Travel: the Very Long Version

We made it.

Sarah and I traveled on the 3rd/4th. Everything went seamlessly for the most part. The LAX-LHR leg was uneventful. The highlights were the German film I watched and the Tim McGraw cd I listened to. The lowlights included the discovery of my 'restless leg syndrome' while trying to get comfortable, and the woman who crinkled her shopping bag for 15 minutes just as I had drifted off to sleep. I pondered in amazement that the narcoleptic (me) suffered from prolonged insomnia despite 3 sleeping pills.

After getting through security at Heathrow, Sarah and I passed out on the airport benches for over an hour. It felt good.

I don't know if it was because I was so tired but I was rather amused by the realization of spending July 4th in London and wondered whether I should wish our flight attendants a "Happy July 4th" or just a "Happy Independence Day". I refrained.

LHR-CMN was fairly unexciting as well, although Heathrow didn't post our gate until 20 minutes prior to 'take-off'. We had to scramble. Upon boarding the plane, our flight itself was delayed 30 minutes. 'Mr. Khadir' was a NO-SHOW so they had to unload ALL of the luggage to get his off.

A tour group of 20 Welsh middle schoolers sat all around us. I was quite entertained to hear the girl next to me rave about the Chicken Au Jus "This is the best Arabic food I've ever had". What is 'Arabic' food anyway?

In the airport, our baggage was the very last off the plane. We had started to sweat it a bit. Passport control took all of 5 minutes. I guess we didn't appear to be security threats. Exchanged our money, bought our train tickets, and sat around for the 55 minutes before the next train to Casa Voyageurs. I studied the French dictionary like a mad-woman. It was difficult to get my suitcase onto the train, although I've noticed the locals here are quite helpful. A Moroccan woman grabbed my suitcase and shoved it on the train for me. A Moroccan man carried it off and handed it to a luggage porter who got us a taxi.

Much to our surprise, neither the taxi driver nor the baggage porter could locate the hotel at which we had been directed to stay. They suggested another hotel- Hotel Maamoura. I figured they would probably get a kickback from taking us to that hotel, but as 2 white women traveling alone after dark in an Islamic country, we were not about to argue. We made it to our hotel, I took a tour of our room, agreed on the rate and was about to pay when I realized my wallet (ie: all of my money, my debit card, credit card, driver's license) was nowhere to be found. Left in the cab! It had fallen out earlier, Sarah grabbed it for me, and set it on the seat between us. I thought she still had it and she thought I picked it up. We all know what happens when one assumes :) I know you won't believe this, but I stayed cool, calm, and collected despite being separated from all forms of currency, although Sarah did say later that all of the color drained very quickly from my face.

The hotel clerk reassured us that he would call the cab driver "soon" and "don't worry, he (cab driver) is my friend", but Sarah stepped up and said "This is very important; please call NOW". He replied "What? You don't trust me?" Shame is a big deal in this culture and I think we had 'shamed' him. OOPS. Culture Faux Pas #1. Fortunately for us, since the cab driver was a friend of the hotel, the wallet was returned with everything in it within 5 minutes. PTL!

(We apologized later for the whole 'shame' incident.)

Thus, in a mere 36 hours we had successfully used 3 different transportation systems, navigated our way through 3 airports in 3 cities, found and procured a hotel, all using an odd conglomerate of 3 different languages... and with my money still intact. We slept very soundly that night.