Chapter 05. The Embassy Debacle.
We got called to the office to explain our rationale for going to Algeria to track down two serial killers. It didn't take long and our EU rep was supportive, but reminded us to keep quiet about it. We assured them we would never speak to anyone about anything ever.
After the EU rep left the meeting Daniel asked the director how long we'd be stationed at the embassy, and Francesco said we were not required to live on-campus. He explained housing us at the embassy was done for everyone's initial transition to living in the EU (especially for two 'kids' from southern Texas). He also reminded us that eventually we might become the targets of overseas criminals, we'd be much safer here than in an apartment. We agreed with his rationale, but living in the embassy was a hassle. Ambassador Stevens said, "It takes a while to adjust to life in Europe. These are very old cultures, they look different, they speak different, their food and entertainment sometimes seems odd to us. But I've been with State for 16 years and I gotta say if you give it a chance eventually you won't want to race home. The people here are wonderful, the weather is fantastic, and it's like living in a history diorama. Where else on earth can you drive to the store and walk past two thousand year old ruins, walk on 900 year old concrete sidewalks made by Roman slaves? You don't find that in North America, but here it's everywhere. Give Europe a chance. I tell people to focus on work and over time you won't even notice the difference anymore. That and it's saving you a ton of cash."
I blurted out that it would be much nicer living here if security weren't such assholes. The director agreed and said he would speak to them again. David added that much of what security does is mean spirited treatment of Americans, they do very little to maintain safety on campus.
Director Francisco was at first upset by Dan's comment, and then I called their service 'security theater' meaning it was a show and not much more than that. My comments made him even angrier so we asked him to take a walk with us.
We left the compound via the security building and walked down the sidewalk to Cafe CreuBlanca and walked across their parking lot. The embassy perimeter walls are the shortest between us and the clinic. We showed him how the six foot rock walls and mortar had buttresses added for stability due to soft soil (to keep them from falling over). We had him stand in front of some parked cars along the outside of the embassy wall. Daniel ran toward one of the buttresses and ran up the side and stopped while standing on top of the embassy wall then jumped down on the inside with no hassles or security intervention whatsoever. I told him embassy security was a joke. But the entire north end has no security and no actual barrier, you can literally walk over the wall and enter un-challenged.
Now Francesco was furious and I helped him to walk up one of the buttresses and jump down inside the embassy, then we walked around F-Building and back to his office. On the walk back he said it's going to be expensive to replace that wall, the city might not allow it if the wall is ancient. And the Cafe and medical office have to agree to its replacement since it stands on the property line. I told him to hire someone to drive a truck into it and knock over as much as they can. "Offer to pay by the foot!" We all chuckled. Before we left the ambassador reminded us security was a contractor, they are not embassy employees. And Dan repeated that they should not be there telling us what security related things they will not do. Their list of DO's should be longer than their DONTs. The boss said he would look into it right away.
On the walk back to our apartment we took turns mocking his voice when he said, 'muy pronto.' Dan said he's probably shredding his meeting notes muy pronto. That made me laugh loudly.
That afternoon we hung out at the pool beside our building. It's not that often I take off my shirt in public but I did it because it was hot out and the water felt wonderful and cooling. We alternated lounging in the sun or swimming laps, but the pool is small. At the deep end its six feet, and it's only about twelve feet wide, maybe fifty feet long. Old pools are like this in the EU, they tend to be small but more ornate and look to be designed for one person to swim laps. The embassy campus has three (very old) in-ground pools, but one of them is empty due to cracking. One thing I didn't like about this pool was across the street was a tall apartment building; I felt lots of eyeballs when I walked around the deck. It's also highly possible a foreign government spied on the embassy from across the street using electronic eavesdropping and cameras. I could feel someone watching us. Maybe next time I'll use the pool by Building-F, which has more trees over it. Their water is cooler, the pool is smaller but it's more private.
Daniel said we were the new kids at the embassy so everyone is naturally curious. The problem is I don't look good in a swim suit. I'm very skinny, pale, and non-muscular. Dan has said since high school that below the neck I looked like a tall 6th grader. He looks great in a swimsuit, so he doesn't care. I stay near him so people will watch him instead. Daniel has kind of a swimmer's body (lean), standing near him I look like his tall baby brother.
