Alex runs Marrakech and other Exploits

Breakfast is again delicious with 4 choices of small patisserie, french bagette, jam, butter, fresh squeezed orange juice (I sure will miss that) and a wonderfully light omelette. They have replaced the showerhead in my room so it is the best shower so far. The bathroom is small, but with a shower curtain the water is kept where it should be. Another bright and sunny day with a high of 18 C projected. I set off after breakfast in a T-shirt under my longsleeve nylon shirt and am comfortable enough, though I have to admit it would be cool in the shade with a breeze for any length of time.

My backpack is still heavy despite the fact that I have put a few items in the bag with the carpet since it will be checked anyway. I am sure I look like one of the overloaded donkeys from Fes as I walked up the street. The train headed for Casa Voyageur in Casblanca is delayed 25 minutes and I am feeling glad that I discovered I didn't need to go all the way into that station to get to the airport. My train arrives on time. I switch at Ain Sebna and discover it goes through Casa Voyageur anyway. I don't fully understand the reasons why and can only assume the connections are better further north.

The train arrives at the airport about 11:45 AM, so 1 hr 45 min ride from Rabat. I think staying in Rabat was good, the town is quiet and safe and obviously convenient. Upon leaving the train platform, there is a long line or better to say everyone who got off the train is now bunched around the entry door to get into the airport. It is here that we must have our luggage, etc scanned. People from the back of the group continue to swarm around those in front in order to press into the terminal building. Out the other side there are only signs for terminal 1 and 2. I ask the fellow at the scanner and he gives me directions in French. When I get to the end of Terminal 1 I am told I must go outside and a small bus will take me to Terminal 3. A large intercity style bus arrives and is apparently the shuttle. I am lucky because the sign indicates that the shuttle only operates every 1/2 hour and I have not had to wait.

We are brought around to a small block building which is apparently the terminal. I am able to convert my remaining dh (except for a few coins) into US dollars. I go through a passport check and get in line for my boarding card. It is a long slow process. Suddenly a group of passengers, all hauling luggage about 1/2 their size press up and begin to push in front of all who have been waiting. The couple ahead of me object, but the check-in clerk seems to allow this to continue. It turns out they are on a 1 PM flight to Tunis - "Come earlier next time." I say rudely as they leave with their seat assignments. Once I have my boarding card, I want to buy a bottle of water and so go back out through passport control. A bottle is 14 dh nearly twice the price of a bottle in town for half the amount! I see the chocolate bars that I paid 5 dh for last night are 18 dh here so am glad I stocked-up and a bag of chips for which I paid 3 dh at a street vendor is 35 dh here!!

I look around as to where to go next. I see a frosted glass enclosure which reads "embarking" and pass through the door and another security check. I enter a gradually filling waiting area. I eat the chips and then realize I have 40 dh tucked in my wallet and so buy a cafe au lait while I wait. I leave the 5 dh change as an undeserved tip, but no point in carrying it with me. All that is left is to board and fly home.

I am reading my magazine and become aware that it has become quiet around me. People have left the terminal and are standing on a bus to take them to the plane; I join a few stragglers to clear ticket check and get on the bus. It seems very odd that there was no announcement to say flight # whatever is now boarding. We are crammed like sardines in the bus and cross the tarmack to the waiting plane. The sun beats down on the bus and it heats up and now we wait. We look out at the technicians in their orange suits at the door to the plane. The bus lurches and we pull away and the doors open in front of the terminal building from whence we came. Obviously a problem and we are not leaving as scheduled. The person next to me flags down an airline person and speaks in Arabic and receives a reply. There is no announcement, no apology, no nothing. All personnel seem to have disappeared. We sit and wait. I call my travel insurance company in North America and explain the situation. I am told I will just have to pay the bills and submit them once home. The will then consider the eligibility.

A new plane is prepared outside the terminal building and again without announcement, people begin to walk across the tarmack and up the stairs into the plane. Once inside, I discover that row 9 where I am to be seated does not exist. In fact there are several rows missing from the arrangement. We are told to stand to one side and they will figure out what to do later. More and more of us are standing. Finally I decide to sit in the first class seat next to where I am standing so if there are no coach seats I can insist on staying where I am. Once the aisle have cleared an attendant comes and asks to see my boarding card. He says I must move and should go to the back and find a seat. I say that I need an aisle seat and am not about to go back looking for openings. He walks off and returns to escort me to a seat.

