Chapter 4: Mint Tea

Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers, who have so kindly reviewed every chapter of this story. Back to you, Betty!

The erratic jerking of the plane woke me from my slumber. The man next to me was slumped over his tray table, snoring loudly. A stampede of horses wouldn't wake him up, I thought dismally, knowing that I would never be able to get back to sleep. The plane continued its rough flight and titled so much to the side that I could only see the dark ocean below. I gulped nervously. What was going on? The plane righted itself, only to turn on its other side, causing the snoring man's head to slip off the tray table onto the armrest. I noticed several people around me looking very groggy and nervous. Finally, the captain's calming voice blared over the loudspeaker, "Folks, we're encountering a bit of turbulence so I'd like to ask you to please fasten your seat belts and sit tight. We should—" His voice faded into static. The plane seemed to be hit by a gust of wind, for we quickly tilted again at a sharp angle. The plane struggled to regain its equilibrium. It slanted a little further, causing chaos to erupt among the passengers. People gasped and screamed as the plane moved closer to becoming upside down. The man next to me slept on. Finally, the wind seemed to cease its blowing and we spun back into an upright position. I was dizzy and panicked. I didn't want to be another statistic of air travel deaths. Suddenly, we began heading downwards. We began to pick up speed and the plane hurtled towards the Atlantic like a wild roller coaster. I closed my eyes, preparing for the worst.

I opened one eye. I couldn't be dead already! I glanced over at the sleeping figure next to me. I was still on the plane! The pilot had somehow managed to regain control of plane and bring it upwards. His reassuring voice spoke out on the intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are most sorry for the intense turbulence. There is an enormous storm of unprecedented size off the coast of France and Spain with winds whipping at around 150 miles per hour. The storm is even worse further up by Ireland and England. We are going veer off course and try to land in Spain or Portugal, where we will wait out the storm. I will bring you an update as soon as possible." With that, the pilot signed off, and a quiet murmuring circulated around the plane.

PILOT'S CABIN

"Madrid! Madrid! Do you copy?" shouted the pilot urgently, "This is Air France flight 182, caught in a storm off the coast of France. We cannot continue and need a place to land!"

The only reply was static.

"Dang!" muttered the pilot.

He tried to radio an airport in Portugal. "Portugal International Airport! Do you copy? This is Air France, flight 182 caught in a storm! Over!"

A heavily accented voice replied, "Hello? Can you hear me? We cannot allow you to land! There are winds blowing up to 200 kilometers per hour down here! All air travel is suspended in Portugal and Spain! Can you go further south?"

"We'll try! Over!" said the pilot, as he pulled the plane out of another sideways tilt.

The pilot racked his brain for ideas. They would have difficulties flying over Spain to get to Italy. He also wasn't sure whether they would have enough fuel to make it there. That only leaves Africa as an option, sighed the pilot.

"Rabat, Morocco, do you read? This is Air France, caught in a storm off of France," stated the pilot. He repeated his plea for help in French.

A jargon of words was all that he got.

"Repeat! Over!" shouted the pilot anxiously.

After a few more minutes, someone replied in French, "Airstrip 30 is open for you to land on Air France! We will send personnel out to direct you as soon as possible. Over."

The pilot heaved a sigh of relief. He had been to Rabat's airport many times and knew the layout of the airstrips. Landing would be no problem. The pilot reset the direction of the airplane and composed himself for addressing the passengers.

END PILOT'S CABIN

Morocco, I thought, how exotic! What a rare adventure this was! An hour or so later, we began the descent down to Rabat, the capital of Morocco. The weather was calm here and we were able to safely land on the airstrip. In Morocco, it was around 4 o'clock in the afternoon and the pilot informed us that we would be scheduled to leave late tonight. We left the stuffy plane and stepped into the bright, African sunshine. Most of the people decided to wait in the foreign airport, but a few wanted to explore Rabat. When am I going to be in Africa again? I thought, I should just go out and see the city. So, after calling my concerned parents, me and four other passengers took a taxi into town. I felt so distant from my parents...I was sad about that but liked the feeling of independence. I practiced my French with the taxi driver, asking all sorts of questions. One of the other passengers, Trinity, was a young girl about my age who was also going to the American University in Paris. We both chose to go see the sites. Trinity was from Vermont and was a dark-haired beauty with pale skin and emerald eyes. Her voice was enchanting, quiet, and melodic.

