This is part two of a two part series about Amanda and I confronting bed bugs while in Morocco. To read part one first, click here
“I just wish they had something other than Heineken”, Amanda said followed by an exasperated sigh.
It was around 3pm in Tangier and we were looking to grab some liquid relaxation before hopping in a long-distance taxi to our next destination, Chefchaouen, “The Blue Pearl of Morocco”.
We hadn’t had a good beer in over a week (truly criminal), since getting a beer in Morocco can be quite difficult, and the past few days had taken their toll on us. We needed a quick break.
Amanda had gotten dozens of bug bites over the past couple days, and that morning was when we realized who the culprit was: Bed Bugs. The terrible scourge of backpackers everywhere.
We then spent the next 5+ hours dumping out, cleaning and drying our clothes, wiping down with bleach-wipes everything that couldn’t get wet, and checking every crease, corner and cranny of our possessions.
All of this put off our departure time considerably. And what was originally supposed to be an easy day, leaving Tangier by 9am, ended up spiraling out of hand as we finally left the hostel after 2pm.
We were frustrated at leaving late, but most of all, we were weary from dealing with apathetic hostel staff, ongoing cold-symptoms, and the worry that we were carrying the pests with us despite our best efforts.
The icing on the cake was that we had looked up our upcoming hostel, as well as dozens of alternatives in Chefchaouen, and they all had bed bug complaints within the past 6-12 months. This was quite disheartening.
After departing the hostel in the East of Tangier’s Medina, we made our way to the large boulevard that lines the city’s waterfront and determined we would take a break at some cafe and get a relaxing mint tea before hitting the road.
We sat at a promising establishment and were surprised to find beer on the menu. The list included a surprisingly vast selection of European brews.
The tides were turning!!
We ordered two tasty German beers.
“No, we do not have,” the response from the waiter came.
“Okay, than maybe this one?” I said, pointing to the next option on the menu.
“No, we do not have.”
We did this with a few other options as well.
Amanda and I exchanged looks, the only remaining option was Heineken.
We had unfortunately consumed a very large amount of Heineken recently while traveling through Paris and Lisboa and just wanted a break from it. But, a beer is better than no beer so we ordered them.
The waiter returned and blandly announced, “No Heineken.”
This wasn’t our day.
We both just chuckled pathetically and ordered two mint teas, the most common, easy-to-guarantee item on any Moroccan menu and one that we both luckily had fallen in love with since landing in Casablanca seven days earlier. We slowly sipped our fresh elixirs while relaxing with a lovely sea breeze coming off the strait of Gibraltar.
The day was looking up. We had our tea, we were looking out over the bustle of a new and interesting country, and we were about to go to a spectacular place.
Once the tea was finished and bill paid, we departed for the Taxi Collective to catch a Grand Taxi to Chefchaouen (for Travel tips on how to use long-distance taxis in Morocco, click here).
After a brisk 25-minute walk, we arrived sweaty but excited, and a grumpy yellow-vested attendant who had helped us the day before once again waved us toward the appropriate cab. After waiting for 20 minutes for the driver to show up again, we departed with all seats filled, and so began another interesting adventure on our trip. If you wish to read more about how our taxi-ride went, click here for a simple tale centering around an eccentric co-passenger.
Suffice to say, we made it to Chefchaouen, rewarded by the beautiful mountain views and golden valleys the whole way there. Arriving shortly after sundown, we wandered toward the old Medina where our hostel was located, and the heart of the blue pearl that we had come to behold.
It was a zoo.
We hadn’t expected to be met with crowds like this until India, later in the trip. The main entrance to the Medina at Bab El Ain gate was a tightly packed crowd of tourists, mostly Moroccan, moving at the pace of cold gravy. Old men impossibly carved out corners of space against the walls, selling fruit and other snacks. Women and children clamored and pressed determinedly from all sides. The cacophony of hundreds of people all packed into a small space drowned out all communication between Amanda and I. We pushed forth, bags strapped tightly to our front and back, using them to occasionally plow through any stagnation. It was the only way, and seemingly the favored method by all others, as we felt dull and sharp prods from all sides. Soon we found ourselves close to our turn which would take us out of this mess. Suddenly, as if jumping from a rushing river onto a still, quiet bank, we emerged out of the crowd and ambled relaxingly into a quiet side street where shopkeepers quickly pounced. We dodged the sales-pitches and weaved past the racks of shirts and pants before taking several more confusing turns and finally arriving at our destination.
