Epic travel fail: First I forgot my luggage … then lost it a second time

Barely 24 hours since arriving in Morocco’s Casablanca from Perth, I am off to Fes. But getting there is not without setbacks, perhaps an omen for what is to come.

“Sorry, the train is booked. Can I put you on the 6.30pm train in first class?” the ticketing assistant asks at Casablanca’s central train station, Casa Voyageurs. I now have an hour to kill and a further five hours of commuting, arriving around midnight.

I am okay with some forced respite, relaxing my overused limbs and getting much-needed coffee. Perhaps inspired by Casablanca’s Medina walls, I create a fortress with my bags at a station cafe. Before I know it, it’s time to go.

Now, should I cram in a toilet visit or not? If I don’t, I will most likely sit cross-legged, resisting the urge. Tiny train toilets with questionable hygiene? No, thanks. I go to the restroom, leaving my suitcase outside the cubicle. (Good luck to whoever attempts to steal that heavy thing.) With minutes to spare, I head to the platform, feeling double relief. Phew.

The long train slowly enters the station and a frenzy follows, doors are swarmed. It’s a hop-on, ask-later scenario. I find my seat and attempt some shut-eye, chucking on my headphones, desperate to zone out. I start to daydream, sluggishly observing Morocco’s parched countryside. I eventually tap out, but not for long. My sleep is rudely interrupted by rolling suitcases and, worse, my thoughts.

My eyes widen, and I shoot up from my chair. My eyes dart around the room, scanning stowaways. I can feel everyone’s curious glares on me.

“What’s happened?” a passenger asks.

My mouth is open, but words are not coming out. It’s like my brain has gone into loading mode, reminiscent of Apple’s “Wheel of Death”, struggling to process it all. Where are my bags?