Tim and I banged around Madrid for a few more days, enjoying the minor celebrity status of having nearly been shot by a general who looked like Hunter S. Thompson. It was good for a few rounds in the taverns, where travellers swapped tales from the road, but soon the novelty wore off and the free beer and sangria dried up.
The time came for Tim to move on. He had a private teaching gig up north, so I dropped him at the station. We exchanged mailing addresses back home, a couple of final chuckles over our adventure, and he boarded the train.
I stumbled out into the searing heat and made my way to my favorite tavern, a cave-like cellar underground, with a low ceiling that reeked of stale beer and moldy wine. I stumbled down the steps, blinded by the gloom, and once my eyes adjusted, I found an empty table in the corner to wait out the siesta. I ordered a platter of paella and a jug of sangria, and took out my copy of "The Women's Room," a horribly depressing book that I had picked up, but it passed the time.
At some point, the light from the doorway dimmed and a hulking figure tried to maneuver his way inside while wearing his backpack. After several attempts, he realized the geometry of the structure and the topography of his mass were mutually incompatible, so he backed up a bit, shed his pack, and clumsily made his way inside while holding the pack in front of him.
Once inside, he squinted, trying to adjust his eyes to the eternal dusk of the tavern. He scanned the tables of old Spaniards propped against the walls with their feet up on the tables. His gaze settled on me and I waved him over and offered a seat.
"Do you speak German," he asked hoping to find someone to talk to.
"A little," I said, "Not very good, but enough."
He sighed like a wind tunnel. "Thank God! I don't speak Spanish and I'm having a difficult time here."
"No problem," I said all neighborly. "I'm Rex, from Texas. I speak Spanish quite well. You want something to eat or drink?"
"Oh please! What do you have there? Is it good?"
I glanced down at my nearly finished meal. "This was paella - pretty good - and there's sangria in the jug. It's not Cordon Bleu, but the prices are...um, not bad." We shared a knowing glance, since we travellers all understood that tourist prices were outrageous, even when they were 'good'.
"Sounds good to me. I'm Klaus, from Dusseldorf."
I almost laughed. It seemed to me like every guy from Germany was named Klaus. I wondered if they were all adopting travel names - a popular thing to do when one was looking for trouble of some kind or another.
Klaus went on, "I have to ask..." I braced for it. "Who shot J.R.?" I cringed. The American TV show "Dallas" had ended the month before in a cliff hanger with the main character being shot in the shower. For some reason, folks assumed that all Texans knew the answer to the mystery.
"Bobby did it," I said, naming a random character from the show so we could move on to more interesting subjects. Klaus nodded approvingly as the waiter arrived just in time to change the topic. I ordered paella for Klaus and two more jugs of sangria, as we began the ritual of swapping tales.
I related the tale of Hunter Thompson and Klaus enjoyed the hearth-thumping suspense, as we both started slopping around a copious amount of sangria.
After an hour or so of this, I asked Klaus where he was headed.
"I'm going to Morocco. Bob Marley has a concert on Saturday in a qumb field. Should be fun. I'm meeting some friends there."
My jaw dropped. Bob Marley in concert in a field of marijuana? I could just imagine the vast quantities of Moroccan Zero-Zero hasheesh and the throbbing reggae tunes, and...
"My God! Are there any tickets left?" I nearly screamed.
"It's open admission. Some kind of special deal with the city government of Tetouan to bring tourists there," Klaus said, as if reading from a brochure. I nearly fell out of my chair.
"Do you want a travel partner? I have got to see this!" I felt an adventure coming on.
"Sure! I'd be happy for some company. I was afraid I'd be alone if I couldn't find my friends."
We clacked our mugs together and drank in honor of the new partnership and ordered more sangria.
We sat there examining maps and notes on how to get to the concert site. As the sun began to set and life returned to the city, I ordered my wine skin filled and a couple of loaves of rosemary bread with a small jar of olive oil We paid up and headed directly for the train station, practically running. I bought my ticket to Ceuta, a tiny finger of Spain at the very tip of North Africa, then I took Klaus back to my hostel and got him situated just in time to start worrying about dinner.
