When I was in Tibet, I learned that tourism can be affected by the whims of the "government", a word used to describe any form of regulatory body from local to national. We were supposed to picnic in one area and the "government" forbade it, so we dined elsewhere in a lovely spot under the shade of a tree. I shrugged off the experience as insignificant.
Fast forward six weeks---When planning our flights to attend PURE, Michael and I chose to fly Easyjet from Gatwick to Marrakech. Easyjet, known for its pared down service and it's menu of service fees, has garnered a loyal following. I see a place for this type of offering for a short haul, but not for a flight over 1 1/2 hours. All coach and minimal legroom are doable, but seats that don't recline at all are the deal killer for me.
We arrived in Marrakech, enduring 3+ hours of sitting "at attention", and looked for our airport butler, a service offered in some countries that help new arrivals through the immigration lines and passport control. Not spotting our name on any placard, we darted o the shortest line. We waited obediently behind the designated line and, when our turn to be submit our passports came, we promptly stepped forward.
"No!" admonished the clerk sternly while straightening her uniform, "One!" Michael stepped back and left me to fend for myself with this impersonator of Attilla the Hun. I offered my best "suck-up" smile and hoped for the best. "Flight?" barked the Grand Inquisatrix. Oh my God, I forgot to write the flight number and fear coursed through my veins. A young woman a couple of people behind Michael volunteered the number. "8855," I told the wicked Witch of Morocco. She glared at me and shoved the form and a pen towards me. I scribbled the digits where instructed and after a moment more of glaring and a loud pounding of official stamps, I was allowed entry into Marrakech. She must have found Michael more to her liking because she processed his entry card quickly.
We were about to exit the area when a man, dressed in a suit, stopped us. I panicked-had Miss Congeniality alerted the "muscle" to teach me a lesson? "One moment, please" he said. "He said 'please' " I thought, "a good sign," I hoped. He motioned to another government-issue suited gentleman. The man joined our little conversation. "Mrs. King?" he inquired. "Yes," I whispered. "Follow me!" He grabbed my carryon and headed off at a rapid clip. He stopped in front of a baggage carousel piled with luggage recently unloaded from Paris. "Stay here." Giving me back my carryon, a better sign than the "please" of the other suit, he once again scurried off. A few moments later he reappeared carrying a luggage cart. I breathed a sigh of relief---we just met our airport butler! He quickly went in search of our luggage, definitely a challenge considering we were standing by the off-loaded Parisian bags. Emboldened by my realization of freedom from deportation, I moved our cart to the right carousel and quickly found our luggage. Our butler wheeled us and our cart out the door and into the waiting arms of our driver, who pleasantly drove us to the Four Seasons Marrakech.
Joel Zack, president and CEO of Heritage Tours Private Travel, our host for this brief 3 day introduction to Marrakech, asked us how our airport butler arrival was. Answering his question with a question, I asked if the person ever greeted people as they disembarked from the aircraft. "Well, they can't walk on the tarmac, of course, but are always at the top of the entranceway to the terminal," he responded, still waiting for my assessment of the butler, then added, "Where were you met?" We laughingly described our entry past Her Highness, the Growling Passport Agent, and Joel smiled. "Welcome to Morocco! This airport greeting service is fairly new here and sometimes these services are subject to those hiccups that are so distinctly Morocco." I shared with Joel the way the government in China may change tourism rules without notice. Joel explained that the Moroccan version, "It might be that a mid-level airport official had a fight with his wife, maybe a lousy night's sleep and for a moment procedures change."
Heritage Tours Private Travel's documents, as extensive as those offered by our favorite Chinese company, Imperial Tours, highly suggest in the paragraph about life in Morocco, "a sense of humor, a bit of patience and a smile go a long way." How right they are and not just in Morocco! Wouldn't we all be happier if we wore life like a loose garment?
Blogger's note: any exaggeration of the situation is purely coincidental and does not, in any way, reflect on the charming, thin-lipped Passport Control agent above (in case she reads this!).
