After an unplanned delay, see July 4th, we were off for a weekend adventure. Well, we thought we were off for a weekend adventure. Having staked out the various travel options the day before, my friend Hilary and I had planned to catch the 8am bus to Chefchaouen. Arriving early at the station I encountered a lady who was looking for a group of foreigners also headed up to Chefchaouen, I mentioned that I was not a part of the group, but I was headed that way as well. When Hil arrived we proceeded to the counter to book our tickets. The kind lady behind the counter asked if we wanted seats on the 11am bus. Figuring we simply had not been heard we repeated our request for two seats on the 8am bus. It was full! Thanks to the lovely group of foreigners who had taken up a considerable number of seats. Not to be defeated we decided to head to the train station and basically catch the next train to somewhere that sounded nice, regardless of what happened, we were leaving town!
Arriving at the train station few options sounded exciting. However a train was headed up north to Tanger at 10:50 so we decided that would be our best option. With time to kill and tickets in hand, we settled in for breakfast at the neighboring cafe. Attempting to be effective with my time I tried to complete a few more post cards, an activity that lasted all of about ten minutes before curiosity got the best of me. People watching is a fascinating pastime, even though here in Morocco I feel like more of a fish trapped in the fish bowl with everyone seemingly watching my every move. Before long my observations were starring me directly in the face as a foreigner walked up to our table. In a gesture of international kindness we greeted one another and began the all too familiar conversation of where we were from, going, living, doing, etc. This exchange of pleasantries usually lasts a matter of minutes with both parties continuing on, but with time to kill and no place to go we invited the young man to sit down.
In the States people don't just usually walk up and sit down at your table uninvited, but when you are overseas every foreigner instantly becomes a friend. I like to lovingly refer to them as "my people". Each one provides a small reminder of home and the familiar. I especially enjoy hearing about the various adventures across the globe and the language/cultural blunders that are common to all travelers. Today our new friend was Simon, a 19-20 year old kid who knew 3 if not 4 languages and is an international wilderness guide. He has scaled numerous mountains, has a passion for the outdoors and a knack for story telling. Quite the character he made for a unique break while waiting for the train.
When 10:30 rolled around we moved out to the platform and boarded our train. Settling in we began to relax until we began talking with a guy who had entered our compartment. Innocently inquiring into where he was headed we were taken a back when he responded with Marrakesh, a city in the complete opposite direction! Informing us that we were on the wrong train, we quickly thanked him and then bustled along. Making our way just feet down the isle we began to have second thoughts, asking another we were told that this was indeed the right train. Sighing a breath of relief we searched for a new abandoned compartment and once again made ourselves at home. A few moments later we were joined by an American girl who was traveling through Morocco. Exchanging greetings and formalities we discovered that we were headed to different locations, and again her destination was south of ours instead of north. She informed us that we were on the wrong train. Panicked we grabbed our stuff and booked it out of the compartment, this was getting ridiculous and the train was going to be leaving any minute! Finding yet another person, a Moroccan, we asked one final time exasperated by the varying degree of responses we had received thus far. He kindly told us that we were indeed on the CORRECT train and that we would switch trains at Sidi Kacem in order to board a train heading north. Drained by the events of the morning, we found yet another empty compartment and plopped down in what we determined was our final resting spot just as it pulled away from the station. It no longer mattered where the train was headed, we were simply leaving town.
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