The Marrakech Express

I am on a journey to the exotic city of Marrakech. As we boarded the train, we realized we were in for a ride of our lives. The train was packed to the gills with covered women carrying babies strapped to their backs, young couples holding hands and looking dreamily into each other's eyes, and elderly men and women looking tired and worn out.  


We could only stand. I think the Beattles, no Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young sang about it....but they were seated for their adventure! The movie stars have homes in Marrakech, and actually, I think Paul McCartney has a home there. That's the rumor. We are supposed to go to a "Hotel Mamoonsa" to see said stars, but we will probably just fritz around the medina and look for local color.


Two of my party have become rather friendly with a gentleman who "claims" to be a fight attendant for Royal Air Maroc. He has arranged transportation for us to our hotel.  That's when my radar went up. I have my doubts about who or what he is. His English is excellent, and my imagination has run wild. I think he is working for the state department or maybe the CIA, something to that effect. He keeps dashing in and out of our train car, "checking" on something. 


Then again, he could be for the other side. I have been making snide comments to my companions and hand-to-throat gestures. He asked to see my computer for the reservations, and I said I did not know him and would not hand over my laptop. I didn't go to LIGHT support groups for nothing! Boundaries in Morocco!


Oh, if only we could have our personal Passepartout from Around the World in Eighty Days on our travels! Everything would be arranged perfectly in advance down to the tea and crumpets at my bedside.


Stayed tuned....the adventure continues!