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Published: October 14th 2006
Goodbye Spain
As we were leaving on the ferry for Africa.Hello Reader.
After leaving Valencia, and so many good people, I was ready to start seeing new things and meeting new people. Nothing takes your mind off being sad like tons of cheap food, fresh squeezed orange juice every morning, and traveling around a foreign country good friends.
The plan was to travel through Morocco for a few days with Ali, Harri, and Mike. Ali and Harri would then head back to Valencia (and then back to England the following week) and Mike and I would continue traveling together through Portugal and up to Bordeaux for Angela's Birthday Bash. (If you remember, Angela's the awesome Kiwi I met in Toulouse when I stayed with my Couchsurfing host, Benny.)
Our bus trip from Valencia to Tarifa was an overnight one. The long ride was made much easier by the enormous sandwiches that we packed. I mean, it was a monster... and I do love sandwiches so. I slept most of the time, as I do. We arrived and met Mike at the shuttle station. Even though it had only been a few days since we saw him, it was still a great reunion. We hopped another bus that carted
Green Countryside
We got to Morocco during a 'green month.' This is really a sand dune in disguise. us to the port in Algeciras. Then on to a forty-five minute ferry ride to Tangier, Morocco's port city. The ramp to dry land was a long, blue tube, like something out of a long, blue tube land. We changed money, exited the port (while hearing prayers spoken over loud speakers all over the place), and found a taxi to take us to Tangier's train station. The taxi driver insisted that we do not need to wear our seatbelts. From what I could make out, observing the way they drive in Morocco, this is because any accident, no matter the severity, would be fatal, with or without a seatbelt. I don't recall seeing many traffic lights at all in Morocco, and those I did see were rarely obeyed. The driver was kind... almost, I thought as we chatted,
too kind as he continued touching my knee as we spoke.
We caught a train to Marrakech. I had gotten into contact with a couchsurfer there. While he was unable to host us as he was traveling himself, he was more than helpful with the name of a good hostel, places to see, and restaurants to eat at. What a nice
Fearsome Foursome
The Big E, Alice, Harriet, and Michael guy! Long live couchsurfing. So on our way to Marrakech, we met a couple of guys from the United States. They were going to Fez, "the cultural capital of Morocco." We couldn't help but laugh. "Hi, we're coming to 'do Europe' in two weeks, can you point us in the direction of some culture?" The cherry on top was when they asked Mike if "Kiwi's party harder than the Aussies." We parted ways in Sidikasim when they switched trains.
It turns out that Marrakech is a lot farther away than we once expected. I had thought it would take about five hours, but it would have taken about eleven hours. We got off at about fifteen minutes away from Casablanca, took cabs to the center, then found a hotel that put us up for three hundred Dirham (about fifteen euro) per night. We took a walk around town and took in the 'culture'. It was late, about nine or so. We found a restaurant where got a lot of really good food (steak for Mike and Alice, chicken for me, and a plate of delicious vegetables for the herbivore). The total for a three-course meal for four people came
to about seven euro each. A hard bargain to beat.
There was a Hyatt hotel across the street. I remembered a friend of mine, Vitaly, worked for a Hyatt hotel in San Fransisco. We went in to check it out (I called it a professional curiosity) and find out if they offer a friends and family discount - maybe I could have Vitaly fax a letter getting us a really cheap room. We didn't go through with it in the end, but the thought was nice. Ali told me she had never stayed in a really nice hotel before... that's something I intend on changing in the future.
I fell asleep in the girls' room... it had been two full days of traveling since my head last felt the comfort of a pillow. So, in the end, Ali, Harri, and I slept together in one room and Mike stretched out on his bed in his own room. Probably for the best, I heard he kicks like a donkey and I know I drool profusely.
We caught some extremely cheap breakfast (about two euro) that included half a liter of orange juice each. We noticed that there were
not many women about on the streets. And finding one sitting at a cafe was like playing Where's Waldo? (British translation: Where's Wally?). We talked over our meal and decided that to go farther south meant we would have to spend even more time traveling and less time 'culture embracing'. So we trained it a few hours to Fez, which is more northern and supposedly has what we're looking for. On the train, we sat next to a Moroccan gentleman who was in the window seat. Just for funsies, we would all at once look out the window as if we spotted something and say something like 'oooh look, buttermilk mayonnaise'... he would of course look as well, not understanding what we said, but interested nonetheless. After experimenting with 'is that a flying toaster?' and 'Onomatopoeia marshmallows,' we noticed we didn't need to say anything but just look out to get him to turn his head. Ahhh, fun with strangers... good times, good times.
Fez was really nice. It didn't smell bad or anything. We found a swanky hotel near the train station, with the help of our unsolicited, ten-year old guide named Sad. He said the hotel was
A Woman's Progression
A picture worth a thousand generations of tradition breaking down. his... I, for one, believed him. The hotel had one available room left. A commodious suite with three beds to which they added a rollaway bed for yours truly. It was definitely the most luxurious hotel in town. And at around eighteen euro a night, it was a perfect home for our next two nights.
