I was set to leave Morocco.
I bundled up all my bulky, burdensome crap and headed to the train station… with plenty of time to spare. My flight was scheduled for 1:50pm… so I figured if I got there by 11am (or so), that would be more than sufficient time.
Right?
They say you should give yourself a total of 3 hours for international flights and 1-2 for domestic. I’m somewhat of a pro at airports… in & out.
That’s not actually true… at all… but I always like to tell myself little fibs to make me feel like I’m more of a competent traveller.
At the Casablanca train station, as I was riding the escalator up to the main terminal, I caught a glimpse of the train timetable. My airport shuttle was set to depart in 15 minutes.
It was 9:50.
The train was leaving at 10:04.
Little tight… but do-able…
I figured I had just enough time to purchase a ticket, board the train, find my seat… and make myself comfortable for the 40 minute journey. This shuttle would ensure I arrived at CMN (Casablanca International) at around 10:45am. Ample time for security, bathroom, coffee, something delicious to eat and a wee bit of rest time.
Life was good.
Well… plans took a significant downhill spiral when I located the excessively long lineup for the ticket booth.
Plans plummeted even further when a hysterical woman butted in front of us all, claiming ‘emergency.’ I had been watching the time like a hawk and I was getting dangerously close to missing the 10:04am train.
This woman was the showstopper. She had no more of an emergency than the rest of us did. She was just late.
Had she not barged in, I probably could’ve purchased my ticket, darted to my platform… and successfully made my train.
But… alas… things don’t always go according to plan.
The next train?
In another 1 hour.
11:05am.
Ugh.
Alright… it was merely a temporary setback. I could deal with it. Sure, it would significantly cut into my 3-hour international departure timeframe, but as I said before, I’m a pro. I could make this happen.
Right?
I loitered around the train station for another hour, bidding my time. As 11am approached, I made my way to my platform to prepare for departure. I was NOT missing this train. If I did, I was going to be in serious trouble.
I passed through the security entrance, flashing my ticket as I passed. The ticket checker glanced at my ticket, then at me… and said, “Wait here” and then dismissed me.
Wait… what?
Wait where?
Why?
No.
Everybody else was taking the escalator down to platform 2 to wait for the train.
Why was I told to “wait here”???
I hate it when people do this. They communicate with cryptic council which does nothing more than cause mental anguish.
Was someone going to come get me?
Ludicrous.
Obviously not.
I took matters into my own hands, disregarded his instructions and took the escalator down to wait for the train… just like everybody else.
The train was late.
Of course it was.
It wasn’t excessively late, which was a stroke of luck. It stunk of dead people soaked in urine, but at least I was on… and it was hopefully taking me exactly where I needed to go.
You know, everything would’ve been fine… had Casablanca International been more of an efficient and organized airport. For a while now, I’ve considered Panama the worst airport I’ve ever had the unfortunate of flying out of.
I was mistaken.
Casablanca International far surpassed the unpleasantness experienced at Panama Airport. It’s Casablanca for the win now.
Round of applause…
When the train arrived, we all disembarked and were simultaneously herded through a baggage security check at the beginning of narrow hallway entrance to the airport. One might suppose organization, proper signage, lines and a focus on efficiency might take precedence to ensure passengers proceed safely, smoothly and efficiently.
No.
It was more along the lines of ‘mob mentality the purgatory of metal detectors and plastic bins.’
By this time, it had passed noon. My three hours I’d properly allotted myself had not worked out in my favour… and now I was beginning to fear the worst.
All that kept going through my mind was, “thank goodness, I already have my boarding pass.”
Egypt Air had sent my boarding passes to my email the previous day. Wasn’t that lovely of them to do that?
I thought so.
I was all set.
Into the gauntlet of modern travel I went, bypassing the check-in desk lines with my boarding pass in one hand, passport in the other … ready to head through security and onto my gate.
Not sooooo fast.
It didn’t quite work out that way. Apparently my online boarding passes were a mere formality… a token gesture. A monotone buzz denied me entry through to departures and I had to turn around, return to the check in desk… and wait in line.
Their program was weak.
Very weak.
As expected, I somehow ended up choosing the slowest line. The check-in attendant took an unusually long time processing each passenger. Meanwhile, several individuals decided to cut ahead, as if their time or status warranted special treatment. Tensions were running high. Passengers argued over being denied carry-on luggage and others were burdened with excess baggage fees. The overall atmosphere was chaotic. Amid the confusion, one thought kept running through my mind: “I’m going to miss my flight.”
It seemed likely that I was going to have to check my baggage, as it far exceeded the weight and dimensions of carry-on, but I pleaded with the clerk and he finally agreed to label it ‘cabin bag.’
I think he felt bad for making us all wait so long. He knew I was anxious.
As if we all hadn’t been put through enough, there were a multitude of random security checkpoints to endure, which meant none of us could put our passport or boarding pass away. There must’ve been a dozen or so before we actually were allowed on to the damn plane.
Funny thing…
After all of that… the plane was delayed. I could’ve stayed in bed longer and had significantly less stress.
But advice for any future Moroccan travellers: When they say to be there three hours prior to your international flight, it’s always a good idea to abide by that. BUT… if you’re dealing with Casablanca International, make it four. Or five.
I cannot stress this enough.
Of course, in times such as these, I begin to wonder if it was just me being overly critical and needlessly complaining about the airports. Perhaps, as a frequent traveller, I set the bar too high, resulting in perpetual disappointment and frustration.
So I checked.
Nope…
I did ONE Google search and the poor reviews came flooding in… It was confirmed that every other single traveller in the whole wide world thinks Casablanca Airport is horrendous.
Why?
Well… To name a few things…
Inefficient security and immigration processes.
Long wait times: Security checks and immigration are often criticized for being slow and disorganized, leading to long queues.
Staff attitude: Passengers sometimes report unfriendly or unhelpful behaviour from staff.
Poor signage: Navigating the airport can be confusing due to unclear or insufficient signage.
Congestion and overcrowding: The airport struggles with overcrowding, especially during peak travel times, which exacerbates many of the other issues.
Hmmmmmmm…
I think they need to work on a few things…
We finally flew away and that was when the fun really began.
This man sitting beside me on the plane would NOT leave me alone. He was seated in the aisle and I was at the window, with an empty seat in between the two of us.
We were on that flight for just over five hours… and he must have asked me a question or brought something inconsequential to my attention at least 40 times. Or more…
He continuously was pulling at my shirt or poking my arm or leg to say something nonsensical. Each remark or question was more ridiculous & irrelevant than the last.
Things such as…
~ they speak French in Canada.
~ you might see a camel on your trip!
~ there are many movies to watch on this plane.
~ do you like mountains?
Each time he had some trivial piece of information to share, I would take off my headphones, turn to him and grimace my best grin.
“Yes?” I would inquire.
How he wasn’t acutely aware that he was being more than an inconvenience and a complete bother is beyond me. He also kept trying to gift me items from his airplane meal tray, none of which I wanted.
It didn’t stop.
The only thing that would’ve made it worse would’ve been if I’d been sick on the plane.
I wasn’t.
I was ok to Cairo, surprisingly.
The flight from Cairo to Dubai, not so much.
But… I’ll leave that story for Dubai… 🩷
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