Advertisement
Published: June 13th 2008
I didn’t sleep all that well the night before my trek to Morocco. Was worried that I wouldn’t wake up in time to catch the bus. Got to the San Sebastian bus station with plenty of time to spare. The woman selling tickets spoke perfectly good English and was there to serve customers. No future for her me thinks. She said I needed to remember twenty but when it came down to it that number had no real significance to me. The bus took slightly over three and a half hours to wend its way down towards the ferry terminal.
The driver took a lunch break of twenty or so minutes which didn’t help. Once I got to the terminal it was a matter of deciding which company had the best deal. There really wasn’t that much price competition so I went with Euro ferry who were about the cheapest. As I’m about to buy my ticket the woman there puts a sign up against the glass saying out of order. I thought, my luck then a guy behind me said it was still okay to purchase a ticket. Work that one out.
The ferry was supposed to leave at
14:00 but didn’t pull out of port until 14:45. There was an English couple and two American girls I chatted with briefly. It was a very slow journey. Took almost three hours to do the crossing. I was wondering whether we were lost at one stage. When we finally did approach Tangier port we received a message on the PA for passengers to assemble on the second level for a passport check. We waited in this line for what seemed forever as two officials checked people’s passports one by one. A nice Arabic girl from Holland started chatting with me. She’d been to Tangier before and had few tips for me. She also hated the weather in the Netherlands and was looking forward to a week of sun. The passport check thing was still dragging on as tempers became frayed. This would have to be the dumbest and most inefficient way to check passports I’ve seen. But the hassles didn’t end there. I had to try to find my way out of the ferry. We were guided out via the vehicle exit and then had to climb stairs again to reach the arrival hall. Insane! I lost contact with my
new Arabic friend as I entered the maelstrom of toutsville. She has my email, hopefully she will contact me.
When I finally emerge I was immediately set upon by touts. One guy with a badge asked where I was staying, A leading question if ever there was one. He said he was from the official tourist board and Hotel Tarik was a lengthy taxi journey away, I thought good tout line and ignored him at my our peril. Went to a currency exchange guy who gave me a very good rate on my British pounds. (won’t be going back there soon) He told me that the hotel I was staying at was just a twelve minute walk away. Bellied what the ‘tourist board’ guy said. I’m thinking this currency dude has no agenda so I’ll trust him. Impeccably flawed logic as it transpired. So I headed off down the road expecting to check in to my hotel within quarter of an hour. The reality check wasn’t in the mail, it was in my face. My sweaty face to be precise. Re currency exchange guys all power walkers over here cause I couldn’t how in God’s name this twelve minute
time frame was humanly possible.
After slogging it out along the promenade for thirty minutes or so I ask someone getting in a car for help. He speaks no English so I figure it’s time to move on. He yells to the couple in the front seat. A French guy gets out and tells me in pretty good English that hotel Tarik is approx three miles away. He points to a white blur and says that’s it. I thank him for the information, cross the road and attempt to hail a taxi. They must have heard me coming. Not one was to be found. I got all stoic at this point and determine to tough it out. I know I will be an absolute basket case when I reach the hotel but I now see it as a challenge As soon as I make the fatal decision to push on taxis begin touring me as if to mock my attempt. I do believe they have an ability to sense suffering and try to exploit as best they can.
So I walked and walked and walked, across sewage laden creeks which somewhat undermine the veneer of modernity that this
city projects. You’re still third world you tart in spite of your pretensions of being another Monte Carlo. I thought I saw a white building on the horizon. Could this be the promised accommodation I so desperately yearned for. Alas it was nothing more than a mirage and not of the resort variety. So I trudged thinking that I’d be in Egypt being bedding down for the night. Then an image began forming before my genetically challenged eyes. Could this be it, could I actually be within checking in distance of this elusive siren of three stardom? I wasn’t about to be a believer until I saw the name on the wall. There it was, Hotel Tarik under some Arabic script. I stumbled into reception as if I was an emergency patient entering the trauma unit.
With unbridled relief I hauled my sweaty mass up to the reception desk and proceeded to check in. I don’t recall two more beautiful words in the English language. The desk clerk was indifferent to my condition and shoved a check in form in my face. I filled it in with what energy I had and passed it back over to him. He
couldn’t make out the surname. ‘It’s Smith’, I replied with incredulity. The bell boy grabs my heavy bag without me asking him to do so and leads me to a lift. We travel all of two floors up and he opens the room door for me after one false start. I realise he expects a tip so I give him a ten MAD coin which is worth a little less than $1.50 He looks at it with disdain and says this isn’t worth very much over here. So I give the little blood sucker another ten MAD coin. He doesn’t seem particularly placated but thankfully he leaves. Talk about ingrate! I’ve hauled this bag half way across Northern Africa and this primo Dona thinks he’s entitled to a tip of say A$5 for putting said bag in a lift. He’s little more than an in house tout providing no real service in my opinion. My first impressions of this joint aren’t good but I soon find out there’s more to come.