I have a chatty seatmate. He is making his way back to his sister's in Ontario, but not before telling me he was denied access to London, England the day before and they had detained him and put him back on a plane to Morocco. His story is weird but plausible and at least he is not a terrorist. He keeps getting up to get the free cans of orange crush left at the back and then gets up to releave himself of the orange crush. Since I am sitting in the aisle seat I am getting my share of up and down action.

The flight is relatively uneventful and we arrive in Montreal just before 9 PM local time. I have reserved a room (when stuck in Morocco) at the same Best Western as I used flying out. My room is comfortable and several stars higher than most of the rooms I have used in the last 3 weeks. I manage to get a sandwich in the bar and call home to let them know I am safely back in Canada. I will take a new and separate flight back to Toronto tomorrow morning and have arranged the airbus to pick me up and transport me back to Niagara.

How wonderful a holiday I have had. It was either the right place at the right time for me or maybe it really is the Morocco is a great place to visit. The food is delicious, the people warm and friendly and the culture rich. Sleeping in the desert of the Sahara was certainly a highlight. Learning to tie my own turban from a strip of cloth rewarding. The marathon its own reward as I can check the continent of Africa as the 6th of the seven where I have run a marathon. Sure I would have done a few things differently, but I could not have done it better.
So until the next time, enshallah.

Another bright and sunny morning. I have been lucky with the wheather and had only the walk to the marathon start in the rain to affect my vacation. I am begining my homeward travel. Today I will travel back to Rabat with the idea that I will be only an hour from Casablanca and the airplane on Friday.

After breakfast, I say goodbye to Calvin and Liz and Ryan and Kriten. They have been enjoyable company during my stay in Fes. I settle my bill with Mohammed and despite the fact that I told him Tuesday that I would not be staying Thursday am charged the rate anyway. I pay the 4 nights and give him a tip to share among all the staff.

I catch the 10:50 AM train to Rabat (80 dh) and the train si small compartments for 8 people. There is a young light skinned Moroc fellow across from me. Four Arab women load the other seats in the compartment and they babble constantly to and over eachother all quite loudly. Fortunately, 2 get off at Meknes and the 2 older women continue on. Still babbling all the way. The only break comes when one of the women pulled out a prayer book and began reading to herself. This does not last long as she then begins to read aloud to the other woman. They must comply with the second pillar of Islam - shalat - in which Muslims must pray 5 times per day. As the train passes through the area of Meknes, the abundance of olive trees is clear. This like the grapes are likely the vestige of Roman occupation.

Suddenly, one of the women pulls out a knife. And then she extracts a golden delicous apple from her purse and begins to cut into wedges which she shares a wedge with the woman opposite. Thus she is fulfilling the 3rd pillar of Islam - charity. She consumes the rest of the apple.

Whe I arrived back in Rabat, I was assigned the same room as my stay a few days before (#44). I walked around a lot and went shopping for an astrolobe. I guess I should have bought it when my beautiful friend showed me one on the streets of Marrakech on my last day there. But no one seems to have one and very few seem to know what it is I am asking about even as I mime the use of it.

For supper I went to the LaBamba Restaurant (a Mexican or Spanish name, Moroccan menu and French service - talk about a real mix). I had a wonderful Moroccan soup for a starter. I'd had it on other evenings as it is quite traditional (vegetable) but this one was less dense and served with a wedge of lemon. The lemon really brought out the flavors. For the maincourse, I had pastille de poulet. While traditionally madde with pigeon, this was ground chicken mixed with crushed nuts and other ingredients all in a phylo pastery, baked and then served with a dusting of powdered (icing) sugar and cinnamon. A nice blend of the sweet and savory. I am glad I tried it before leaving Morocco.

When I got back to the room, I reorganized a bit. On Euronews, Mubarak has announce that he has transferred his powers to Vice President Sulelman. Mubarak refuses to resign and says he will not leave Egypt. He only continutes to insight hsi countrymenn to riot. Today when I arrived in Rabat some sort of demonstration was going on here. They used the park a block from my hotel as the gathering grounds. Later I hear and saw them gathered in fron of a federal building and just a very small crowd but lots of police present and lots of paddy wagons and cruisers in wait. Then just before supper as I sat enjoying a coffee outdoors an even larger crowd marched up Hussan II Boulevard. They were about 8 to 10 abreast and more than a block long. This time they continued past the federal building and as they did began to run and rush up the street enmass. I continued to watch from my table a safe distance away. I don't know the purpose or the outcome. Peace be upon us - Enshallah.