The next morning we were up at 5am. The train was scheduled for 7, which in Spain meant 8:05. WE got our gear together and stampeded down the stairs to the dining room, where we feasted on battery-acid coffee, stale bread and dry cheese, but we hardly noticed. Instead, we were calculating times and where to stay at each leg of the journey. By 6am, we were out the door and on the way to the station. We didn't need to rush, since the station was only a brisk 15-minute walk from the hostel, but we could hardly contain our excitement.
As per usual, the train arrived at nearly 7am, and we were in our cabin by 7:15, sure that the train wouldn't move for another 30 minutes, at least. The cabin had four seats that could pull out to form a large bed. We dropped our packs and tossed them up on the overhead racks and collapsed into opposing seats next to the window.
By 7:30, the delay was starting to get irritating, when the door to the cabin slid open and two goddesses with solid gold hair pulled into pony tails, both dressed in t-shirts and cut-off shorts, stepped into our lives. Klaus and I leapt to attention and offered to help with packs. Once they were stashed, we all dropped into the seats just as the train lurched, first backward, then forward, and began to roll at a slowly increasing pace until we burst out of the gloom and into dazzling daylight.
Klaus and I introduced ourselves and got the usual "who shot J.R." question out of the way. We learned that Uwe and Stella were cousins from Denmark, who were pursuing the perfect unbroken tan at nude beaches around the Spanish coast. They had just come from St. Tropez, and were headed for Algeciras to try roasting with a bit of change in scenery. Uwe, who was sitting next to me, jumped up and raised her t-shirt, exposing what can only be described as perfect breasts, with precisely even tan all around, and tantalizing red nipples to finish off the feast.
"You see? No lines!" she proudly announced.
After Klaus and I had shown appropriate appreciation of such lovely anatomy, she pulled her shirt down and sat again. Klaus and I gave each other that look that says, "Am I awake?" We had six more hours to suffer through before we arrived in Algeciras.
We pooled resources to create a credibly good meal and chatted about innocuous things, eventually getting around to where Klaus and I were heading. For some reason, we had completely forgotten about our mission, focused entirely on unblemished tans.
"Seriously? Bob Marley?!" Uwe asked incredulously.
"Yes," replied Klaus, "In a hasheesh field in Tetouan. It's on Saturday."
"Oh my God," Stella practically yelled, "Can we go with you? How much is it?"
I nearly swallowed my tongue. Klaus dropped into hiswell-practiced recitation and showed the maps and notes. We all stared at each other for what seemed like an hour, and then Uwe threw herself at me, giving me a choke-hold of a hug, and said, "You're mine."
Stella looked at Klaus. Klaus' heart was beating so hard I could see his shirt jumping. "So do you want to be with me?" she asked him sheepishly.
"Um, yes, of course, I mean...yeah, absolutely."
She threw her arms around him and we all sat for a moment in silence. My head was pounding and my ears ringing. Then, like a spell lifting, we all went back to finishing the meal and making plans.
I snapped awake when the train lurched as it began breaking on approach to Algeciras. I glanced around and realized it was all real - Uwe and Stella were still sleeping, and Klaus was slowly stirring. I looked out the window and guessed it to be about 3pm. The heat was causing the scenery to run together, like streamers of wet paint blending and smearing together. We were on the outskirts of the city, probably about 30 minutes from the station.
We would have to find a hostel for the night and catch the ferry at 6am tomorrow. Our entourage settled at a sidewalk cafe overlooking the ocean, with a giant Cinzano umbrella and the sea breeze providing a break from the intense heat.
I left Klaus with the girls and went in search of a hostel. I returned about an hour later to find them well into a jug of sangria. I told them I had found 2 rooms up the street for a "reasonable" price, but we'd have to share beds. I looked at Uwe, who smiled in agreement.