The pathway before us was a truly idyllic scene. Blue walls channeled the walkway to a majestic archway which beckoned Travellers to the correct address with a big “Hostel” sign painted in white and blue.
We soaked in the quiet street for a second before heading inside. There, no one greeted us. The reception desk was deserted, but assorted hostel rules, policies and recommendations were scattered across the wall in decorative lists and maps.
We called out “HELLO!?” into what seemed like an employee area to no avail before looking up four floors through the central atrium that connected each level. We slogged up the winding staircase before arriving at the rooftop terrace. Lit by strings of lights and similarly painted in blue and decorative hostel graffiti with plenty of lounge areas and chairs, it seemed this was the place for us. By now, a young British voice called from above, on the upper level of the terrace. We wandered in its direction. A lanky, long-haired fellow drowsily greeted us and we let him know we wanted to check in.
He lit up with genuine happiness, a broad smile stretching against the hair on either side of his face and said “Well, you guys have come to the right place, you really have.” And then, after pausing as if for dramatic effect, he continued, “You’ll love it here, it’s peaceful, there’s beautiful mountains, great day trips; it’s perfect. I’ve been here for a month myself.” He continued to wax poetic about the town before leading us downstairs to check in, where he also mentioned that beer was available to purchase from the kitchen on the bottom floor. Being tired and ready for anything positive, we were immediately taken and inspired by his words. Especially by the prospect of a refreshing frosty beverage. Amanda and I exchanged several glances and comments of excitement as we finished checking in and entered our room. We had managed to get a private double bed room, as it cost the same as two of us getting our own bunks in the dorm space they had available.
The room was small, but quaint, and felt quite fitting. We were very happy. But, our experiences from the morning at our last hostel had taught us to proceed with more caution, so simply out of diligence we decided to thoroughly check the premises for evidence of bed bugs.
It didn’t take long.
As soon as I pulled the fitted sheet from the top-right corner of the bed, we were presented with three little dots that filled us with dread.
Three bed bugs lay there. The two smaller ones scrambled for safety at a sluggish pace, and the third, a fully mature and quite large adult, made no effort to conceal themselves. After our woeful surprise had passed, I took out my phone and snapped a few pictures.
“You cannot be serious…” Amanda uttered shaking her head.
We looked at each other, I gave an exasperated smile and also shook my head before heading downstairs to solve this next problem.
Given the events of the day, my capacity for patience and politeness had been dismissed, and when no staff appeared at the reception desk following a couple hollers, I pounded savagely on the now shut door that read ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY.”
To my surprise, an older, even sleepier British voice responded irritatingly, followed not so shortly after by a skinny beer-gutted man with a face that resembled Sting’s if only Sting were much uglier.
“Can I help you?” He leered.
I was not in the mood for pleasantries.
“Our room has bed bugs.” I said curtly.
His face woke up finally at this remark but showed little surprise and he asked to be shown the issue, seeming highly skeptical.
I was so excited he had asked.
I led him upstairs where Amanda was waiting and the lazy big bed bug still lay there, with the sluggish small ones not too far away from their original positions. Again, this was only a single corner of the bed, mind you.
I simply pointed to the offending specks on the sheet and said, “There.”
“Huh? Where?…” he slurred as he uninterestingly waved his hand in the direction of the bed and scanned quickly with his eyes.
Amanda and I scoffed.
I swiftly went to the single uplifted corner of fitted-sheet and gesticulated with an indignant knife-hand “here.”
He finally seemed to recognize the obvious issue and mumbled in a familiarly indifferent tone: “Oh all right, we’ll get this sorted out. We have some space in our dorm room if you’d like”.
Nope.
We quickly informed him that we were not staying in the hostel and that we were going to make alternative reservations.
Unfortunately, by this time it was well after 9pm, and as he quickly informed us, “During this time of year, you really won’t find any other beds available. You’ll have to go round knocking on doors, you can if you’d like….” and he droned on about different options nearby. During which time I took out my phone and made a reservation on Hotels.com at the nicest hotel I could find that my free rewards night would cover. Hoping an advanced level of quality would free us from our bed-bug misfortunes.
