Casablanca Airport thoughts: 6

[From scribbled Moleskine notes made in the 5 hour wait on Monday morning]

Just got stuck in the toilet. Literally. Pushed door shut hard, while thinking how interesting, there is no handle or lock, and all the holes in this door are stuffed with wadded up toilet paper, how terribly quaint.

Eight minutes later, after a protracted period of knocking, gave up. Stared disconsolately at the mucky area behind toilet. Finally decided that, after another period of knocking and rather pathetically shouting Help! Help! Oh! Um? Aidez moi? Sil vous plait?, I could, though with slight risk of breakage, jam my fingers between the bottom of the door and the floor.

This worked, owishly, and left me wanting to wash my hands.

Sink – no water. Sink – no tap. Sink – tap, water, though the act of making it run made all the little cockroaches living behind the tiled surround alarmed, and they ran around in little circles. Pulling the soap dispenser and finding one dropping into my hand made me alarmed, and I ran around in a little circle.

Wiping my hands on my trousers, I walked toward the door to find a woman with a mop standing with her hand out for a tip.

I looked at her, slightly uncomprehending. She looked at me, with a suggestion that I am evil Western tourist with no understanding or respect for other cultures. I wondered whether my French was up to the battle. She stared at me like walking filth. I gave her 2 Dihram.