You want to go where?
Mar 9, 08, 12:11 pm
I don’t expect there are many trip reports out there on this particular flight. Flight 287 is scheduled to depart at 11:05pm from Casablanca’s Mohammed V International Airport. The airport, while not the newest in the world, is clean, reasonably organized, although they still line people up by flight rather than have a running queue for the entire airline. They also have special lines for business class/frequent flyers. Since I was coming from Rabat, I arrived at the terminal early, just in case there was any traffic, or an accident that would cause a back-up. (In fact, there was an accident but it was only a 10 minute back-up when I reached it). This was a flight that you did not want to miss. It operates only twice a week, and the alternatives involve flying via Europe, taking much more time and costing much more as well.
There was no one in line at the desk. Most other flights had already departed and I was early for mine. There was one other flight departing later than mine, to Abidjan. Check-in was quick, although the check-in lady really wanted to make sure I didn’t want to check in my 20 inch roll-on (packed with very difficult to replace electronic gear). She offered too switch me from window to aisle, which I accepted. In the end, I got what I wanted (both) because Business was not full. Then onto immigration. Interestingly, emigration also had an expedite line for business class although it proved unnecessary as there were several free agents available. Stamp, stamp. Pound, pound. Bonsoir, Monsieur.
Security was simple. No need to take the laptop or other electronics out of the bag. No worries about liquids. I guess Arab airlines feel they don’t have to take the same precautions that some others do – either because they think these particular precautions are stupid, or they don’t think they are a target. So I was past security in seconds and in the departure lounge of the Casablanca airport. There really isn’t very much to it. It is a single very long wide corridor filled with chairs. The gates were merely doors off this ‘corridor’ leading to the jetways. On the other side, was a small strip of duty-free shops where everything was priced in Euros. The airport is uncarpeted throughout and there are few advertisements around the building so it has a spare, empty feel.
On the side opposite the gates, there is also an elevator to Royal Air Maroc’s Business Class Lounge, which they labeled VIP. The lounge continues this spare quality – no carpets, modern, angular furniture which though not overstuffed was comfortable enough, although as seems typical of Moroccan furniture, the seats are very deep, with cushions and pillows to fill the gap for those of us who are smaller. There are large televisions between each group of seats, all tuned to the same channel, but only one of the TVs has the volume on. All in all, the lounge is stylish, but it is still just a lounge. There was a small drinks selection and a selection of pastries and canapes.
Although boarding time is listed as 10:15pm on the boarding pass, this time comes and goes and boarding has not yet been called. Finally, at 10:55, we are called upstairs. There is a long queue for boarding which isn’t quite a free-for-all, but there seems to be a bit of pusing and shoving. Since I have a business class boarding pass I come round to the front to find out if there is a business class queue. The gate attendant lets me cut in. As I do so, someone near me in the queue makes a snide comment. “What’s the rush? We’ve got assigned seats. The plane won’t go anywhere until everyone is on board.” He was only carrying a backpack. Clearly, he is unused to the scrum for carry-on space on planes in Africa. All he had to do was look at his fellow passengers in the queue, loaded down with everything but the kitchen sink. Since I was carrying the equipment which I need to do my work, I am loath to have it anywhere but right at my row. Especially since this flight had a stop, carry-on has a way of walking off if you aren’t paying attention or can’t watch what is happening.
Fortunately, I did get on early enough and was able to place my suitcase appropriately. Late arrivals did have their carry-ons gate checked. The business class cabin consisted of 5 2x2 rows of American style domestic first class seats on the Airbus 320. The seats are plenty wide enough but there isn’t much in the way of legroom. As the seats fill up, I begin to speculate about the nature of my fellow flyers. In economy class, there are a lot of sub-saharan Africans, many carrying large amounts of purchases, presumably making up for the lack of availability of these items in their home countries. Scattered among them are young Europeans and North Americans. I suspect they are Peace Corp volunteers and their equivalents and employees of NGOs who are traveling to Douala or Brazzaville to alleviate poverty and other social ills which plague these countries. I notice among the business class flyers, a lot of very big men. I guess that these men are flying to Douala and work in the oil industry. I presume that it has something to do with the requirements of the job, but I have noticed that the oil industry attracts people who were probably American football linebackers in high school.
