Barf Bag Por Favor

We planned to leave Algecerias by ferry- arriving in Tanger, Morocco. Getting ferry tickets is a different concept here- and after our experience I have a little more appreciation for BC Ferries. There are ticket selling kiosks and hole in the wall shops lining the streets in Algecerias...nothing really appeared to be official...so we left our packs in our room and set out to buy our tickets. We were walking towards a building that we thought looked most respectable and professional. We didn’t make it to the door (the place looked closed when we got up close anyway) before we were approached by 5-6 ticket hustler dudes. “Tickets- you need tickets- come this way my friend!” Before I could get two words out (which would have been “hell no”) Steve was off with his new friend and I was following them to the hole in the wall place which probably belonged to his uncle or some cousin... Ugh, I just shook my head. He ushered us in to the first shop- they didn’t have the tix we wanted. We were looking for tickets on the slower ferry because: A) it would mean less time to kill in Tanger before our train departed; B) I had read that the fast ferries can get a little rough in the waters; C) we thought it might be a little cheaper; and D) we thought what the heck- we don’t get to sail on the mediterranean very often so lets enjoy it! So Steve’s friend brought us to another ticket selling shop. This guy wanted to sell us fast ferry tix only- and when we said we wanted the slow one he pointed towards the terminal...when we left the store (ticketless) Steve’s friend said “commission”- Steve replied “we have no tickets!” Then he said “commission!” Steve patted him on the back and said “You’re a nice guy, but we have no tickets” and we hurried away.

Steve suggested we walk to the terminal and get tickets there. This ended up being the best idea- no pressure from people on the street and no hidden commission. We went to the slow ferry ticket selling booth. The price for the tickets was 44 Euro each- this cost more than the fast ferry!! That didn’t make sense to us, so instead of questioning any of it, we bought fast ferry tickets for 33 Euro each. The terminal itself was clean and safe so we waited for our 1500 sailing. The ferry departed late, around 1600hrs, which was fine with us because it was only supposed to take 45 minutes. At first the ride was pretty smooth so we walked around the boat and then sat and read our books. There was no outside deck but the inside had a cafe, washrooms, giftshop, etc. The waters started to get a little rough, I started to feel a little queezy so I put my head down on the table. The waters got rougher and I felt worse. I could hear people laughing and saying “woohoo” as the waves got bigger. I contemplated taking my gravol but I didn’t want to be drowsy and I thought we should almost be to the other side anyway. Before long, I was too nauseated to lift my head and look for land ahoy. I blindly dug through my purse for my stash of gravol but couldn’t find it. By this point I was getting cool and clammy. “Steve can you get my gravol and a barf bag?” He just had to ask “are you sure you need it? I don’t want you to be tired and grouchy” AGH!!! I couldn’t even respond because I was so nauseated, I wanted to deck him. He thought I was being a wussy. It felt like eons before he dug through my pack and got my precious pink pill and emptied a little ziploc out for me. The waves get worse, I start to inhale up the wave and exhale down the wave. I try to meditate, I try to find a happy place, I imagine I’m curled up on Brandi’s couch as she makes the buttermilk pancakes...but the boat keeps rocking. The laughter has stopped, its not fun anymore. There is some kind of psychedelic music playing over the speakers that sounds like the cd is skipping, it is driving me nuts. I can hear people vomiting and children crying. I thought about my dad and how the sound of someone tossing their cookies makes him yak! A lady came to our table and asked Steve “is she ok?” He replies “oh, so-so”. I can’t lift my head. The lady puts two nice sized barf bags on the table. I was thankful but deep down I wanted a lady to come to the table offering syringes loaded with stemetil or maxeran. The gravol didn’t have time to take effect, I grabbed a bag, head still on table, opened it up and started heaving. Steve tried to rub my back but it only made me move around more...I could still hear others barfing. I started to feel better but still couldn’t move. My barf was berry flavored from a granola bar I ate earlier, my wonderful husband redeemed himself by taking my bag of pink berry barf to the garbage. I got the next bag ready as a precaution. The water was still rough. Steve narrated the scene for me...”about 1 in 3 are ralphing, people are laying on the floor behind us barfing, the mens washroom is a free for all for barfers....” How much longer could this go on?! Eventually the waves went from up and down to a side to side motion. My body is still prepping itself to be sick and I can’t lift my head off the table...I start crying, I want it all to end. Steve says “I don’t feel so good.” I’ve never seen Steve toss his cookies before and I want to help him like he is helping me but I know I can’t move. I tell him to take the bag if he needs it...but then I think back to his attitude about getting my gravol and I think to myself ‘get your own barf bag sucker’...eventually the boat stopped rocking. I turned my head to the side and saw two women enter the mens bathroom with buckets of cleaner. I could smell the bleach...I laid there watching them, I could feel berry barf crusted on to my chin and lips but I didn’t care. People lined up to get off the boat...I cautiously went to the washroom to freshen up and we disembarked. Thankfully, Steve never did get sick and he took care of me. The “fast ferry” ended up taking 3 hours and was a horrible experience, but oh well- we made it to Morocco!!!