My Journey to Fez

               My flight to Casablanca was uneventful. The plane was filled with mostly French and Arabic speaking people. I was fortunate enough to have the Moroccan man that would have been sitting next to me ask if he could change seats with an American man so he could sit by his wife. It turned out to be a huge blessing. The American man’s name was Todd. He was from Huston, Texas and had been working in Casablanca, Morocco for six months. He was returning after a week-long visit back home to see his family. It took a while for the conversation to get started, but once it did, I found he was full of information about first time travel to Morocco; what to see, how to get around, what to eat, what to expect, etc. When we arrived in the Casablanca airport at about 3:00pm, we stood in a very slow line to have our passports stamped, and then waited for our baggage together. He helped point me to where to catch the train and even insisted I take a 100 dirham bill, about $12 American dollars, to help get me to Fez. I didn’t want to accept it but he was very nice and insisted. As I made my way downstairs to the train station, I figured they would take a credit card. I assumed wrong and needed 250 dirham to pay for the train to Fez. I made my way back up the inclined (not stair) escalators to one of the currency exchange banks and exchanged $40 for 300 and some dirham. Sliding down the escalators I made my way quickly back to the ticket booth in hopes of still catching the 4:00 train. I was a minute too late and I watched the train leave the station just as I entered the docks. I walked back to the ticket booth and told the man the train had just left so he gave me a new ticket for the next train which would leave in an hour. I was beginning to experience just some of the many difficulties I knew I would face in this very foreign country.

In the meantime I found a bench seat near some women and as soon as I sat down the young woman next to me started talking to me in French. I understood when she asked me what my name was and I tried to explain to her that I was a student from the United States and I spoke very little French. When I told her I spoke English and a little Spanish she perked up and said she was from Spain and she was traveling to Marrakesh to see her husband. I explained in broken Spanish how my husband and I had honeymooned in Malaga and traveled to Sevilla and Granada. She said she was from a town near Granada and then started talking about other things I didn’t understand. I wasn’t even sure she was talking in Spanish anymore as her language began to sound more French and she had a very soft voice to begin with. I must have gotten a confused look on my face because she stopped, smiled, said a few more words that I assumed were asking me if I understood, so I shook my head no and she paused before starting to translate in basic Spanish and a few English words. We had a bit more small talk before another French woman sat down and she began to talk to her. The Spanish woman later offered me a cookie and in no time it was time to board the train. I sat first class across a small table from the Spanish women. We had some more small talk that I was lost for most of, but she was very helpful in making sure we both got off at the Casa Voyagers train station where we would catch different trains to our final destinations. I waited about 45 minutes for my train to Fez to arrive. In the mean time I walked up and down the station a few times, looking for a place to buy a SIM card for my phone but found none. There was one room where men were worshiping and calling praises out loud and I remembered I had read that Friday is the Muslim holy day and I doubted anything would be open today. As I stood waiting for my train I felt like a shiny penny in a sea of brown fish. I stood out immensely in this crowd with my pale skin and my short red hair. Nearly everybody had a look at me as I tried to stay out of the way against a pilar. I think some people would even pretend to wander down the tier just to get a better look at me, an alien in their world. This was something I was going to have to get used to. 

My second train arrived on time at 6:15 and I started the long ride to Fez. I again sat first class, this time in a single seat across the aisle from a table with four seats. I picked a good spot as women and families surrounded me the whole time. Farther back in the car a group of young men gathered and talked loudly. The babies around me fussed on and off but I was still able to catch a few short naps. I was beginning to feel very tired.

The train ride went on for what seemed like forever after all the traveling I had done. Fez was the last stop of the night and I arrived about 11pm. I was hoping to find a pay phone as my cell phone still did not work. Lucky for me, one of the train workers, a tall young Moroccan man, started talking to me as I made my way to the main station. When I asked him in the best French I could muster on the spot if there was a telephone in the station he whipped out his cell phone. Not knowing if there was a pay phone in the station for sure, I graciously accepted his generosity and dialed Gigi Kay, the director of the American Fondouk to inform her I had arrived at the train station. She sent someone to pick me up right away and told me to wait at the entrance to the station.



The train worker walked with me the rest of the way down the tier, making small talk in French that I could barely understand. He left me at the stairs that I had to go down to cross under the tracks, but then met up with me again as I was climbing up the stairs on the other side and helped me carry my bags. I waited outside the station and tried to take in some of the beauty of architecture as well as people watch. I again noticed I was being stared at a lot and finally after about 10 or 15 minutes, Simon, a veterinarian at the American Fondouk found me and escorted me to his car. 

The entrance to the train station in Fez

The Fondouk was only a short 5-10 minute drive away. I tried to observe some of the city but it was hard in the dark. I did notice a haze over the whole city that was from the diesel fumes produced by all the cars and mopeds here. Simon pulled right up to the large doors of the American Fondouk and honked loudly so the night guard could let us in. They escorted me through the clinic and into the student villa. As I entered the villa, I walked into a dinning room with the kitchen in the back. The villa had four rooms, two on the right and two on the left of the dining room with two twin beds in each. Each side had a bathroom with the toilet separate from the shower and sink. I chose a room on the opposite side from where a Moroccan student was staying. Simon and the guard woke the Moroccan student and we had some small talk in English before I got ready for bed. To my disappointment, the toilet room did not have any toilet paper. Luckily I had a few napkins with me and hoped that would get me by until I could get to the supermarket to buy some. I made by bed, changed into my pajamas, started the heat as it was no more than 60 degrees in my room, and immediately got on the internet to see if my mother or husband were online. Luckily my mother was and I messaged her that I was here safe and explained how my phone did not work. I figured out how to use MSN video messaging and it was nice to see each other. Before I went to bed, I plugged in and turned on my now dead iPhone. I connected it to the internet as well and much to my surprise, the phone found service! I texted my husband that I was here safe and told him I would call him tomorrow. Finally I laid down for some well needed rest and dreamed of what tomorrow might bring.