We are soon buttoned up and ready to go. A pre-departure offer of juice or water was made. The Crew goes through the safety announcements, but interestingly only in Arabic and French. I don’t think I have ever been on a flight before where the safety announcement was not given in English. After taxi and take-off, the crew are quick to their work. They hand out a large amenity kit to each passenger. The size is mostly a matter of design rather than an indication of the volume of the contents, although, it isn’t skimpy. The kit contains the usual socks, eyeshade, earplugs, and toothbrush. In addition, it also includes a folding hairbrush and La Essenza moisturizer, lipbalm, and lavender moisturizing spray.
Champagne is brought round (Laurent Perrier Rose), followed by dinner. No menu was provided. The appetizer (no choice) was a disk of Foie gras with figs. There was a choice of main courses, fish, beef and chicken. In size and preparation, they appeared to be more like American style domestic first class, although now that I think about it one of them was described as a Tagine, and another as couscous. Dinner was not rushed, but neither was it at all drawn out. The flight crew knew that many of us wanted to get some sleep. The main course was followed by cheese, and dessert which included an offering of fresh fruit. Off to sleep.
I slept, or perhaps, dozed is the proper word, reasonably well given the discomfort of the seats, and woke up as we were in our final descent into Douala. After a quick taxi, we were at our stand, and it did not take to long before we were able to deplane the passengers for Douala. All the big men in business class get off the plane. Maybe I was right about their connection with the oil industry. With the plane now about half full, we wait to complete our refueling. Although you cannot book a Royal Air Maroc flight from Douala to Brazzaville, nonetheless, two passengers boarded in Douala. Had they gotten off at the wrong stop? Did they not make it past customs? They certainly weren’t dignitaries for whom they were doing a favor. (You don’t do somebody important a favor by putting them in the back of economy). Who knows?
In any case, we were quickly on our way continuing down the African coast. Because this was a continuation of the same flight, the crew did not repeat the safety instructions before take-off. They simply made sure that all the seatbelts were fastened and off we went. A full breakfast, including juice, yogurt, croissant, fruit, and omelette was offered to those of use who were continuing on. It had been obvious that those who were deplaning in Douala had already had breakfast before we landed. The time went by quickly and we were soon landing in Brazzaville.
All in all, not a bad flight on one of the lesser-known carriers on this board. I would certainly take Royal Air Maroc again to this part of the world if it becomes necessary.
There was no one in line at the desk. Most other flights had already departed and I was early for mine. There was one other flight departing later than mine, to Abidjan. Check-in was quick, although the check-in lady really wanted to make sure I didn’t want to check in my 20 inch roll-on (packed with very difficult to replace electronic gear). She offered too switch me from window to aisle, which I accepted. In the end, I got what I wanted (both) because Business was not full. Then onto immigration. Interestingly, emigration also had an expedite line for business class although it proved unnecessary as there were several free agents available. Stamp, stamp. Pound, pound. Bonsoir, Monsieur.
Security was simple. No need to take the laptop or other electronics out of the bag. No worries about liquids. I guess Arab airlines feel they don’t have to take the same precautions that some others do – either because they think these particular precautions are stupid, or they don’t think they are a target. So I was past security in seconds and in the departure lounge of the Casablanca airport. There really isn’t very much to it. It is a single very long wide corridor filled with chairs. The gates were merely doors off this ‘corridor’ leading to the jetways. On the other side, was a small strip of duty-free shops where everything was priced in Euros. The airport is uncarpeted throughout and there are few advertisements around the building so it has a spare, empty feel.
On the side opposite the gates, there is also an elevator to Royal Air Maroc’s Business Class Lounge, which they labeled VIP. The lounge continues this spare quality – no carpets, modern, angular furniture which though not overstuffed was comfortable enough, although as seems typical of Moroccan furniture, the seats are very deep, with cushions and pillows to fill the gap for those of us who are smaller. There are large televisions between each group of seats, all tuned to the same channel, but only one of the TVs has the volume on. All in all, the lounge is stylish, but it is still just a lounge. There was a small drinks selection and a selection of pastries and canapes.