We ordered up a roast chicken and two more jugs of sangria, then stumbled our way to the hostel. We split up into our couples and went to the rooms. Uwe and I dropped our packs, grabbed our towels and ran giggling down the hall to the shower. We stripped and lathered and played kissy face, as I admired her seamless tan and the lovely golden brown color that made her blonde hair stand out like spun gold. Her slim yet strong body felt silky wild, on the verge of savagery at any moment.
We toweled off and ran back to the room, where we made indiscreet love and then quickly dropped off into dreamless sleep.
The next morning seemed to come way too fast. We were up at 4:30 and down in the dining room by 5am. The meal was uninspiring and the coffee was so bitter that no amount of sugar could sweeten it. We were all nursing pounding hang overs and hardly spoke during the meal. Once we had finished, we geared up and walked the short distance to the ferry landing.
The waiting area for the ferry did not inspire confidence. Large, well-fed rats were scurrying under the long wooden benches, where hundreds of backpackers were all rubbing sleep from their eyes and trying to avoid aggravating searing sangria headaches. After a short wait, there was a long, deep horn blast that caused more than a few people to groan. Looking out, we saw the ferry coming in to dock.
The entire waiting area suddenly came to life and hundreds of travellers began donning their packs and organizing their groups. Outside, a long line of cars had formed to board the boat. An officious looking dark little man in a dishevelled uniform stood at the boarding gate, watching the familiar dance of ferry, ropes and shoremen. The boat settled into its slip and the heavy metal ramp slammed down (groans) and the officious little man opened the gate.
Our gang shuffled with the crowd to board the ferry, jostling for position to be able to grab seats in the small air conditioned room that was grossly undersized for the number of people trying to cram in. After about 15 minutes, the ship's horn sounded again (groans) as the last cars rolled over the ramp and a crewman quickly turned the crank to raise it up. The shoremen tossed the ropes to waiting crew men, and with another blast of the horn (groans) we were off.
Klaus and Stella had managed to get seats, so Uwe and I put them in charge of our packs as the cost of getting cold air. Uwe and I went out on deck with some bread crusts and fed the thousands of seagulls that were screeching and jostling each other off the back of the boat. We found a bench and spent the next couple of hours nuzzling and talking about nothing at all.
Eventually, we could see a mountain or some kind of land feature in the distance. Uwe got excited thinking we might already be arriving at Ceuta, and I knew it was too soon. I searched my brain trying to think of what this could be, and soon it became glaringly obvious - it was Gibraltar. It's famous rock face was a cultural icon. It appeared in logos and legends. Hercules was stranded there, chained to two continents as punishment. And here it was, painted with morning light and surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean on one side, and the Mediterranean Sea on the other.
As we steamed past, I could just make out some buildings near the waterline and a large transmitter at the peak. I tried to imagine what it would be like to live in such amazing isolation on a rock that I could walk around in less than an hour.
I was roused from my musings by Uwe, who took my hand and kissed me hard, pressing her firm body up against mine.
"This is already an amazing trip," she said, almost drowned out by the seagulls, the wind and the steady churning of the engines. "I can't believe we met. It's like magic."
I could help but agree, and we settled back, her head resting on my shoulder as we watch Gibraltar loom up to fill the horizon, then slip away into the distance.
We were blasted awake by the ear-splitting ship's horn. Looking around in a daze, I spotted the approaching docks in the distance. Uwe and I stretched out the kinks in our muscles from sleeping in a sitting position on hard wooden benches, then went inside to find Klaus and Stella.
We found our companions also stretching and pulling their wits together. We arranged our gear and prepared to queue up at the bow to beat the crowds to the border crossing.
Ceuta was a tiny sliver of land at the northern tip of Africa. It wasn't really part of Spain, and it wasn't really part of Morocco. It was a sort of no-man's land port town populated by a stew of every race and culture on the planet. It was a primary transition point between Africa and Europe, and between Europe and the open Atlantic.
After securing our gear, we made our way down the rusted steps to the open area between the parking section and the ramp. We were early, but there were dozens of other travellers who were earlier, and we all crammed against the safety rail waiting for the ramp to drop and the stampede to begin.