I bought my train ticket from Rabat to the Casablanca Airport for tomorrow (transfer at Ain Shebana) (75 dh 2nd class). The trains leave hourly from the train station.

At breakfast the Brits and Americans from last night join me at the long dining table. A group of Italians joined us at the other end. After breakfast I wandered up to the Batha museum. It is a late 19th century palace. The displays are old and tired and not worth the 10 dh entrance fee - which is to say it is pretty bad since that fee is the equivalent of $1.39 at home. Upon leaving there I was not sure how to get up to the military museum, suffice it to say, I took the long way. It is on the hills overlooking the City. It is apparent the park along the bluff is the overnight campsite for the homeless. The housing above that appears to be that of the very poor of Fes. There is a recorded unemployment rate in Fes of 20 % and an unofficial rate of 40 %; which would explain the number of men who spend countless hours in the coffee shops with less than nothing to do.

The Military Museum is in a renovated citadel with up-to-date lighting and significant displays of armanments through the ages. The descriptions are in Arabic or French; I use my rudamentary knowledge of the latter to gain a little insight. From the top of the fortress are great veiws back down into Fes. Smoke rises up indicating the locations of the tanneries, dyers souks and the communal ovens. It is not unusal to see children on the street carring a wooden tray with 1 or 2 plate sized rounds of dough on their way to the bakeries to be made into khoobz (bread).

Donkeys are alive and well in Fes. There are frequent calls from behind me as the delivery men call to clear the path and it is necessary for pedestrians to jump into an open doorway or press tight against a wall as the overloaded beasts pass. The donkeys make the labours easier by carrying sever 50 lb sacks of floor to the bakeries or a dozen propane tanks used for cooking or a multitude of tanned hides to the shoemakers and leatherworkers. The streets of Fes are steep as they rise out to the river basin. Where donkeys are not uses men haul goods in their 2 wheeled cars. Going up the stairs requires a lot of effort only exceeded by the strength required to hold the carts back from the possibility of careening down a steep slope.

I spend the afternoon on the rooftop terrace of the Riad using the shade of a low wall to cool me and enjoy a local beer to refresh me from my 3 hour hike around town.

I have an early supper out and go back to the place where I had lunch a few days ago. I order brochettes of beef, but am told they only have beef steak. The meat is delicious. It is thin strips of beef brazed and served in a creamy golden coloured sauce of mushrooms. There are warm mixed vegetables of zuchinni, carrots and potates.

I return to the Riad for a 1/2 bottle of red wine and to read my book in the lounge. Although Morocco is a Muslim country, the area around Meknes is good for growing grapes and produces a reasonable cabernet sauvaignon. As I lounge, Said puts a fresh bottle of propane in the heater (probably delivered by a donkey earlier); the heater takes the chill off of the room.

Meals are served in the roof top terrace dining room. I went up for breakfast at 8:00 AM and was the first person there. I said everyone must be sleeping in and was told that breakfast did not start until 8:30. I didn't know this because I had just dropped my bags the day before and not had the typical orientation they provide upon arrival. I was given a cup of coffee and helped myself to some of the bread and such on the table while waiting for the others. The table was all magnificently laid with blue and white dishes the traditional colours of Fes pottery; the oranges stood bold on the table as sunlight filtered in over the feast. An Australian woman and her daughter were the next to arrive and told me of their purchases yesterday. They had bought 10 fezzes which they were bringing home and were going to host a party complete with Moroccan food and hats. I said I thought the Fez was a hat from Turkey; I was sooo wrong. The fez is a tall pillbox style hat in red felt with a tassle. Until 1826, the fez was found only in the Maghreb region. The Maghreb is generally described as the land between the Atlas Mountains and the Mediterranean Sea (which included Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia and Lybia). It was only after Sultan Mahmud II decreed in 1826 that the fez was to be the official hat of his modernized military that its use spread and was used as the headdress of other military forces. Originally the fez was red, white or black in colour and had a turban wrapped around it; the turban was later dropped. In fact the fez proved to be a serious disadvantage in war as the red had made a great target on top of the head and without a brim proved useless for shielding the eyes. The name of the hat, of course, comes from the name of the City of Fes which had a monopoly on the manufacture of the caps.

