Dakar via Yonkers and Casablanca

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So I land at LaGuardia, with temperatures more frigid than they have been in years, with only a wrap sweater for warmth. (Who needs a coat in Dakar and Ouagadougou, after all?) After the flight landed, I conferred with S to discover that yes, in fact, the flight to Dakar was cancelled for some unknown reason and South African Airways didn't have another available flight till Monday. Some of the coldest weather on record, and I, am coatless and possibly, homeless in New York.

After many sighs, some finagling and a pleasant chat through crosstown traffic with a fine Pakistani cab driver (Yasseen), S and I lament our fate over a buffalo burger and vodka tonics. She's coatless too. Rather than hang around watching DVDs and otherwise killing time till Monday, we decide to reroute through Casablanca via Royal Air Maroc on the next flight going: Saturday morning. We head to hospitable relatives in Yonkers (A & E's "B B & B") for an overnight stay.

Clearly not in Kansas anymore, we were fed a good (and hot) meal on the plane, enjoyed free booze and unparalleled efficiency. Further, since our layover was 12 hours, we were treated, as is the airline's custom, to accommodations at the King Mohammed V Airport hotel (now one of the Atlas Hotel chain) and two (count them TWO, EACH!) meal vouchers. Compared to what typically passes for service on American airlines, this was royal treatment!

We checked in and checked out the place, (very nice). With sign language, broken English and a French phrasebook, we hired a car and driver (Faoul) to take us into town for a little sightseeing in Casablanca. We stopped first at the beautiful King Hassan II mosque built right on the edge of the ocean; with retractable roofs and glass flooring that expose the ocean lapping at rocks beneath it. It's supposedly the tallest religious building in the world, and cost a half billion dollars to build, with no compensation to the poor Casablancans who were relocated to accommodate it. On the way to some other tourist diversion, I motion to Faoul to stop at a market. We wind through streets like mazes, haggle and buy music, scarves and other mementos; Enjoyed some delicious mint tea with one happy merchant, then headed back to the hotel for lunch (lamb and rice) and a nap before heading back to the airport.

All checked in (and with no overweight baggage fee), I'm presented with a postcard from a guy manning the register at an airport newstand. He motions for me to choose which one I want. I insist on taking the one he initially offered, and ask him to sign it. Boushil wrote, in English: "I wish all the best for you in this world."

And we're off to Dakar...

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