For some evil reason, Morocco
chooses the end of Ramadan to spring the clock forward one hour, so I didn’t
get much sleep before my alarm went off at 2 am (now 3 am), to give me time to
shower, dress, and walk to the train station for my 4:45 am train to Casablanca . I actually
got there at 4 am, but better early than risking missing the train. My plan is
to go to the main station in Casablanca ,
and from there take a taxi to the airport (for about US $30). I am a bit
worried because I don’t have enough dirhams left for the taxi, so I am going to
have to pay the fee half in local currency and half in euros.
Fortunately for me, when I got in the train, I found myself
sharing the cabin with a chatty woman, whom I asked if there was a train
connection to the airport. Yes, she said, but you need to get out in a small
and practically unknown station in the outskirts of Casablanca , where you can then take the local
train to the airport. It was a very pleasant 3-hour trip to Casa, and my new
friend, attentive as she was to my needs, made sure I got off at the right
place. If I have omitted saying this before I will say it now: Moroccans are
the friendliest people, and I will always remember them with fondness and
appreciation.
The train ticket cost measly 40 dirhams, so now I have about
150 extra dirhams to burn at the airport! Furthermore, I only had to wait 20
minutes for the train, so by 9 am I was ready to check in for my noon flight to
Frankfurt . Easy piecey!
I landed in Frankfurt at
6:30 pm, and no sooner had I stepped out of customs that I saw the tall form of
my dear friend Gustav, holding two beers to welcome me into Deutschland. He had
it all planned: We were to have dinner at a restaurant near his house, where
they have excellent Apfelwein. Now, I
happen to like Apfelwein, and it is
wonderfully refreshing in a warm afternoon like this one was, but I have
memories of associated overeating whenever we had gone for a glass, so I
determined that this time I was just going to nurse a half pint and have a
light dinner.
Once we got to the restaurant Gustav ordered two pints, and Handkäse mit Musik (a hand-molded cheese
with onions and cumin that is reputed to make you pass gas sonorously, hence
the “music”), in what was but the beginning of a slippery slope. Shortly
thereafter Christine and the rest of the group started to arrive, and
eventually we had the merry company of Gustav and Christine, their grownup
children Anna and Phillip, Frank and Andrea, their daughter Alisa, and yours
truly. Get a group of happy Germans together (and a willing Mexican) and you
have the perfect conditions for eating and drinking indulgence. Of course
Gustav knew the owner, and of course we had to go to the cellar to do some Apfelwein tasting, and what would an
evening like this be without tasting the Brandwein
distilled by the patron in his free time!
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