From New York to Casablanca

I woke up in Hebron yesterday, my immediate family and some Mass McDermotts- Aunt Cathy, Seamus, Aunt Laurie, Meg, James, and last but not least, Nana, had all arrived Friday for Lily's graduation and grad party preparations. The house was abuzz with cleaning and planning and people running errands. I had gone out the night before to say good-bye to all my friends and hadn't gone to sleep until 2:40am. I was pretty groggy and certainly would have liked to leisurely hang out/help out, but I had to finish packing my carry-on. To my knowledge, besides a toothbrush there is nothing I mistakenly forgot. Knock on wood (that was for you, my un-superstitious boyfriend).

Good-byes weren't bad but mom dad and I all got a bit emotional. Laurent (who had agreed to drive me to JFK and thus had come up Thursday night,) was a bastion of support and positivity. The entire ride down was really enjoyable and I didn't worry or get anxious at all. We made great time which turned out to be crucial because the plane boarded an hour and twenty minutes before I thought it would. I did have enough time to eat, but I only waited at the gate for twenty minutes if that.

Ok, now cutting to the chase. I think the people employed by Royal Air Morac are some of the nicest I've interacted with of all my travels. Here comes the first of many more heinous generalizations. I think that when you ask an American a question that you suspect is stupid, there’s a good chance you’ll be made to feel as if the answer is obvious, how didn’t you know? In my trip thus far I have not found a single of my ridiculous questions towards airport and airline staff to be received as such. They are all so accommodating and friendly.

Here's a great example. I was told in JFK that I would need another boarding pass for my flight to Douala from Casablanca. After what would have been considered in the US as an unacceptably long wait to get through a swine flu scan and security check, the passengers fresh off the tarmac were brought to another terminal if they were in transit. I was told that at this terminal I would be able to go to check-in for Royal Air Morac. So once here I followed signs to check-in (the first language here is Arabic, the second French, and the third English, all of which are on signs THANK GOD!) and ended up sort of mis-placed on the second floor. I was SO tired that I kind of fell asleep with my eyes open while waiting in line (sort-of) on a couch. Then I decided I was in the wrong place and got up and walked out. Sketchy American. I wandered to another Royal Air Maroc office that did not feel like a check in at all. I asked "Is this check-in?"

"No maam, where are you going?"

“Douala”

“So you are waiting for the 12:20am flight?”

“Yes”

“Please have a seat; I need to get you checked in to your hotel.”
I sat down because I didn’t want to make a scene/fool of myself when I told him that I hadn’t paid for a hotel room nor did I have any hopes or intentions of leaving the airport before my flight. When he had processed one really beautiful African mother and her two kids, it was my turn.

“I am going to get you your voucher maam, it’s a long wait and these accommodations are gratuite (that means free, or compliments of…) par Royal Air Morac”.
I looked at him incredulously. I don’t know if US airlines do this, but I think not. I guess that might be because there are very few instances of scheduled 20 hour lay-overs. Either way, I was really impressed with the service of Royal Air Morac (as well as the plane food) and will love them forever, for getting me out of that airport (although it was clean and very efficient with exception to security check-in). I am looking forward to my free dinner as I slept through the complimentary lunch.

As far as who I’m travelling with, there are several potentially French or Canadian or general expatriate white people going to Douala (I overheard them talking en francias  ) and the rest are very wealthy-looking Africans who have Americanized kids (SO cute) and may be going to stay with their families for the summer (just a guess though).

I really love what the women wear- I see bright goldenrod color in every fabric, but in addition to that it seems that the sky is the limit. Some dresses are sari-esque but some are just shifts that are sort of tied on. The most defining thing about their outfits is that they are so color-coordinating. Their pants are made of a full color taken from one present in the ornately patterned fabric of the over-dress. Then whatever fabric was used for the pants is also worn as a head wrap. Everything is edged with intricate stitch-work and sequins or beads that match the over-dress. They must have a different three-piece ensemble for every day of the week. Nothing about their ensemble is neatly buttoned or zipped but instead tied and wound and folded. Getting dressed is a cultural thing, I couldn’t just wear what they wear- it’s a skill, something you learn over time. But I am determined to at some point try that stuff on because it is beautiful, and probably really comfortable.

So far the coolest thing I’ve seen is this really voluptuous African lady with a tiny less-than-one-year-old tied to her back. The kid’s head hangs at a weird angle but he or she is definitely securely tied on there. It is flattened to her back with his or her legs and arms splayed out like a tree frog. The only reason I don’t think I’d do that with my own kids some day is that it might hurt your boobs, as the cloth supporting the weight of this kid under his or her butt is all anchored on the woman chest. Ouch!

This sadly may be the most verbose of all my blogs (and you’re thinking, why is that a bad thing?) because I am trying to kill time and thus I’ve gone really in-depth with descriptions of a pretty uneventful (yet exciting) day.
Right now I am chilling out on the bed in my hotel room. I took a nice shower, am getting ready to go eat some Moroccan food and then come back and watch TV in French. I love Africa so far!