Morocco
Editor’s Note: At Casey’s request (lest anyone think pirates have finally struck) Andrew Humphries, who visited Mr. Hudetz in Morocco at the tail end of his own trip to Europe, will be guest blogging on Morocco.
Discount airlines delivered me to Northern Africa and Casey Hudetz greeted me. Pushing aside the throngs of native Moroccans awaiting the returns of loved ones from holidays in southern Europe, I saw him. He was excessively tan and he was holding a sign that said my name. Casey and I were in Africa together. Odd.
The trip back into Casablanca from the airport necessitated a train ride but when you travel with Casey, you need have no fear about any of the arrangements. Casey is an intuitive leader and he immediately told me that he would handle getting us two tickets back to the city. As he stepped to the window I remembered that Casey had lived in Belgium as a child and I leaned in to watch him flex the French speaking part of his brain, developed in near-infancy.
“Due!” Casey said, holding up two fingers.
The box office representative stared.
“Due!”
Nothing.
“Parlez-vous anglais?”
“Yes.”
“Two tickets to Casablanca please.”
“Ok.”
Success! We were going to get to Casablanca. On the train Casey ate a snack he had brought: an entire loaf of bread. Throughout my time in Morocco, I don’t think it’s an overstatement if I say that Casey ate more than 14 loaves of bread. He eats bread constantly.
I had submitted some paperwork to Casey (electronically! on the internet!) so that I might be able to take a tour of the Semester at Sea boat whose name, incidentally, I can’t ever remember. Attempts over the trip included “The SV Discovery”, “The TC Outlander” and “The Vijay Entrepreneur.” In actuality, I think it’s called the MV Explorer. At any rate, Casey had been nice enough to handle all this paperwork and I had been cleared by all of the necessary officials for visiting the ship.
Unfortunately, no one remembered to tell the Moroccan police. As we approached the gate, they motioned for me to show them my shipboard ID card. I don’t have a shipboard ID card because I’m not on the ship. I shrugged and looked at Casey. He looked at the policemen and then he and I spent the next few minutes involved in iterations of this conversation.
Andrew: “Guest! I am Guest!”
Casey: “You are Guest! He is Guest!”
Policeman 1: “NO! ID!”
Andrew: “My name is Guest!”
Casey: “He is my Guest! List! There is list!”
Andrew: “I have list!”
Policeman 2: “Where is list?”
Andrew: “Wait, I meant you have list!”
Policeman 2: “Who!”
Casey: “YOU! WHO!”
Andrew: “I think I’m going to go. I’m nonconfrontational and generally fearful.”
Policeman 1: “NO!”
Chocolate Drink Salesman: “YOO-HOO!”
Andrew: “You want me to stay?”
Policeman 1 and 2: “NO!”
Finally, some nice SAS students appeared and explained the whole situation in French. This helped somewhat and soon a third policeman appeared and produced the necessary list. Finally, I was let through and onto the bus shuttle that ferries one over to the ship.
When we arrived dockside, I got in the line with everyone else to go up the stairs and onboard. As I arrived at the front of the line there was a group of Moroccan policemen.
Policeman 6: “ID!”
Andrew: “Sigh.”
Policeman 8, 9, 10 and 11: “NO!”
Luckily, more kind SAS people appeared, namely Casey’s roommate, and they convinced the policemen to let me aboard. Their primary method of negotiation was shouting the word “OK!” and pointing at me. If I’d know how effective that could be I could’ve saved myself a lot of trouble at the front gate.
Getting to see the ship was worth the hassle, however. It’s a beautiful floating facility, with large classrooms, a sundeck, shuffleboard (unplayed, according to Case, for shame), basketball courts, small children, lots of potatoes and pasta, and a computer lab under the direction of one Casey Hudetz. At Francis. W. Parker, where Casey and I work together, the windows of the computer lab overlook the playground; on the FC Villager, the computer lab windows overlook the ocean. While in the computer lab, I helped put paper back in the printer.
Finishing with our tour, we headed back to our Hotel, the Hotel Central. There is one man who is seemingly at the Hotel Central’s front desk twenty four hours a day. Well, at the front desk might be an overstatement: he is usually laying on the couch in the foyer and will come to the front desk if you ask. His command of English is limited but he does say the word “Welcome!” a couple of dozen times in every conversation. Hospitable, to say the least.
We headed out and had our first real meal together and enjoyed the first of what would be many traditional Moroccan salads: a serving of multiple separate small salads that resemble chutneys, salsas, and other delicious ways to deliver vegetables to one’s mouth.
We got to bed early and awoke the next morning to catch a train to Marrakesh. Well, that’s not totally true. Casey, because he is good at being in charge, had picked out our train timetable and had us into a cab with more than enough time to catch the train. Then I revealed that I had left my camera back the hotel, a sinking feeling if ever there was one. Casey asked the cab driver to turn around but after another ten minutes it became clear that he wasn’t turning around and then he yelled at us some and then he threw us out of the cab. So, we strolled back over to the hotel to see if the camera had been stolen yet. As we did, we tried to figure out where exactly I’d left it:
Casey: “It wasn’t at breakfast.”
Andrew: “Are you sure? I left it on a chair at breakfast once in Norway. That’s where I tend to leave it.”
Casey: “No. Did you leave it in the room?”
Andrew: “Umm…”
Casey: “Didn’t you put it under some sheets or something?”
Andrew: “Yes, yes I did.”
Casey: “Why did you do that?”
Andrew: “So that no one could find it and steal it.”
Casey: “Sigh.”
Andrew: “I’m an idiot.”
Camera found! Onward to Marrakesh where were spent the next two days exploring the city’s medinas, ancient labyrinths of streets that now house hundreds of vendors willing to sell you many things to remind you of your time in Marrakesh. Casey sucessfully haggled the price of some jewlery down a few hundred dharim. He did not employ the aforementioned “OK!” negotiation style, instead shaking his head with a look of great concern. It was as if the jewlery he was looking at was potentially terminally ill:
Dr. Hudetz: “This jewlery, it seems nice but, it concerns me.”
Shop owner: “400 dharim!”
Dr. Hudetz: “I’d like to run some tests. Nurse, please bring me the chart.”
Shop owner: “350 dharim!!”
Dr. Hudetz: “I want this jewlery to have a happy life. That’s the oath I took and by god I will fulfill it! Get me an IV, good sir!”
Shop owner: “Take it! Free!”
Jewlery acquired. Within the medinas we also saw a beautiful example of a 19th century palace, a great looking mosque with a lush garden and a population of the most unkempt donkies in the world. At nightfall, the main square of the medina becomes a huge gathering place for locals. There are many stands selling hot meals and also a great deal of entertainment: monkeys on leashes (which scared me), snake charmers (who made Casey pay them the equivalent of a nickel for taking a picture without their permission) and acrobats.
After two great days in Marrakesh (staying at a place called the “Hotel Fashion”) we returned to Casablanca to finish out the trip. I was able to meet one of Casey’s good friends from the ship and we all spent a night on the town enjoying the city and a cab driver who drove us aimlessly around for 45 minutes, pulled over the car and talked to some other people for directions, and then acted petulantly after Casey scolded him (because Casey is good at being in charge).
Much more than just that could be shared but we have neither time nor space. A great many thanks to Casey for letting me follow him around the world and I hope everyone aboard the DCF Carpenter has a great voyage home. Next summer: Casey and Andrew in space!
