The question might appear to be simple enough:

What is the criteria for a “countable” visit to a country? Or, when can you rightfully claim to having been to any given country?

The answer turned out to be highly debatable though. Some argue that you have to spend the night and try the local brew, others counter by saying that you just need to clear customs and get a coffee or something to eat.

So here is my 2 cents on this: you’ve got a seven hour layover and you can go out of the airport to check the city out, but don’t want to get too far. I would be inclined to add that you have to go see something for the visit to count, but maybe you won’t have enough time, so the visit should count anyway if you’ve gotten OUT of the airport, walked around a bit, and had a drink somewhere.

The flight from Casablanca to Cairo was my worst ever.

Four hours before heading to the airport, I felt a slight pain in my stomache, which quickly developed to excruciating pain. The culprit: A couple of shawerma sandwitches I had for lunch earlier that day at one of these places near the hotel. And I consider myself to have quiet a strong stomache, actually this is my first case of food poisoning while travelling, so there had to be some serious filth in those sandwitches to account for what happened to me.

At the Royal Moroccan check in counter I ask for an aisle seat to make for easy access to the bathroom. I board the plane and findout I got a middle seat, son of a #%$&!! I should have looked at the seat number. In the meantime, my stomache ache is getting worse. Seated to my right (aisle side) was an overweight (and that’s an understatement) Moroccan woman. She took up two thirds of my space. She fell asleep the minute she sat down. To make matters worse, my seat was in the last row, with the bulkhead right behind me, so the seat doesn’t recline. The guy in front of me had is seat reclined to the max, pressing on my knees to add to my misery. I asked him politely twice, then I had to mouth off obsceneties before he complied.

Its a five and a half hour flight, I feel like shit. I closed my eyes and tried to go to sleep. Then I smell the food. And if you’ve ever had food poisoning before, you know that any strong smells will wreak havoc on your already screwed up intestines. Now I am totally nauseated, here it comes…I am going to throw up…I quickly reach for the barf bag. Surprise! No barf bag in the back of the seat in front of me!! Access to the seat bags to my left and my right was totally blocked with food trays. Oh shit! I grab a plastic blanket bag and “Arrrggguuuhhh!”. At least my neighbours are sound asleep. That didn’t go so bad, although throwing up on the jerk infront of me would’ve given me some satisfaction.

That was momentarily relieving. An hour later, I need to go to the bathroom, and when you’re messed up the way I was then, you need to go RIGHT NOW! I tap the huge woman to my right on the shoulder to wake her up so that I can pass. Nothing. “Excuse me, may I…Hey, wake up…HEY!!”. No response, maybe she’s dead. I don’t care, I only care about one thing, getting to the head a.s.a.p. I jump on the seat, and over the woman, landing on the toes of the guy on the other side. Thanfully, the bathroom was not occupied.

Murphy’s law was probably written on a bad flight.