Mohammed, our house "boy" brought out heaps of carrot marmalade to go with our bagettes and Moroccan pancakes. Several people remarked that they had seen it being made in the kitchen (behind my room) the day before. There were slices of banana with sugar and cinnamon sprinkled on top, boiled brown eggs, donuts with granular sugar and then Mohammed's specialty, a salsa of fried tomatoes, peppers, onions and spices which had a momentary kick at the end.

It was agreed I would join Ryan and Kristen in the lobby for a tour with a guide. Akmed, an older gentleman, arrived to lead us on a tour which seemed to be a series of loops through the streets nearest the riad. None of us but Akmed knew exactly where we were. He gave us his open and frank opinion on the Moroccan monarchy (I was surprised that he had not been jailed or killed for his views of the current leader and his political allies). He took us through the dyers souk which I had visited yesterday and said the dyers are being forced out by metal workers moving into the alleyway. The dirt of the metalwork is not compatible with the dying of yarns and cloth. He lead us through markets all the time stopping to chat with vendors along the way; I bought nuts and raisins to snack on as we explored the warren of small passageways in this ancient city. He told us there are 6,000 buildings held up by braces and scaffolding because they cannot be demolished since Fes is a UNESCO world heritage site and the owners do not have the money to fix them (many 500 years old). Akmed lead us to the infamous tanneries of Fes, or rather to a leather shop which had a rooftop view of the tannery next door from which we could take pictures. It was difficult to escape the clutches of the sales people as we left the roof and exited through the gift shop. Akmed suggested we have lunch somewhere, when I said I thought it was a 1/2 day tour, he quickly said "I'll take you back to the riad.", which he promptly did. We paid him 50 dh (the official price) and a 10 dh tip each.

I wanted to find out about a cooking class I could take at one of the restaurants in the area I lunched yesterday so set off to find the Clock Tower Cafe. I set off and 15 minutes later discovered I had arrived at the place I started. I left in another direction only to have the same thing happen again as I got lost in the maze of streets twisting and turning. A little frustrated, I set out a 3rd time this time connecting with the main "street" I had been looking for yesterday, but never found. When I say street it is really a pedestrian passageway about 3 or 4 metres wide filled with people and all sorts of goods spilling from the adjacent shops. I walked up and up looking for the cafe, soon I passed out the other side and since I was close by Musee Batham checked to see if it was open, but it is closed Tuesdays. I checked my map and upon re-entering the Medina stumbled onto Ryan and Kristen. They were looking for the Clock Tower Cafe because Kristen had read they made the best lemon tarts to be found anywhere. Together and with some directions from a street merchant we found the cafe. I found out there was no one registered for the class on Wednesday; they were willing to offer a class for me the price would be 1,000 dh or if I could find someone else to attend the price would be 60 dh each. I thought the idea of doing the class would be more fun if there was a group since it involved meeting preparing a meal plan, going out to the market for the food and then preparing it together and finally sitting to eat the fruits of our labours. With only me in the class, the appeal was gone and I decided to do other things on Wednesday.

I had told Mohammed that I would have supper at the riad this evening. At 8 PM there was a call for dinner and I went up to the roof top dining room. I was surprised to find plenty of company as the British couple, Calvin and Liz, were there and Ryan and Kristen were already seated at the big table. Places were set for the Belgian couple, but they never arrived. Tonight our server was Said. He brought out 8 plates (2 of each kind) beet salad, carrot salad, tomato/pepper/cucumber salad and mashed potatoes with chives- all traditional Moroccan salads and served with ample wedges of the thin round loaves of bread. When were already full on those, Said brought out an enormous tagine of turkey. The whole dish was raised high when the cover was removed; it had ample amounts of celery (steamed to a very soft texture) which added to the most wonderful compote of flavors. I think I had a leg and thigh in my portion. We five shared 3 split bottles of wine (red and rose). Dessert arrived - cups of fresh fruits salad atop a sweet dollop of natural yoghurt. Then tea and coffee was served all the way around. Fully satisfied, I looked at my watch and was surprised to see it was already after 10 PM - where had the time gone, the whole meal had been a ceremony more than 2 hours long. I left the table for my room and read quitely in bed before dousing the light.

