New Person: Hey! What’s up? Where are you from? [similar small talk] What have you done so in Barcelona?
Me: Well, I saw some Gaudi stuff today. I just got in last night.
NP: Oh, from the states, or where?
M: No, from West Africa – Burkina Faso.
NP: What?! No way! That is SO awesome! How was it? What did you do there? How long did you stay?
M: I worked there for two years.
NP: No shit! Oh my god! That is so cool. You’re so amazing! I’d love to do that, ya know? I just want to experience other cultures and help other people. Like, I just feel like that’s what I’m meant to do, ya know? Man, I want to help other people and you were actually doing it. [continues in similar fashion for about 5 minutes while I mumble awkward responses to the overenthusiasm]
Another New Person: Dude, have some more rum! What are you doin, man?
NP: Dude, she was just living in AFRICA! Like, helping people and shit. She’s so legit.
ANP: That’s awesome. Seriously, bro, take the rum.
NP: Okay, hang on, I TOTALLY want to hear EVERYTHING about your life in…um, sorry what is it called again? I, like, can’t even pronounce it.
M: Burkina Faso.
NP: Right. There. I totally want to know all about it, I’m still here, I’m going to give you all my attention while you tell me everything about your experience but I’m just going to…[goes off to increase blood alcohol content forgetting all about places he can’t pronounce]
Clearly, this is an extreme example but Peace Corps was not making up the ridiculous things people will say to us, or how quickly we will lose their attention. A less extreme version of this conversation [read: the guy was not drunk] happened earlier in the day with someone else...Welcome to the western world!
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Friday, November 23, 2012
Why can't the Casablanca airport be more like the movie?
If I had to judge Casablanca based solely on their airport, I’d never want to come back. It’s a fine facility, don’t get me wrong. It’s quite shiny and looks like I could do some fun shopping and get some yummy food. What more could I want from an establishment? Well, I’d like to understand what the announcements were saying, even just a little bit. It’s like the people speak Arabic and just were told to read some letters off a card so French and English speakers could understand. That’s a fail. But more importantly, I would like to be able to go to the bathroom without a problem. Is that too much to ask? To leave a bathroom feeling relieved, refreshed, and not like a fool? The first one I went in, the only open stall was very clogged. Gross. So I looked for another stall and found the one that is extra big for changing babies. Well, there were only a couple of cleaning women in sight, no babies, so I tentatively walked in while the cleaning ladies just stared at me. Relevant to the story, you should know there are only a few stalls. This is not one of those bathrooms where you need to call your friend just to figure out which wing they’re in. So these ladies stare at me walking in, putting up the baby-changing table that was down and blocking the toilet, and shut the door. “Madame!” I heard a scolding voice say as the door was pushed open. A grouchy looking Moroccan woman stormed in, glaring at me saying “This is the baby changing bathroom.” Eye roll, like I’m the biggest idiot in the airport. “You can not use this stall,” she heaved a sigh as she pulled the changing table back down, as if it pained her to have to put up with someone as stupid as me while she was just trying to do her job. A third stall opened up and before I could go in, the second cleaning lady glared at me and snapped “Wait!” For what? I don’t know. I turned around to try and find another cleaning lady free bathroom before I could find out. The second bathroom was also overflowing with angry looking cleaning ladies. I must not have done anything too idiotic this time because they let me pee and leave with minimal drama. I still felt judged for something. I’m not sure what. But I don’t want to go to the bathroom again.
Having spent a couple more hours here, I would still like to say that I hate it. I got really hungry so I walked around looking for food. There are those airport stores that sell chips and cookies and magazines but I was hoping for something a little more substantial. I saw on the map there was a food court so I walked around looking for it. And walked. And walked. If someone had been watching me, besides the fact that that’d be a little creepy, they would have definitely thought I was very suspicious. Between bathrooms and food searches, I’ve circled this place at least 5 times in the matter of a couple hours. Finally, I realized there was a sketchy looking staircase headed downstairs. Low and behold, that’s where the food court was. I walked around the food court and realized all of the prices were in whatever Morocco’s currency is. I feel slightly ignorant for not knowing but I don’t. I DO know that I had no idea what it meant for a sandwich to cost 45 dh. I had 5 euros in my purse that I found when I packed up my house and a credit card. They did not take credit cards so I had to figure out what I could get for 5 euros. After being cut in line by several impatient people who actually knew how to order a chwarma, I was able to find out that one euro is about 10 dh. I still did not catch what dh stands for. So I could afford a chwarma with 50 cents left. I decided I’d eat then get some water at one of the airport stores where I could use my card.
So I ate then went in search of water. There was not water in any of the convenient store type places. I found a fancy (for an airport) restaurant tucked into a corner and was relieved to see they sold water bottles. I ordered the big one and went to pay. The initially sweet and friendly sales woman immediately gave me a severe look. “No! You have to spend 100 dh to use a card.” The water was 22. I know I looked pathetic as I told her I had no cash but she did not seem affected by my sad plight and I kid you not when I say she literally snatched the bottle away from me. I walked away feeling so thirsty, frustrated, and exhausted that tears actually came to my eyes. So now I’m sitting here simply parched steaming about how much I hate this airport.
Also, while it says there is internet and that I am connected, it is not letting me online. I need a nap. Well, I really need water but since that’s not happening, a nap is next.
Having spent a couple more hours here, I would still like to say that I hate it. I got really hungry so I walked around looking for food. There are those airport stores that sell chips and cookies and magazines but I was hoping for something a little more substantial. I saw on the map there was a food court so I walked around looking for it. And walked. And walked. If someone had been watching me, besides the fact that that’d be a little creepy, they would have definitely thought I was very suspicious. Between bathrooms and food searches, I’ve circled this place at least 5 times in the matter of a couple hours. Finally, I realized there was a sketchy looking staircase headed downstairs. Low and behold, that’s where the food court was. I walked around the food court and realized all of the prices were in whatever Morocco’s currency is. I feel slightly ignorant for not knowing but I don’t. I DO know that I had no idea what it meant for a sandwich to cost 45 dh. I had 5 euros in my purse that I found when I packed up my house and a credit card. They did not take credit cards so I had to figure out what I could get for 5 euros. After being cut in line by several impatient people who actually knew how to order a chwarma, I was able to find out that one euro is about 10 dh. I still did not catch what dh stands for. So I could afford a chwarma with 50 cents left. I decided I’d eat then get some water at one of the airport stores where I could use my card.
So I ate then went in search of water. There was not water in any of the convenient store type places. I found a fancy (for an airport) restaurant tucked into a corner and was relieved to see they sold water bottles. I ordered the big one and went to pay. The initially sweet and friendly sales woman immediately gave me a severe look. “No! You have to spend 100 dh to use a card.” The water was 22. I know I looked pathetic as I told her I had no cash but she did not seem affected by my sad plight and I kid you not when I say she literally snatched the bottle away from me. I walked away feeling so thirsty, frustrated, and exhausted that tears actually came to my eyes. So now I’m sitting here simply parched steaming about how much I hate this airport.
Also, while it says there is internet and that I am connected, it is not letting me online. I need a nap. Well, I really need water but since that’s not happening, a nap is next.
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