At last, the ferry hit the dock with a bone-jarring crunch, the horn blasted again, and a crewman cranked the ramp down and lowered the rail. The four of us went off at a good trot towards the Moroccan border check about 500 meters ahead. It was mid afternoon and the heat was stifling. Many of the crowd in the lead slowly wound down and we passed them gasping for breath.
By the time we reached the check point, a line had already formed with at least 100 people in front of us. A Spanish official was wandering up and down the line handing out immigration cards. We took ours and swapped turns acting as tables for the others to fill out the forms. After what seemed like an entire day - but was probably an hour - we reached the immigration office. After a brief interview, our passports were stamped and we were released into Morocco.
We were still a good distance from Tangier and there were lines of buses and taxis waiting along the road to bilk unsuspecting tourists of their money. Among Klaus' notes, were knew the bus ride should only be a few pesos, so we were prepared with the exact fare. If you asked the conductor the price, it would double, triple or even quadruple, depending on how much money he thought you had.
We selected a bus labelled "Tangier" that wasn't yet full. We would have to wait a bit longer, but we would get good seats near the front. The bus ride was uneventful, though the contraption felt like it would rattle apart at any moment, and at last we arrived at the center of Tangier in the late afternoon.
We got down from the bus and formed up a phalanx with the girls in the lead to plow our way through the hawkers, pickpockets and scammers - each of us keeping an eye on the others' packs. At last, we broke out of the mob of thieves and found a spot where we could rest a moment and gather our selves.
Klaus took out his map, studied it, then looked around. He spotted a landmark and pointed our caravan in the direction of a hostel that had been recommended to him. At a somewhat more leisurely pace, we made our way across the town square and eventually came to the hostel down a narrow alley. The location didn't encourage thoughts of safety and security, but Klaus was convinced his intel was good.
When we entered the front room of the hostel, things began to look up. It was a cozy lobby area with Europeans everywhere, including behind the desk. The feeling was relaxed and welcoming and we immediately dropped our guards. As luck would have it, there were two rooms available directly across the hall from each other and right next to the toilet and shower. For an extra fee, there was hot water, fresh sheets and towels, and an upgraded breakfast menu. We all opted in.
We all agreed that we were starving, thirsty and ready to party a bit. We dumped our gear in the rooms, which were cozy and relatively pest-free, and re-assembled in the lobby. Uwe and Stella began asking around for a decent place to eat and liquor up. Klaus and I sat down and pondered his maps and notes, and determined that we would need to be on a bus to Tetouan by noon tomorrow to stay on schedule and have a day to rest up and do a bit of exploring.
The girls returned with news of a Greek taverna up the street that had good food and fair prices for backpackers. There was also a good supply of wine, but you couldn't ask for it out loud - this being a Muslim country, alcohol was frowned upon. Instead, you had to make a circular motion on the palm of your hand with the first two fingers of the other hand, and this would get you a large jug of wine and ceramic cups. If the table made any mention of alcohol, your table would be cleared and you would be escorted to the door after paying a hefty bill. Oh yes, and the hostel bolted, chained and barred the door at 10:30. If you weren't inside, you spent the night outside.
We glanced at the clock - 5:30. That gave us five hours to fill up and be back in safe surroundings. None of us had bathed after the long day of travel, but it didn't seem to matter, since bathing didn't seem to be a priority in Morocco. We rushed for the door and up the street and found the taverna is short order.
We arrived back at the hostel well before the witching hour, gorged on mousaka and our brains swimming in gallons of wine. We stumbled and giggled up the stairs to our rooms, ready to shower and collapse. There was only one shower room, barely big enough for two. I looked at Klaus.
"I'll flip you for who goes first."
He was just about to answer, when Stella interrupted.
"why don't we all just shower together?" she offered.
There was a momentary lapse in the conversation, as Klaus and I considered the option, but Uwe didn't wait for our answers.
"Last one in is a dog's mother!"