Grabbing the new bag containing the carpet from the top of the cab at the Meknes train station, the strap pulls free of the seam and I awkwardly manhandle it onto the train where I pin it in place. Things you buy on the street are not always what they seem to be. Upon exiting the Gare du Fes train station, I walk out to a line of taxis. The first taxi driver I approach wants 40 dh to take me to the nearest square to my riad. I offer him 25 dh. When he says no, I walk away. I am still looking to engage another driver when the first drive comes and asks if I will pay 30 dh. I agree and find I am riding in a cab already occupied by 2 other people. He will get 2 fares this way. Taxis are allowed to pick up other passengers if they are not full, but 3 people is the limit. I chuck my bags on the roof rack and climb in beside the driver. We race through the streets sometimes reaching speeds of 90 km/hr. We arrive at RCIF square. I'm deposited with my bags in the centre median and left to dodge traffic to make it to the sidewalk.

The instructions I had from the Riad were to call them when I got to RCIF square and they would send someone. I have printed a map from their website and it looks straight forward enough. I walk 1 minute and check with the police that I am going in the right direction. There is a large entry gatewhich does not show on my map (later I learn it is new and defines a new pedestrian area being created where busses parked in the past). I cross the square and take the one street leading directly out the top end. It should be easy enough, continue this way until the bridge over the broad river. I cross the bridge, but can only see the river over the walls by standing on my tip toes; it looks like the mighty Los Angeles River - basically a large open concrete channel where a torrent of water rushes down a narrow route in the middle. I turn and enter a maze of commercial streets which form the first of the souks. I confirm with the yoghurt seller that I should continue straight a few more turns, right at the stack of silver tea pots, a left and a quick right by the dazzling display of cut glass mirrors and into a small square of metal workers. Another right and now my confidence wanes. I check with a shopkeeper putting out his display of purses and am told to go striaght. That doesn't stop a young boy from jumping to my aid and insisting he will show me the way. It is a dark narrow alley with only 4 or 5 doors before it deadends. He reaches up and pushes the bell for the Riad. I stumble in with pack and carpet as I am weighted down with their heaviness. We follow a long corridor before entering the central court of the Riad. It is richness personified.

More of the kaliedoscope of colours from the mosaic tiled floor, the zellij tiled walls, the decorative woodwork and carved plaster mouldings. There is a large library room to the left with padded benches and cushions for lounging, a games table is set up in one corner, a TV in another (although it is only connected to a DVD player). The doors are 6 metres high with smaller "man" doors within those. The doors are elaborately painted and the man doors have the typical Moorish arch. There is a alcove on the opposite side where the attendant has just greeted a couple from Belgium; he is surprised that I have found my way up from RCIF square on my own. I puff my chest with pride. He tells us that our rooms are not yet ready so tea is served all around. He takes the Belgian couple off to their room and when I see him a short time later say that I will leave my bags and return later. He gives me instructions which work perfectly until I make my first turn. Now I am completely disoriented. I feel deflated after having been so proud as to have made my way to the Riad and now cannot make my way to the main shopping street which shows as a broad straight line on the map.

I know from the English couple I talked to on the roof that the main road leads up hill and at the top are a number of restaurants. When I find a street that goes up I begin to follow it. Apparently it runs parallel to the main street more or less, but a few blocks away. At the top I pop out into a sunny plaza and check with a shopkeeper. She points to where I am on the map, it does not seem logical and I am still not sure that she even knew where we were on the map. I wander back to a small outdoor cafe. I have been enjoying chicken panni at a number of places, but decide I am getting in a rut so order pizza. The only resemblance to the pizza at home is that they are both round. Not particularly tastey but it is filling. I the begin my decent and when I am sure I am hopelessly lost arrive in a small square with a gnarled tree. I hear a voice from behind me call out "the other way". I pretend not to hear as if I am going in the direction I always intended and think to myself another con-artist trying to send me on his way to his cousin's shop. I reach a shop with a lot of glistening mirrors and recognize where I am and that I must turn around and do a quick left and right. I am now back in the metal worker's square and see the tree I had not noticed before and realize I am near my riad. I then recognize the boy who called out to me to be the one from this morning. I walk over and give him 10 dh for really trying to help a minute ago.

