Getting Here: my love hate relationship with Royal Air Maroc

It was not an easy trip. I'm tired but ecstatic to be back in Rabat and will not be able to sleep until I relay the details of my crazy flights. It consisted of several stressful instances:

1) Kansas City International, 7 something AM

ticketing agent lady: you need a visa.
polite as can be Rachel: no I don't, lady.
agent: I have this fancy printout that says you need one, so hah.
me: nu-uh. State Dept says so. give me my boarding passes.
agent: fine, but you'll just be turned back when you get to Morocco.
me: that's a risk I'll just have to take. (and I know you're wrong)

2) Cincinnatti airport, noon to forever

Rachel: I've noticed my flight to JFK has been delayed 2 and a half hours. Any chance I can jump on an earlier one so I can make my connection to Morocco tonight?
New, even less helpful agent man: No.
Rachel: okie doke. Thanks for your time and energy.

So I wait and wait and wait and wander the airport and then....

BAM! All flights to JFK are canceled thanks to what I have affectionately dubbed HuricHannah. But they just might be able to get me to LaGuardia by 7pm...plenty of time to catch my 8:20 international flight at JFK, right??? I was bummed but commiserated with some other passengers with much greater predicaments than mine (one going to Sri Lanka without her husband and young son in order to see her very ill sister, another hoping to get to Morocco to see her husband and children whom she hasn't been with for 6 months). And we all by the grace of Allah make it onto the flight.

3) LaGuardia, 7:15 pm

Carrie (the woman traveling to Morocco as well) and I grab our luggage, run like the wind and jump into the first cab possible through the pouring rain. I yell, "Step on it cabbie!! We got a flight to catch!" to which he replies, "I can only go so fast." Touche.

I call Royal Air Maroc at least a million times to inform them that we're on our way and they really should hold the flight. Most of the time it goes something like this:

Rachel: we're coming, we're coming! Our flight was canceled, don't leave without us!
Them: you're not going to make it. We're closed.


4) JFK, 7:50 pm

Rachel and Carrie: help us, help us, take our bags, let us on, we're here, we're here!
Royal Air Maroc Agents: you're too late, we're closed (as they literally run away from the counter)
Rachel and Carrie: what will we do? where will we stay? won't you put us in a hotel or something? when's the next flight?
Royal Air Maroc peeps: not our problem. Leave us alone.

Finally they let Carrie go since we lied and said she had no bags to check, only carryons. They knew better but ran her through. So now I'm alone and wondering which dirty corner I'll be huddling in while I cry myself to sleep while trying not to get mugged when I hear over a walkie talkie, "yes, and what about the girl with the 2 bags to check? can we let her on?"

YES YOU CAN!!!!!!

And they did. They suddenly became so helpful (a quality I attribute to the rapid increase in blood sugar levels since it's Ramadan and they had all finally just eaten) and this lovely Moroccan man whose nametag I couldn't read grabs my bags and runs me through security. The whole time our conversation went something like this:

Rachel: will they hold the plane? will I make it? Which gate is mine? ????????
Moroccan angel of mercy to whom I am forever grateful: You are not to worry, is not a problem. You are with me, I take care of everything. :)

And he did.


I ran sweating and panting onto the plane and enjoyed a delicious 7 hour flight. My bags have yet to arrive and the passport inspector guy very conspicuously informed me that he knows why I want to study his language, and it's not because I love it. It's because I am finishing my university studies. Hopefully the bags will arrive tomorrow and the passport guy will forgive me for loving Arabic. For now, I'm here and that's all that matters.