"I love traveling," she whispered, looking out into the lively street, "I lived in Switzerland for a year with my parents when I was 14. Oh look!!"

I followed her pointing finger to a wedding that was taking place in a nearby park. The bride was young, maybe younger than me, and was dressed in a traditional outfit. It was composed of brightly colored fabric that had been elegantly folded and wrapped around her slender form. We soon passed the sight, the ceremony disappearing behind us in the afternoon heat. The stores were so exotic looking and colorful! People walked casually down the streets and children played merrily along the road. Two girls strolled arm and arm, eating some sort of chewy candy and looking quite content. At last, we reached our destination: Marraheh Restaurant. One of the people we were traveling with, a middle-aged man named Craig, had been to Rabat before and spoke highly of this eatery.

We entered the dim restaurant and I was greeted by the striking smells of foreign spices and incense. The tables were low and round and we sat upon fancy "divans" as Craig called them (they looked like pillows to me). The menu was mind-boggling. There were so many courses and options—all in another language. I understood a few words such as "beef," "lamb," and "chocolate." Craig, who was fluent in French, ordered for us all. We were first served mint tea and the waitress poured us each a steaming cup. The tea was very aromatic and flavorful, and the mint had a sweet, cooling taste. We made small talk with one another, discussing our backgrounds and where we were headed.

"Betty and I are both headed to the American University in Paris," said Trinity softly, pushing aside a stray lock of her thick hair. The group murmured their amazement, praising our achievements.

At last, our first course arrived. It was a light flaky bread that had a slight peppery flavor. These breads seemed like individual works of art! They were so perfectly golden brown and textured! Next came the "batinjaan zalud," as Craig called it, which was a delicious salad made with eggplant. I was already beginning to get full, but more food came. The couscous marrakeesh was a rice dish with lamb and chicken. I sampled the delicacy, trying to restrain myself from eating more. All the food was eaten with our hands!

"Mmmm...that was good," I said contentedly, stretching my arms above my head.

"There's more," laughed Craig, his light brown eyes twinkling.

The beautiful waitress put in front of us yet another dish. This was kareeb kareesh, which is vegetables and beef in a flavorful peanut sauce. After a few more courses, the flow of food finally ended.

"I'm so incredible full!" laughed Trinity, shaking her delicate curls.

"Oh, I know," I said, reclining back on my divan.

Before we left, the belly dancers began to perform. They were lanky women with rich, mocha skin, dressed skimpily in light, colorful fabrics. Some had veils over their faces and others had intricate jewel designs around their eyes. They each had bracelets that clinked melodically with each shake of the wrist. The music they danced to was very foreign and rhythmic. By sashaying their hips and moving their arms, they created a unique but elegant dance. We finally departed into the steamy night, leaving behind the spicy aromas and gentle jangle of the belly dancers' trinkets.

Walking down the street, I felt amazed at my good fortune. How many people flying to France end up getting to spend a day in Morocco? I had lived for so long in Riverdale and only Riverdale, closing myself off to the rest of the world. I had no idea what other cultures were like! Finally, I was getting a chance to explore! I turned to Trinity, and her eyes seemed to reflect the same excitement I felt.

"Amazing!" I said.

"Amazing!" she echoed.

At around 11 o'clock that night, the pilot finally got the report that skies were clear. We took off for France, one last time. This afternoon in Africa felt like a dream, but the lingering taste of mint tea in my mouth keeps it all so real.

Woah! That was random, I know! But I just like Africa, so bear with me!

Next time: Betty gets to France (woo hoo!), meets some gals and some guys!