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Caught a taxi to the swish, new bus station in outer Agadir. It’s a big place, bigger than I imagined. Taxi driver was a nice guy trying to learn English and already had a good basic grasp. Tipped him as he did the right thing by me and used the meter. They’re not all scum bags over here. Some are just trying to scrape a meager living. There was a huge ticket hall at the new bus station and none of the seediness that the other one reeked of. There were a number of cats hanging around as they do in nearly all public places over here. There was huge number of empty bus bays outside. I wondered if they would ever get to use them all. Worked which was my bus. Always a hassle I find. Guy took my bag and then stung me for five DH. Lucky I had some change.
The bus trip seemed much more direct than the bus I took to Agadir. It was also a lot more modern with comfortable seats and fellow passengers who didn’t look as though they were about to slit your throat. The only downside was that I’d managed to
sit on the sunny side of the bus yet again. Seems to always happen to me. We got into Marrakech slightly early so I had a three hour wait for my train. There was no sign of any left luggage facility at the railway station or through the Supra Tours office which adjoined. So I had to lug my heavy bag around with me while I waited for the night train. It was about forty degrees C so I decided to cross the road and grab a cold beer.or two. Killed some time doing that and then had a chicken meal at a cheapie restaurant around the corner. The guy took my piece of chicken out from a tired looking roster. I was convinced I was about to get food poisoning. Chicken tasted good but the overall meal was ordinary. Much better value in Agadir.
Boarded my train half an hour early. There were six seats in each first class compartment. I seemed to have the place to myself but others began shuffling in and there was only one spare seat as we pulled out at nine. Luckily that seat happened to be opposite me so I could stretch
my legs. The ticket inspector moved another person from our compartment so the passenger from Chad sitting next to me also spread out. A young guy near the door was glued to DVDs he was watching while the other one kept popping out for a smoke. Chad guy offered me some of his chocolate which he had been cooling near the air con duct. He told me he had a Canadian passport and had spent five years working in The States. If it was a cellular phone company he’s a good company man. Was on his mobile constantly. Less than half of the first class carriage was occupied while sleepers were all sold out.
He bid his farewell to me after my tranquiliser had kicked in. It was all a bit of a burr as people got on and off all through the night. The last memory I have is playing tootsies with an attractive young female passenger. Confined spaces do have their advantages at certain times. Or maybe that was just a fantasy. The seat directly across from me was finally taken within the last hour of the trip. Lucky me. Better then than at the beginning of
the journey. It was nice to arrive at a place I knew for a change. As I walked out of Tngier station taxis offered me rides to the airport for 200 DH. The going rate is 100 so I just laughed them off.. I walked up the main drag and reacquainted myself with Hotel De Paris. Had their breakfast which was very reasonably priced. They were happy for me to leave my luggage with them. What a relief! Went back to my usual internet café for an hour. It was like being at home. It’s all relative I guess.
Hotel De Paris even ordered a taxi for me and the driver was waiting when I arrived back ten minutes early. Didn’t want to chance losing an airport fare by the looks of it. He drove an old Merc taxi which usually comes at a premium price but I was assured I would be charged just 100 DH for the trip. I’m such a cynical traveller these days that I only believe such statements when they come true. In this case it panned out as planned with the taxi driver happily accepting the 100 DH. I walked into the Tangier
Airport Terminal. Very modern and very deserted. There was four plasma screen departure information boards that were set just above eye level so even I could clearly see them. Thumbs up to you, Tangier airport administrators. Pity there was no tangible information on the boards. It was a curious scene. A brand spanking new departure terminal with numerous check ins but no passengers. The only area of activity being the entrance to the toilets. A steady stream of people were trudging through there. Maybe there was a special on bowel movements this month? What other explanation could there be? I decided to follow the masses suffering from Deli belly and bloated bladders. I discovered that there were passengers at this airport. Passengers flying on budget airlines all crammed into a tiny part of the airport while the vast bulk of the terminal lay idle.
