Marhaba!

Leaving Amsterdam...

We made it to Fez. The flight from Amsterdam was uneventful (in a good way), but included the stock applause that you seem to hear whenever you land, while flying a lesser known airline, that is. I guess expectations are a bit lower? (I hope that the expectation that we land is not an extreme one...)

The Casablanca airport has been in a constant state of construction over the past few years. This trip, however, we were able to fully experience the shiny new long hallways as we trekked from place to place, hunting for a way back to Fez. The new domestic flight waiting room held us in place for hours when all is said and done. Our 3 hour layover quickly (or slowly, I suppose) became 5, 6 hours long. Suddenly everyone left in the room, at about 12:30 or 1:00am, got up, screaming. The mob appeared to be led by a frail old woman, leading us to believe that it had to do with a domestic argument. It became apparent after a short time, however, that everyone who was supposed to be on our flight was involved. As the mob shifted around the room (following the Royal Air Maroc employees wherever they went, and followed, at a long distance, by an uninterested group of security guards), we were occasionally updated by kind neighbors. I wish my daraja (Moroccan Arabic) were a bit better at this point, I'm sure I would have learned an array of colorful phrases.

Turns out that our flight was canceled. Rerouted to Oujda, which is on the Algerian border. Feel free to scope out a map of Morocco to get an idea of why that doesn't make much sense. Eventually, we were offered a choice between staying the night and taking a 7 hour bus ride. We were itching to get to Fez, so we elected for the bus ride. In the confusion, we befriended another couple, visiting to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversary. They managed to keep incredible spirits, considering the impressive welcome. For us, though, I think the delay may have kicked us firmly into the correct headspace that will be necessary for fieldwork. Things move slowly, have hitches, and need to be worked out (sometimes loudly). Yet you end up where you need to be. An impressively informal formality pervades these types of interactions and scenes. They took us to get bags, we waited, they took us to a different belt to get bags, waited again... Bags came, after another chunk of time passed us by. Annie's happiest moment was seeing her new sewing machine (from Amsterdam) come down the belt.

Scoping out the new digs

A visit to more baggage areas, an upstairs office, and finally, the curb followed. Turns out someone forgot to tell the bus company that RAM had offered a bus... When we got to the curb, there were two busses, and a mass of further confusion. No one knew which bus was going where, and it turns out that our chosen bus went to both the hotel and Fez. Since those were the only two options, I'm left to wonder where the other went...

The bus was freeeeeezing cold. And 7 hours long. But, alas, we make it to Fez in the morning sun. At another bus station. Just in time for another lengthy wait (for the keys to the house). An insane cat at a coffeeshop kept us entertained. Insane. But entertaining. Eventually, we heard from Mouaniss, who picked us up, found a driver, and got us back to our new home safely and securely. It's just as we remembered, but with some improvements. The staircase to the terrace is no longer death-defying. And there's even a light.

Just in time for Tuesday morning's classes.

 الحمد الله
(Alhamdu li-Lah. Thanks be to God!)

PS: visited the Royal Air Maroc office later in the week, turns out that we can't get any compensation for the affair, and we happened to enjoy a nice, expensive, and cold bus ride.

 الله يجازيكم
(Allah yajazikum. May God compensate you for your deeds.)

The view from our terrace