to tell Ian.”
We met up with two other friends in New York, where we also faced our first
challenge. Our supposed reliable and trusted guide, Henry, left his passport at home in
Los Angeles. Since we really had no other choice and our sense of adventure kicked in,
Sandra and I boarded the Royal Morocco plane without him.
The flight was uneventful except that the overhead lights were never turned out.
Despite this frustration, many seated around us were either sleeping or nodding off. We
quietly chatted most of the flight and were rewarded with a stunning sunrise as we
approached our destination.
Happily, we were met by a Moroccan guide, Lotve, who drove a Mercedes van. Ten
years old and slightly worn and weary, but it was still reasonably comfortable. Lotve took
us around Casablanca, then Rabat, which is the political and royal center of Morocco;
evidently each royal city has a prominent color and in Rabat it is white. Then he drove us
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