Across the pond again

            As I sit here in the hotel from which Ignatzia and I will ultimately leave to go to the airport, I find myself wondering where all the time has gone. Four months are not meant to pass by so quickly. And the time between finals and leaving was so sudden that I was still in academic mode and didn’t realize that we were all saying goodbye until people were starting to leave.

            Our goodbyes began the night before, when a large chunk of people all left campus at the same time. Those of us who were leaving later gathered around them and their cumbersome luggage. It hadn’t hit me yet that they were actually leaving, so I was able to chat easily with them all, joking and shivering in the 1 a.m. chill. The grand taxis and AUI’s bus showed up all too quickly, and we loaded everyone up and said more goodbyes. It was only when I saw their various forms of transport driving down the road to the main gate that I realized this was the last time in a long time that I would ever see these people, and most likely the very last time to see them all together like this. I held back a bizarre urge to run after them and climb into the taxi, luggage or no.

            The two Maggies, Badr, Paul, Alex Congram and I were left standing at the roundabout. We walked back and spent a solid half-hour looking at the bright constellations and talking. I went with Maggie Laush to her room for a time, but I had to leave in less than three hours, and was hoping to snatch a little sleep.

            After one hour of sleep and a painless checkout process, I thumped my luggage down the first flight of stairs and waited for Ignatzia. Then we both struggled down the last flight and wrestled our luggage to the roundabout, where our cab driver was waiting. The taxi ride was interminable in my eyes, but at long last we made it to Meknes and caught the train to Casablanca not five minutes before it left. With such a smooth transition, we were on our way.

            The train ride passed a little faster, and in Casablanca we were able to get a petit taxi driver who didn’t screw us over too much. He put Ignatzia’s luggage on top of the car, which made us both a little wary, but the little box thing on top of the taxis held the luggage well. We dropped our stuff off at the hotel, had a little breakfast, and promptly napped for two hours. At noon, we left the hotel with the mission of reaching the mall and changing over some of Ignatzia’s currency.

            The mall was easy enough to get to, though catching a taxi was a bit difficult. We had lunch in the food court and met Ignatzia’s friend there, who had Alessandro with her of all people! We all hung out for a while, and then Ignatzia and I went to get pedicures before climbing onto our planes the next day. We had yet to find someone who would change her currency into US dollars, what with none of the banks in the mall wanting to handle that exchange.

            Leaving the pedicure place, we realized that night was falling quickly and tried to hail a taxi. And tried. And tried. And tried some more, then walked some, then tried. I would continue on this vein for a while, but I think you get the message. We gave up for a while because Ignatzia’s friend told us it was rush hour and not to expect a taxi for at least another half hour. We window-shopped some, then ate some food, trying to puzzle out how to change Ignatzia’s currency. We thought that perhaps the currency exchange in the airport would work, if only it was open. Her flight left so early we weren’t sure.

            At long last, we caught a taxi and made it to our hotel by 8:30 or 9. Our taxi to the airport was leaving at 4:30, so it was another mostly-sleepless night for me. The taxi took us to the airport fairly quickly, and once there we ran into none other than Tim Corey! He was on the same flight as Ignatzia.

            At the airport, Casablanca seemed to be slowly loosening its grip on our fortune, because Ignatzia was able to check her overweight luggage with no problem, and got her money changed in such a hassle-free manner that I couldn’t help but wonder if we were in the same city still. Ignatzia and Tim had time to eat a quick breakfast, and Tim saved my life by loaning me some Moroccan Ds to get me through the day. My flight didn’t leave until 6:20.

            After saying goodbye to them, I made my food-for-the-day purchases and maneuvered to the chairs. I couldn’t check my luggage until 4, so I had a long wait ahead of me. I managed to while away the hours on my computer despite no internet (loading episodes in advance was a genius move on my part), and I alternated with people-watching to pass the time. At long last, I was able to check my luggage and walk through Casablanca’s “stellar” security. The security people were incredibly friendly, though, and the guy who stamped my passport laughed at my pitiful excuse for Arabic. A hurried “ma-salaama” over my shoulder, and I was away. Into the airport.

            Only to wait another two hours. It was here that I began to meet the first in a series of fascinating people during my trip home. The woman I met, who had her young son with her, was French and Moroccan, living in Casablanca. She spoke Arabic and French, and was able to converse with me in Spanish. We talked about the culture of Morocco and how different it is from Europe, and her son kept speaking to me in French, which I did not understand.    

            We boarded the plane and took off only about 40 minutes late, which wasn’t too bad all things considered. As time passed on the plane, I kept wondering when we would get food. All I’d had to eat the whole day was two small bags of chips and a sandwich, so my focus was understandably very one-track. I’m ashamed to admit that I got very upset when I convinced myself that they wouldn’t feed us, and when the food did finally arrive my outlook on life improved dramatically.

            Only to be crushed again. On arrival at Charles De Gaulle airport, I learned that their airport actually shuts down at night, something I didn’t think was humanly possible. With nowhere to stay, I got some half-hearted directions from the security guy, and found my way through the empty, vaguely threatening halls of CDG and ended up actually leaving the secured portion of the airport. I found a closed café, where various people were curled up on the couches sleeping. It had an outlet, a chair, and wifi I could buy, so I deemed it worthy of my ten-hour stint in CDG.

