Casablanca
after 36 hours in transit
In a one-word summary: epic.
Taoyuan to Bangkok... Bangkok to Amsterdam... Amsterdam to Paris... Paris to Casablanca. A day and a half of my life gone and not a journey I'd want to repeat in a hurry.
Friday was spent getting packed - the usual last-minute frenzy. I'd hoped to buy some poly' sheeting that builders use as a damp-proof membrane to cover the bike in, but B&Q and others didn't have any. In the end I trusted KLM not to object to my un-boxed bike and opted to just wrap cardboard around the seat and handlebars.
They did object.
On the plus side, they didn't charge me for excess baggage - I was at least 10kg over the allowed 23kg - which I put down to the check-in staff not wanting to wind me up even more after already causing me to fume at having to cover the chain and wheels in cardboard. Perhaps the extra US$100 I paid for a second item of luggage helped. In a word: Rip-off.
Europe's dismal weather gave way to blue skies as the plane flew closer to Morocco. I had the row of three seats to myself on that last leg, so could stretch out a bit.
The plane landed at 4:00 PM and by five I'd gone through immigration, exchanged a few hundred euros into local dosh, reassembled the bike, cleared customs and found a Moroc Telecom dealer inside the airport's lobby.
A dongle with a SIM card cost me roughly 20 euros - 200 of the local money - and the clerk set it up there and then. For that small amount, I could use my own little laptop anywhere in the country.
When I asked in the shop about getting to the town of Beni Mellal - around 200km east - the 20-something dongle guy said there were no buses from the airport, but grand taxis (Mercedes Benz) were just outside. In truth, I couldn't face a few more hours of (expensive) travel and after he said the buses leave from the city centre, and that I could get my bike on the train there, I wheeled it through the lobby to the ticket counter.
The six o'clock service arrived and once the guard gave me the nod to squeeze the bike on board, I bought a 40Dh second class ticket to Casa Voyageurs, 30 minutes and 30 km away. It was dusk when it pulled in.
A middle-aged woman on the train who spoke perfect English pointed me in the right direction - another touch of helpfulness that I'd experienced in my short time in Morocco - and after getting a bit lost, I eventually found Hotel du Centre, my goal. It was full. Shame, as single rooms were just 200Dh, or about 20 euros.
I'd already asked at a place around the back, which was more costly but very nice, and decided to bite the bullet and splash out the 550Dh for a room there (It was originally 750Dh). By this time I was dead beat and just wanted to sleep. And that's what I did, like a log.
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Saturday
My head throbbed with a belting headache when I woke up around 8:00; all the traveling had clearly stressed me out. Not relishing moving out of my bubble of luxury, I opted to stay another night. No, hotel Les Saisons was not a cheap place, but the included buffet breakfast in the adjacent restaurant was a veritable feast: I scoffed a fat omelet, with cheese and a sausage, a bowl of chocolate cereal and milk, prunes with yogurt, a couple of glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice, followed by coffee and a two delicate croissants.
Later I spent an hour wandering around central Casa, taking snaps before having to dash back to the hotel to empty my stomach of all that brekky. You're spared the details.
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I just needed to safely escape the sprawling city and during the afternoon, I found the nearby CTM bus station, which the hotel guy had confused me with by pronouncing it sea-ti-em. It was either going to be the 9:00 AM or 1:00 PM departure for me. The cycle tour proper was about to begin.
The forecast gave sunshine for the next five days. In a word: brilliant.
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