Our next mission was sort-of voluntary, we were asked to make a run to Qatar to pick-up a 'diplomatic pouch.' That's a small black locked aluminum case one of us wore chained to our wrist. He said the case was about the size of a 10" laptop computer, maybe two pounds. It contained legal papers regarding updates to a US treaty with Qatar on trade and import taxes. All we had to do was fly to Qatar, take control of the case at the US Embassy, and deliver it to the US Embassy in London. Someone else would carry it to Washington. When asked how many people in the past died doing this he said a few since 1940, but that was during the Cold War with the Soviets. Qatar was safe and we would be transported by licensed taxis or limos every step of the trip. The entire trip would take three days. Daniel accepted before I could ask more questions. The director assured us the case only contained papers, it was simply a signed-official document that could not be sent by any of the letter express carriers, according to international law there had to be a certified chain of custody.
Due to the nature of treaties a chain of custody had to be maintained or the authenticity of the documents became suspect, they shredded it immediately and the process started over. The big fear was after it was signed it could be replaced with a fake version that contained terms no one agreed to.' The little document case was locked and sealed, then handcuffed to a sworn agent to carry to the destination. That sounds simple but it exposed the courier to potential danger.
Supposedly, all airport security people world-wide were trained on 'diplomatic pouches.' The case could not be confiscated or opened. Each case seam was marked with special holographic seals that proved the case was unopened. Each courier carried a special photo ID card that exempted them from seizure or delay. Any person that interfered with the rapid and unmolested transport of diplomatic pouches was subject to severe penalties. Those penalties included fines and prison time. In most countries obstructing or tampering with a diplomatic pouch was considered an act of treason. The only country that did not sign that treaty was North Korea. Daniel said the law should have included a mandatory beer and pizza clause that each country was required to offer the carrying agent cold beer and pizza on arrival.
Two days later we were picked up in a black limo in front of the women's building on the large circle driveway, our guards stood at the gate with shotguns laded and ready until the shiny black limo departed the embassy and the iron gates were closed and locked. It actually felt neat being treated like an actual ambassador.
We rode to the international passenger terminal in Barcelona. We already had boarding passes but still had to walk through screening. We carried only our passports, badges, cells, and some cash. Our flight to Qatar was about 1900 miles, non-stop. We were in business class for slightly more leg room but the seats still sucked. Dan drank a can of Sprite; I had water and a package of salted nuts. The flight was four hours and we landed at Hamad International Airport in the city of Doha.
It was nice to see when we went through screening that they wanded Daniel and acted like they didn't even notice the tiny briefcase handcuffed to his left wrist.
If you've never been to Qatar the entire country is a peninsula, it's sort of like a large sandbar that sticks out into the Persian Gulf. The country is 100% flat desert, sand is everywhere, and very few plants grow naturally. Qatar is about the same land size as Pennsylvania. When we left the Doha airport in a diplomat SUV we saw construction everywhere. Lots of high rise buildings, lots of cranes, lots of cement trucks. This country is loaded with money, probably from us paying five bucks a gallon for gasoline.
We got on the highway and headed for the central business quarter of the city. When we arrived all we could see of the embassy from the highway was a walled compound, no buildings were visible. All we saw was featureless concrete wall with prison-style security features. Inside the wall the place was beautiful, like it used to be a wealthy person's estate but someone built a featureless concrete dam around it. The outside of the concrete walls were slanted so any incoming projectile or blast wave would be directed harmlessly up into the air. I'll give them credit for not surrounding the compound with razor wire that was visible from the outside and looked bad. All we saw was the big concrete wall.
There were no signs welcoming people to the US Embassy, all we saw was a small sign near the entrance that stated: 'Lethal Force was authorized and would be used without warning.' We got out of the limo and were coldly welcomed by security and had to pass their inspection first. We've been fingerprinted and photographed so the State Department had lots of high resolution photos of us and our tattoos for a positive ID. About ten minutes later we were cleared and driven on a golf cart to the administration building which was mostly underground. The embassy property was about four times larger than ours in Barcelona. Ours looked like old mansions, theirs looked like a bomb-proof maximum-security underground prison.
Daniel agreed to carry the case, they handcuffed it to his left wrist. After the case was attached they opened it and inserted the folded papers, just two sheets of thick tan colored parchment with a special hot wax seal and signature. The papers were carefully placed inside and then closed and locked like a mini-brief case. Then someone placed three seals on the case which were sort of like a thin plastic decal a little bigger than a postage stamp. He wet them in a cup of water to slide them off the heavy paper backing and placed them across the seam where both halves of the pouch came together. If any two seals were broken the contents of the pouch were to be immediately destroyed.