            One of the random dudes sleeping there asked if he could charge his phone off of my computer, and I obliged because I was hogging the one visible outlet. He went back to sleep and I spent the night watching Midnight in Paris, which gave me a far different impression of Paris than my own real-world experience. As the night wore on, a security dude came along with a muzzled drug dog. They found something a fair distance away from me, if the snarling and snapping was any judge. Other than that, the only bother I got was someone asking to see my boarding pass, after which they left me to my own devices.

            Around 3:30 or 4 a.m. some cleaning folks came around to the café, and I was asked to move. The one socket I had found was actually behind the counter where the espresso machine was, and I suppose they wanted me out of that area. So I moved to the couches, and when my computer inevitably died, I wandered back and forth in the lobby of the airport. It was there that I came across three Spanish people, and when I heard them speaking Spanish I decided to talk to them.

            One of the guys was Venezuelan, on his way home from China. He’d also not slept in more than 24 hours. He was with a couple from Spain, on their way to Bolivia after 8 years of not traveling. I told them all about Morocco, and we had a grand time. As the lights came on in the airport (which was an interesting thing to witness), I went to stand in line to enter the secured area. There I found myself in line with two UK businessmen, one Scottish and the other I’m not sure what. They were obviously well-versed in travel, and we exchanged pithy one-liners about French work ethic and unions and such. It was a grand time, and before long we were through the line and into the secured area.

            The terminals were much nicer than the café, and I was deliriously happy. I was able to buy breakfast and sit in a cushy chair with a handy outlet. Watching the West Wing in a Paris airport at 6 a.m. felt almost like politics. While waiting for the flight to Chicago, I spent some time with an a cappella group from Northwestern, who were on their way back from a tour in South Africa. Kinda cool.

            The plane to Chicago was Delta, not Air France, which was a disappointment but they fed us twice so I can’t really complain. The movies weren’t very good and we didn’t have any options, so I tried sleeping (and failed) and talked to my neighbor, who was a college grad from St. Louis working and living in Spain doing psychology research/experiments. At this point my brain was fried, so I didn’t even try to speak Spanish with him because I figured I would make myself look stupid when I couldn’t even come up with simple words.

            That flight felt like forever. But from around the time we flew over Canada to our descent, I could feel excitement jittering in my veins. America! We landed in a wonderland, which most people know as Chicago. The lights were bright, snow was on the ground, and my crazy, indescribable, life-changing experience had finally drawn to a close.

            Customs had an incredibly long line which actually moved fairly quickly. The guy next to me turned out to be on his way home from 6 months in Amman, Jordan. After a bit of confusion on my part (I thought he said Oman, how embarrassing!), we got to talking about the Middle East. He was more smartly dressed than I, wearing a suit and whatnot, but I’m pretty sure I sensed from him the same respect I always give to strangers that seem intelligent. We talked about Arabic culture (apparently there were only 3 guys in his program, and he had to ‘play chaperone’ fairly often, ha!), and our aspirations for the future. He wanted to live in Amman or somewhere else, or teach English. He was fluent in Spanish, French, and Arabic, which made me all the more determined to add at least one more language to my repertoire. Once we’d all gotten through customs and claimed our luggage, he and I parted ways. I also got a sense of camaraderie from his casual two-fingered salute goodbye.

            After the painless process of customs (and that’s actually not sarcastic!), I checked my luggage with United. Another fairly painless process, though I wish I could’ve gotten an earlier flight.

            In O’Hare I made fast tracks around the terminal, sniffing out food places. I settled for a burger joint, and sat there eating my giant American burger listening to a jazz band play Christmas songs. It was glorious.

            The happiness wore off after about three hours, though. My flight was delayed a further two hours. I found two girls from my program at AUI in Chicago, and came to the conclusion that it really is a small world. We hung out for a bit, and then Elizabeth had to catch her flight. Anna and I walked down to where my flight was originally scheduled to leave from and watched Stargate. Then my flight was changed, and I walked partially back with Anna. She left for her on-time flight, and I was left to contemplate my life as I waited some more. I tried to get onto standby for an earlier Kansas City flight, but it filled.

            At this point, I knew when to give up. I went to the bar and ordered a beer, and spent a half hour talking to these two older guys who were also waiting on delayed flights. Turned out one of them was an engineer working for an oil company, coming back from West Africa. We talked for a while about the US dollar, culture in West Africa, and Morocco. It was really relaxing after all of the stress of flying.

            After that, I got onto my plane to KC without any further troubles, and slept for that whole plane ride. I was still really sleep-deprived when I landed, but adrenaline kept me going. My dad, sister, and brother were all waiting for me, and in my sister’s hands was a glorious Jimmy Johns sandwich. I ate the sandwich happily as we waited for my luggage.

            So that’s it for me, folks. It’s been a crazy ride, but I’ve come full circle. I still haven’t fully processed the fact that I’m home, and things are still weird to me. I may put up one more post later, about all of the things in America that I find strange. Until then, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! I can already tell, it’s going to be a fantastic year.