Sad met us again as we exited. He walked with us and told us interesting facts about the city. He would obviously be expecting some compensation for his time, but, because he was scared off by some local police that gave him the evil eye, he received nothing. How Sad. (See what I did there?)
We walked toward the center of Fez, where the Old City was located. We passed 'The House of Culture' and took a quick picture, as we had obviously found what we were looking for. Signs were written in Arabic and French, the two official languages of Morocco. There were also guys holding hands in the streets. I thought I had walked into the Moroccan version of Provincetown, Massachusetts, but it turns out that it is just something friends do there... perfectly acceptable, no deeper connotation than just two
buddies holding hands. As we walked, we all sang 'Fiji Baby,' by Goodshirt (a Kiwi band) - it became the theme for our entire Moroccan trip. Ali made up most of the words.
I took some pictures of the outer wall of the inner city, but a security guard told me I had to delete them. Damn, they were really good, too. We meandered our way through the inner-city gates and through the narrow passages. There were a surprising number of sellers out considering the time. It was past nightfall and, distracted by all the different types of shops and people, we found ourselves lost in the back alleys. A group of children who, like Sad, attached themselves to us. They claimed to know the way to the 'Door to Morocco'. They were leading us to the exit, but 'Door to Morocco' sounded so much cooler and I have to admit I was a little disappointed when it wasn't as grand as I had imagined. The kids were stiffed again when they caught sight of the gate security guards.
We stopped for dinner at a seemingly ‘fine dining’ establishment. The food and service was impeccable, but I remember
the napkins being too stiff… I almost cut my lip on one of the folded corners. Cheap, cheap, cheap food!
Back at the hotel, we crashed right away. We were pretty tired and wanted to try to get a relatively early start. We fell asleep around one am.
The following day, after showers and breakfast in a café, (no, we didn't shower in the café), we took a taxi into the center of the city. This was our big day out. The whole day was spent walking through the back streets of Fez. Millions of shops lined the walkways selling anything from dried beans and spices to lamps and drums, from sunglasses to whole camel heads. So we picked some up, (sunglasses, not camel heads). I now had a total of three pair, all of which, in true Eli fashion, would be lost or broken over the next few weeks.
We sat down for lunch near the main gate. We had cous-cous and an unknown vegetably/ricey dish. We determined that Mike and Ali could have easily passed for German tourists. And Harri and I were once called (Alí and Fatima Barba because we look Moroccan, I'm guessing).
Maison de la Culture
Your one-stop culture shop. Harri was deemed the official translator for the group as she had studied French in high school. She said she barely retained any of it… in fact, whenever she tried to speak French, it came out Spanish. Harri, who had struggled with Spanish in Spain, seemed to speak it just fine, but unfortunately in the wrong country.
I should also note that both girls were dressed respectively at all times. Both carried head scarves and sported jeans or a long skirt and long sleeve shirts. They were not trying to blend in, (even though Harriet did succeed with flying colors in doing so), but more to avoid drawing any unwanted attention (of which there was never any problems) and to show a certain awareness for the customs of the people. Meanwhile, Mike and I broke out our tube tops and mini-skirts and pranced hand-in-hand, waving gleefully at the passers-by.
After lunch, and all that prancing, we came to a drum seller. His name was Rashid. He jammed out on the drum while Ali and Mike clapped. (We all like to clap.) After Ali bought her sting ray skin drum from him, he invited us all over for dinner
Group in Chorus
Undoubtedly singing 'Fiji Baby' at his house. “Business is business, but relationships are the most important.” I was really taken back by his hospitality. Since then I have heard similar stories from various Moroccan travelers. We (very) regretfully declined as this was to be our last night together and we wanted to have a night with just the four of us.
We continued on with our streetwalking (no, not the disease spreading kind). We took a walk outside of the city walls. There were many performers - acrobats, trained monkeys, and a snake charmer. There were tons of women walking around with babies... I tried to negotiate for one of them, but they're were playing hardball so I gave it up - and I had already bought a few newborns that morning anyway. We caught a nice sunset and ended up eating dinner at the same place we ate lunch. We even happened to run into our United Statesian train buddies again. They bragged about the hostel they were paying six euro to stay in and invited us all back to smoke some fine Moroccan weed. We declined. I guess they found their culture.
We hopped a quick cab back to our
Bean Shop in Fez
Dried fruits, nuts, and the like. hotel and Ali laughed like a monkey all the way home. We picked up some drinks at a shop across the street and proceeded to play an epic, two-pack game of Circle of Death until the wee hours of the morning. We took frequent breaks to sing and dance and try to tickle Harri till she shot alcohol out her nose. I don't think any of us have acted sillier in our lives (well, maybe Mike). Mike, being the 'winner' of Circle of Death, was made to steal something from the hotel - he chose a screw from the headboard of one of the beds, that clever devil. Amazing how happy a little drink and some good friends gets you. It was my favorite part of the trip, being with them.