We ran to our rooms, stripped down and grabbed towels, and piled into the tiny shower. Someone turned on the water, which at first was cold but quickly warmed up. We rubbed and turned and hands groped without any real sense of who was washing whom. Searching hands found willing bodies and multiple climaxes ensued, until all were thoroughly rinsed and drained.
At this point, exhaustion grabbed each of us and wrapped us in a fog of unknowing, whereupon we went to our respective rooms and were asleep before heads hit pillows.
I woke the next mornng to an empty room. I put on shorts and went out into the hall, where I could see by the window at the far end that is was well past dawn. I tapped on Klaus' door, but there was no response. A moment of panic swept over me, until I realized Uwe's gear was still in the corner of the room.
I dressed and went down to the dining room, where I found my cohorts just settling into a basket of fresh rolls, a platter of sliced meats and cheeses, a slab of butter, and atomic-level coffee the odor of which was nearly as effective at waking me up as drinking it.
I joined them and we began chattering excitedly about the final leg of our journey to see Bob Marley in a reefer field. When we finished the meal, we prepared to gear up and head for the bus station. Klaus had the sense to stop at the desk and ask for a recommendation of a place to stay in Tetouan. The beaming young woman behind the desk said they had booked every room in that city days ago. Hundreds of pakers had come through heading for the concert.
"But," she joyfully offered, "we have a camp ground there if you have tents."
Klaus looked at me and I nodded that I was fully prepared, so he turned back to the gleeful clerk.
"Sure, that would be fine. Do you have two pads next to each other?" he asked.
"Just a moment," she enthused.
The clerk picked up an ancient looking phone and dialled. After a moment, the other end picked up and they spoke in Greek - ah, it was a family of Greeks with their own chain of travel accommodations, which explained the recommendation of the taverna last night. She asked our names and made the arrangements, then hung up and joyfully announced that all was set.
"Here's your pad numbers and you can talk with Angeliki if you need anything." She was practically bursting with enthusiasm as she handed over the notes.
We thanked her, confirmed the way to the bus station and geared up with rising anticipation. It was all going so smoothly that it hardly seemed possible, given the normal way things go in the backpacking world. But no one questioned good luck and we set off to the station in a sunny mood. We arrived about a half hour later at a place that could hardly be called a station. It was more like a vacant lot with a handful of buses that were, well...as we said in Texas, stuck together with bubblegum and baling wire.
We scanned them and found the one with the sign "Tetouan" written in four languages. The driver was sleeping his seat and we looked around for someone to confirm the bus and departure time. A small dark man with an impossibly huge moustache approached with a sort of bored disengagement. he confirmed the bus and said it would leave "about" 10am. We had an hour and a half to kill.
We boarded and found it nearly empty except for a young couple at the rear. We claimed the two benches at the very front and dropped our gear, and stepped down to go over the plans, while the girls ran off to do a bit of exploring.
When the bus finally pulled out, it was getting on to midday. The highway was hardly a road by most standards. It was mostly just crushed gravel embedded in hard packed clay and there were large humps every 500 meters, perhaps for speed control though it was hard to imagine any vehicle getting over 50kph.
At each hump, the people in the rear would be launched well off their seats by the complete lack of functioning shock absorbers. At first, a number of them were annoyed, but it soon became a game. One over-excited guy decided to time himself with the launch and jumped just as the bus rebounded. He flew up and smashed his head against the roof and apparently was knocked clean out. They had him laid out on the rear bench, which did little to protect him, since he was launched off the seat with each successive hump.
At last, we arrived in the center of Tetouan, again not so much a station as a vacant lot with buses in it. We got down, drove our way through the mob of hawkers, pickpockets and petty thieves until we found what appeared to pass for a policeman. Klaus showed him the information on the camp ground, and he began muttering in French and waving vaguely off in the distance. Stella, who spoke French, got the necessary information and we set off on foot for what was about a kilometer and a half hike.
We arrived at the "entrance" as it was getting towards dusk. The registration center was little more than a covered table and the "camp ground" was a cow pasture running up the side of a small hill. Someone had apparently painted numbers on rocks and dropped them in a very rough grid pattern and the place was filling fast.
