HeyDudeWheresMyTrain

Old Town Marrakech is dominated by the Souk, a bizarre bazaar full of small shops essentially selling the same thing. Each little shop is full of artisanal crafts. Made by Vietnamese artisans. In Vietnamese sweatshops. And they also sell lots of something called black soap and spices. You have to be wary of buying fake spices, particularly Saffron.

You get sideways spices because I don’t know how to change it on my phone.

Back to saffron. Apparently the only way to know real from fake is to trust the friendly vendor who assured us his saffron is real but every other stall in the souk is fake. We heard that from four different guys so it must be true.

Everyone should have to go to the Souk. Apparently it’s life changing to travel half way around the world for a third world flea market.

Jet Lagged and bleary we set off to drive from Casablanca. The Moroccan countryside is lovely. We passed fields of produce and orchards full of olives and citrus as we headed inland. The climate and scenery really do resemble Southern California. As the result of the current King’s push for modernity a network of highways connecting the principal cities is under construction seemingly everywhere along with lots of housing.

Marrakesh is uphill from the Atlantic. As we moved inland and upward the gradual change in the countryside accelerated. The fields became rockier and the irrigation more sporadic. The dense spacing in the orchards widened and olives trees and rock farms preeminent. We began to see lots of donkey carts and the farming equipment was very old and well used. We crested a long uphill and as we came around the corner were greeted with a stunning view of the “High Atlas” and Marrakesh.

We drove through the modern suburban outskirts into the old city center or “Medina”. It was a dramatic contrast to the developing parts we had just passed through. I will post some pictures but it is difficult to convey in a snapshot the age and accumulation that tens of hundreds of years bring. Maybe it was because we had been chatting about the Star Wars movies but I kept thinking of the city scenes in the original movie. It is pretty clear where Lucas got the inspiration for the sets. The band in the Cantina Scene must be attributable to the hash. Add to this the ever present smell and smoke of wood fires, dust, grime and a sense of despair. That was just on the five minute walk from the van to our hotel.

We landed in Casablanca last Saturday. Our guide described it as the Moroccan version of Los Angeles. He was wrong.

Casablanca is much cleaner and well run.

How much Bordeaux wine will fit in an Airbus A380?

This post is an exposition on science and nature. It did not start out as an exercise in the scientific method, but evolved into an unequivocal exploration of the boundaries of the space wine continuum.

One of the few things I recall from high school chemistry is that you should always start with a hypothesis. A hypothesis is an unproven statement which provides a framework to perform various tests in the attempt to prove the statement true. You are now sufficiently versed in the scientific method to be ready for the Nobel Prize selection committee or to appreciate the significance of the previously mentioned unwitting experiment.

The Hypothesis: Airlines claim that the “lounge” or “in-flight snack and refreshment bar” is available for refreshments, leg-stretching and enervating conversation with your fellow passengers.

Three of our intrepid group tested this hypothesis. Unwittingly. The dinner service of our flight included a very nice red Bordeaux. It was not just nice by airplane standards but really a nice glass of wine.

After dinner we decided it would be a good idea to go to the “snack bar” for another glass of Bordeaux and a chance to chat. We had ten hours to kill after all. One thing led to another. Various crew members cycled through the portion of the kitchen allocated to the “in flight refreshments” and after discovering that another bottle of the Bordeaux had disappeared suggested that NOW was a great time to return to our seats. We persevered. Including when the Captain turned on the return to your seat light. And then turned it off. Ominous warnings of supply limitations began to surface.

Is this the last bottle? When it become apparent that “big” science was underway we were joined by a few more passengers. The conversation became more fluid, the anxiety of some of the crew grew, the concern more emphatically stated that “this was the last bottle”. As each wave grew to crescendo one intrepid steward rummaged around and managed to find another bottle. Finally even his herculean efforts and the Bordeaux supply were exhausted. Or he had also tired of our shenanigans.

Conclusion: The stated hypothesis has been modified. The new hypothesis: Only a small percentage of airline crew staff are committed to the notion that the in-flight “refreshment bar” actually believe that BS.

Science.