We were directed to sit by the door, our transport to the airport was already on the way. Nine minutes later we were escorted outside to the security patrol golf cart and driven back to the front gate. We exited the perimeter and got in the same black Cadillac SUV that took off toward the Doha airport departure terminal.
At the airport we were directed to a small booth beside the driveway where people normally checked-in with baggage but they examined our badges and the pouch then we entered an unmarked windowless steel door, down a long steel staircase to an underground tunnel and walked about 600 feet under the airport and stopped at a normal looking elevator door, got in, and went back to ground level.
The elevator doors opened inside the terminal area. We walked with our escort to a boarding area and sat down. Our flight was already boarding, it was Qatar Airways flight-75, non-stop to London Heathrow, which is west of downtown London. Our escort went to the ticket counter and explained our mission then left. The ticket person made a phone call then we were escorted to our seats. We sat in business class again and ordered something to eat and some drinks. The plane was rolled away from the terminal fifteen minutes after we were seated.
The flight to the UK was uneventful; we both took a nap after a bite to eat. The flight was six hours, Qatar to London and we had a bit of turbulence over Turkey. Landing was smooth and I got a glimpse of downtown London out the window. The big Ferris wheel was the most visible landmark. After the plane came to a stop at the terminal we stayed put to let the crowds disembark first. Once the line of people was gone we walked out the front jetway.
We were met just inside the terminal by a uniformed (unarmed) police officer and a woman with a clipboard and a serious expression on her face. She compared us to our embassy photos and gestured to take a seat on her long golf cart. They slowly drove through airport pedestrian traffic honking the horn and dropped us off at some unmarked elevator doors. She inserted a key and the doors opened. We got on the elevator and the doors closed and felt ourselves going down. I pointed to his wrist and he raised the case to show the seals were still intact. The doors opened into an underground room that looked sort of like an old subway tunnel. There was another golf cart waiting for us to board and it took off and drove about half a mile and arrived at what looked like an underground street. I could smell car exhaust and cigarette smoke. We got off the golf cart and walked to a waiting SUV and got in back. That was the first time Daniel and I were apart, when he walked around the far side of the black Cadillac Escalade. We got in and the driver took off and eventually we merged into traffic and suddenly we were in sunlight again. Traffic was heavy but the further we got from the airport the faster we went.
He drove us towards downtown but the driver said the embassy was along the river on the far west side of London. I've only seen pictures of the place before.
The US Embassy in London is a god awful ugly 14-story tall eyesore of a building on the River Thames. We both love to deliberately mis-pronounce the name of the river, it's a muddy nasty looking thing, and it's probably a flowing sewer too. The locals call it the "Tems" we called it the "Thaymz." Everywhere we went people corrected us and we silently snickered at their pretend offence.
The SUV turned into a small circle driveway and we got out onto the sidewalk and a doorman gestured for us to enter the front doors, clearly marked US Embassy -London. They had all the usual warning signs in five languages, lethal force, subject to search, blah blah blah. We were told everyone in security knew a diplomatic pouch was being delivered by two State Department agents, and here we are! This kind of thing is supposedly a routine event at any embassy.
The people inside the front doors all seemed upset about something, maybe their faux anger was part of the show. We were instructed to meet with a woman, her title was Secretary to the Ambassador of the US Embassy, London. She had a badge we were to compare to her face and she had the combination to release the handcuff and take the pouch after inspecting the seals in front of us.
We stood at the counter talking to a Caucasian man in uniform (British accent) with a sidearm and wearing a bulletproof vest, I told him we were instructed to surrender a diplomatic pouch to a particular person, and we did not need to enter their building. At first he refused to call the Secretary and treated us like imposters with a fake pouch. While he was barking at us I turned to Daniel and suggested we should fly back to Qatar and return the pouch as undeliverable. I pulled out my cell to take his photo but the guard said I'd be arrested, so I wrote his name on my hand. We already showed our State Department badges but he said they looked like fakes.
Daniel started to get angry, he warned the guard: "They asked me to deliver this case to this lady inside this building. You can refuse us if you like then we're going to return the case to Qatar. You know what happens if we do that?"
The guard told us he didn't care what we said and ordered us to leave the complex and never come back. So we left. We walked outside and got in a taxi and rode back to Heathrow and bought two tickets to Doha, tourist class. It was a three hour wait. While we were waiting I texted the ambassador in Barcelona and told him London rejected us and the case. Lobby security told us to leave so we were returning the pouch to Doha as undeliverable. I never got a reply.
