It felt like it took forever to come, but the time has finally arrived for us to set off on the new adventure, our much anticipated relocation to Ifrane, a small town in the Middle Atlas Mountains of Morocco. No trip has been more into uncharted territory for us. In Bangkok we knew there would be other foreigners, in Honduras there were friends already there, Australia was western, and even Africa had more info available on the internet. Regardless of how many hours we scoured the internet there was limited info to be found.
Our departure from the UK, was easier than we thought. In fact the most challenging thing about getting ourselves from Nick's house in Manchester to our new home in Ifrane, was actually our brief stop in Reading, where we got hopelessly lost while visiting Lis. Checking our four bulging bags in with Ryanair was a bit of a worry, we were asked to shift stuff around a bit and I ended up with two pairs of trousers rolled up and stuffed down the sleeves of my jacket. Combined with the fact that I already had my heaviest hoody as a liner to the jacket, and three books in the pockets, meant that I was left with a cumbersome 7kg on one arm and a stuffed 10kg of carry on on the other. It was quite a relief to get on the plane, typical of Ryanair they were weighing bags right up until boarding, having weighed many at check in, then again upon entering the departure area, then a third time as people boarded... just in case someone had decided to shop too much in the departure lounge and they could money grab some more.
Having flown so much with a variety of airlines over the last ten years I feel that I should be prepared for just about all kinds of passenger experiences. The flight from Stanstead to Fes was a revelation of utter chaos. Hand luggage was so abundant and oversized that by the time the plane was two thirds full with passengers every inch of overhead locker space had something squished, moulded or punched into it. The remaining passengers to board were told that they would have to place there large rigid pull along bags under the chair in front or it would be placed in the hold. This had to be reiterated about three times to some who were determined to find space in the overhead lockers. This along with repeated requests for phones and mp3 players to be switched off and seat belts buckled right up until we took off made it feel like we were the only people on the flight who had flown before. Within seconds of touching down at the other end people were out of their seats and grabbing their bags, it really was chaos.
Getting through security on both sides was also a bit of a stress. We have brought 2 laptops, 2 cameras and spare lenses, a flat screen TV, an external hard drive movie playing box, 3 MP3 players, speakers and all the accompanying cabling, most of which was stored in Nick's carry on bag. This caused the UK security to triple swab, scan and look at us very strangely. At the other end we had been told not to bring anything electrical as you have to pay duty on it. We were an easy target walking through customs with 100 kg of luggage. Thankfully the officer was so distracted by our snowboard bag, having no idea what one was and probably wondering about our state of mind when it was 40 degrees outside, that he failed to check any of the others.
As we waited patiently in the arrivals area, and the crowd thinned to a few stragglers, it dawned on us that perhaps it was something of an oversight not to have confirmed our arrival or even have requested a contact number of someone who knew who we were. Our 'driver' who had been standing there for a while eventually came over and introduced himself. Not sure exactly what he had been waiting for, there must have only been one or two other foreigners on the flight and they had been backpackers. Do we really look so unlikely to be responsible teachers?
The 60km drive from Fes to Ifrane took us about an hour. Sometimes we went at breakneck speed, at others crawling along at 20km an hour behind decrepit vans. We steadily climbed through rocky scrub land passing people clustered at the road side. Children were herding goats up the hillside, women piled on the back of donkeys, and local fruit and olive oil sellers sat despondently behind single buckets for sale. The buildings were run down and many half finished. We started to wonder what we had let ourselves in for. How was it possible that amongst all this poverty were heading up to a picturesque French style village where the rich and famous go to play? Just where were they going to find fountains and manicured lawns?
