Au revoir, Morocco; bonjour Paris (again)

It’s here. The day I say ma’ a salama to Morocco. I’ve ranted and raved the last few posts about my time here, so it won’t do any good to revisit those comments again.

My travel agent, Brett, helped me get many different flight options from Marrakesh to Paris. Since I’m flying standby, there has to be a seat for me and a standby list that isn’t too long in order for me to make it. Air France options didn’t look good, so I had a look at Transavia into Paris Orly airport. There was a flight that left Marrakesh at 1:30 p.m., which meant I could have a leisurely morning getting ready.

The Marrakesh airport is beautiful outside and clean and lovely inside. Once I got inside the airport, I found the Transavia counter and made my way over there.

I had two bags to check and I thought my standby ticket included one. Ummm, it did not. The kind customer service agent explained that to me and I told him it wasn’t a problem. I’ll pay whatever I need to pay. He made a decision to tag my bags “hand luggage” with bag tags and send them through for free. That kindness was unexpected but appreciated.

Going through exiting customs and security was interesting, not in a bad way. At preboard screening, men and women are separated into different lines with women having female screening guards and males having male screening guards. After that, there was customs and then the police stamps your boarding card (to make sure customs stamped your passport ) and then you’re golden!

I got there with plenty of time to kill and I generally don’t poke around duty free too much but I did this time. And I found chocolate bars made with camel milk. I haven’t tried it yet but it’s kind of a cool souvenir. My Transavia flight into Orly was uneventful. It’s a flat rate into Paris and it was rush hour traffic, so it took a bit of time to make my way to the Albe Hotel.

The Albe is located in the Latin Quarter in the fifth arrondissement in Paris. It’s a small hotel with not a lot of rooms but in an excellent location. It’s clean, safe and, most important, when you’ve done a lot of shopping in Morocco, it has an elevator. I did get a good chuckle when I saw the size of the bathroom — it’s as big if not bigger than the sleeping area. And it has the hugest bathtub.

My first trip to Paris with My Favourite Husband (MFH) back in the late 1990s had us staying at a small hotel near the Arc d’ Triomphe, which had the smallest shower I’ve ever seen. The think if he’s hanging with me on this trip, he’s probably laughing at the size of this one. After I got settled in, I went for a short walk. I’m very close to Notre Dame and to lots of restaurants. One specializes in Moroccan cuisine and a lovely gentleman earnestly asked me to come inside and try tajine. I told the poor man I just had two weeks of excellent tajine in Morocco and he said if I missed it to come by. After a quick bite, I made my way back towards my hotel through different side streets. To be honest, I was looking for a Greek restaurant where MFH and I had eaten when we were in the Latin Quarter in Paris in the late 1990s.

I really didn’t have a lot of hope I’d find it since I didn’t have the name or even address of what I was looking for. And yet the guiding hand of fate (or MFH) put me down the right street.

A man called to me to check out his restaurant and, as I peered inside, memories washed over me. The table placement. The murals on the wall. I knew instantly I had found it.

I had already eaten but I told the man who called to me that I was coming back for a meal. I tried to explain the importance of the place but he did not care. He did give me a business card, so I knew where to come back to. And I will go back. Tomorrow is another adventure and I’ll plot it in the morning. For now, bon nuit and my love to you.