Day 140 Tanger, Morocco

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.

Day 138 Gibraltar

I left Cadiz with the intention of staying at the “delightfully relaxed” town of Tarifa (online recommendation) and then taking the ferry over to Morocco. I got to Tarifa, looked around, found out that one person’s “delightfully relaxed” is my “dreadfully boring” and that the ferry is only for EU passengers, so I got back on the bus for the ferry in Algeciras. On the way I changed my mind and thought I would just go to Gibraltar and take the ferry from there. I stopped in La Linea on the border with Gib because the guide book said it was cheaper and very close. It is good to be flexible.

Hostal Paris, or so the sign said. It was in need of a few more adjectives, but I was too tired to care. The clerk, feeling confident with the rapidly advancing night, put the squeeze on me for more dough. He said that they had no more single rooms and that I would have to fork out for a double. He could have been holding a knife; the effect would have been the same.

It was time to start playing the game:

A double cost too much for me.
He had no choice but to charge me full price.
I would have to find somewhere else.
He might be able to give me a break.
I did not really want to stay here anyway.
He could cut it more.
I needed a few nights and can’t afford much.
He could not do any better.
I started to walk away saying I could only pay one euro more a night.
He said he would sacrifice his future economic well being and let me stay out of generosity.
I said I was very grateful.
I got my key and a bigger room.

In my two days there I only heard two other people in the echoing tile hallways, the place was jammed alright.

I hit the streets for a kebab and the game went on: I ordered a beer and a super kebab—can’t go wrong there, yet I knew I was in trouble when the open bottle of Budweiser hit the table and everyone else had the local swill. When I went to pay he said it was ten euro. Wait a minute. Six for the kebab and three for the fancy imported beer equals ten? He insisted it did and only relented after I did the math for him three times in as many languages. Amazingly, he had the nerve to claim that he did not have one euro in change! He spent a few minutes “looking” and when I did not leave, made a loud, dramatic plea to the customers for change. I left with my euro.

You know right away that Gibraltar is a different kind of place; the only available land for landing planes also happens to be the only land route in. The road goes right through the middle of the airport runway, giving you a weird feeling of being exposed as you walk across the tarmac.

The county is a one big rock stuck out in the sea and was used by the Moors, Spanish, and British. The British did the most tunneling, digging 33 miles of tunnels all the way around and through, creating enough space to shelter 30,000 people. They threw the debris in the sea and ended up with the flat dry land on which the city is built. The culture ended up being a weird mix of half Spanish and half British with Moorish influences.

I took the minibus tour of the rock (cheaper than the tram and a whole lot less walking up and down hills). The first stop was to gaze at the mysterious dark shape of Africa looming across the straight. Second up, or down really, was the natural caves. They are riddled with stalagmites and have enough room for an amphitheater that is used for music performances. And then there were the apes. The only population of non-human primates in Europe lives way up on the rock. Their life consists of begging, eating, sleeping, and biting the occasional stupid tourist. Even though they may be very cute, they are still wild animals. I strayed too close to a group of three young apes and became a human jungle gym and to my great pleasure managed to avoid being smeared with poo.

Last was the great siege tunnels of which you can only see a disappointing 100 yards out of the 33 miles. Cannons, mannequins, and story boards give a tease as to what is deeper without giving any real satisfaction. It was still cool though.

Now I am ready for Morocco. Unfortunately, the ferry in Gib only leaves on Fridays. So it is back to port of Algeciras for me.

Day 136 Cádiz

I liked Cadiz right away. I found a great hostel a few blocks from the bus station and the beach. It is called Casa Caracol and has no sign, just a friendly snail painted on the always locked, marine blue door. A gentle knock opened the door to the warm embrace of an eclectic mix of dreadlocked and/or beach blonde surfer dudes. They have a great combination of humility, a love of life, and generosity. It was fun talking to them and going to the beach, although I did decline their frequent offers of herbal pleasure. Most strange about the hostel is that it has the nicest and cleanest kitchen of any place I have been. And it has wonderful down comforters for the beds. And it has free wi-fi. And it is only $18/night.

Cadiz has a wonderful warm feel to it as well as I walked around the streets filled with local families walking, shopping, and playing in the streets and plazas. It feels like a cozy small town. This is really interesting since in February it has the wildest carnival in Europe. According to my guidebook, it makes New Orleans Mardi Gras look like a bible study group. That is saying something. It would be nice to hang out on the beach with the dudes for a month, but I have to move on.

On my out of town I had three deliciously filling tapas and a beer for less than $5. Gotta love that.

The one negative comment I have for Cadiz could be true for beaches anywhere; one of the dudes was running on the beach playing frisbee and got a used drug syringe stuck in his foot. That is scary.