I hate traveling. Period. Every single time I travel internationally, something goes wrong. The alarm clock doesn’t go off. The hotel doesn’t call with a wake-up (or the stupid TV doesn’t go off, as was the case this morning). The plane is late. The kids are loud, restless, crying and/ or spill drinks and food all over. The movies are bad. The luggage gets lost. The connecting flight is missed. I have no cell phone. And no money. Hence no pay phone. I'm tired and stressed and overly emotional.
Or, in my case today, all of the above goes wrong.
I also thought it was so ironic that just as I am so happy to be leaving Morocco, I sit next to a Moroccan family on the 9 hours flight from Paris to Chicago. Two little girls and one tired mom. When she heard me speak a few words of Darija to her daughter, she asked me if I was married to a Moroccan. No! Why? I asked. Because you speak Moroccan so well. Which is funny, because I did understand some of what her 5 year old was saying, but certainly not much! In any case, I let the little girl brush my hair and we were both happy.
Now I’m in Chicago typing out my travel frustration, having missed my connecting flight due to delays, lost luggage and stupid check-in lines, praying to get on the next flight to GRR. Inshallah, I’ll be home, sleeping safe and sound on the air mattress that has replaced my sold bedroom furniture. Home sweet home. Wherever that may be.
