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31.3.04

Overland Trip To Senagal 2004, Day 1: Welcome to Morocco

Thomas Morgan
2006-04-26 11:16:03

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Numerous bookings already. It’s five to twelve and Thomas Morgan (who everyone on Ryanair flight FR8369 will remember as the man who dropped his yellow fever certificate) and I are on the bus in a station in Jerez, about to leave for Algeciras. Haven’t really slept more than 4 or 5 hours, and those few hours were either on the coach from UEA to Stansted or on the plane to Jerez. Nightmare. Your eyes burn with tiredness and you suddenly feel really hungry. I wanted a cheese grilled sandwich but neither of us know enough Español (that’s Spanish for “Spanish”) to order one. Alive and well and here, more to the point. It could have all gone so wrong. Bus just pulled out, right on time, though the digital clock at the front says 23.01. Marshy drove me to the Runnel at 12.40, coach from uni at 2am. When we step out to get in the car, it’s chilly and this moist mass of mist is taking over. Marshy complains about it as he drives and tries to clean his windshield. We talked about the football, the football he had to record for me.

There is no-one at the Runnel except Frenchy, the door is open, we walk right in. I had never really seen Frenchy’s room, but it was just as I had imagined: small, a mess, the feeling everywhere that he doesn’t plan to stay here. He is ready. His colossal backpack full to the brim and his conversation on Messenger being wrapped up in the only language he uses on MSN. “To be fair, bus doesn’t leave for an hour and a half, wanna watch TV ?” We say yes, and head downstairs.

Flipping about channels, watching something but listening to Frenchy tell stories from working at the hospital. Time slips by in front of repeating shows and on an ageing couch. I have the remote and am itching to be at the bus stop. “Let’s go”, and we do. Marshy drives us to the Sportspark and bids us farewell unceremoniously, U-turns, his one reverse light, and he’s off. I stare at the crescent moon all alone ...