I asked an official whether Easy Jet is boarding. I have to do that or ask fellow passengers because there’s no way I can see the boarding signs above check in counters. Let me get on my soap box momentarily and say you’d think these dorks could make airports a bit more user friendly for
us blind geezers. So check in finally opened and I joined a small queue waiting to be processed. (take note Ryan Air) I headed into the departure lounge and thought of ways of disposing of what Moroccan cash I had. I bought a couple of drinks which were okay and gave what was left to the cleaning lady there. She smiled as I placed the modest sum into her hand. I doubt they ever get much recognition. I join another queue to board the flight. The flight service chick pulls apart half my boarding pass and says you’re on Easy Jet, there’s been a half hour delay. Second time this sort of thing has happened to me. No doubt there was an announcement in both Arabic and French neither of which meant Didley to me. So we wait and wait and wait. The traveller’s curse. Finally the plane arrives and we get to board. The plane is only half full so I spread out in the back seat. Unlike Ryan Air’s crass commercial hype music we’re greeted with classical tones. Looks like it could be a good flight after much delay. I hoped so because I wasn’t looking forward to
navigating Madrid’s metro in Peak hour and trying to find my digs.
The plane taxied to the main strip. No sooner had the aircraft straightened up it was gunned to maximum thrust. There’s no messing about for these budget airlines. Within a minute we were sailing into the heavens. A few minutes later the announcements started coming offering all sorts of wonderful deals on food, grog, perfume which were obvious rip-offs. I chose to ignore the same old spiel and looked out the window at the Mediterranean below. Then a few moments later I spotted it. Land! I was back in the bosom of Europe with it’s mountains of subsidised milk and other agro products. I was back in the Euro zone where the thieves wore Armani suits and called themselves currency traders rather than the wallet picking scum that accosted me outside of Agadir. Oh well I guess it’s a case of the devil you know. Wound my watch forward one hour and was looking forward to an uneventful landing after approximately an hour in the air. That wasn’t to be as my plane was buffeted by cross
winds the entire time it made its descent. With only a minute to go before touchdown the pilot gunned the engines and made a hasty ascent. The plane traveller’s worst nightmare. Crap like this only happens if something really bad has happened. We banked for another attempt at landing as an unconvincing flight service chick announced that this was quite a normal procedure. I could just see the Zucker brothers plastering in bold type BULLSHIT across the screen in Flying High 16. Got to say I wasn’t a happy camper as we made our second approach to Madrid. A pilot only aborts at that late stage if some serious shit is happenning. I prayed he hadn’t had a nervous breakdown which had happened to a co pilot recently. As it turned out we descended smoothly and made a reasonably soft landing. At this stage I would have accepted a belly flop if it got me down in one piece. One passenger clapped as we landed. The rest of us just sat frozen, thanking our good luck.
We disembarked the plane and were immediately held up by an official who quizzed us one by one re our nationality. Never seen
this before. Must have something to do with the origin of the flight being from Morocco. I assumed that this check was in lieu of the passport check. I was wrong. I was sent back by the officious passport officer to complete a form before he did his perfunctory stamping of my passport. What a farce. Picked up my big back pack with no drama then approached a surly lady behind an information desk. Found the toilet, found the ATM with relative ease. The metro was a bit more of a challenge but got there by following a couple of self absorbed American tourists. Most of the yanks seem to put up barriers in my encounters anyway. I thought I was going to be walking to central Madrid the Metro was so far away. It was bit daunting once I got on it with all the connections required to make it to Sol central station. A lady I sat next to kindly assisted me in deciphering the Metro transit map. She must have been a trained cryptologist. I bumped into a fellow Aussie from Sydney who was also trying to get to my part of Madrid. Together we worked it
out while confused locals still grappled with the labyrinth of intersecting lines. Got off at Sol and said my goodbye to Shaun.
Travelled up the escalator to the square above and began walking. Heard the friendly chirping of the Spanish pedestrian crossings. Couldn’t see a street sign even though one may have been staring me in the face. Asked a couple of locals. Eventually got the good oil. Of course I’d been walking in the opposite direction to what I should have been. Happens every time. Searched for number 32 but couldn’t find it. Asked a well dressed helpful looking man for directions who was helpful indeed. He found the hostel for me in spite of the fact that I had written down the wrong number. It was number 31 not 32. Safer to get a print out. Went upstairs in the old worldy elevator. Took me a couple of tries to work out. How to open the door. You push it, dahhh! At times I feel a bit like an infant travelling, unaware of the world around, always exploring. Stimulating but at times tiring as well. Get upstairs and am greeted by the smiling owner of the pension.
He didn’t speak a word of English (strange in his form of work) He found my booking much to my relief and the check in went smoothly. The room was small, windowless and hot but the bed looked comfortable. Mind you a park bench would have looked inviting at that stage. I was totally buggered suffering from the onset of a cold. The owner showed me how the keys worked which I only partially understood. I put my head down and relaxed for a moment before heading out into the streets of pick pocket central.