That evening we returned to the US Embassy in Doha and made it to security but never moved inside the facility. The administrator came out to the security building and used the combination to remove the case from Daniel's wrist and apologized and told us to fly back to Barcelona. We made it back home around 3am and went to our apartment.
The next morning our ambassador called on the old rotary telephone and asked us to come to his office. We told him the entire timeline and how London refused to accept the case or to even call the secretary's office, and then they told us to leave the property. I told them the London Embassy was staffed by incompetent people and we would refuse to deliver documents there again. It was a colossal waste of time and money, and then we gave him copies of the receipts for taxis, food, and airfare.
We sat in some very nice leather chairs on the other side of his desk while he directly called the US Ambassador to the UK and explained what happened, he said the man was furious and shouted heads would roll. We went back to our apartment and spent the rest of the day reading by the pool.
The next day we heard those same armed guards were at work and after the security camera recordings of the lobby were reviewed the guard that sent us away was first interviewed to get his side of the story and then half an hour later he was arrested by London Police at the security desk. They stripped him of his weapon, holster, radio, uniform and perp-walked him in his underwear, socks, and undershirt into a waiting police car. And his supervisor was also arrested and perp-walked to another police car.
But Daniel's exact words to our Ambassador were: never again. He actually told our boss it was "...an ugly building full of ugly and incompetent people and we'll never go back there again." I almost choked when he said it. The building truly is an eyesore. Look at it online: US Embassy, London England. On the outside it looks like the architect was a gay tarantula spider.
After two hours beside the pool Daniel went upstairs and took a nap, I arrived in my bed about half an hour later but paused to pour a glass of chilled wine from our refrigerator first. I put on my headphones and got in bed with my e-reader. I purchased a set of true crime novels online and got them downloaded into my Kobo e-reader since that is one of the few genres I actually enjoy. I dearly miss my paperback collection. Too bad I had to throw them away, but I had no choice really, they took up too much space.
I received word that the guard who turned us away, and his boss would end up sentenced to 18 months in prison, but would probably only serve five months for extreme negligence. Both would be banned for life from any future government employment, and never qualify for security clearances again in the UK.
That evening we walked outside the embassy to Cafe CreuBlanca next door, for an early dinner so we wouldn't be outside the perimeter after dark.
I guess their menu was different every day, what they had today was hot or cold hors d'oeuvres. We picked three items off the hot menu, we got 6-ounce bacon wrapped filet mignon, pan fried potatoes with cheese sauce and herb sprinkles, and hand stuffed tempura-fried shrimp with herbs. Luckily, the bacon wrapped steak was filling. I thought the menu today sucked, Daniel said it was too gay-ish for his taste. He described our dinner as: 'dainty finger food for elderly white women named Karen.' We paid and left but might not go back. I told him I heard their breakfasts were top notch, I mean how can you fuck up an omelet?
When I said that Daniel said, "Yes it's easy to ruin any meal with fennel, mint, or lavender. They're okay in perfume but not in food." We walked home and he said Fennel was an excellent natural mosquito and tick repellant.
The procedure to re-enter the embassy on foot was designed to discourage people from doing it again. Despite the fact that we worked around the security staff they had to act like we were impersonators wearing masks trying to sneak onto the grounds through the front door.
You walk up to a large mirror (faces the sidewalk) and ring the door bell, the window is mirrored so they can see us but outsiders cannot see security staff, then a door buzzes and you open a heavy steel door and walk into a shooting gallery with gun ports and bright lights where you state your name and reason for entering. It goes on for a while and another door gets buzzed and you walk freely into the embassy property. Or... you can climb over the perimeter wall by the cafeteria parking lot and bypass all the security bullshit. It makes about as much sense as having a secure bank vault that has a large hole in the outside wall.
Using a phone in the security office I ordered delivery of a case of wine, tortilla chip bags, 12 jars of salsa, 4 blocks of cheese for melting (on top of the chips) in the microwave. Then we played cards for a couple hours. Our delivery came 80 minutes late. We ran back to security (to get our order) after the delivery guy texted me.
Every night I went to bed with my e-reader and all my true crime books. I even got a subscription to True Crime Monthly which delivered wirelessly to my e-reader every month.
I should explain that the Embassy has posted office hours, but many people understand it is staffed around the clock in case of emergency. The posted hours apply to routine matters with office staff. The Embassy operates a local text alert service in case something very large happens involving the USA, like the 9/11/01 attacks. Americans working abroad took cover on 9/11 for 24-48 hours afterward in case the attacks spread to Americans in other countries.
