Landing on the NW shore of Africa does not necessarily put you in Morocco. There are 7 sq. miles of land here that belongs to Spain, and that is where the ferry lands. As the TT platoon got off, their luggage was loaded onto a large luxury bus. Joining them was a 40ish couple from Australia, an elderly couple from England, and a single, stocky Arab who sat in front with the same Arab translator. The new bus driver was Moroccan, so that put the totals at 3 Arabic speakers, 12 English, 10 Spanish, and a few other languages to boot. Quite a crowd. Traveling to the Moroccan fence, an armed guard walked on and grabbed everyone’s passport. 3rd world countries don’t fuck around with cordialness. After 30 minutes the unpleasant man with a machine gun returned and stared at everyone for 10 seconds before returning their passports. The traveling 14 (TF) were now in Morocco. Heading towards the old city of Fes revealed the lack of infrastructure in poor countries. That big, new bus rambled through the countryside at 110 KPH and gave 1 toot on the horn for the peasants walking on the shoulder to get the hell out of the way. After 6 hours of this, the bus arrived in Fes, and the TF battalion got their rooms and ate. The next morning a new translator showed up, and the plans were for an entire day moving around in a city that goes back to 789CE. First stop was on the roof of the old town. Scanning below on the lower roofs were vats of different colored inks to dye sheep wool and camel hair that make up their “magic” carpets. The poor souls spend all day in the sun stomping on animal fibers just to make rugs. Automaton and robotics have freed Western societies from enslaving their working class by eliminating disgusting work. NOT! The bazaars were full of foods and gifts, and the transaction method used was haggling. Nearly everyone was yelling. Joe became separated from his group and ended up in the back of a carpet store that he had no interest in. Fate almost killed him.