A small disaster took place yesterday. But let me start where I left off. After Marrakech, I bought a bus ticket to Rabat directly *skipping* Casablanca. But those Moroccan bus companies will tell you whatever you want to hear in order to sell the ticket, so we first drove to Casa. I was chatting in French with this well dressed Moroccan guy sitting beside me for most of the way. He never takes the bus because they're so shit and we were complaining to each other about them. He also thought we were going to Rabat directly, and when it became clear that not only were we stopping in Casa but also changing busses, he got quite upset and started yelling at the bus guy. After a bit of that, he told me we were going to the Police to file an official complaint about the situation. He kept saying that if they can't get this right, how does Morocco expect to host the World Cup soccer tournament in 2010? So *we* both got off the bus and chased the police around for a while. Meanwhile, the bus going on to Rabat left, so when he finally realized this was all pretty futile and gave up, we had to pay more and wait for the next bus to Rabat to leave. I kind of knew this was going to happen, but I went along with it anyway just for the entertainment value. Because of this little (big) delay, when I arrived at the Rabat bus station I didn't have time to head into the city and buy a book, so I just bought another ticket on to Tangier (where the ferry to Spain leaves) but this time with CTM, the national bus company which is *slightly* less ghetto and *slightly* more reliable. It was dark by the time we got to Tangier, the town that scammed me the first day I arrived. My new battle-hardened anti-tout strategy was just totally ignoring anybody who approached me in English. It worked very well I think it's because if you don't say anything, they don't know what language to continue their pitch in. Their last resort in this case is to call you "racist against the Moroccan people" for ignoring them. The first time I heard this, I broke down and laughed out loud! Next morning I took the ferry across into Spain. I arrived around noon, and walked into a travel agency in the port to buy a bus ticket to Paris. The guy who speaks English suggests, "Why not fly there? There's a flight from Malaga leaving at 16:25 that you can make if you take the next bus which leaves at 13:00." I believed his advice, bought the 120 Euro ticket and followed his bus instructions exactly. I guess he didn't know that the bus to Malaga takes 3 hours because it stops at every little town on the way. By the time I got to the airport, it was 16:20 and check-in was closed. First the airline girl told me to call the travel agent whose name was written on the ticket but first I had to call 411 (11818 in Spain) to get their number but the operator didn't speak english so I had to politely ask the British Airways lady to do this for me. When I finally had the agents number, I could not reach the actual guy who sold me the ticket so they were unsympathetic because it was *my* fault for missing the flight. Then I went back to the airline office, but it was closed between 18:00-19:00 for no reason in particular. Finally they were open again, but the only time I could change it to was Sunday, which would leave me only 12 nighttime-hours in Paris. This really sucked but I had no choice but to wait around the south of Spain until Sunday because I don't have enough money left to buy another bus/plane ticket and food/hostels for four days. I reluctantly made the change (which was free, happily) and turned to the Malaga chapter in my LP Spain. That night I stayed at the HI hostel in Malaga and hung out a bit with a Saskatchewan girl who was taking a break from the army (!) to live the Tim Horton's commercial dream. This morning I took the bus to Granada, which is where I'm staying tonight. Tomorrow I might go to Gilbralter.