After some paper shuffling, a pleasant young Greek boy confirmed our reservation and his much grumpier relative, an older Greek man with an enormous nose, walked us part way to our pads and then waved us on in the general direction.
It was nearly dark when we found our pads. They were completely unfinished and Klaus and I set to clearing rocks and rubble, while the girls took out the stoves and began preparing a meal.
After the better part of an hour, and just as the last light was fading, Klaus and I had pitched the tents and arranged the gear inside. We set in to eat a stew that Stella and Uwe had prepared out of jerked meat and beef broth, with some of the rosemary bread and olive oil I had brought, and we each had our wine skins to sooth aching bodies.
There were no facilities whatsoever in this make-shift camp ground. The latrine had been coarsely dug with a couple of old pallets and some plastic sheeting thrown up for a barest amount of modesty. By this time, we were all so exhausted that it hardly mattered and we were all snoring soundly within a minute of laying down.
I awoke to the sound of snorting and belching. It was still dark and I could tell by the smell that someone had not bothered to remove the cows from the pasture before converting it to a camp ground.
I got up slowly so as not to wake Uwe, who purred quietly on the mattress of sleeping bags I had made. I quietly unzipped the fly and looked around. There were a number of cows in an around the tents. I looked up, and from the stars guessed it was about 3am. I slipped out of the tent and tried to shoo away the cows, but they were having none of it. Instead, I reached in the tent and took out my cherished and mangled pack of cigarettes, gently removed one and straightened it out, and lit it. I stood there in the deep silence and weak light from a waning crescent moon, not really thinking about anything in particular.
When I had finished my smoke, I climbed back into the tent and laid down for a bit more sleep. I woke again in the pale dawn with Uwe sitting astride me, riding me like a professional rodeo cowgirl. We climaxed together and she rolled onto the bed and was almost immediately asleep again. After such a fine start to the day, I could hardly sleep again, so I got up and started a pot of coffee. From the sound of it, Klaus and Stella were starting their day in similar ecstasy.
Klaus emerged from his tent just as the coffee was ready. He grabbed his cup on the way out and joined me at the stove. We squatted there thoughtfully sipping our bean juice as the sounds of other packers began to rise around us.
Klaus and I glanced at each other with knowing grins. We were both completely dumbfounded by the good fortune that had followed us on this adventure - other than sleeping with cows and no morning shower, of course.
Today was the day!
I told Klaus I wanted to go over to the venue and scope it out, get the lay of the land as it were. In the meantime, he and the girls could network and get any additional information that could be had.
I set out toward the venue. It was a quick walk, mostly downhill until I came to a large field, maybe a hectare or more, that was almost completely barren. At one end, crews were putting the finishing touches on a stage with an enclosure behind it - the artist dressing area and lounge. Off to one side was a make-shift enclosure with two large gensets. In the center of the field was an elevated platform where the sound and light boards had been set up. At the stage, lights were flicking on and off and the various circuits were tested and instruments checked.
To my amazement, at the opposite end of the field was an enormous pile of marijuana plants. It looked as if the field had been uprooted and stacked, apparently for concert goers to help themselves. That wasn't, however, what I was looking for.
I wandered around a bit. I must have fit in since no one challenged me. In front of the stage there was an area fenced off with a plywood floor. Crews were carrying in tables and chairs to set up the VIP section. It was here that I found what I was looking for, sitting at a table in the center of the floor with piles of papers strewn all over the place. Seated at the table was the precise person I was hoping to find.
I returned to camp with a huge grin on my face and breakfast waiting. Klaus looked up at me and a quizzical look came across his face.
"What?" he inquired, seeing my grin. "Is the show still on?"
"Absolutely," I exclaimed, "and it's going to be better than anything you imagined!"
Uwe stood up with a look that mixed confusion and excitement. "What is it? What did you find?"
"You'll have to wait. I have a big surprise waiting," I said with a bigger grin. "Let's just say you'll never forget tonight."