Months of planning. Thousands of dollars in tickets. Numerous strategy sessions about logistics, itineraries and what to pack for a place that has weather just like Southern California at this time of year.

For want of a nail, the shoe was lost……….

Planning a trip with a large group is destined to be a frustrating experience. If it involves a large group that has traveled together multiple times it becomes a friendship endurance test. Each of us has a role to which we are assigned.

Remember this guy?

His role as a long term and devalued member of the travel group is to ignore every planning email and solicitation for input. He then is supposed to follow up by booking his flights on the wrong day and then forget some important article, say for example his passport.

Ten in the group. Converging from various points on the globe to catch a flight from Charles De Gaulle airport in Paris to Casablanca Morocco. Details sorted. Travel cautions and concerns noted by everyone in the group but you know who.

If I were going to start a voyage to anywhere I would try to avoid starting it at SFO, San Francisco International Airport. Particularly in December when your weather choices are rain or fog. Either one will get you long delays and cancellations.

So it turns out that eight of our group were booked on a flight from LAX to Paris. Seven of the Eight made it to Los Angeles in time to have drinks and lunch in the lounge. Number Eight was able to watch Air France’s beautiful and obsolete A380 taxiing to the runway, from seat 3A on his just landed SFO to LAX flight.

Did you know that the flight change fees for an international flight in late December can be substantial?

What started as a simple unsophisticated sequence of vignettes documenting three rubes and a train trip has had to face the unyielding demands of celebrity. Or eco sensitivity. Or inertia.

We wanted a way to document some of the humor and adventures that accompanies a group of families on a Holiday Season trip to Morocco. Faced with the choice of trying to set up a new website, including finding a cute nickname starting with www, remembering new passwords, and investing $4.95 in an annual subscription or turning to the tried and true, inertia won. Repurposed, Renewed and Reinvigorated. “Hey Dude Where’s My Train 2.0”.

Please note that under the terms of service a renewed sense of purpose allows us to reuse tired old jokes, photo gags and travel anecdotes.

The new cast of characters features two of the train trekkers along with their adult children typically referred to as Thing 1 and Thing 2. New cast members include another family of four with two daughters of similar ages to Things 1 and 2, as well as a Father Son tag team. On a sad note the third train trekker was planning to be a part of the trip but had to withdraw. In his absence he will be referred to as “dumbass”. If you are insulted in absentia you really are not forgotten.

Without further ado, lets begin;

We are beginning the long trek to Amsterdam from Gourdes in Provence.

In which we acknowledge that trains are not very flexible in either timing or destination. Unlike a cruise missile. To the average reader our immediate dilemma may not be readily apparent. The French Riviera is surprisingly enough a train backwater. It’s pretty much five hours to everywhere and all in the local. Stops every seven minutes in towns with glorious French names lacking only people and sights to see. They always also have a church and a memorial to the glorious youth that were sacrificed in the Great War(s). Having seen enough of this we elected to rent a car. Not just any car.

We’ve set off with this noble steed as our ride. What could possibly be wrong? Another confession. We picked up the car last Thursday. It’s Tuesday as I write this. Manual transmission diesel Fiat. Absolutely foolproof I think.

Trying to be semi-chronological here. Not in the sense of a broken clock being right twice a day. We got booted from Monaco due to it being sold out because of the Monaco Yacht Show. So off to Canne we trained. It was a gorgeous day in a spectacular Mediterranean setting. Turned out we talked to a guy who knew somebody with a yacht at the show. All 70 metres of it. For those scoring at home that’s 227’6”. That’s a BFB. Thinking that this was a once in a long time opportunity. Back on the Uber to Monaco. As one of our company is a single male we were pleased that our driver was female, a great driver and very attractive in a French way. By that I mean she was beautiful and unwashed. In maybe a week. Or so. We reluctantly left the car just short of the show because of the throngs of traffic. Upon our arrival, we of course delighted and entertained the assembled hoi polloi with our tales of the hurly burly. And we took some pictures.

Monaco is a special corner of the world. Absolutely spectacular setting blessed with beautiful weather and compelling topography. And just like the rest of the world half the people are friendly and engaging. The other half all seemed to be on the train back to Cannes at the end of the day.