Checked out the local area. It was teaming with people but lacked the architectural elegance of Seville. Knocked on the doors of several pensions and hostels. There were mo rooms available on my budget for both Friday and Saturday night. Thought I fond a room for Friday but the receptionist had got her information wrong and confirmed they were booked out. Very frustrating. The sensible thing to have been done would be to form some type of strategy to find a place to doss the following night. Instead I did what any self respecting Aussie would do, I concentrated my efforts on finding a
cold beer. Bought a big bottle of amber and mineral water at a Chinese supermarket. They seem to be the only people who chill beer over here. One day the locals may work that one out. Went back to my room, turned on the pedestal fan to max and sank a coldie as I contemplated being homeless in Madrid the following two nights. The relaxing effects of the beer helped clear my head and I contemplated another strategy. If it became impossible to find some where to rest my weary head blow off Madrid all together and take an overnight bus to Lisbon. Trouble is I didn’t know if there were any overnight buses there and secondly I had no idea where they departed from. Minor issues in the scheme of things. As I coughed my lungs out I consoled myself with the thought that I’d survived one of the most frightening plane flights of my life. Sort of put things in perspective as I watched a classic Chuck Norris flick on the box. His dialogue sounds better in Spanish.
Woke up around eight the following morning feeling less than comfortable about my impending homeless status. Wanted to get
an early start to look for a place or seek alternative options. Unfortunately the owner was fast asleep on his mattress preventing me from having a shower. Bumped into a fellow Aussie staying there who told me she just side stepped Jose Van Winkle before popping into the shower. I threw caution to the wind and did the same. The hot water flow was erratic at best but I managed to get a decent soaking. Had a minor panic attack back in my room. What should I do? Look for another place or head off to or a metro that had a bus station attacked? Went with the later option thinking there may also be cheap hostels/pensions near there as well. Decided to take all my gear with me and check out. I had no other option as I was sure the owner wouldn’t understand my request to leave my luggage. It’s a real pain staying at a place where you have zero chance of communication. For me Madrid was becoming a tough town to stay in. Apart from the shortage of rooms there was a lack of English speakers on the Metro and elsewhere. Was much easier in Seville
which isn’t what I expected.
I got to the metro station, Avda De America without too much hassle. It was the usual crowded confusing place you expect to encounter. I rode up a number of escalators and eventually found a booking hall for buses. I walked around the corner from there and found what I was really looking for an Information desk. Something that is sorely lacking in European cities. The woman there spoke a little English and was very pleasant. I discovered that I’d fluked the station where buses depart for Lisbon. If I wanted to return to the familiar surrounds of Seville I’d have to got to another metro further south. I asked if there were any overnight buses to Lisboa as they called it. She gave me a print out with the latest bus leaving at 22:00. Perfect I said and thanked her. I joined the long queue for tickets around the corner and secured my bus seat. It was a feeling of real relief to know that I was leaving the overpriced environs of Madrid and had a place to sleep that night. The next task was to find an empty locker where I could
leave my luggage There were no spare lockers available plus you’d have to be a rocket scientist to understand the instructions. A young Spanish couple told me of another metro that may have spare lockers. Madrid just seems to go out of it’s way to make life hard for travellers. I won’t be coming back here too soon.
I checked out the local area above the metro station. I soon decided that I really wanted to ditch my heavy back pack. I went to the other metro station that supposedly had spare lockers. Not a locker to be seen. How wrong could that couple have been. Not only that the station was set in a suburban wasteland where there was no where nearby to have a drink or eat a meal. A total waste of a trip so I returned to Avda De America. I fond a bar not far from the station that had combo meals for eight euros which included coffee I needed a caffeine fix so I sat myself down at one of the tables inside. The guy there gave me a run down of what options I had. He spoke a bit of English so
I had some idea of what I was ordering. Bread was delivered to my table which was about a third of a baguette. Gone were the heady days of bread by the bucket loads in Morocco. A tuna salad came next followed by a steak and chips which was tasty and then ice cream for desert. Not a bad deal really. Place was almost empty when I got there at 13:30 but got busier after 14:00. Opposite to what you’d expect back home. I ordered a couple of beers and killed a couple of hours there. Left at 15:30 which gave me another six hours to shed. Slung the 15 Ks of dead weight over my shoulders, held my other back pack in my hands and headed out into the streets again.
