Vomitous Voyage: the Midnight Ferry to Morocco

by annie

*Disclaimer: This is one of those gnarly, only-funny-after-the-fact stories that I chose to include because it was part of our journey and now laugh about. If you don't like gruesome stories regarding bodily functions, this one's not for you.

I suddenly felt as if we were no longer in Spain as soon as we stepped in line to check in for our ferry to Morocco. The lines were stuffed with Moroccan men and a sprinkling of women wearing headscarfs and long dresses. We stuck out like a sore thumb and received many stares. The surreal bit started when boarding began. These people had obviously made this voyage before, and shoved and shouted their way to the front of the line, presumably to take first pick of prime realestate- floor space. While we made our way to the seating decks, we observed several shouting matches and found several people spread out on blankets on the floor, already asleep. We found some seats and settled in for an 8-hour journey across the Mediterranean. About 30 minutes into the ride, the boat encountered massive waves that crashed on the top of the four or five story commercial ferry. We rode the waves like a roller coaster, diving down and then climbing back up. It was about this time that I began to feel sick. I stepped on deck for some fresh air, passing a young, canoodling couple before planting my feet beside the railing. I stood there, practicing what I had learned in the movie, "the Secret." The basic principles claim that one can attain their heart's desire by putting it out into the universe through visualization and positive afirmation. So there I was, desperate, repeating things to myself about my body's stability and wellness and envisioning a pleasant ferry ride. After 20 minutes or so, I thought it might be working and decided to make my way back to my seat. I let go of the railing...and promptly threw up on the deck. The wind blew opposite me, so bits ended up on my face and other undesirable places. Gruesome.

I felt bad for ruining the couple's romantic evening and took a moment to brace myself before making my way back inside to the bathroom. I felt dizzy and queasy and I couldn't walk without stumbling. A man opened the door for me and spoke in a foreign language, yelling after me as I burst into the W.C. I plunged my face into the dirty sink before noticing a man walk out of a stall behind me. I thought it curious to find a man in the women's room, but I kept on washing. Then another man came out of another stall and both chuckled. I knew I had been here before, surrounded by women, but somehow it must have transformed into the men's room. I felt too sick to care.

I made my way back to my seat so I could employ Brian's help. On my way through the cafeteria, an old man stared intently at me as he approached, talking loudly in Spanish. He blocked my precious path, and so I yelled "No habla" (meaning s/he doesn't speak- not exactly relevant) and scampered around him, tripping over sleeping feet and legs in the cabin. Brian brought me a large plastic bag and offered to help me find the ladies room. I cried, telling him how I puked on the deck. He assured me that, surely, I wasn't the only sick one on board, despite having no evidence of such. Yet.

Just then, I was sick again, and triggered the most regrettable chain reaction I've ever witnessed. Throughout the dark cabin, one after the other, we heard the wretching of others, some without the fortune of having a bag. As I continued on, Brian rubbed my back, reminding me of the humor of it all ("hey, that guy behind us just puked on the floor!!!"). And so it was for the next six hours. I could see the moon outside tipping up and down as if I were on a giant see-saw. I closed my eyes, gripped my chair and my trusty bag, and plugged my ears to avoid the sounds of the cabin. Moving at all made me puke.

Brian had to leave the cabin to avoid succumbing to the stench and sounds of our surrounding sick passengers. He suggested I do the same, but I feared moving. I cannot describe the despair I felt upon realizing that I had 6 hours of turbulent sea sickness ahead of me. I felt queasy and exhausted, yet my belly never seemed to settle, despite emptying completely. A woman directly across the aisle from me snored throughout my entire episode. Lucky lady. Brian came back to check on me periodically, reporting on all the barf everywhere: barf that he had seen, barf that he had slipped on, barf that he had smelled, barf that filled the bathroom stalls, and more. The crew had disappeared, he said, and the bathrooms no longer functioned. We both managed to fall in and out of sleep around 6am. When the ferry finally, finally reached shore, passengers literally ran off the boat, laughing in relief. I for one, don't plan to go near another ferry for a long, long time.