I checked my email and sure enough I had received a confirmation from Hotels.com for the reservation.
Barely waiting for our cheerful host to finish, Amanda and I headed out the door with the host still muttering “… I’m telling you, you’ll have to pound on doors you will… there’s nothing…”
We walked quickly through the alleys. Arriving back at the main road that was previously packed with the whole population of northern Morocco, we were thrilled to find that conditions remained the same.
We pushed through the crowd with more urgency and irritation than before, and once through the gate, continued in the direction of the hotel we had secured. After a brisk 10 minute walk, we arrived. A doorman stood at the front and looked at us as if to say sarcastically “Can I help you?” So I told him our purpose. He then looked at us more puzzled this time and said, “No, not possible. Full.”
I told him otherwise, showing him my reservation and insisted on being let inside. He relented and fetched a manager to deal with the imprudent American invaders.
After waiting at the desk for a few minutes, a smartly dressed manager appeared and asked, “Can I help you?”
I told him we had made a reservation at his hotel.
Once again, this received a response of “No, no reservation.”
Next, I re-stated my position and produced the Hotels.com app and email confirmation as evidence, doing so with an increasing level of hostility.
Amanda had noted this and started to throw glances and mouthed-comments my way to calm me down and prevent some kind of international incident. She wanted the room as much as I did, but prudently saw the value of not alienating our new gate-keeper.
I was not as willing to indulge in diplomacy at the moment and just kept insisting on our reservation.
The manager told us that the hotel had to approve all reservations from Hotels.com and that the confirmation in the app and by email meant “nothing”, only the confirmation from the hotel itself was of any value, and this, we did not have. Furthermore, there were no rooms available, and he said there was nothing he could do for us.
With as much kindness as I could muster, I asked to see his boss. To which he reluctantly gestured for us to sit in the lobby as he went to find him.
We waited for 20 minutes on some plush red couches across from a group of wealthy middle-eastern Travellers. Our presence, sweaty and bit disheveled from the frantic day’s events was at odds with their slick, manicured appearance. This somehow seemed to accentuate the circumstances, but despite this, Amanda succeeded in steering me away from yelling at the hotel manager when he returned. When he did, there was no boss, but he did kindly provide two recommended hotels down the street which he had called and said had rooms.
Unfortunately, these hotels were incredibly expensive, costing far more than we could manage at this stage in the trip and more than we would typically manage to pay regardless. We were only on week two of what was supposed to be a 6-7 month trip so preserving our funds was crucial.
After a brief conference, Amanda and I reluctantly decided to head back to the hostel. Yup, the same hostel with the bed bugs; it was our only choice we seemed to have if we didn’t want to completely break our budget.
We returned through the now dwindling crowds and the elder hostel host was asleep, now being around 11pm, but the younger one suddenly materialized and assisted us with checking into the empty dorm-room bunks.
We checked them AGGRESSIVELY.
Luckily, no bugs or evidence of them were found. We could rest easy this night. Finally, the day’s ordeal seemed to be finished.
We trudged upward to the rooftop terrace and looked out over the majestic town. The shadowy outline of the surrounding mountains showed clear thanks to the rising moon behind them. The ambient golden light of the town cast itself on their lower slopes, giving the whole scene a cinematic quality.
Now, having seized a perfect spot to unwind, with an uplifting view to behold, we wanted that beer. Recalling our young host’s words on the matter, I dashed downstairs to get our celebratory brews. The day seemed to be done, we could finally revel in the excitement of travel while looking out over this beautiful place. The bed bug scourge seemed to be defeated, for now, and though we remained vigilant, we were both pleased with how we had handled and conquered the day.
Between it all, the bed bugs, the cleaning, the taxi ride, the apathetic staff everywhere, the bed bugs again, the crowds, fighting off our colds, the dashing around trying to find a room… we had managed to figure it all out as travelers do on days like this. And we were happy.
After sprinting down the steps, I lucked out and caught up with our young host just before he turned in for the night. Excitedly asking for the beers, I neglected to care much about the price or type.
The host kindly obliged and disappeared into a employee kitchen, emerging a few moments later with two, distinctive, green cans…
“These are the last two, all we have is Heineken, will that do?”
“Yes.”
Yes, it most certainly will.
And we toasted to a day conquered and to adventures to come.
Heineken never tasted so good.
West Road Adventures 