So my friend Jen moved to Casablanca a few months ago and asked me (I offered) to bring along another big bag when I came over. I was planning a carry on for myself so why not take advantage of the checked bag allowance and bring her stuff.
So I came to aquire the blue giant. A hardsided suitcase of old, that was given to me to bring and leave. I filled it to exactly 50lbs. Extracting my due by including some light liquids of my own of course. I had rubber boots, a bike helmet, various clothing items, some notes from the kids, a teddy bear and some dollar store stickers, as requested. No peanut butter. That stuff weighs 900 lbs.
Had I thought this through in Canada beyond having the bag in my house and getting it to Jen, I would have totally avoided eye contact and denied any ability to bring it along. But, off we went. Me, my carry on and the blue giant. It wasn’t until we landed in Casa that it all became apparent…….all of it.
50 lbs of hardsided luggage. Now this is where shit gets real. We left the airport and Laura got her tourist hat on. Off she marches to the curb to negotiate with the taxi men. She had this planned. Had done her research and had a limit. She was on it. (keep in mind that we have now been on the move for about 18 hours , maybe more). So, she says to the guy, “combien?” he says 300 dirhams. NON MONSIEUR. NON. she says. “trente no pe plus” with her hand on her hip and her attitude all over her clearly Canadian face.
BAH they say. And ALL the cabbies walk away. Some swearing. Some Arabic. Some hand gestures. And Laura looks confused. She thinks. I think I saw her scratch her head. Then the look. You all know the look, of sudden horror and realization. OOOOHHHHHHHH. It was from the TRAIN STATION that we are supposed to pay so little. Not the airport. We still had a 30 minute trip into town. Oh dear. So I called Jen from my new phone number. “Uh, how do you get from the airport into town when all the cabbies think you’re crazy?”
TO THE GARE!
Back we go into the airport. All our shit and the blue giant. Wheeling along. We had to get the bags onto the conveyor belt to get through the security at the door. Fine for our stuff, but that giant was 50 lbs and we were TIRED. (I had not slept since being at the gym the day before and I was SORE too).
Going through Security I hear a scuffle behind me. Then I hear Laura in her Canadian accented “French” saying “Je suis desolee” followed by a mans voice saying “I love you” . I lost it. Again. Laughing out loud may not be a very lady like thing to do here but there it was. Again.
We get a train ticket and on to the tracks to wait. Sweat POURING from my face. We wait. The train comes. Its up 3 ft so the man helps us up. He’s cute and nice and both of us got to wrestle the monster. On to the train. Which is stopped. Devoid of air, smelling like urine, and essentially a sweat factory.
Finally we arrive at our station, and with the help of the same nice man we TRY to get off the train. But nooooooo. Laura is having an Arabic lesson from the nice man, mid disembarcation, with the blue giant threatening our very existence. But….LA means no. and Robama means sorry. NOT OBAMA. HAHAHA. Amercians.
NON Monsieur. Canada.
Now if anyone is paying attention here, you will realize, with the same dawning sense of nausea, that train stations ALWAYS come with stairs down, and stairs back up. Yup. There goes the blue giant.