Although boarding time is listed as 10:15pm on the boarding pass, this time comes and goes and boarding has not yet been called. Finally, at 10:55, we are called upstairs. There is a long queue for boarding which isn’t quite a free-for-all, but there seems to be a bit of pusing and shoving. Since I have a business class boarding pass I come round to the front to find out if there is a business class queue. The gate attendant lets me cut in. As I do so, someone near me in the queue makes a snide comment. “What’s the rush? We’ve got assigned seats. The plane won’t go anywhere until everyone is on board.” He was only carrying a backpack. Clearly, he is unused to the scrum for carry-on space on planes in Africa. All he had to do was look at his fellow passengers in the queue, loaded down with everything but the kitchen sink. Since I was carrying the equipment which I need to do my work, I am loath to have it anywhere but right at my row. Especially since this flight had a stop, carry-on has a way of walking off if you aren’t paying attention or can’t watch what is happening.
Fortunately, I did get on early enough and was able to place my suitcase appropriately. Late arrivals did have their carry-ons gate checked. The business class cabin consisted of 5 2x2 rows of American style domestic first class seats on the Airbus 320. The seats are plenty wide enough but there isn’t much in the way of legroom. As the seats fill up, I begin to speculate about the nature of my fellow flyers. In economy class, there are a lot of sub-saharan Africans, many carrying large amounts of purchases, presumably making up for the lack of availability of these items in their home countries. Scattered among them are young Europeans and North Americans. I suspect they are Peace Corp volunteers and their equivalents and employees of NGOs who are traveling to Douala or Brazzaville to alleviate poverty and other social ills which plague these countries. I notice among the business class flyers, a lot of very big men. I guess that these men are flying to Douala and work in the oil industry. I presume that it has something to do with the requirements of the job, but I have noticed that the oil industry attracts people who were probably American football linebackers in high school.
We are soon buttoned up and ready to go. A pre-departure offer of juice or water was made. The Crew goes through the safety announcements, but interestingly only in Arabic and French. I don’t think I have ever been on a flight before where the safety announcement was not given in English. After taxi and take-off, the crew are quick to their work. They hand out a large amenity kit to each passenger. The size is mostly a matter of design rather than an indication of the volume of the contents, although, it isn’t skimpy. The kit contains the usual socks, eyeshade, earplugs, and toothbrush. In addition, it also includes a folding hairbrush and La Essenza moisturizer, lipbalm, and lavender moisturizing spray.
Champagne is brought round (Laurent Perrier Rose), followed by dinner. No menu was provided. The appetizer (no choice) was a disk of Foie gras with figs. There was a choice of main courses, fish, beef and chicken. In size and preparation, they appeared to be more like American style domestic first class, although now that I think about it one of them was described as a Tagine, and another as couscous. Dinner was not rushed, but neither was it at all drawn out. The flight crew knew that many of us wanted to get some sleep. The main course was followed by cheese, and dessert which included an offering of fresh fruit. Off to sleep.
I slept, or perhaps, dozed is the proper word, reasonably well given the discomfort of the seats, and woke up as we were in our final descent into Douala. After a quick taxi, we were at our stand, and it did not take to long before we were able to deplane the passengers for Douala. All the big men in business class get off the plane. Maybe I was right about their connection with the oil industry. With the plane now about half full, we wait to complete our refueling. Although you cannot book a Royal Air Maroc flight from Douala to Brazzaville, nonetheless, two passengers boarded in Douala. Had they gotten off at the wrong stop? Did they not make it past customs? They certainly weren’t dignitaries for whom they were doing a favor. (You don’t do somebody important a favor by putting them in the back of economy). Who knows?
In any case, we were quickly on our way continuing down the African coast. Because this was a continuation of the same flight, the crew did not repeat the safety instructions before take-off. They simply made sure that all the seatbelts were fastened and off we went. A full breakfast, including juice, yogurt, croissant, fruit, and omelette was offered to those of use who were continuing on. It had been obvious that those who were deplaning in Douala had already had breakfast before we landed. The time went by quickly and we were soon landing in Brazzaville.
All in all, not a bad flight on one of the lesser-known carriers on this board. I would certainly take Royal Air Maroc again to this part of the world if it becomes necessary.