect them. So please forgive that, and know they were fun to travel with.

I had already published the blog for yesterday, so I could grab breakfast and then pop into the van. I brought Dramamine, concerned that breakfast and three hours of bouncing in a transport van could be more than I could take. I also ate a larger breakfast as I was worried that the tour would not have a break except for mint tea and a sales pitch. I eat when I can when traveling, hoping that the exercise of walking on the tours will cover those calories. I found that streets and sidewalks here are made from cobblestones and bricks and, while mostly not unsafe, are not easygoing either.

The staff and concierge were watching for me, and soon, my ride was there at 7:30. I had a black Mercedes van with excellent leather seats that fit ten to myself. My driver, Zouhair, used to live in California, and his English was good and American. While he missed a word here and there, he was easy to understand and was happy to have a friendly, well-traveled American today.

The drive was incredible and maybe one of the significant parts of my trip. Just seeing Morocco, the town, and the mix of olive trees and desert made me excited and happy. Zouhair explained things as we went, and we talked about Artificial Intelligence and other topics that interested him while I watched the landscape and asked him questions, too. We spoke of housing here and his wish to create his own travel agency. The road was new and better than in the greater Portland area. I was not having any issues with motion sickness. Excellent.

I was prepared, but the tour guide was still a bit of a disappointment. He loved to talk endlessly, and his English was unclear. He spent our first hour talking in front of a ruined Mosque, which apparently was one of the first buildings in Marrakesh and appeared to have the remains of a large cistern now exposed to the sky. But few words were spent on the sight.

Soon, we were happy to be moving and walking into the Souq. There were snake charmers everywhere, unhappy cobras, and rattlesnakes to visit and take photos for a fee. Our guide took my iPhone and got a close-up for me. Our guide, I had joined another three people on tour, led us into the chaos of the narrow walkways surrounded by shops and often covered above to keep the desert sun away. It was a fantastic and slightly cloudy morning, which we soon learned to love. It was clear the Souq would swelter in the hot summer. There was little air movement.

The family I joined on the tour: a husband, wife, and daughter who were international living Americans. The husband was on business, and the daughter was celebrating her 20th birthday. The daughter wore Muslim jewelry and spoke Arabic, to the delight of everyone in Marrakesh. I played my role as an unknown family friend to be ignored. Perfect.

We all but ran through the narrow alleyways following our guide and avoided, to our surprise, motorcycles running through the crowd. I was also hit once, with no damage, by a bike that pushed through the crowd less efficiently. My driver told me this weekend was a holiday, and Moroccans love to visit Morocco. The place was overflowing.

We stopped at a Riad being transformed into a restaurant. The former home has courtyards with gardens opened to the sky. Our guide explained that the sound of birds, the water flowing in the fountains (dry today), and the smell of the medicinal plants (including roses) were to remind you of God and the goodness you have while alive. It is, he explained, not a requirement to Believe in Morocco as it is an open country, but the space helps. I could see the practicality of the design and how it would be an excellent place for morning prayers. A workman used a file to cut the designs into the stone to replace some stonework. I did not know it was a manual task to file the stone–fascinating.

We soon returned to our motorcycle-dodging cobblestoned follow-the-leader tour. The shops could have been Istanbul or another Souq. The brasswork of lights and lamps might get more attention on another day when I am not dodging while trying to talk to my fellow tourists and not lose line-of-sight to our guide. I saw more chess sets and leatherwork than on my last visit to a Souq, but there were a few daggers and other dangerous exotic items. We did not see an antique area, just new items. Our guide waved us away from clothing, hats, and other clothing items. “All made in China,” he said with a scoff, saying that these items should be below our notice. I did see python skins, live turtles, and shark egg cases (still in seawater) for sale.

From what I could see, the items for sale were tourist items, clothing (usually soccer or splashy labels), and locally-made wood, brass, or other craft items. The tourists appeared to be a mix of imports like me and a collection of local young people on holiday from Morocco. A friendly crowd that was buying.

Our guide told us it was time to learn about the local crafts, and I nearly moaned when it was a carpet store. We entered another Riad, rebuilt as a carpet warehouse and display store. The gardens and fountains were long gone, and the sky was no longer visible. This one claimed to be from the 1500s, but I would suspect that only the stones in the foundation are that old. Our host saw our interest and took us up some solid but twisting stairs to see the architecture that still survives. The railing was reachable between carpet stacks.

The building’s Riad features showed some age, but it was still lovely and showed, except for electrical wires drilled or torn into the walls at random places, to have been respected. The huge floors were perfect, now covered in marble and stone sheets, for showing carpet after carpet.

