It is our last day in Morocco before flying out and we head to the Casablanca airport from
Azzemour. We arrive 3 hours ahead of departure and line up for our Air
Maroc check in time. Nigel immediately says, "something is wrong".
"What do you mean something is wrong? What's wrong?"
"Look at our two check in counters. No one is moving in either line. There are passengers gathering around and there are 5 people hovering behind each desk staring at the computers. I don't think we are leaving today".
"
Hmmmm", I say as I notice he is right.
News filters back through the line that the flight is already booked up. In fact, yesterdays flight was also overbooked and most of those people have been bumped to our flight today leaving us unable to get on (despite our confirmed bookings).
We finally make it to the front of the queue to try our best to coerce the woman into letting us on. No such luck. There are absolutely no seats left. We are given a free voucher for the local airport hotel nearby and vouchers for meals. It looks as though we are not leaving Morocco yet. Those around us say this is normal for the airline, but having had zero trouble getting on our Air Maroc flight at 3am in Liberia, we have no idea.
We are bussed to the Atlas Hotel nearby where Nigel's no-nonsense personality emerges. Somebody tries to take his bag to load it on the bus and he protests saying he has just put his own bags on and will not under any circumstances be paying out more money to someone who has done nothing. This was a common attempt in our travels. Someone would walk with you, open a drink for you, or point out a few landmarks and then charge you for all sorts of things that you would normally think you should be asked first about. Besides we thought we were leaving and have no Moroccan currency left.
We figure Air
Maroc owns the hotel just to deal with its scheduling problems. All the vouchers we receive in the hotel have Air
Maroc stamped across them and came in large pads of papers.
Hmmm.
One might even think, hey, free meal, free hotel, fun times. But we are in the middle of nowhere (we know this because we wander around the area), and the meals are simple buffets that are pretty dismal if you don't get there fast enough. The seating is random and most of the tables have others food and dishes left all over them. Canteen style at its most disorganized.
But it does have a large lovely pool outside and I sit by it reading and people watching. It is fascinating to see the variety of cultures milling about. There are West Africans, women in their bright, body-hugging African dresses with children on their backs. There are dessert nomads in their long flowing robes with heads and faces wrapped in turbans. There are young Slavic women posing like models, dressed in western fashion and flirting with an older Middle Eastern man. There are Muslim Moroccan families in their long flowing robes. There are Westerners
in their tourist shorts and burned faces. There are French tourists in their skimpy bikinis and poised demeanour. It is all an amazing spectacle.
The next day we were up early heading to the airport hours ahead of our departure time. If we beat the rush we may actually get on the flight today. Despite being given a boarding card the day before, I am not convinced we are on the flight until we are actually sitting on the plane.
Tempers are high and tensions lay thickly between passengers as some barge to the front and demand to be checked in since they were already bumped from the day before.
Someone shouts that we are all here from
the day before and why not get in line like everyone else. But the line is in chaos. A table is set up behind us and everyone shifts to it, nervous, waiting.
Then someone emerges behind the desk and the crowd runs back to the original check in desks. A Muslim woman behind me in fully covered body and head robes with 3 little kids looks at me and says, "are you going to push to the front of the line? Because if you are not I am going to." It does seem the only way that anything is going to get done. With her behind me I push to the front waving our passports and boarding cards demanding to get on the flight because I was here the day before. We shove our bags onto the weight machine and are told that we must have them searched first at the table in the back. No way! If we move we lose our place and possibly our plane. The man next to me nudges me and knowingly says, "yes, they have already searched your bags". I pick up on his queue and repeat the same thing. It doesn't seem to work. I reassess my tactic as Nigel refuses to move our bags to let the next person through.
In Malawi we learned that not all cultures work in ordered lines where everyone allows whoever is first to go first. If you act like an ordered culture you will never get served in other countries. In Malawi we watch in amazement as our Malawian friend pushes to the front of a crowd and waves our passports in front of the immigration officer when we need our visas renewed. No one is upset that she has shoved past, they are all in turn just trying to get the attention of the officer. One Malawian said she was shocked that people queued so pleasantly when she visited a European country.
Back to the Moroccan airport. I think fast and eye the security guard who is standing by us directing people to other queue to have bags searched. I also look at my tightly wrapped and taped bags full of art and art supplies. There is no way they will open. "Please, sir" I say "could you check our bags here so that we don't have to go to the other queue. We will take our hand luggage to be checked". He hesitates, squeezes a few of our bags, asks about content then waves at the woman at the desk to let us through. I am thrilled.
We head to the other line with just our handbags. I see the Moroccan woman who had nudged me to budge in and am gleeful to see she has no bags either. I make eye contact and jump gleefully saying " we did it" to her. She laughs and shakes my hand. I congratulate her on navigating the chaos with 3 small children.
We are now booked to fly on the plane. We see that the passengers arriving for the first time that day are all being bumped. I want to stay and watch the human drama unfold, but Nigel thinks it wiser to get as close to the plane as possible and head through security. People are still panicky on the other side of security and are lining up at the departure gate despite having boarding cards that say the plane doesn't even leave for another hour.
After all of that, we finally board and leave on the flight. We are excited to return to the UK, but mutually agree we both love Morocco.
A HUGE thank you to Keith who drove all the way down to London from Manchester to pick us up from airport, but got stuck there because we didn't arrive on our original flight.
