Tangier, first stop in the 'farthest land of the setting sun'

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I was a bit apprehensive when I got to Algeciras. It was around 1pm. The sun was merciless. On pondering whether to go to Ceuta or Tangier, I imbued myself with the utmost courage - that is, I learned that the ticket to Tangier was half the price of the one to Ceuta -, got my bags and, off to the port.

In the lounge, right before getting on the ferry, I met Ewa and Kasia (both from Krakow). We seemed to be the only non-moroccans bound to Tangier that Saturday afternoon. The other weary fellow passengers were no more than half a dozen.

It was shortly after 4.30pm (Spanish time) when we waived goodbye to Europe and made the acquaintance with Simo, the friendliest crew member. It's hard to say so as we soon realised maroccans indulge in kindness and friendliness. He taught us a couple of useful words in arabic - shukran (thank you) and lebez (hello). The chat with him was kind of hillarious as our french couldn't get us much further than oui, oui and d'accord (?).

Within 3 hours Tangier emerged ahead. The sight was somehow magical. Not so much because of the skyline but, mainly, because of all it meant: A-F-R-I-C-A. So close and so far away...

'Africa on a Shoestring' under the arm, we started our walk to the hotel. On the map, a few twists and turns and there we were in the heart of the Medina (old town)! In the street, things weren't as straighforward.

Dodging the innumerable 'helpers' (aka hustlers) we stumbled across Adil, the carpet seller. He gently led us to the Petit Socco (small market square) where we got rooms at Pension Mauritania. Next thing, paying Mr. Magic Carpet a visit, of course!

Walking down the long and narrow alleys of the Medina, we were struck by the endless rows of shops which by far outnumbered possible buyers. We wondered where all those people got their living from.

That was definitely not the point!

Buying and selling in this part of world is not about making money but seeing friends, chatting with foreigners, sipping mint tea... Or, as brilliantly put by our great multilingual receptionist: 'In Europe, life's just WORK, WORK, WORK.'

How could we possibly argue with him? Isn't it fantastic to have the dear ones always around? Even when they don't give a shit about efficiency?

On the rooftop of dirty-cheap-friendly Pension Mauritania, listening to the out of tune muezzins calling to prayer, I only had thoughts for that ideal way of life!

Sunday morning woke up warm and bright. That was the African light! Blinding and effusive. Out in the Medina, Tangier rocked at the loud sound of arabic pop music. Crowds strolled up and down the quarters of the old town. Some selling, some eating, a few buying.

We made it to the Foundation Lorin, where the so coveted 'International Zone' (Tangier) shinned glamourously in mid 20th century pictures. Then, with an unwanted and expensive 'help' (faux guide), we made our way to the Kasbah (fort). Thanks to our generous guide (the girls have photos with the bugger), we hadn't quite enjoyed the amazing views. Never mind! We learned our lesson...

Venturing into the new town, we peeped into a mosque - the girls managed to tackle the doorman -, saw camels on the beach and berbers heading back home . Every Thursday and Sunday, these berber women, from the Riff mountains, wrap themselves in their stripped shawls and come to Tangier to sell their fresh vegetables.

Monday came. It was farewell time. The girls went back to Spain and I was, well, just about to unfold my African dreams.

This is getting a bit too long... I'll leave the trip to Chefchauoen for the next blog, alright?


P.S(1): Yes, I AM reading 'On the road'. Let's see where it'll get me!

P.S(2):My dear English native speakers, please, do feel free to correct my mistakes!

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