MOROCCO TO ENGLAND…by Geof Prigge
geofprigge@yahoo.com.au
www.geofprigge.com
It’s not every day that a school is named in your honour but it happened to me in August of last year (2005), and I was on my way to the Gambian school from Morocco, but going the long way, first to Spain where I’d found a one cent flight with Ryan Air to London, and then for the low price of 70 pounds from London to Banjul, where the school is located.
It was an adventure that was memorable for all the wrong reasons. Firstly I headed off on the long trip from Marrakech to London by catching the train to Meknes and Fes in northern Morocco. The train trip was wonderful with typically warm Moroccan people sharing my compartment. I spent a few days in both Meknes and Fez, even had a day of skiing in Michliffen. Then I caught a coach to Jerez in Spain, but not before a strange crossing on the ferry to Algericas.
Boarding was tedious as the design of both the customs area and the ship itself left a lot to be desired. The long queues and small entrances incapable of allowing large numbers to efficiently get through were annoying. After a three hour process, we were on our way.
It’s amusing to watch people in the first stages of a rough sea, how they all laugh and think it’s funny the difficulty they have in walking and so on. I knew, having heard the weather report, that some of these happy souls wouldn’t be happy for long. Sure enough as the journey progressed and the seas became rough, the passengers changed colour and began throwing up all over the place. I have never been on a boat anywhere and experienced such quantities of human vomit. I feel I’ve now stood the test of sea-sickness. After an hour or so of the planned three hour trip, I felt fine, so I went to the restaurant and ordered a fish and vegetable dinner. Within a few seconds of the waiter having left, a man just a few metres from me threw up in such a violent manner, that I was forced to move to another table. I’d already chosen a table close to the bow, but on the port side, and so I moved to starboard. He threw up noisily again and again, but I persevered, trying to concentrate on my book and read a chapter while my fish was cooking. The seas got huge. We crashed down off the waves violently, making the whole ship shudder. One small boy was crying with fear and I remembered myself as a kid on my father’s boat. This was becoming a real test. My meal arrived and I must say it was lovely. Never before have I endured eating a meal with a cacophony of people vomiting at the rate of more than one a minute. Why in the restaurant I wondered. Later I was to discover the obvious. Nowhere on the entire ship was exempt from this human failure. I dare say that some on board were thinking the ship might sink, the sea was so rough…that we might go completely under on one of the roller coaster waves. Personally I loved it! At one stage the sounds from the galley were like 10 supermarket trolleys all rolling together across the floor and crashing. I had to be careful not to jab my cheek with my fork as the ship rocked and rolled. At the end of my meal, one wave was so big that my cutlery slid off my plate and I had to hold on tight so as not to slide myself.
I had been the only one eating in the restaurant. There were quite a few people there, mostly on the floor trying to sleep, some moaning, others crying, a dozen or so vomiting. I think the chef was happy that I’d eaten and kept the meal down. His smile said more than the usual.
We arrived at the port of Algericas at 11pm local time, and tried to disembark. The same problem of bad ship design made it a slow process. There were puddles of spew everywhere, carpeted spew, spew in plastic bags, seats full of spew, and I will not describe the toilets. It left an enduring impression.
In light drizzle I boarded the bus to Jerez, arriving there at 2.30 am. It was a very sleepy place, but as I’d made a note of a cheapish hotel from an internet search the previous day, I headed there, booked in, and had a good sleep.
My one cent Ryan Air flight the next day was fine, but it delivered me to England where my problems were only just beginning.
I slept on the airport floor in Stansted and caught the airport shuttle bus to Gatwick the following morning. The Guest-house I chose was The Masslink. My room had such an odour of cigarettes that I chose to ask if there was possibly another room available. I received one of the common replies one gets in England, a rude sort of ‘who cares-I certainly don’t’ type answer. Simply…’no, we’ve only got two single rooms.’ Obviously the woman didn’t realise that she hadn’t answered my question. Still I knew I was stuck with the smells. Six hours of window ventilation did nothing to improve it.
