It did not help that right before I took the ferry to Tanger that I talked to several people who were returning after being robbed there. Nor did all of the online warnings of daylight violence and thievery help. I was understandably wary stepping off the ferry and into the masses of this very foreign land.
The first thing I expected to happen occurred before I was even through the customs checkpoint. I was approached by a guide who tried very hard to get me to stay at the most expensive hotel in town and take his choice of taxi to get there. He tried his best: flattery, cajoling, and outright lying. He was an official licensed guide so I pried him off as nicely as I could.
The second thing I expected to happen didn’t happen. Where were the hoards of the unwashed youth clinging to my legs pleading for money? One young boy asked for money as I passed, but his heart wasn’t in it; it was more of an offhand comment than a request. I was left alone except for a few, standard, city beggars.
The third thing I expected to happen was that an unofficial guide would hound me in the medina (a bewildering maze of a market). That did happen. No matter how I tried to lose him, he was persistent. No words would make him leave my shadow. He offered mostly worthless bits of information as I wandered, trying very hard to get me into his choice of shops. I wasn’t playing that game but he didn’t care—on my way out of the medina he demanded 50 euro for his services. I laughed and laughed and kept walking. He stayed with me and started acting angry. I knew that it was against the law for him to be an unofficial guide and walked straight out into the open city. The further out of the medina I got, the more nervous he got. He did tell me maybe one or two interesting details about the market so I offered him 10 diram (about USD$1) to get rid of him. He took it, swore at me, and turned tail.
Later, sitting in a café, I started talking a Moroccan architectural designer named Youssef. We quickly became friends as he showed me around the city and I helped him with English and he helped me remember my French schooling. We had coffee and hit a little locals only place for some delicious, traditional pea soup, olives, and skewered lamb kebabs. And in classic Moroccan hospitality he refused to let me pay wherever we went. I insisted that he meet me later so I could return the favor in the form of an alcoholic beverage. We went to a few different places and had a really good time. I look forward to looking Youssef up when I return to Morocco.
The initially unnerving things about Tanger is that there are many young boys and men that are standing around watching you. They watched you closely as you pass making you feel like they are measuring you up to see if you are worth robbing. After a few days and spending time with Youssef I figured out that most are merely curious and enjoy people watching and that standing around is a social activity. With this cultural realization, the city took on a whole different feel. I felt much more relaxed. But not too relaxed.
I can’t wait to return to Morocco so I can see the interior cities. Tanger is a border town and much like Tijuana, Mexico is not representative of the rest of the country. Now it is back to Spain to head toward Granada.