If you have any available funds, you should be prepared to pay more than that, and you will soon have a carpet delivered or packaged for easy carrying. It is a beautiful mix of theater, sales, and FOMO that one has to admire. My scowl and silence made me not the victim this time, but the family was already dizzy from the carpet show. I was happy to be a guest on this pitch; I loved every minute now that I was a watcher. I saw the others in the carpet biz notice me and my smile as they began the fleecing, and I was now a co-conspirator as I stayed silent and did not queer the pitch.

The endless rolling out of carpet after carpet and us being asked to handle and even walk on them made it fun to watch. The husband asked me, “How would we get these home?” I just laughed at him and told him they would find a way for him. The wife decided on something, and he apologized for taking my time on this. I again laughed and showed him the picture of my carpet from yesterday. I am not the one paying this time I said with a smile that he thought was funny and slightly worrying.

Soon, our host announced that never before had women bargained so expertly. He shook the husband’s hand for marrying such an excellent woman who thought he got off with just mint tea. But no, he watched, somewhat shocked, as they rolled and expertly packaged his newest carpet. His daughter had cheered on Mom and was excited that Mom got a rug to take home. All those years with Wild’s Furniture have me always enjoy watching Good Pitch, as long as it is not directed at me.

My patience was nearly expended on the next stop. Potions and spices with a sales pitch that I thought awful. I am not a fan of anything homeopathic as I believe the quality control is too loose, and the science is poor (don’t start with me on this). People want this stuff to work, and many report good results. I am allergic to much of it; it makes me cough and sneeze. The male-enhancement appeal also is a fantasy used for thousands of years to sell endless types of mixtures. But they sell cooking spices, so buy three and get one free. I picked the two mixes I could not get at home, and that was it for me. They were about $30 worth and excellent gifts, too. I managed to stay polite.

Aside: I was ignored as a lone male for most of this pitch. Couples were the target for the pitch, with potency and age reduction as the male focus. I remained quiet and politely turned down any mystery treatments. I have surgery in twenty days, and I don’t need some mystery ailment caused by an unknown product in Morocco.

It was now well beyond 2 (14:00), and I was right about eating a good breakfast. I checked and was surprised I had only about 7,000 steps for the day, and I felt guilty that I was not correctly channeling Dondrea’s 10K step goal a day. However, these were hard steps on uneven surfaces with dodging, so I rationalized that I would not have to walk more when returning. We stopped at the same Riad and had a nice lunch. I sat next to the daughter and soon shared my lunch with the family, which came in courses. The daughter passed the small items over, and soon, everyone tried them. Our guide was invited to lunch, unusual, and accepted after multiple requests. I had couscous, while others had excellent meat items in a tagine or on skewers. There was some debate on the size of lunch, but we all were headed back, in separate vans, to Casablanca and thus would likely miss dinner. So olives, bread, and meat items all soon disappeared.

As I was treated more as a guest than an add-on, I picked up lunch for $97, with the family taking the tip for the food and the guide. I was honored to meet them.

It is a long walk out of the Souq, and this is just one of many. The weekday markets are for the locals, and I would have loved to tour one. There are also museums and some historical sights in Marrakesh. Still, with only four hours and the apparent need to be fleeced, the tour ended with our exit at about 4 (16:00). We exchanged some information, but I am a realist about tourists meeting up (and shook all their hands).

My driver was ready, and soon we were on our way. I was a bit tired and full. Getting on a camel, the last part of the trip, was not in my cards. The driver thought it funny but drove by all the camels just in case I changed my mind. See them, I was sure I did not need to ride one. Again, if I was with folks, maybe, but no.

I nodded off a few times on the way back to Casablanca and talked with my guide here and there, but I was sleepy. The two-plus hours quickly passed, and we were surprised to see rain and rainbows in the desert areas. It was an excellent drive again and well worth the price. I tipped the driver well, exchanged contacts (with my realism about that), and paid the driver when arriving at the hotel.

I was soon in my room, and the sun was setting. I rested, and soon, it was night when I woke. I was staggered, and it was best to shower and sleep. Of course, that did not work, as I woke-sleep-woke from jetlag. But for each cycle, I was better. My lungs froze up, and soon, I was using my inhaler. I was either tired or exposed to something that I was allergic to. I recovered, and the wheezing stopped. I managed to continue to slip into sleep and out all night. Rest comes in breaks when traveling–no surprise there.

The usual travel is flying into Casablanca, seeing a few sights, and then off to Marrakesh and other places. I have no regrets about my choices.

Thanks for reading.

 

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.