It was Stella's turn. "Oh please tell us. What is it?"
"What's for breakfast," I dodged, "I'm hungry and need coffee."
At midday, two buses full of police showed up. At first, we worried that it was a bust and the concert would be cancelled. Instead, they set up a perimeter and other crowd control measures and began securing the area.
By 4pm, there was a massive crowd forming lines at the various check points and more buses were arriving.
"Maybe we should get in line," Klaus suggested.
"What time is it?" I asked.
Stella checked her watch. "It's almost 5 now."
"Thirty minutes more and we can go down," I said.
They all looked at me, trying to read from my face what I had planned. I gave nothing away but my conspiratorial grin. Inside, I was bursting to spill the news, but I wanted the excitement to build. It wouldn't be much longer.
Finally, I said, "OK, let's head down."
We had all put on our best travel clothes. Every packer carries one outfit for those moments when jeans and t-shirts weren't appropriate. I had a polo shirt and a clean pair of shorts. Klaus was dressed in a pair of knit slacks and a button-down shirt. The girls had donned blousy cotton tops and capri pants. They all had sandals, but I had no option but to wear my hiking boots. They were hundred of miles from home, and I was thousands. I had an excuse - I had to carry everything I needed for months, while they only needed to pack for days.
We had barely left the camp when we encountered the end of the line to get in. It stretched at least 100 meters and was moving quite slowly. The girls sighed and Klaus looked unhappy.
"Follow me," I said. They looked at me, unsure and confused.
I led them past the line and up to the check point. I found the person I was looking for and told him what I had been instructed to say. He nodded and pointed in the direction of the stage and gave me instructions.
I looked back at my troupe, smiled and nodded for them to follow me. We walked down the fence line toward the stage area until we came to a gate with two rather large and intimidating men behind a table.
"Rex Samuels and three guests of Michael Minor," I announced, looking back at my companions, who were mystified at this point.
One of the beasts behind the table flipped through some papers on a clipboard, found what he was looking for, and pulled a box from under the table. He reached in and fumbled a bit, then produced four VIP tags, which he handed to me and motioned toward the gate.
I turned to my companions, who were now in awe. I handed each of them a VIP tag and waved for them to follow me in.
Once inside the gate, we found a nicely decorated reception area, with a lavish buffet set up along one wall, a full bar along another wall, and copious amounts of cold air in the middle of the desert.
I turned to the gang and said, "Hungry?"
"Holy shit!" was all Klaus could manage.
"What..." How...? Serious..." was all Uwe could manage.
Stella just stood, looking profoundly out of place with her mouth agape.
"I've done a lot of work with the promoter on several other festivals. I had not idea this was his event, but when I saw him this morning, I thought I would ask for special access." I had worked with Michael on a festival in Sligo, Ireland, and another in Reims, France. I had proved myself invaluable with my knowledge and experience as a stagehand and production assistant. I promised him that I would show up in six weeks for another festival in Lucerne, Switzerland, and that was the key to the VIP lounge.
We were standing there, looking hopelessly out of place, when a girl approached with a tray full of cigarettes, cigars and - amazingly - a selection of professionally rolled spleefs. They were massive cone-shaped affairs with a bit of cardboard inserted into the small end.
Uwe, wide-eyed and looking very nervous said, "Is this free?"
"Absolutely," the girl responded.
We all helped ourselves, trying not to look too greedy or conspicuous. When we had loaded up, we turned to the buffet. There were about 20 well-heeled people scattered around the room. We were obviously out of our league, but no one seemed to notice us, and certainly no one stopped us from doing anything.
We lined up at the professionally catered buffet, with piles of European and Moroccan vittles. I opted for shwarma with a healthy dollop of hummus and a breast of roasted chicken. My clan loaded up, as well, and we found a couple of standing round tables to lay out our feast.