In my 30 hours in the UK, some might think I wouldn’t be a good judge of the place, but some years ago I had lived in London for a year, and had travelled a fair amount around both England and Wales. If the smelly guest-house was my only problem, I would not have even mentioned it here, but what happened the next day will remain with me for the rest of my life.
I had booked a ticket on the internet with www.airflightsdirect.co.uk an agent of the dubious Thomas Cook organisation. I arrived to check in to my flight early, but was told upon handing over my ticket that I might need a return ticket in order to get on the plane. I stated that I wasn’t coming back to the UK. ‘I’m an Aussie,’ I told the lady. ‘I’m heading deeper into Africa and plan to return on another route altogether.’ She then said that she’d check with her supervisor, but not to worry - Thomas Cook write bogus tickets for people in my situation who are sometimes asked to prove they can afford to get out of countries once they arrive. She’d sort it out. She did not!
I was advised to go quickly to the Thomas Cook desk and ask if they could write the bogus return ticket. I hastily fought my way through the crowd to the Thomas Cook desk, where again I was told, ‘yes it’s a possibility to have us write a false ticket for you. I’ll check with my supervisor’. Time dragged on. The computer was not working at its normal capacity and check-in was about to close. No worries I thought. I’ve already got my boarding pass. My luggage has gone. All I have to do is get this damn false ticket. It was not forthcoming. Firstly the supervisor, due to a change in the rules which had occurred since I booked my ticket, was reluctant to do what they used to do and have her staff issue the bogus flight details on a falsified ticket.
At the suggestion of one of the staff that I make haste and get to the boarding area, I did so, but I shouldn’t have taken her advice. I got right to the plane and wasn’t allowed on. Marched back through customs, I felt somewhat like a criminal and remember this should have been one of the best days of my life. A school had been named after me, and I was going to The Gambia to check it out, and present the headmaster with funds I’d raised in Germany, Italy and Australia and also to give the kids some gifts I was carrying.
Instead, I was being marshalled back through immigration to face my fate at the hands of those Thomas Cook people. My flight left without me. The next 9 hours was spent trying to get answers from some of the most unhelpful travel advisory staff I’ve encountered in 30 years of travel. This current trip is a two year adventure. I’m about 20 months into it, and it may go longer than the planned two years. I’ve travelled with ‘round the world tickets, return tickets, but more often than not, a simple one-way ticket, as was the case on this trip.
If I’m asked to prove I can support myself or to purchase a return ticket, I show my three credit cards. This time, I also had a bank statement showing I had plenty of readily available cash. Not good enough!
No-one could reply in all my time at Gatwick airport as to why I had been first given a boarding pass, and then refused travel at the last moment. I like to look upon such events as having a meaning, to turn bad luck into good, but at the time it was hard to do so. Maybe I was going to break a leg getting on the plane, perhaps I was going to experience a problem even worse, and some other force was looking after me.
Two people in my day of misfortune were positive. One was Mary, the lady at the Information desk at the South Terminal at Gatwick. I thank you for your support and the phone line you arranged for me to use for about half of the nine hours I spent trying to sort the mess out.
Another was Colin Gill, the manager of Airflights Direct who, at the very end of my ordeal, was at least going to try to sort the problem out on my behalf with Thomas Cook.
I’d phoned the consumer watchdog and the BBC who offered me an interview and took preliminary notes. I didn’t call them back for the interview they offered because I felt it could well hinder my approach to get a successful outcome.
I then escaped the UK and came to The Netherlands where I know the people are more civilised and there is a travel agent who has much the same price for my requested journey.
My advice to others who are contemplating travel with even the so-called reputable companies, is to be very sure you are going to be able to fly if you decide to do so on a one-way ticket. Perhaps even get it in writing. Nothing is a certainty in this strange new world. Not even a boarding pass! Be careful! Especially with Thomas Cook.
