After three months of being a student in Morocco, I am in a unique position, somewhere between tourist and ex-pat. Basically, I know enough to know when I’m being ripped off but not enough to stop it completely.
For example, Robin and I took a one-night trip to a beach town called Asilah this weekend. The train station is situated somewhat far from the city, across a bridge that isn’t pedestrian friendly, so this afternoon, we opted to take a cab there. Any time you ask a cab driver to take you to or from a train station in Morocco, it’s time to whip out your bullshit detector. Cabbies see this as an immediate avowal of your ignorance to all things Moroccan. But Robin and I were savvy; before getting into the cab we made sure to establish our price: 20 dirham, nothing more. It’s higher than I would have paid for such a short ride in Rabat, but it was only $1.50 each, and there really was no other option. When the cab pulled to the side of the road next to a closed gate and a field of wildflowers, we balked, but he assured us that the gate was open and would lead right to the tracks. He was right about the latter, but after he drove away, we found the gate securely locked. We had to walk through weeds to the other side of the tracks, which, though easy enough, was humiliating for us old-pros.
But really, how can I complain? The other side of studying here is the financial freedom I have as an American. When else will $30 get me round-trip train tickets and a hotel room in an ocean town? The streets were clean, the food was decent and the people were friendly; the last minute jaunt was exactly what Robin and I needed this weekend. Back in the states, the ripping off is unabashed: $40 for a night in a mildewy motel, $10 for a soggy burrito and fries, $60 for the second season of Madmen on DVD (which sells for $4 in the Rabat medina). At least Moroccans make an effort to be creative about it.
The Littlest Barista Abroad 
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