Yesterday, my traveling partner @michelios and I landed in Casablanca with three dogs and big ideas about what to expect in Morocco. We’d spent months discussing this trip and preparing for it, reading blogs and info sites to gain as much knowledge about safely traveling with dogs in this part of the world as we could. I have to say that the internet sometimes does not lie. Everything we’d learned from it about this topic was correct, and we arrived in Africa extremely well prepared for what we’d face.

Michel had traveled to Morocco before but not with animals (and a woman) in tow. It’s different for men here, and as much as we Western ladies might resent such traditions, this is Moroccan culture and we aren’t going to change it by being offended. I came prepared with dark, modest clothing, sunglasses to help me avoid accidental eye contact, and full understanding that my male counterpart would have to do most of the negotiating and talking.

Dogs in the Air

The last shuttle from our hotel in Paris to Charles de Gaulle Airport was at 00:30 hours. Our flight was scheduled for 07:20 hours. This meant we had an extremely long wait time at an airport where most services were closed for the night and homeless people seeking shelter from the cold occupied most of the available seating areas. Not every bench, though, thank goodness. We found a comfy place to sit and pass the time.

This was my first time flying with Air France. We’d gotten the dogs approved for transport prior to the trip, so check-in was stress-free but took a long time. Air France staff double-checked their paperwork, examined their travel crates for both safety and humane conditions, and advised us about how the rest of the flight with them would go. These people knew what they were doing. I would put dogs on Air France flights any day based on how the system worked for them at CDG.

I got my first taste of cultural backlash about the dogs while standing in line to board. A man dressed in garb that looked more Amish than Muslim interrogated me thoroughly about my service dog, whether or not “it” would actually go into the airplane cabin, why, and where “it” would be during the flight. He then approached Air France staff, and while I couldn’t hear the conversation, I feel quite sure he was complaining. It did him no good. We boarded as planned, although many passengers recoiled visibly from my dog as he navigated the aisle, some squealing in horror. No matter. We found our seat, Milo tucked underneath completely without leaving a single whisker in the aisle, and we flew to Morocco.

My cell phone battery was hovering around ten percent and the plane had no USB charging ports within reach that worked. I had to take photos very sparingly. The following two were taken during our first approach. The green, verdant landscape surprised me. I was expecting brittle, brown desert. The seasons must be very diverse here.

Drama in the Skies

The reason I said “our first approach” is because mere feet above the runway, our pilot suddenly sent full power to the engines and pointed us back toward the sky. Our climb was steep, fast, and scared the wits out of me. We banked hard, circled tight, and held our breath to wait for an explanation.

“The runway was occupied,” our pilot told us without embellishment. “We had to abort the landing. Making our second approach now.”

Let’s hear it for Casablanca air traffic control.

“Okay, Air France blah blah call sign. You’re clear to land on runway XYZ.” Pause. “Oh shit, Air France. My bad--that runway has a big-ass jet parked on it. Pull up! Pull up!”

None of us on the plane will ever know how close we came to dying yesterday. And the pilot--he ain’t tellin’. I know because we met him in person. While de-planing in Casablanca, one flight attendant leaned into the cockpit and said, “Voici ton chien!” (Here’s your dog!) From where I stood, I was able to see him leap up from the seat and come flying through the doorway with a big smile on his face. He took a moment to pet Milo and do some pilot/dog bonding, but he didn’t say a word about saving our lives. Humble man, clearly a dog person. Best pilot ever.

Paige and Tori had flown in a specialized compartment that is pressurized, climate controlled, and constantly monitored by the pilots. I will not hesitate to put them on Air France flights in the future.

Welcome to Africa!

However, on the Moroccan end, the airport experience was utter chaos. Fortunately, we’d read enough to expect this and knew exactly how to expedite the process of collecting our dogs and our baggage, despite the mechanical breakdown of two separate carousel systems that involved loud metallic crashing sounds and at least one puff of smoke. When traveling to a socially repressed region, being prepared is key. And we were.

The up side to all this chaos? Border control likely did not even realize we had entered the country with three dogs. We were not once asked to show paperwork or any veterinary documentation about their health. The only acknowledgment of even Milo’s unmistakable presence (he was walking through the airport on leash, not in a carrier) was from the agent who stamped my passport. He handled it only with the tips of his fingers like one would hold a dirty baby diaper and then used the stamp with his palm, not letting his contaminated fingers touch the handle. “Egads! I have to touch something that belongs to an American woman with a dog. Disgusting! Eyeeewww. I’ll need five showers in bleach to cleanse myself.”

Again, being prepared ahead of time made the trip from the airport to our rented bungalow in Sidi Bouzid go smoothly and without headache. Most taxis and public transportation in Morocco will not allow a dog anywhere near their vehicle, much less inside it. We’d made arrangements with Welcome Taxi Service, a large international company with a great review record, providing full disclosure about our furry passengers. They arranged a driver who likes dogs and had no issue whatsoever with transporting them. Not only this, we learned quickly that he is an excellent driver with impeccable skills for handling crazy Moroccan traffic. Both Michel and I went to sleep during the nearly two hour ride. There wasn’t so much as a jiggle in the driving lane to wake us. We tipped him well.

He dropped us off at a tiny corner cafe near our bungalow. The owner let us sit outside and use his wifi to contact the bungalow owner and let her know we were early. We enjoyed a delicious espresso there and some brilliant North African sunshine. My cell phone battery was still low so I didn’t take pictures, but I’ll definitely have opportunities to take more of the cafe and the street in days to come. Sidi Bouzid, its beaches, and surrounding communities are so beautiful they’re breathtaking, so expect a visual feast in days to come.

The Bungalow

The moment I set foot in our rented bungalow, I knew that all the frights, fights, and frustration that went into getting here were absolutely worth it. This place is magical. We’d fallen in love with photos of it on Airbnb’s website, but photos can be deceiving and this is Morocco, after all, home of sometimes less than ethical business practices. Not this time. The place exceeded expectations in every way. Even our hostess is a dream. She’s lovely, chic, friendly, and must have a doctorate in hospitality. Not one amenity was forgotten in preparing this place for guests.

The dogs can’t believe all this space is theirs. Because of the substantial outside security (both yards are fenced with concrete walls and cast iron gates with heavy locks) we are able to leave the bungalow doors open all day so the dogs are free to come in and go out at will. We can let them out at night by themselves with no worries at all. It will take them a while to fully embrace their freedom, I expect.

Crime rates in this part of Morocco are low, other than petty stuff mostly aimed at fleecing tourists. Still, the secure construction of this bungalow is reassuring. Cast iron bars on all windows and doors and double layers of security between us and the street--yeah, I haven’t spent any time worrying about home invasion. What gets past the gates won’t last long with Milo, either. He takes his responsibility as guide and guardian very seriously. Even the birds don’t dare touch a toe on this property. Not with him here, anyway.

I wasn’t expecting so many animals in the neighborhood, though. Cats, dogs--everyone seems to have them. Dogs bark from nearby yards, from balconies overhead, from directions I haven’t yet been able to pin down. It definitely seems that all people in Morocco don’t share the fear of them shown by certain airline passengers and border control agents.

I love the clothesline on the back patio. So convenient! The blankets hanging on it are the ones Tori and Paige had in their crates during the flight. Michel and I had spent our last week in France getting those blankets imbued with the scent of familiar things: us, other animals, etc. For anyone traveling with pets, that’s a great way to give them comfort during the trip and alleviate stress. It must work, because our crew arrived here in Morocco with wagging tails and slobbery kisses, ready for the next phase of our adventure!

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