The next day we were off duty, it was some kind of historic holiday in Spain and most of the stores were closed but the tourist services were open so we took a taxi to the waterfront and rode the aerial cable car ride but didn't dine in the high priced restaurants on top of the towers. Downtown on the waterfront were lots of touristy places to eat, we even saw a Burger King but we ate next door at a restaurant simply called Espinoza del Mar. It was mostly seafood but we got steaks and a seafood combo platter, the smallest one. I was not a huge fan of seafood in shells, but I enjoyed fish fillets.
I really wanted an 8oz ribeye, but forgot how to say 'rib roast' in Spanish, but we used the visual menu and got our order placed, with emphasis on medium rare. We also got beers and wine, salads and some baked vegetables, like baked asparagus and Brussels' Sprouts with cheese sauce. The tab was huge but it was a great meal. After we left we walked along the waterfront and talked about girls and why we decided to not get married. I confessed since coming to Spain I haven't been able to shop much and there was no Ebay or Amazon here so my bank balance was going up and up. Daniel said he sent money to his sister, she's having some hard times and might be getting a divorce, and his mother said his father was very sick with something painful in the gut and he's had diarrhea for two weeks.
We finally got a taxi ride back to the embassy and sat in lawn chairs by the pool just for the ambience. I felt eyeballs on the top of my head again and even turned around and stared at the apartment building for the silhouette of anyone watching us. I saw the flashing of people watching TV but no actual people moving around.
When we were along the waterfront we saw beggars and what looked like homeless people, they were all young and poorly dressed. I saw lots of meth scars on faces and hands but I think most of them just wanted cash to buy more meth. What surprised me was that in a city the size of Barcelona (4.6million in the metro area, #6 in size in the EU) that the number of homeless young people wasn't higher. I think the city policy toward unemployed people hanging out in tourist places begging for money and cigarettes is harsh in Spain. What they especially cracked down on was if you were in Spain on a Visa and begged for money or got caught breaking the law. For that shit you spent time in the slammer then got booted out of Spain, usually to Algeria.
At 11:10pm the old rotary dial phone rang and it was the embassy office calling, they had an out-of-control American tourist, probably drunk and confused. It sounded like one of those people that demanded instant passport replacement. I pulled on my holster and pistol then slipped on a shirt and some shoes and we ran across the yard and burst in the back door and immediately heard a man yelling.
The man appeared drunk, he might be having some kind of dementia episode (sundowners) too. He had what looked like a knife in one hand and his face was drenched with perspiration and he swayed side to side like a wrestler poised to attack. The people working the service counter this late were two older Spanish women and one of them was softly crying, the other was frozen with fear standing at the service counter. I walked closer to him and asked what was going on.
The white haired man said his flight home was tomorrow but some Gypsy fortune teller stole his passport, he needed a replacement tonight and wasn't going to leave until we handed him one.
"You don't understand, we can't print passports any more, it takes special printers and software to print a temporary. We order them online and get a replacement within 2-3 days."
He screamed "WHY?"
I told him, "...with all the new passport fraud laws only one local shop can print them, and it's an international law. They removed our passport printer and paper, and the software too. The fastest we can get one now is 2-3 weekdays. Sorry but we have no machines to print them here, we did ten years ago but those days are gone, just like the printers. You can blame the EU government."
He stood there staring at me with sweat dripping off his head. Daniel said, "Sir, do you honestly think threatening staff with a letter opener will make the printers, paper, and ink cartridges magically appear?"
He looked at Daniel then swallowed and dropped the knife on the floor. I asked the ladies if they had his information and they said yes. So I told him, "Here's what you do, go back to your hotel, call the airline and re-schedule your flight for Saturday. Then have a couple glasses of wine and go to bed." The man adjusted his position to stand more normally and started to smile, "I like the way you talk young man." He pointed at the two ladies and angrily shouted that he couldn't understand them.
I asked him where he was from and he said: 'Elizabeth, New Jersey.' I tapped my fingertip on the counter and softly told him, "This is Barcelona, Spain, and those ladies were born and raised here, this is their country, we're visitors here." But it probably wasn't a good time for him to reflect on his behavior.
I walked him back to the security building and out the front door to the sidewalk and shut the door (slammed it shut actually). Then I asked security why they didn't respond to situations like this and they said they did perimeter security only, he signed in and met all the criteria for an after-hours visit to the embassy. "You know he had a knife and was threatening staff?" But the guard stood there behind the counter and shrugged his shoulders. I chuckled at them and left for the office.