It is our last day in Morocco before flying out and we head to the Casablanca airport from Azzemour. We arrive 3 hours ahead of departure and line up for our Air Maroc check in time. Nigel immediately says, "something is wrong".
"What do you mean something is wrong? What's wrong?"
"Look at our two check in counters. No one is moving in either line. There are passengers gathering around and there are 5 people hovering behind each desk staring at the computers. I don't think we are leaving today".
"Hmmmm", I say as I notice he is right.
News filters back through the line that the flight is already booked up. In fact, yesterdays flight was also overbooked and most of those people have been bumped to our flight today leaving us unable to get on (despite our confirmed bookings).
We finally make it to the front of the queue to try our best to coerce the woman into letting us on. No such luck. There are absolutely no seats left. We are given a free voucher for the local airport hotel nearby and vouchers for meals. It looks as though we are not leaving Morocco yet. Those around us say this is normal for the airline, but having had zero trouble getting on our Air Maroc flight at 3am in Liberia, we have no idea.
We are bussed to the Atlas Hotel nearby where Nigel's no-nonsense personality emerges. Somebody tries to take his bag to load it on the bus and he protests saying he has just put his own bags on and will not under any circumstances be paying out more money to someone who has done nothing. This was a common attempt in our travels. Someone would walk with you, open a drink for you, or point out a few landmarks and then charge you for all sorts of things that you would normally think you should be asked first about. Besides we thought we were leaving and have no Moroccan currency left.
We figure Air Maroc owns the hotel just to deal with its scheduling problems. All the vouchers we receive in the hotel have Air Maroc stamped across them and came in large pads of papers. Hmmm.
One might even think, hey, free meal, free hotel, fun times. But we are in the middle of nowhere (we know this because we wander around the area), and the meals are simple buffets that are pretty dismal if you don't get there fast enough. The seating is random and most of the tables have others food and dishes left all over them. Canteen style at its most disorganized.
But it does have a large lovely pool outside and I sit by it reading and people watching. It is fascinating to see the variety of cultures milling about. There are West Africans, women in their bright, body-hugging African dresses with children on their backs. There are dessert nomads in their long flowing robes with heads and faces wrapped in turbans. There are young Slavic women posing like models, dressed in western fashion and flirting with an older Middle Eastern man. There are Muslim Moroccan families in their long flowing robes. There are Westerners in their tourist shorts and burned faces. There are French tourists in their skimpy bikinis and poised demeanour. It is all an amazing spectacle.
The next day we were up early heading to the airport hours ahead of our departure time. If we beat the rush we may actually get on the flight today. Despite being given a boarding card the day before, I am not convinced we are on the flight until we are actually sitting on the plane.
Tempers are high and tensions lay thickly between passengers as some barge to the front and demand to be checked in since they were already bumped from the day before. Someone shouts that we are all here from the day before and why not get in line like everyone else. But the line is in chaos. A table is set up behind us and everyone shifts to it, nervous, waiting.
Then someone emerges behind the desk and the crowd runs back to the original check in desks. A Muslim woman behind me in fully covered body and head robes with 3 little kids looks at me and says, "are you going to push to the front of the line? Because if you are not I am going to." It does seem the only way that anything is going to get done. With her behind me I push to the front waving our passports and boarding cards demanding to get on the flight because I was here the day before. We shove our bags onto the weight machine and are told that we must have them searched first at the table in the back. No way! If we move we lose our place and possibly our plane. The man next to me nudges me and knowingly says, "yes, they have already searched your bags". I pick up on his queue and repeat the same thing. It doesn't seem to work. I reassess my tactic as Nigel refuses to move our bags to let the next person through.
In Malawi we learned that not all cultures work in ordered lines where everyone allows whoever is first to go first. If you act like an ordered culture you will never get served in other countries. In Malawi we watch in amazement as our Malawian friend pushes to the front of a crowd and waves our passports in front of the immigration officer when we need our visas renewed. No one is upset that she has shoved past, they are all in turn just trying to get the attention of the officer. One Malawian said she was shocked that people queued so pleasantly when she visited a European country.
Back to the Moroccan airport. I think fast and eye the security guard who is standing by us directing people to other queue to have bags searched. I also look at my tightly wrapped and taped bags full of art and art supplies. There is no way they will open. "Please, sir" I say "could you check our bags here so that we don't have to go to the other queue. We will take our hand luggage to be checked". He hesitates, squeezes a few of our bags, asks about content then waves at the woman at the desk to let us through. I am thrilled.
We head to the other line with just our handbags. I see the Moroccan woman who had nudged me to budge in and am gleeful to see she has no bags either. I make eye contact and jump gleefully saying " we did it" to her. She laughs and shakes my hand. I congratulate her on navigating the chaos with 3 small children.
We are now booked to fly on the plane. We see that the passengers arriving for the first time that day are all being bumped. I want to stay and watch the human drama unfold, but Nigel thinks it wiser to get as close to the plane as possible and head through security. People are still panicky on the other side of security and are lining up at the departure gate despite having boarding cards that say the plane doesn't even leave for another hour.
After all of that, we finally board and leave on the flight. We are excited to return to the UK, but mutually agree we both love Morocco.
A HUGE thank you to Keith who drove all the way down to London from Manchester to pick us up from airport, but got stuck there because we didn't arrive on our original flight.
No comments:
Post a Comment