Back from vacation
July 3, 2010
This post is meant more for myself and my memory than for others. That said, I’m just writing whatever comes to mind.
It’s fascinating what a great big release of stress does to a person, at least, a person like me. Sometimes it isn’t all that apparent that the stress is there to begin with, but even then the sudden absence of it is hard to miss. All the stresses of life as a PCV have given me plenty of opportunities to observe the effects. Each time I wonder how to adjust and handle the stress when it’s there and the hole it leaves when it’s gone. Interesting stuff to ponder.
Anyway, today I finally made it back home to my village after a whopping month-and-a-half-long vacation. I was excited for the vacation and I enjoyed just about every minute of it, but I was also ready to get home and back to my “normal” life, such as it is. The trip home has been quite an adventure, involving a two-week vacation in Paris, Madrid, Barcelona, Granada, and Tangier with my parents and Fauve. The trip over the past two days from Tangier to Izran has been an adventure in itself.
The taxi ride from the hotel to the train station in Tangier was simple enough. The hardest part of that was thinking (or rather, resisting thinking) how I won’t see my ‘rents for a while. At the train station there didn’t seem to be any rush to let us board the train. Once they finally let us through, I found a decent seat and settled in. Besides one random stop in the middle of nowhere for about 15 minutes and a couple hours with an obnoxious baby and his equally obnoxious father (his mom wasn’t too bad), the first leg of the train trip was uneventful. Towards the end a nice couple of girls sat across from me. One ignored me and I rather ignored her, but her friend (friend?) spoke a little English. We shared a few words and a few smiles for the rest of the ride and on the platform where we all switched trains in Casablanca.
The Casablanca to Marrakesh train was where the real frustrations started. Baking hot with a packed platform, my two hour stay there wasn’t much fun. The train ended up being more than an hour late. That meant that it ended up picking up two trains’ worth of passengers. Not cool. Especially since it was one of the cabin-room trains, the ones that really limit the number of passengers who can be comfortable. I ended up initially jammed in the passageway of a car along with probably twenty other people since the cabins were all full by the time we jabbed and prodded our way onto the train. On top of that, some careless man hit me in the mouth as he was squeezing past us. For some reason he thought it would help to run his hand along the windows, regardless of the fact that people were standing against them. I admit I gave him a not-very-happy look.
Things seemed to look up a little when not an hour into the trip a young guy came out of the cabin I was standing in front of. I asked if there was a place inside and he said yes, I should go in. I opened the door to have another young guy, a punk, fairly snarl at me that the cabin was full. I responded in Berber that the other guy told me there was a place. Thankfully an older man in the cabin stood up and took my rolly luggage to put it on the overhead racks for me. That gave me a chance to settle down in the crowded cabin with my backpack and messenger bag. The rest of the trip was not horribly unpleasant, but there wasn’t much nice about it. And arriving in Marrakesh a full two hours late, at 10:00pm, was a bit inconvenient.
The hotel I’d booked for the night wasn’t far, alhamdulillah, but its restaurant also wasn’t open or even appealing for dinner. After dropping my stuff off and splashing some water on my face, I braved the crazy traffic below to buy cold (yes, cold!) water at the shop across the street. Next I headed back to the train station to land some KFC for dinner, crispy strips and a Pepsi. Easy and comfortable. I ate alone in my room, grabbed a shower, got moral support from Fauve and passed out.
Today started out ok. The hotel chain is infamous for not putting out their hot buffet breakfast food until after 8:00am. I tried to suppress my irritation at blowing a disgusting 59 dirhams ($8) of my parents’ generosity on a cold breakfast of machine-made coffee and stale pastries. The processed meat and fake cheese sandwich that I had (on toasted white bread) was good. At least the restaurant guy was really friendly and helpful, and spoke to me in Berber. That made everything much better. And the front desk man expressed his apologies for the AC in my room not working. I told myself, the money was worth paying for the location and the relative lack of hassle.
Today I traveled entirely by bus. My first bus ended up leaving 45 minutes late, making me wonder if I would miss my connection in Agadir. Thankfully no problems there. I made the bus to Tiznit and enjoyed a nap for most of the ride. The funny thing about that bus, though, is that it literally gets to the first gas station on the Agadir side of town and then stops for a 40 minute lunch break, less than five minutes down the road from the bus station. I thought about getting my bags and walking into town, but I figured it would be better for me to try to relax, hit up the restroom, and change into my long-sleeve, butt-covering shirt.
The most interesting thing about those two bus trips was the accompanying soundtrack. On both I experienced the very Moroccan habit of playing music loudly on cell phones. Not just one would-be DJ, though, but at least two with the bus drivers occasionally joining in with music over the speaker system. The second bus was particularly bad, with an obnoxious 20-something girl next to me insisting on blasting her music throughout the entire trip, and then turning it up when the lady in front of me turned hers on too. I almost said something, but I refrained. Working on that whole “go with the flow” thing, yeah, Fauve?
Once on the ground in Tiznit I walked to the center to see about a ride home. I stopped at the taxi stand on the off chance that a driver would want passengers enough to take the “new road”, the one I live on, rather than the slightly more direct “old road”. The driver I encountered scoffed at me as he usually does, and I moved on to the road where my transit vans park. No luck there, being the early afternoon on a Sunday, so I headed for the city/countryside buses. Somehow I got lucky and mine was there! Crazy timing! Or so I thought.
This bus drama was interesting, and I enjoyed it mainly because I knew I’d get home eventually and there was a wonderful breeze coming in through the windows. The weather in Tiznit was perfect today! Warm in the sun, but perfect in the shade.
Anyway, I sat along with a bunch of other people on a big bus waiting while a mechanic worked on something or other. It started to become clear that the work wasn’t going too well. I prepared myself mentally to have to change buses when another one came free. Sure enough the call came to switch and I managed to land a good seat. But then the mechanic started working on the new bus, sure enough. He seemed to think he finally got things right after a while, but the driver said there was still a problem. The mechanic and another company worker insisted that the driver just get on with it and go along the route. The advice was to just drive slowly and carefully. Great.
Whatdya know but not three minutes down the road we start getting some foul-smelling smoke. Thankfully we were just pulling up next to the bus company’s main garage. We stopped and the driver went to grab a new mechanic.
The crowd on the bus was a jolly one and I enjoyed listening to their chatter. One man in particular was going on and on about Tashlheit as a language and culture. Others were chiming in. That wonderful breeze was blowing right through the window next to me. I was ready to get home, but it wasn’t too bad to sit. Eventually this new mechanic said things would work and we went along with it. Things did indeed hold up and pretty soon I was stepping out alone at the road leading into my village.
I stopped to set my bags down and get adjusted for the 13 minute walk up to my house. Before I knew it, I was struggling not to bust out into tears. I was so happy to be home after a long time, but that wasn’t the only thing. It was the release of all that stress of traveling, dealing with people and family, not sleeping well, not eating right, all sorts of things. I was glad no one else got off the bus with me, and no one else was in sight. I needed a moment. I ended up shedding some tears on the walk, but I still haven’t gotten the necessary good cry in. That’ll come, just hopefully not when I’m out and about catching up with people.
I have plenty more in my head that I’d like to write, but now it’s just after 10:00pm and I want to go to sleep. I haven’t written anything for a really long time. I hope to make up for it with some stuff I’ve been thinking about for a while. Insha’allah later. For now, bed.