Back in the office the ladies were talking and said they ordered his temporary passport all he had to do was come back in a few days, and then he could fly home. I asked them to make a note in his records that he appeared to be intoxicated and threatened embassy staff with a weapon. We had no idea if his problem was anger management, dementia, alcohol consumption, or maybe even blood sugar. The guy had to be about 75 years old. Dan said, "It's always people from within 100 miles of the center of Manhattan Island that start the shit."
Then as we were about to leave one of the ladies added, "Highland Park, Illinois, and Paradise Valley, Arizona too." I asked Dan what it did when we put notes about criminal behavior in his State Department records and he said the next time he tries to leave or return to the US he'll be delayed. They might even require him to have medical screening first. Then Dan said it could be as simple as his blood sugar or a urinary infection but threatening people with a weapon is a serious criminal act in Spain and the USA.
We walked back to our apartment and went back to bed.
I got an email from my friend Jennifer, she wanted to visit us in Barcelona and I told her it was complicated, I'd look into the rules. The main problem with a non-spouse visiting was where she'd stay. But State is very pro-family so they wanted to make it work for us. I emailed Jen back and told her it would take time but to go ahead and start planning a 5-day trip, but don't buy tickets or make reservations yet. I told her State feels it's safer for us to visit family back home or up in Paris or London but preferably not in Barcelona. There is a travel advisory for Barcelona in effect that started after anti-America riots downtown earlier this year.
For some strange reason the shit hit the fan on Thursday, all at once. It started when Daniel got a text from his mother that they're in the ER and just found out his father has stage-4 metastatic liver cancer, his mother needed him to come home right away. Ninety minutes later he got a call from his sister stating that their mother has had some kind of mental breakdown (at the hospital) and was on the way to the psychiatric-ER, come home right away. Dan called HR again and applied for emergency FMLA, he packed some clothes and caught the first flight to the states (Atlanta) and would work out the rest of his trip to Houston once he got across the ocean.
The next morning I was called to the ambassador's office and informed I was being assigned to a non-existent office in Morocco. I was also to establish an observation post for the INR in Tangier. I didn't know exactly what INR wanted there but at first it seemed all they wanted was a warm body photographing every cargo ship docking in their port. Then I started to understand they noted every ship passing through the strait from an observation post over in Spain but it wasn't working like they wanted because the waterway is almost ten miles across. And no ordinary camera could take useful images at night.
They wanted a second camera so they had one on each side of the Strait of Gibraltar. But that could get expensive renting an apartment with a view of Spain from Morocco, mount a decent camera and transmit video over the internet. But it gave me a business idea to find a location and buy two super high quality low light cameras, one IR for working at night. Aim them north across the waterway and sell that data stream to whatever country wanted to pay. I could earn enough moolah to live the rest of my life comfortably in Tangier and hang out in the old cafes, smoke hashish, and read old newspapers and shuffle along with waterfront dressed like an elderly retired ship fanatic, taking photos of every vessel I saw. Honestly, I never smoked hashish in my life, but I like to tell people I did to see how they react.
I had a phone conversation with someone in State over a secure embassy phone. Like most of the large federal agencies the State Department also had their own version of the CIA, it's called the INR. Some of our assignments were related to collecting intelligence, which was the purpose of my sudden re-assignment to the port city of Tangier on the north coast of Morocco. The waterway at the entrance to the Mediterranean is treated the same as the Panama or Suez Canals and the Straits of Hormuz and a dozen other major choke points to world commerce. I guess someone in Washington suddenly realized they had insufficient monitoring on the Strait of Gibraltar. Maybe one of their spy satellites just took a crap and was slowly falling back to Earth.
Then all of a sudden Daniel flew home (but left his stuff in our apartment) and the next day I was ordered to pack some clothes and toothbrush and get ready to travel to Morocco. Because it was so close I would go by train to Gibraltar. I was to cross into Morocco on one of the many tourist ferry boats. I also had to keep Jen updated because she was making vacation plans. I had a lot of research to do, but while I was packing I texted her and told her 'sudden big changes here, stop all plans.' She replied with 'Message Received :-(' And she also told me she hoped the bath tub in my new place was big.
You know that says something about her and us. Of all the people I know she's the only one that would take a week off work and fly halfway around the planet to spend time with me. She likes Dan a lot too so technically she's visiting both of us but I'm the one she gets naked with. As far as I know Dan's never serviced her, but I should ask sometime.