One of the metal workers is banging on a large brass pot putting little dimples into it so that the outside looks a lot like a golf ball. I wonder if he really makes the pots or whether he just gets a pot from China and makes it look hand wrought by banging dimples into it one day and pounding it smooth the next day. Over the course of the next several days I see him working on a number of vessels of varying sizes and shapes and realize that they are all made by hand from sheets of copper and brass in his stall. Another fellow has just finsihed attaching a rim to a silver tray he is making many of his tools lay at his feet. Further along and around the bend, I discover the cloth dying area. The one closest to me is dying clothing black. I walk down the stone paved lane with a trough in the middle where all the colours mingle on their way to the sewer. Another fellow is dying yarn a saffron colour. He is twisting the wetness from the skein by using 2 sticks (like skittles); one stick is secured in a hole in a stone and the other stick he turns to wring the rinse water out. Another place the yarn is the colour of cream. They pick up 5 or 6 wet skeins and dunk them in a vat of water repeatedly to rinse out extra dye. I come to the realization this dyer's souk is next to the river (the mighty concrete one I walked over earlier) and in the earliest days the water would have been pulled directly from the river for this process and then dirty water released back into the stream further down.

I make my way back to the Riad which is really a Dar, the difference I am told is the riad has a fountain and plants in its central courtyard whereas a dar does not. The reason behind this is that a dar usually has an exterior garden. I climb up to the roof terrace with my book and discover there are 4 people up here already; the couple from Belgium and a couple (Liz and Calvin) from England. From the roof I get a great view of the lay of the land.

Fes in Valley

When I have had enough sun, I go down to my room. It is one of 2 guest rooms on the ground floor on the courtyard (the one directly opposite mine is occupied by the Belgians). My room would have been one of the principle rooms, perhaps for wife # 1; at floor level it is about 12 feet wide and 20 feet long. The ceilings appear to be about 20 feet high. There are loft areas at either end of the room which extend the length further; these areas were likely used for storage. The doors are nearly as tall as the ceilings. I never open them but pass in and out of my room through the man door. The floors of my room are multicolour tiles with large area rugs. The lights have shades of pierced metal which gives a dull light and elaborate pattern of shadows on the wall. There is a decent sized bathroom with a large shower which is about 10 inches lower than the main floor. Up high in the shower is an opening without glass which vents into the stairwell (I went up the stairs to look in the opening, but it isn't possible to see into the bathroom - that is reassuring!). The room is cold, there is no central heating here and no individual heating and cooling units which I have enjoyed at all the other rooms. There is a small electric radiator heater which warms only the area right next to it, but is too small to do an effective job to heat such a large area. The is the most expensive of the places I have stayed and I was quite looking forward to the luxury fortunately there is a fine heavy duvet on the bed and I can get toasty there later.

The guidebooks describe Fes as the world's largest intact medieval city with more than 9,500 narrow streets and dim alleyways. They wind up and down and around and are crammed with people, music, noise and smells during the day. All senses are stimulated simultaneously (good and bad). The owner advises not to go out after dark. He says the poor villagers come down from the hills and will rob you at knifepoint. I find the streets confusing enough in daylight, I can hardly imagine finding my way after dark. Add to that that most shops pull down metal shutters at closing time (8 PM) and all landmarks used during the day to find my way around disappear. The luggage shop is no more, the jewelry store is lost behind the shutters too so it is impossible to know where to turn unless you have done it dozens of times. The official unemployment rate is 20 % and it is said that unofficially it is closer to 40 %. The level of poverty in this town has been readily apparent to me already, so whoever may or may be out after dark (more likely a hardened street criminal than a villager from the hillside) I don't really need a reason to be out late and risking what has been an enjoyable stay in Morocco. This is so unlike Marrakech where the main square was buzzing with activity late into the evening and there was no sense of danger and no hotel receptionist saying to stay in after dark.

It is about 9:45 PM and the door buzzer rings. Allah lets in a woman (obviously safety after dark was not an issue to her), she is speaking English with a German accent. She seems very loud. Allah answers softly so I cannot make out both sides of the conversation, but because they are talking in the centre courtyard the sound echos up and down. I am sure everyone is being disturbed by their voices. I open my door and am shocked to find they right there. Allah apologizes and they go elsewhere. The place returns to quite and some time later I turn out my light.