a bad omen revisited

[This blog was written at 4am on the way back to Fes from the Casablanca airport run]

We stopped for the traditional roadside fare: grilled meat. We tried to order a goat's head, but they were all out of them by 12:30am when we finally arrived to eat. Seeing plenty of ovine carcasses with male anatomy attached, we also tried for an order of testicles, never having tried the delicacy, but were again out of luck. So we settled for kefta (well-seasoned ground meat and fat).

The trip is longer than I expected. At 330 we were still a good 45 minutes out of Fes. In retrospect, a hotel for the night in Casa would have made as much sense as the taxi--I had imagined we would arrive in Fes closer to 2am. To compound the problem, tonight marks the beginning of daylight savings, so really it’s now 5 in the morning (my morning sobriety corrected this fallacy--Morocco does not observe daylight savings).

News Flash: About twenty minutes ago, on the final stretch home, the Benz made an incredibly angry noise. It growled, really. No, it was more of a roar. Suffice it to say that I have never heard a sound like it, not whilst riding in a car. The driver took the taxi out of gear and we coasted along in a very rough neutral for a several minutes, taking advantage of a gradual descent. It wasn't a flat tire, though the engine's screaming gyrations almost made it feel like one. The hill leveled out, and he shifted back into second to get whatever mileage he could. We made it all of two hundred meters before the car ground (actually ground) to a halt.

If I had to guess (I did), I’d say it sounded like the oil pan just dropped was ripped off of the taxi. The initial jolt was brought me back to full consciousness after dozing for a few minutes. The driver (Youssef) and I grunted and performed the manly ritual of lifting the hood and nosing around. It wasn’t the radiator, as one might have guessed given earlier signs. We took a look at the oil reservoir, and it was smoky. The driver began making the requisite phone calls when I went back out to investigate the trickling sound I heard. Youssef was just beside the vehicle, ruling out the bodily function the sound most emulated. The fluid streaming from the engine was black as the sky above--indeed, this was a serious mushkill.

Lesson learned: Listen to the car before hiring it for an eight hour tour. It's not all about the cheapest rate.

Fifteen minutes later we were hoisted onto a flatbed truck, to be hauled back to Fes. I’ve never had the privilege of riding in a car being towed. It was oddly unsettling in the darkness, though I reckon it would be fun during the day. A few minutes later and we rendezvoused with Yousef’s son, who brought an alternate taxi for the last few kilometers home.

Sometimes these blog entries just write themselves...

You all remember your lines, yeah? Everybody now, please; let's say it together: Fes. Saturday night. What’s gonna happen next?!?