And then everything got 'more worser.'
Ten days after Daniel left Barcelona on FMLA his father died unexpectedly (age 62). He was trying to get his father's estate settled and maybe their house sold and all their belongings sold too. His mom ended up in a psychiatric hospital (for older people) three days before his father's funeral and everything in his world suddenly turned to shit. Daniel emailed me he would probably have to file for a 30 day extension because you cannot settle an estate in 19 days. I expected Daniel would apply for an assignment stateside, not sure where he would go but it would be some place closer than Spain. As a joke I told him to apply for the US Embassy in Cozumel, MX. That was only 900 miles from Houston and they had twice-daily non-stop flights too. His voice sounded weird over the phone, I think he was under a lot of stress. He might have been drunk too.
With all the crap going on I started having nightmares and grinding my teeth at night. I even had dreams of Jen and me getting married with her barefoot father (in bib-overalls) in the back of the church holding a shotgun.
Five days after his mother was confined at a psychiatric hospital (two days after she missed her husband's funeral) in Houston she was found dead in the shower, she stabbed her own wrist with a shard of broken glass. Dan and I started talking by phone every day but I could hear him drinking from a bottle and a few times he passed out while we were talking.
Two days after his mother's funeral Daniel was busted at a checkpoint for DWI and hit and run when he supposedly struck a guy on a bicycle and left the scene. He told me if he hit someone it was news to him. The State Department fired him three days later. He said Texas was prosecuting him with no evidence of a hit and run, just because he was drunk they caught soon after the fatal bike accident.
Jen was horrified how Dan's family suddenly imploded after his Dad was diagnosed with a cancer that had spread to almost every organ in his body except his heart. We cried over the phone but there was no way I could call him in jail from Spain. I told Jen in two days I was moving Morocco, she should look into airline routes from Austin to Tangier (I had to spell the name for her). I hadn't looked up destinations you can fly to from Tangier yet, but Atlanta isn't one of them.
That was what we talked about the rest of our phone call, how she was going to get to Rabat. She said she'd have to fly somewhere like Paris first then to Rabat, and then to Tangier. But when I told her to fly to Rabat before Tangier she asked why I couldn't drive to Rabat and pick her up. So I had to remind her the distance, I don't own a car or have a Moroccan driver's license, the signs are all in Arabic, and there are no lane lines in Tangier. It would be dangerous... that's why. She had to fly to Tangier and we'll get to my place on the city bus. I wasn't totally convinced people like me with Asperger should be driving anyway, but driving in a foreign country was even worse for my brain. After watching people drive in Tangier I decided it was too much-too fast for my brain to process.
I also told Jen to be sure she packed clothes and shoes for a warm tropical climate and lots of walking. They get 90s during the day in summer and 60s for lows. In winter they get 60s and 40s, the rainy season is October to May. Don't bring dollars, only bring Euros. And my last piece of advice was to NOT take the train from Rabat to Tangier, stick with the commuter airlines.
She asked me how it was that I could fly a business jet and land in Tangier at the commercial airport but won't drive in traffic there. I reminded her with airplanes there would likely be no other airplanes moving in the airspace. They often say it's safer to fly than drive, that's especially true in Morocco. I told her there were probably no more than thirty commercial jets flying over Morocco all day every day, it's not a huge aviation society. There are still a lot of people that ride on animals to get to work. The truth is flying makes sense to me and I'm a details freak with a photographic memory.
I pointed out I was going to Tangier without housing arranged so I had to establish a place to sleep and eat all on my own in a country where I didn't speak the language, and try to not look like an idiot American spy in the process. And they couldn't tell me if I was going there for a week, a month, or ten years. To be perfectly honest I was hugely stressed, worried about my safety, and wondered if they were actually sending me to die in Morocco because my partner got fired. I bet Dan's termination also reflected poorly on me.
And speaking of Morocco: Many years ago my distant cousin (same age as my sister) joined the Peace Corp right out of high school and was assigned to Morocco, helping rural poor farmers build their water infrastructure (hand dug wells). And he also helped them build mud brick school houses too. He fell in love with some chick and got married and had a baby. Two years after they moved back to the states she flew her relatives over then promptly filed for divorce.
Two days later I boarded a passenger train in downtown Barcelona with a small carry-on size suitcase, cash (Euros), camera, cell, and my diplomat passport (and ID badge) and headed south to Gibraltar where I was to get on a tourist catamaran boat and cross the Strait to the Port of Tangier, which is basically just a long concrete pier.
