Ok, I’m PNG’d from Morocco…
Alright, here’s the deal. I left Le Caire (Cairo for all you nancy English speakers) yesterday morning around 7am to begin my voyage to Bamako, Mali. The trip would take me to Casablanca with an 11 hour layover before my 11pm flight to Bamako. Before the night was over, I would have my visa yanked from Morocco after accumulating god knows how many dollars in fines via customs.
The trip was confirmed as of two weeks ago and when I checked in yesterday in Cairo, my bags were going to be put through to Mali. I asked the lovely young counter woman for Royal Air Maroc to make sure everything was good to go. A-ok.
So, I get to Casablanca and figure I’ll find a hotel, have them hold my bags, and check out the city a bit. There’s nothing here and that took about an hour to find out. So, I ended up at the Hyatt (which has to be the nicest Hyatt in the world) just killing time in the Lobby Library Lounge. Had some lunch, a spot of tea, took some calls, whatever.
7pm rolls around and I figure it’s time to hit the bricks. Airport is an hour away, give myself some breathing room. Arrive at the airport, go to check in (remember, they have my bags already) and I’m told that there is no flight to Bamako until tomorrow (which is today, now). I show them the ticket and confirmation, baggage tags – everything short of the plane itself.
Not happening. I flip my fucking shit. Err, I behave like the gentleman I am. Ok, forget the bullshit. I’m flipping the fuck out. Screaming, ranting, etc. etc. etc. This is me, we all know this. I’m trying to stay calm, really, really trying. I’m sent to the agency office for the airline where, at 9pm, they’re all on their dinner break.
Can this get any better? I slam my fist on a desk and in come the cops. A manager shoo shoos them away and calms me down a bit. (Gimme a minute, I’m shaking in rage). Turns out that the fault lies with vayama.com. They were told that the flight was cancelled but didn’t care to share. (Prescient David Moment: First time in my life I bought trip insurance was for this particular flight, Caire to Mali).
Anyway, I have to get my bags out and find a hotel. To get my bags, I had to go back into the baggage hall. That takes another hour. But, passing into that area, I had to pass Customs. That’s where this gets interesting.
With me I had a couple of bags with laptop, hard drives, cameras, and lenses that I had cleared through customs earlier that day. An hour later, they find my bags, not without some difficulties with that particular aspect either. I’m red in the face and exemplify the crazy American.
Bags come, and as I passed back to the terminal, well, I have to clear customs and the shit hits the fan. They’re going over every inch of my stuff. I’m in an uproar…They’re keeping running tabs of every violation they find.
They don’t like my Carnet. I have photo magazines they’re calling pornography, I have nine different currencies, I’m missing a stamp in my passport, etc. etc. etc. Fines are somewhere around $2000. I’m livid and say I won’t pay.
Then, I’m given my option. Pay the fines or have my visa pulled.
Guess which I took? So, my visa is now set to expire when that plane to Bamako takes off (hopefully tonight).
Fuck this place…(BTW – The Hyatt didn’t have a standard room available, but considering all that had happened, they put me up in a gigantic suite which is where I am writing this now. I will be writing them a letter of thanks. Vayama and the gov’t of Maroc? Not gonna be nice about it…)
David :: Mar.25.2009 :: assholes, journal entry, liberty, travel :: No Comments »