Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Travel Morocco 1/3

I got on the bus and didn’t feel too out of place. Everything was dirty and a little crappy; obvious hand-me-downs from the first world. But buses always seem that way. Few people step on a Greyhound and say, “hot damn this is classy stuff right here!”

I doubt even the crazy redneck I imagined saying that could even say so without being a touch sarcastic.

Morocco was a dirty bus terminal--dirtier. Everything was a little more run down. The walls were worn and cracked. Most of the terminal was shut down because it was the off season. Buses now mostly harbored locals trying to travel places. The weather was cool and a little wet. I could tell that during the summer the bus terminal was unbearable. The heat would stagnate in the large hall and flies would buzz around.

It made me cringe at the thought of traveling Morocco during the summer. Sweaty bodies pushed against each other as miles and miles of tourists snapped photos and did disrespectful things to the native culture. And while I loved Morocco, there was the issue of sanitation. Scraps of meat and food were tossed on the street in front of stores. Cats mewed for food as the butcher tossed scraps to them; meanwhile mules walked through the market carrying goods and leaving behind dung.

In the summer heat feral cats, rotting meat, sweaty tourists, and crap happy mules would not make for the most aromatic of dense urban areas. If the leather tanning facility had been any indication Morocco was a generally smelly place.

Some of that smell greeted me as I entered the bus. The seats had soaked up that smell over the years. And Jarrod and I weren’t taking the state run buses, which were ‘clean and maintained’. Our ride home on a state bus proved that neither of those adjectives applied unless as a comparison to the nearly collapsing steel cage we would be riding out.

Jarrod and I were on our way to Chefchaouen and had missed the first state bus that we could have taken. The next one would be in 6 hours and we decided that getting there was better than hanging around. So, with a shrug and a sigh we paid for our fares and hopped on the bus, keeping our fingers crossed that we didn’t die.