The entire waterfront of Tangier today is all about showing off the ancient city wall and extracting Euros from the tourists. The taxi driver dropped me near two of the biggest (but not most expensive) hotels and I got a room for the night. That evening my first goal was to determine what parts of the old city had the highest ground elevation and provided a view of both harbors and across the Strait to the little town of Tarifa, Spain. That day I easily identified the highest buildings and walked over there looking for an old hotel with small cheap rooms that had the view wanted by the State Department's: Bureau of Intelligence and Research (aka: INR). The sun was almost set but I found s hotel that probably met their criteria for a camera placement and went inside and enquired about something like a six month lease.
The old man walked me up the stairs (no elevator here) to the fourth floor. They had six 'rooms' on four and two were empty, we went inside and saw the room was clean but tiny, just an L-shaped room with a bed and table, TV on a stand with rabbit ears, two large (wood frame) windows that opened inward, rotary dial wired phone, shared bathrooms, 220v electricity, no air conditioning but a fantastic ocean breeze, and precisely the view the INR wanted of both harbors and across the strait with nothing blocking the view. I asked about wifi and he said yes, they had wifi and there was municipal wifi and cellular 4G service too. The room had no toilet or sink, no running water at all.
I asked about the price and he said $1200 a month, with no maid service. I saw one outlet in the entire room, halfway up the wall. There was a ceiling fan slowly turning above the bed, which had the frame for insect netting, since they had a short mosquito season every winter. I told the owner I needed to make a phone call, so we walked downstairs and I went outside to the market area on the sidewalk and used the satellite phone to call Barcelona to speak to the Ambassador for permission and the numbers off a State Department bank draft.
I got permission right away to rent the place for six months and went back inside, handed him my passport to copy and we discussed price and agreed on $500 a month (for 250 sq ft and no running water), furnished, with maid service, we shook hands and he had a lease already filled-in. I gave the bank draft numbers and my Ambassador's name to the owner's wife to arrange payment of three thousand Euros. I got the room key and took a taxi back to the waterfront hotel and went to their small restaurant into the International section of tables which was the only place where alcohol could be ordered and consumed.
Most of the restaurants that sold alcohol in Tangier had a window of time when it was legal to serve drinks by the glass, most I saw were 8pm to 1am, 7-days a week. Some stores were allowed to sell sealed bottles from noon to 10pm daily. Needless to say this was not a good destination to be on Superbowl Sunday or for the FA Cup Championship and expect a big pizza and endless mugs of cold beer on tap. For that you should go party in Gibraltar (and have reservations two years in advance because the soccer FA Cup is tremendously popular in this part of the world).
At 7:50pm I ordered a dinner of baked half-chicken with their signature rub, vegetables, and flat bread. A bottle of red wine sounded nice too and the waiter opened it and poured a short glass, but the bottle was mine. When I was done eating I tucked it up my sleeve and went to my room and finished the bottle and surfed all the Arabic language channels on their cable system. The commercials looked funny due to the big cultural difference.
Something popped into my brain just then: "There are a LOT of people that speak Arabic. Where are all these Arabic movies and TV shows made? I never heard if there's a Hollywood somewhere in the Middle East.
Tangier is a very international city with visitors and residents from across the globe. The locals tend to be African descent or what they call 'Berbers.' The Berbers are native North Africans with brown skin and a culture that looked similar to the Arabs, and today they were mostly all Muslim. The Berbers used to inhabit all the northern states of Africa going back to the earliest days of civilization on the Nile River. Tangier was a huge destination back in the 1950s as wealthy-eccentric people from North America and Europe came there for social and cultural freedoms tolerated in their laid back Berber culture. It was one of the few Islamic cities to tolerate gays, beatniks, drug addicts, sodomists, artists, musicians, Marxist poets, and international celebrities... all under one roof.
Many people said Tangier was like Bangkok with an Arab menu, and narcotics were plentiful and cheap in Tangier too. Back during WW2 Spain was one of the biggest growers of Opium poppies worldwide, and Tangier is ten miles from Spain. Tangier has a century long reputation for being a tolerant hedonistic party town, and it still sort of exists today in certain areas but Islam toned down the parties and made it a more respectable place to visit and pretend you're Humphrey Bogart searching for your Ingrid Bergman. And in the last twenty years the people spent a ton of cash to make Tangier look historic, clean, and safe. It's hard to visit and not fall in love with Tangier. In many parts of the old city it looks the same as it did in the 1920s.
Contact the author: borischenaz at mailfence