So when it came time to leave the hookas behind, I found out that my boat was broken and I had to travel on the much slower, bigger ship. Three hours later, I arrived back in Spain.

Now here's one thing Moraccans aren't very good at. Lining up.

Instead of a nice orderly line for customs, everyone just crowded together with their ill-formed baggage of taped-up boxes and bags.

While standing jam-packed in this mess of people. A third custom official started taking passports. A Moraccan woman, who was trying to be helpful, insisted that I get in that line. "That's for the European's."

Now, I said "Not European, American."

She kept nodding her head and said, "American's too."

So I worked my way through the people and finally made my way to the official, who looked at my passport. "American, you need to be stamped."

So back into the crowd I went. Having just lost my place, I took it pretty well. So I stood there a while and resigned myself to a long wait... patience is a virture.

I kept paying attention to the custom's officials. They were being very intense. They were staring long and hard at the Moraccan's passports.

After a while, I started hearing this strange noise. It sounded like someone was getting beaten, Rodney King style.

The crowd of Moraccans was getting restless. I head people yelling in Spanish, "What's going on?" Then I saw a man and a woman arguing with the officials while the screams of the recipient of the beating grew louder.

I heard another person yell in Spanish, "Is this democracy?" I feared the crowd was about to become an uncontrolled mob.

Needless to say, the officials had stopped taking passports. Two men were taken away in handcuffs. They waited five minutes for the crowd to calm down before they stated proccessing more people.

As I went to hand the official my passport, he didn't take it. He just waved me through. Membership has its priviliges.

But I swear, I think I saw a look of embarrasment on his face as I passed.

PS: Spain holds 20 'Iraq recruiters'