Another girl arrived right on cue and took our drink orders. She returned moments later bearing cocktails, a pitch of beer, and two glasses of wine. As we ate, we looked around and saw a dozen members of popular bands from around Europe. I spotted the front man for an up-and-coming Irish band that I had met several times in Dublin. We nodded recognition at each other, while Uwe and Stella gushed over members of a Swedish mega-band, and Klaus was agog spotting the popular female lead for a major German band.
I noticed people disappearing and reappearing behind a curtain at the back of the room and I guessed Marley and his entourage were in a private area. At one point, a head poked out and I could swear it was Frank Zappa.
After several passes at the buffet and quite a bit more rounds from the bar, a bell sounded and a voice announced that the show would begin in 20 minutes. Seeing that others were leading the way, we broke out our spleefs and lit up to prepare our mindsets for the show.
At the 10-minute call, we decided to get to our places in the front. We followed a steady stream of people moving that direction and were eventually seated in the VIP area at the far stage left section. Even from this angle, we could clearly see the entire stage and couldn't have been more than 10 meters from the center microphone. Our gang was still in shock at the luck of being VIPs at such an auspicious event.
None of us though, nor would we have believed, that Bob Marley would be dead in less than a year.
The show began and the mood in the venue was electric. The crowd roared and dancing like a tribal high ceremony. In the VIP area, everyone was dancing and it wasn't long before someone had set up a limbo dance. There was a thick fog of hasheesh smoke hanging over the entire venue. The colored lights and throbbing music created a trance state.
Various guest stars joined the Wailers on stage to wild applause from the crowd. It was magic. It was wild. It was other worldly. It was like nothing I had ever experienced.
We danced. We flew. We swooped and dived and spun in a cloud of music on wings of celebration. We laughed and drank and smoked and swirled into oblivion.
And then it ended.
suddenly, we were standing in a field in the desert in Morocco in a horde of people suddenly dumped back into reality.
Klaus had lost his sandals, though the girls had found theirs. We sat a bit longer trying to recover our senses, having a few more beers before making our way back to the camp. The venue was nearly empty when we made our way to the gate and back up the hill.
At some point, Klaus stepped on something, but waved off concerns and hobbled along as best he could. We finally arrived back at camp and collapsed into our tents. I took out my pen light and looked more closely at Klaus' foot. He had a nasty gash from something sharp, but he was already snoring and Stella was collapsed beside him. Uwe was nearly passed out, so I lit the stove and boiled water while I hunted my first aid kit. I washed the cut as best I could and dressed it with antibiotic cream. Then I dropped into a dreamless sleep myself.
The next morning, Klaus was in severe pain and couldn't stand up. His foot was an angry red and swollen. I redressed his wound, which was clearly infected. The girls pulled breakfast and coffee together, then we huddled to decide what to do.
"We have to get back," Uwe said. "Classes start next week."
"How can we get Klaus back to Spain? He can't stand on his foot and we have to take the bus back to Tanier to get out."
I thought for a moment, while Klaus told the girls to go on ahead. We could all meet up later in Denmark to relive the magic.
"I can stay here and take care of Klaus. I don't have a schedule for another two weeks," I said. "Will you girls be OK getting back to Ceuta on your own?"
"Sure, no problem," said Uwe, "But are you sure Klaus will be alright?"
"I have first aid training and some basic medications," I said, holding up my kit. "In any case, he should stay off his foot for a couple of days and I can take care of him until he's ready to move."
After some discussion and tearful concerns and exchange of contact information - every serious packer carried a contact book to note addresses and phone numbers for later look up - the girls had packed their gear and were ready to ship out on the last buses of the day.
I walked with them to the bus and exchanged an emotional goodbye with Uwe, gave Stella a hug, wished them safe travel, and watched as their bus vanished over the hill.
I never saw either of them again.
I returned to Klaus, who was in severe pain now. I boiled more water and added Epsom salts and got him to roll over so his foot could rest in the pot. After soaking for some time, I dressed his wound again and made note of supplies I needed from town. The next morning I'd need to do some shopping, since our supplies were depleted and I had to restock my medicine kit.
the magic was over, but the journey was far from finished.