I walked slowly to conserve energy. I found an ATM a few blocks down the road and withdrew some cash. Then I headed off down some back streets. It was quite and attractive area but the backpack burden was starting to take its toll after half an hour or so. Luckily there were plenty of park benches all around the place. I removed my big backpack and
sat down to take in the sights. It was an interesting exercise seeing I’d never been here before. I repeated this pattern all during the afternoon. Had a pretty good idea of the lay of the land after four hours of this. Stopped off at a Burger King so I could get a cold drink and use their loo. They’re a bit different to the one’s back home as they serve beer as well. They were totally understaffed with only one girl serving so it took a while to place my order. But I was time rich beyond your dreams so it was no big imposition. Beggar came into the Burger King soon after I sat down to have my drink He approached me first and addressed me in English which was a little eerie. He began some spiel about his family accompanied with the visual aid of a pile of books. I made it clear I was of no use to him and he moved on to hassle other customers. Bit suspicious that he spoke such good English. Sign of a professional beggar perhaps? He was the first I’d come across in Madrid so it was nirvana compared to
Morocco.
I moved on from the Burger King like some homeless person. I vowed I’d buy some new luggage for my next trip. Luggage that has wheels attached so I won’t have to lug weight like this anymore. General observations about Madrid - There seemed to be a lot more women than men about, there seemed to a large number of infirmed people using walking sticks. Lastly there were a lot of travellers walking the streets towing their wheekie baggage behind them. Returned to Burger King to order a cold Pepsi with ice. Went upstairs where it was quiet and chilled out literally and metaphorically for another hour. Only a few more hours more and the bus would be departing. Stopped off at another park bench and a guy stood next to a wall opposite me. I assumed he was just relaxing or waiting for someone but as it turned out he was begging. It seemed like that to me when he pulled out a case which had a message written out on either side of it.
Returned to the bus station. Could see no sign of any bus departing to Lisbon. Asked someone there to interrupt my
bus ticket. They said I needed to go upstairs where the intercity buses leave. This was all news to me of course. I went back to the ticket counter to clarify the situation and the girl there told me that my bus was leaving from bay 20-24. I walked past the totally useless left luggage lockers and discovered the second bus station. A woman in uniform told me where my bus would leave from. I stepped in front of one of the fans projecting mist into the air and waited for the bus’s arrival. Checked the scrolling destination on the electronic display above the windscreen of the bus and saw it was bound for Portugal. The driver seemed in no hurry to let the handful of passengers on board. Finally he allowed us to store our luggage under the bus. He insisted that I also store my small backpack holding my computer under the bus. I protested but it fell on deaf ears. The guy was a humorless arsehole. What really pissed me off is that he allowed two girl travellers to hold n to their back packs. Half a dozen of us get on board, I choose a seat
near the back. It was leather and very comfortable with an excellent recliner. I settled in for the eight hour plus trip to Lisbon.
Fifteen minutes later we arrived at another bus station in Madrid. We all had to get out and are totally confused. The areshole bus driver seemed to offer no adequate explanation to the locals travelling with me. Do we have to change buses? Is there some sort of problem? We were just left there to stew. I looked up at the departure board at that bus bay and saw tha it was slotted to leave at 23:00. So yet again I had to wait around in a bus station for my journey. The bus company must have thought I didn’t get enough carbon monoxide fumes at the other station. One guy there lit up so he could be sure he got his full quota of monoxide. Eventually we are allowed back on the bus just before 23:00. I show some new guy checking tickets my bus pass and he refuses to let me on. I’m thinking why me? Why does travelling have to be such a pain in the arse? I try to point out
to this dickwit that my luggage is already stored on this bus. A guy in uniform next to him checks my ticket and tells him to let me onboard. Thanks for nothing ALSA bus lines, I’ll be taking the train from now on. I headed to the back of the bus and settled in, again. This time the bus totally filled up. A couple approached me wanting my seat. I pointed to the empty seats in front of me wondering what they were on about. Then someone said in English that we all have seat numbers. News to me of course. I apoligised to the couple and headed to the front of the bus where I had a single seat. Finally we headed off. The internal lights were lowered and a DVD movie was displayed on the screen in the front of the bus. I took my tranquiliser around 23:30. A couple of selfish woman sitting opposite me didn’t stop yakking until around 05:00. just about when the effects of the pill finally wore off. The perfect end to a ‘perfect’ day in Madrid.
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Here's lookin' at you kid
Note to Terry: Pronunciation is "ah- ga- deer", according to Dictionary.com. So that's it for Morocco. No further plans for Africa, then? Not heading down to Zimbabwe where that nice Mr Mugabe is doing so well? Glad to see that your keyboard seems to be fixed. Your last email contained so many typos I assumed it was set on "random".