Waiting in the bus station to go to Rabat, I heard a loud yelling match break out in front of one of the bus stalls… groups of men pulling the two yellers away from each other (picture an overdramatic episode of Jerry Springer… in Arabic).

While all this commotion was stirring around me, a sweet janitor insisted on helping me watch out for my correct bus… and chatting with me. I think English visitors are more rare, at least that’s how most react when I’m found out. It was important to him that I know who his favorite bands were… no other English was spoken. Only bands mixed in with Arabic. “Jimi Hendrix hhkalla jiabshalla prayamechka Bobe Deelahn khallak shwell hhhalla… Croezbee Steelz Nosh khhhhahlla awahkkalla Laid Zeppelin bshhal wakhkha nshoofha…”

He saw my eyes widen and light up when he mentioned Led Zeppelin… and I stoked his fire with “Je t’aime!! Je t’aime!! Je t’aaaaaaaaime! C’est TRES Bon! Aw yeah, Monsieur! Tres Bon!!”

My long travel day ended in a lengthy taxi ride, and longwinded argument in broken French about the driver’s fluctuating meter charge (I won), then having to search out the hotel into the windy maze of the medina (that the taxi driver didn’t come CLOSE to)… I finally caved in and ate at McDonald’s… while I sang the theme song to “Team America,” dedicating it to Mr. Rabat Taxi Man…