An Unexpected Encounter at the Meknes Train Station

Initially I was going to title this “Ripped Off In Morrocco: The Story They Don’t Tell You.” Perhaps it’d draw more clicks, but I didn’t like the negative connotation implied. Instead I opted for the above — inspired by an encounter that had me rapidly messaging my sis on a rail ride to Rabat one fine December day: “You won’t believe what just happened to me at the Meknes train station.”

I was running late. I’d been impatiently waiting to hear back from my otherwise fantastic AirBnB host with important instructions: What the heck should I do with my key to the apartment when I leave? By the time I got a reply, I wasn’t sure I’d make my train.

An Unexpected Encounter at the Meknes Train Station

A taxi ride later, I’m hopping out at the station only to be greeted by a snaking long ticket-buying line. So I decide to try my luck at one of the two machines instead. Success! Both my ticket and the change in coins come cascading out, which I hastily grab before darting off. My train’s due to depart in just a minute or two.

A Man Across the Tracks

I hurry to my platform and wait. The train is running ten or fifteen minutes late, which is a relief. It gives me time to catch my breath after dashing down then up a flight of stairs, luggage in tow, to get to platform 2. While waiting, I see a man on platform 1 overtly eyeballing me from across the tracks. I carry on minding my own business, but I’m also discreetly monitoring the man who still has his sights set on me.

A moment later he leaves the crowd behind, steps down into the tracks, starts walking straight across them in my direction until he emerges on the other side — my side — without having shown the slightest indication of thinking to use the underpass. I’m on full alert as he makes a beeline for me, and my mind’s telling me I’m about to be pestered for money or something.

I didn’t expect what happened next. An arm’s length apart from one another, he’s looking at me and I’m looking at him expectantly. He’s a tall, dark, and arguably handsome Moroccan man in his late twenties. Our eyes lock and he hands me a 20-Dirham bill, to my confusion. He tells me (in French) that I’d left my change in the machine after buying my ticket. I think for a second, a little dumbstruck. 

Wait, What?

The ticket had cost 77 Dirhams. I’d paid with a one-hundred-Dirham bill. When the coins and ticket came out I was in such a hurry I just ran to make the train. I did not notice that I was short a 20-Dirham bill until this young man handed it to me. Lightbulb on. This was indeed my twenty Dirham bill. 

I thanked him emphatically. He went on his way, and I contemplated the situation. This man could easily have kept my 20 Dirhams (which at 10 Dirhams to the US dollar, was likely worth more to him than to me) and I would have been none the wiser. But he went out of his way — braving the tracks mere minutes before a train was to arrive — to make sure I got my money back.

The Story They Don’t Tell You

There are those who will tell you that people are out to rip you off in Morocco. Sure, this can be the case there — as it can be anywhere. But that’s not how I would sum up the month (plus some) I’ve spent exploring Morocco, where I’ve met beautiful, kind, hospitable people all through my travels. Like that time I was sick with a cold in Marrakesh, hacking up a storm in my room, and the AirBnB hosts brought me breakfast in bed because they knew I wasn’t well.

Oh yeah, and then — on my first trip to Morocco in 2016 — there was the time I accidentally flew home without my camera, and the guys at the hostel in Chefchaouen kept it for me until a friend could pick it up. When I finally got it back, I contacted these gentlemen to see if they had a PayPal account so that I could compensate them for what they’d done for me. They insisted that no payment was necessary.

I described the details in this Instagram post:

With the Help of Strangers and Friends

 

View this post on Instagram

 

Did I ever tell you that I accidentally left my camera in Morocco last December? 😳 🇲🇦 And that the hostel kept it for me for several months while I figured out the best way to get it back? 📸

And that a friend — @wanderingearl — who was running a Morocco tour earlier this year picked my camera up for me? And that my camera got to travel without me, accompanying @wanderingearl to the Sahara, Santorini, Croatia, and more?! 🌍 ☺️ ✈️

And that @wanderingearl later dropped my camera off at a hotel in Pisa, Italy, where it then camped out for another month? Then in July, seven months after having left my camera in Morocco, I was on a @ricksteveseurope tour that stopped in Pisa, and I went to the hotel reception and they gave me my camera back?! And all of my pictures were still there! And everything was as I’d left it! 😀 🙏🏽

This is one of the pictures I took while in Chefchaouen. Such a magical place! This little boy was bringing home some loaves of bread that were half his size! And the reward for doing so, a chocolate bar, was clasped in his other hand ☺️ 😊

I thought I might never see any of these pictures again. But with the help of strangers and friends, it all worked out! 💕And what an adventure for my camera! 🙏🏽 🤗 #postcardsfromstef

A post shared by Postcards from Stef (@postcardsfromstef) on Oct 24, 2017 at 6:09am PDT

Lessons from the Road

It has also occurred to me on more than one occasion that travel – especially solo travel – often comes down to placing our trust in strangers. This is especially true if you’re more of a “back door” style of traveler, on a tighter budget, traveling closer to the ground and not organizing your days through a concierge service. Occasionally things don’t work out on the road the way we’d hoped or planned. I’ve learned to trust my instincts.

But overwhelmingly I’ve been touched by the beauty of our small planet, in huge part because of the people who inhabit it. My sister recently told me that I am “brave” for going out into the world on my own, and that not everyone — especially not every woman — would travel around Morocco [or Bulgaria or Cuba or Turkey, for that matter] by herself as I’ve done. For me it’s become second nature, so I had to give this some thought.

Naive or Not?

I’ve been thinking that my comfort in travel is in big part thanks to the many years of travel already under my belt. But there’s more to it than that. Ultimately it also comes down to my faith in humanity, my belief that everything will be OK, and that even when at times things aren’t OK — then that’s still OK.

Everything will be fine in the end.

Some would say that this sort of thinking is naive. But my feeling is this: bad things and good things can happen anywhere and everywhere — at home, or abroad. Therefore, let’s not let that stop us from doing the things that we love. (Spoiler alert: No one’s getting out of this life alive!)

For me — from Cape Town to Rio, from New York by night to old Havana by day, or from the markets of Hong Kong to the back alleys of Naples — it’s been one hell of a ride! I have to recognize the inherent privilege that has allowed me to do this. And I want to acknowledge my faith in people and their reciprocity (aided by a firm reliance on my instincts!) that have given me the pluck to wander this world of ours. 

Oh, and what a marvelous world it is!

What are your thoughts? Have you done some roaming of your own? If not, what’s held you back? Lack of funding? Fear? Something else? And what would you do if approached by a tall, dark, and arguably handsome stranger in a foreign land? I’d love to hear your own stories and opinions in the comments section.

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Now, For More Pictures

By the way, I had a fabulous time both in Meknes and in Rabat, so I’ll share a few pictures of my explorations that I hope will pique your interest.

Meknes is the most “hassle free” place I experienced in Morocco. So if you’d like to dive in, but aren’t quite ready for fielding the hustlers and hasslers, then start your Morocco trip in Meknes.

Rabat, the capital of Morocco, feels very modern. I also experienced less hassle here than, say, in Marrakesh or in the ancient Medina of Fez, where a man yelled obscenities at me down a dark alley one night. (Yet I still managed to have one of the most incredible and memorable experiences of my life in that ancient and oh-so-dear-to-me city.)

I hope these pictures and stories will entice you into your own future Moroccan adventures! Thanks for joining me, and don’t forget to fill out the form below to be notified of future “Travels with Stef!”

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