Sickness

It was good that we did the walk around Fez in the morning. Because when the afternoon hit, so did Montezuma--I guess Montezuma is wandering ther shores of Tripoli. I had the runs in the morning, but I didn't feel any the worse for it. Now, I felt bad. He decided to try to take out a pizza. So we went to a pizza parlor in the Routard guide. Fortunately, they did takeout, so we brought back a 60 dh (US$9) chicken pizza. I had 2 slices and Elena had 6. I also got a couple of beers. By then I was dead tired so I went to sleep.

I stayed in bed and developed a high fever. I had a horrible sleep--feverish dreams, other clients making noise, uncomfortable pillow, inability to find a good temperature.

I woke up dead tired. Elena wanted me to try to have something to eat--bread mostly--just to try to calm my very unsettled stomach. So we went down to the breakfast room. I sat down to a crepe type thing, some bread, yogurt, juice, and tea. I ate a slice of the crepe and then a sip of tea. Then I started seeing stars. I wanted cold air on my face. But no place to get it. "I want to go back to the room." Is the last thing I remember while trying to maintain consciousness. I came to with Elena behind me holding me up and the waitress coming with warm sugar water. The hotel manager came and asked if we needed a doctor. No, I know exactly what's going on and I don't need to pay a doctor to tell me what I already know. Elena and the waitress held me up as we walked to our room. I fell on the bed while Elena went back to get stuff we left on the table.

It was very scary for Elena. Her knees were shaking. She was worried that I would die or something. But it takes more than a case of the runs to kill me. It doesn't take more than a case of the runs to lay me up in bed, though. Over the rest of the day Elena tried to keep herself occupied by reading Generation X in French, going out to the markets, getting some dinner for us, and going on a short guided tour of the medina.

Elena kept trying to make me eat. After I passed out, she had me chew on the crusts of baguettes. But now all that was left was a chocolate bread, slightly burned and already hard. I tried as hard as I could to eat it, but I wasn't enjoying it at all. Elena told me to consider it medicine. Then she went out to bring back dinner.

The dinner was as good as can be under the circumstances. She got us chicken paninis with french fries. My stomach was pretty unsettled, and frankly, the one thing I would have eaten if I were by myself would have been a McDonalds Hamburger (there's one on Hassan II half way to the Royal Palace). I didn't want exotic. I didn't want new. I wanted something I could taste, chew, swallow, and not worry about what the hell it was. The panini and fries almost fit the bill. The fries were perhaps made with a slightly different oil? The chicken had some spice in it that I couldn't place. It was 95% OK, but the other 5% still bothered me a little bit. At least, it was good enough that I was able to get it all down without much effort.

When Elena got back from her guided tour, the highlight of which was the motorcycle ride through the streets, she told me I wasn't missing much. There'll be a medina in Marrakech, anyway.

The next night I slept better. Much better. My stomach was unsettled still but I feel like the infection part is over. We had breakfast in the same place. I tipped the woman 20 dh. After breakfast, we went out for a walk since it was an especially cool morning (for the desert). Very refreshing. We just walked down Hassan II. Again, as we were walking, I saw a guy in front of us stop, turn to the side, and wait for us to pass him. We started off with the standard "what country are you from?" I told him I was American. He asked if I knew Charlie Brown. Of course, everybody knows Charlie Brown. Then he said something I didn't quite catch--something like "Tour around Charlie Brown." He was trying to impress me with his knowledge of American pop-culture. Ha!!! Charlie Brown? Now if, instead, he had asked "do you know Peter Griffin?" I would have been impressed. He fed us the "I'm a student with some free time" line that the Routard guide warned us about--the line used by many faux guides. He was persistent, but we made it clear that we just out for a walk and didn't want to do any sightseeing--just enjoy the cool air. So he faded back and wished us a good trip.

We had decided to take the train to Casablanca. The guy at the hotel said they leave at 11, 1 and 3. So headed over at noon and got the 12:50 train. The price of first class tickets was a whopping 155 dh, even more than the price on the longer ride from Tangier. The second class tickets were about hald as much. I decided on first class since I was still not feeling well and I didn't want to deal with all the problems that come from not travelling in the first class car. Of course even the first class car had problems, the AC went out after a while and it got hot. Also, for some reason, the Moroccan railroad company doesn't put up signs visible from the windows of the train that tell what station you are in. I mean, how hard can it be to put up a few signs?

Finally, a girl overhearing our conversation told us where Casablanca was. It's a good thing she did, otherwise, there is no way of knowing where in the hell you are.

We unloaded and came to our first choice hotel, the Hotel Gallia via taxi. Elena had to see 3 rooms. We'll probably not stay here another night. The rooms are OK, but no TV, they open right on a busy street, no AC, and the attached bathroom/shower is separated from the bedroom by a shower curtain instead of a door.

I rested a bit and then we headed out for a tagine with kefta and egg for Elena and a hotdog panini for me. They were really cheap, 17 dh for Elena's and 10 dh for mine. Elena got a dessert from another place, but it wasn't good. So far the section of Casabanca we are in is extremely polluted with exhaust fumes and everything else imaginable. Hopefully, tomorrow we can walk to the Atlantic Ocean and see a better side of Casablanca.