We checked out early and spent most of the day on trains getting back to Tangier. I didn't mind though, really. When I wasn't asleep, the others were making me laugh. We played with a kid on one of the trains, encouraging him to yell 'YAY!' and then we would all applaud. That went on for about two hours too long. We also talked to a girl named
Eli in the Alley
Just in case you forgot, again, what I looked like. Nezha who spoke Spanish very well. She had neat tattoos on the insides of her hands. While we were talking to her, a girl in the passageway overheard us speaking some English and vocalized the only English she knew in the form of singing "My Heart Will Go On" by Celine Dion.
We had to change trains at Sidikasim. Getting off the train we were on was simply impossible. As soon as the train stopped, everyone rushed on, jamming the passageways and exits. The trains were unusually busy as many Spaniards had fled to Morocco for vacation during Semana Santa - when festivals tend to fill Spanish streets with tourists - but this was ridiculous! I mean people were piled in and refused to move or help us out. And the four of us had to literally climb over people to get out. For a minute I thought Harri had been swallowed by the mob. I was getting nervous after about ten minutes of crowd surfing because I was afraid that the train would leave the station with us still on it. We finally made it out, but I'm pretty sure I was violated a couple of times along
the way and I'm very sure I stepped on a toddler's face.
We waited for a few hours eating delicious Moroccan bread, drinking coke, and playing back-pack-smack. I shared my mp-three player with a couple of kids who happened to enjoy Stevie Wonder just as much as I do.
Thinking we were home free, the four of us entered the ferry station smiling. Then we proceeded to wait almost an hour amongst a throng of ferry-goers at the passport check. I guess everyone from our great train escape decided that they weren't quite through with us and reconvened to finish off what was left or our patience. I feigned reading Moby Dick to take my mind off the cluster. I was also a little worried that I would have trouble re-entering Spain as I had been in Europe for about six months and more than three of that was in Spain. I'm pretty sure three months is the limit for any non-visa visit to Europe. I imagined being deported back to the States, or worse - being made to stand in that horde for just one more minute. In the end, the passport guy didn't even open mine
Cardboard Cutouts?
Mike, Ali, and Harri on the ferry back to Spain. It looks like something out of one of my dreams. up, just saw the cover and waved me by. I guess it's really not all that serious afterall.
The most amazing sunset graced our ferried departure. I bought the girls some duty-free gin on the boat as a going away present (and some for me, too). Unfortunately, we arrived a half-hour after the girls' bus left for Valencia. We asked a Spanish gentleman at the station for some advice, and he said that the next bus didn't leave until about six in the morning - and that he would have gladly taken the girls half way as he was driving he and his wife that direction (half way is about a five hour drive), but he had just offered another couple and there was no more room in the car. He was SO NICE! - as we kept repeating during the night. Mike and I had a bus to catch around seven am, so the four of us spent our last night together sleeping at the bus station. The walls of the station were covered with art. The place looked brand new, but that didn't make the marble floors any more comfortable. We played around and laughed until about
Our Last Night Together
I spent most of the night watching over them while they slept... or was I just watching them sleep, I don't remember. one am or so.
My three best friends eventually fell asleep huddled together in their sleeping bags. I watched over them for most of the night, only falling asleep for about an hour. (Eli?! Not sleeping?!) It was hard to believe that in only four hours time I would be saying goodbye to Ali and Harri, possibly forever - ya never know. A hard pill to swallow normally, but these were our girls! So when we hugged our final hugs, my hands went cold and I'm pretty sure my body focused mainly on keeping me conscious. Mike and I watched them until they were specs in the distance, looked at each other, and said 'About time we're rid of those two!' We smiled sadly and walked toward our bus.
Our four hour trip to Sevilla (where we would then catch a bus to Lisboa) was a normal one. BUT for about fifteen minutes at the beginning, Mike and I couldn't take our eyes off the panoramic view we had of the best sunrise I might ever see in my lifetime. Mike and I looked around the bus and saw that nobody was even paying attention to this majestic
Sunrise to Sevilla
This doesn't do it justice, but will serve as a reminder anyway. mural of color and light. Maybe only Mike and I could see it. After trying to keep my eyes open for so long, staring out over the water, I slept and dreamt.
And so began the second half of my European journey.
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Dad
non-member comment
Great Start to 2nd Half of Your Trip
It's great to once again be reading your blogs and enjoying the pictures of your extraordinary trip. You've got great friends around you helping make it a great experience. And all of them have had the good experience of you. I'm proud of you. We're all looking forward to seeing you in several months. Continue to take care of yourself. I love you Son. Dad