Morocco part one: “Running” late to Barcelona

It started with me throwing all my fruits and snacks along with the garbage as I was rushing to the busstop. Right there and then, I should have understood that it was just ‘one of those days.’ Within minutes the day kept on giving. Without the company informing me, the busstop had moved. So myself and a few other lost souls were standing there waiting for a ‘late’ bus that would never arrive. Being out in exceptional good time, I was working under the naive assumption that changing to trains and still arrive on time for my flight, would not be a problem. Boy was I wrong. Instead, I was forced to return back to the ‘correct’ bus stop and jump on another bus to somewhere else. The bus runs late and I without knowing where I was and with too much luggage, I was forced to sprint from the busstop to the trainstation to catch my next connection, a 20 euro 30 min train. The 30 minutes turns into 48 minutes and while I suppose I got ‘more’ for my money, once again I had to reschedule my travel path. Familiar with the proceedings, another race for time between an unfamiliar train station and and even less known bus station followed. By some miracle I entered the final bus with one minute to spare, and in this writing minute I am safe on the plane to Barcelona.

While I was sitting on one of the connections, stressed and frustrated, I came to the same conclusion I, as of late, I have on occasion. Namely, that I must be pretty happy. In situations such as these, frustration lets the inner devil shine and today its rage was not so bad. A few times cursing the Italian’s lack of ‘caring about the customer’ and a “how the h*ll is the fastest train in Italy so slow!”, but overall believe I handled the situation with uncharacteristic grace.

It is a common belief that everything comes in threes. Disasters, pleasures, surprises. Now, that I managed to gather two minor, but fixable, disasters I wonder what my third minor misshapen will be.

Continuing my writing hours later, I can confirm the day’s third mini disaster. Randomly as a guy looks at me at the road crossing, I get this strange feeling that we have met. Was this that hot French saxophonist I met in Barcelona forever ago, this time in plain daylight and not in the shadows of a night club? After enquiring with a puzzled look, he looked at me even weirder introduced himself under a completely different name and rapidly ran away from me… I think I need to polish my flirting skills…

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