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Published: August 21st 2007
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Planning for a down day, Gene and I had the luxury of sleeping in. We felt no need to scurry to breakfast seeing as our morning meal was made available to us at our convenience. Revitalized, we headed up to the terrace where the cook dawdled in anticipation of our arrival.
Almost as if he had been awaiting our company, Fred turned the corner with a cup of coffee in hand as soon as we took our seats. Happy to see his smiling face, we welcomed him to take a seat next to us. Our conversation picked up where it had left off the night before, with Fred’s additional commentary on our abandonment of work to travel. “You two are crazy! I love it!”
Genuinely interested in the whereabouts of our future travels, Fred questioned where we were headed next.
“We’re going to travel up through Spain, spend a couple of days in Portugal, and then head through France to meet with Gina’s niece in Paris at the beginning of July,” Gene explained.
Fred informed us that he would be in Paris at the end of June for a jazz festival that he and his friends annually attend. He further divulged that he had bought a barge some years back and built a home on it, and that he and his boat owner friends cruise the Seine every year to attend the festival. Unexpectedly, we were invited to spend five days on Fred’s boat along with his cousin, Vincent, and Vincent’s wife.
“I can assure you that it will make for a good blog story,” Fred promised with a wink and a smile. “You don’t need to answer now. Just think about it.”
Gene and I exchanged the “wow” look, not wanting to speak up without discussing it first. We both knew that it would mean altering the plans of our trip in order to go.
When Fred excused himself from the table to attend to other guests, Gene and I immediately got down to business and conferred regarding the proposed opportunity. It did not take either of us long to agree that foregoing our trip to Portugal in exchange for such a unique experience was well worth the price. Before the end of breakfast, we had already informed Fred that we would make the necessary changes to our itinerary to meet him in Paris in June.
Gene and I passed the next few hours in the medina, window shopping and hunting down an ATM. When we returned to the riad, we were greeted at the entryway by a cheery Fred who waved us in his direction, claiming that he had something he wanted to show us. Simultaneously, Gene and I exchanged a raised eyebrow behind Fred’s back as he nonchalantly placed a thick hard-covered book on barge river homes in front of us, paging his way to the 6-page spread on his barge,
The Viking. Gene and I both casually stated, “Very nice,” in response to Fred, while exchanging a “
Holy shit!” under our breaths. The
boat that Fred had invited us on was a three level, three bedroom house on water, very tastefully decorated. Apparently, there was more to Fred than he made known and we looked forward to becoming better acquainted with him in the near future.
We were sad to leave our newly made friend behind so soon, but at the same time eager to make our way into Europe. Unfortunately, by the time we reached the train station, all first-class tickets to Tanger were sold out - the station was in chaos. We would be left to fend for ourselves in the overcrowded, unassigned seating of the non-air-conditioned second-class train cars. The train we were scheduled to take wasn’t due to arrive into the Tanger station until after 9 p.m. as it was, which made any option of catching a later train merely unfeasible.
Hoping at least to be one of the first to climb up onto the train for a seat, Gene and I shuffled through the crowd to the front of the platform. The minutes slowly passed, as did the time the train was due to arrive. All the while, the throng of people on the platform continued to grow.
At least we will be one of the first to board. I couldn’t make out what the uniformed man was bellowing from the other end of the platform. Then, like a swarm of bees jarred from the hive, everyone started jumping down into the tracks and across to the opposite platform. Stuck with our luggage in tow, we had to make our way to the end of the platform to cross at the ramp. Working our way to the front of the platform on that occasion would prove no easier than pummeling through the Bears’ defensive line. Actually getting onto the train would be another story.
The train finally pulled into the station some forty minutes late. Fighting the crowds was worse than we could ever have anticipated. People were jumping onto the train stoop before it even slowed to a stop.
“Push!” Gene shouted.
“I’m trying!” I hollered back, but was nearly toppled over every time I so much as lifted my suitcase from the ground. I had no idea how I was going to fight hundreds of people onto a train with a bag in hand that weighed almost as much as me. When I finally squeezed my foot onto the stoop, I was unable to lift my bag from the platform with all of the people thrusting onto the train past me.
“Just go!” Gene urged. “I’ll get your bag! Try to get us seats!”
How my Kermit of a He-Man was going to lug everything onto the train by himself was beyond me, but I did as I was told. If I mastered any one skill throughout our travels, I have mastered the art of pushing and shoving. I found no shame in showing off my talents as I propelled my way toward two open seats. Mission accomplished, I scanned the walkway for my hero husband who plowed through the people with nostrils flaring.
Teamwork! Unfortunately, all of my pushing and shoving did no more than land us in the only set of seats on the train with an inoperable window. We spent the next two hours in the sweltering heat, licking the sweat from our lips for hydration.
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