Finally I get to relax. I lie down and then wash my face. The room is large and the decor is kitsch but there’s an sprawling double bed
and CNN on TV. Things could be worse. There is also a small balcony which has a deliciously refreshing breeze. Also commands a good view of Tangier proper which seems a world away. I tried to activate the air con but all that happened was the light went on accompanied by a feeble sound. Like the lush I am I went downstairs to check out the bar. Ordered a beer and gave the waiter wearing (bow tie and white shirt) a twenty MAD note (equivalent to almost three Australian dollars) I received no change and earmarked this place as a pretentious rip off joint. There was a group of people sitting in a lounge area nearby the bar. I took a seat furthest from them. There is shock all round and then this French guy starts babbling in his native tongue to me. Did it ever occur to him that I may not speak French? I take the hint and move to an unoccupied part of the lounge away from this cliquey group. I’m really beginning to hate this place.
I go down for breakfast next morning and am served by another overdressed waiter. He asks for my room
number which I supply. The meal is reasonable. A roll, cheese and three croissants with jams plus a couple of cups of coffee. I expect to leave here without paying as it advertised as part of the deal. Wrong. I’m given a bill for thirty MAD. I protest that this was supposed to be free. This leads to confusion amongst the waiting staff. One of them hands me a pen for God knows what reason and another gives me a bill. I pay the bill vowing to never set foot in this dump again. I go to the reception desk and explain what happened earlier and he is unable to help. I tell him I will be giving less than favourable feedback online re this place. I add that any chance of me booking here for another night is gone. No response. I try something simpler. Do you have maps of Tangier? You guessed it, no. Are there any buses into town? No again. Silly me. I forget for a moment that this is only a three star gulag. I ask when do I need to check out. He replies 13:00. I say fine, I’ll be back just before then.
They must think incompetence is a virtue at Hotel Tarik because they have done everything in their power to piss me off. Mind you there was one more sting in the tail coming before this sorry farce concluded. I trudged off to Tangier proper at 09:10. My goal was to find other hotels and/or the railway station to escape the curse of the Tarik. As it turned out it was surprisingly hard to find another hotel to compare notes. There are so many buildings in the midst of construction here that it’s hard to find a place that is open. And the places that are open cater for long term apartment accommodation. I thought it best to head for the railway station as I figured there must be a plethora of cheap hotels around there. Unfortunately I made the mistake of thinking with a westerner’s logic. When I finally found the station (after asking a dozen people directions) there wasn’t a hotel to be seen. I enquired about an overnight train to Marrakech. The booking clerk was very helpful. He even put me in contact with another man at a café across the booking hall who suggested a good
place to stay. He didn’t ask me to mention his name or anything so I guess he had no personal interest in the deal.
So I head off to Hotel De Paris. It’s miles away, right in the centre of town which is a nice change. I only asked half a dozen people for directions this time. (mind you, a couple of them had to form a quorum to make a final decision) Hotel De Paris is very old worldly in a nice sort of way. None of the tacky glitz that Tarik is trying to project. My room has a classic French feel about it which I love. The guy on reception also seems nice and isn’t wearing formal hire garb. It’s a basic, down to earth place that isn’t trying to be something its not. I like it and book in for a night. They also have a free breakfast but I suspect in their case it really is free. I feel much better now knowing that I’ll be spending the night in my type of place in the centre of town. I take the long walk back to Hotel Tarik contented knowing that this will be
the last time I ever have to see it.
I arrive back at Gulag Central at about 12:15. I go up to my room and the maids are there doing maidly things. I pack up my gear and head down to reception. It feels like I’m escaping from a prison. I can’t wait to be paroled and find out what the real accommodation world is like. I pull out a 200 MAD bill and wait for the emotionless clerk to hand me the bill. AND HERE IT COMES!!! Drum roll. That will be 300 MAD. I say what! I booked this dump through hostels world and the amount owing is specifically stated as 173.19. The clerk says they have no booking for me even though they acknowledged this fact the previous night. I thought they did anyway. He calls the manager over. Yes I was surprised to discover this place had one as well. I show the mismanager my booking reference number. After thirty seconds of contemplation he decides to honour the agreed sum. Big of him. I didn’t even bother mentioning the breakfast after this latest bungle.
As I walked out the door the bellboy/mercenary ahole offered
to get me a taxi. I declined his ‘generous’ offer and hailed one myself. It was so good to be away from the rip-off zone. I showed the cab driver the address of my new hotel and flashed 20 MAD in front of his eyes. He was fine with that amount so we headed of. And as the intersections whizzed by one of my worst experiences in the hotel industry ended. The good natured cabbie dropped me off across the road the hotel and we shook hands goodbye. I walked to reception. They gave me the keys. I happily hauled my own back pack up three flights of stairs knowing that the mercenary from Tarik was far away laying in wait for some other unsuspecting victim. Oh well I got a good anecdote out of this experience and will truly appreciate my new lodgings.
I take the opportunity to relax for twenty minutes or so. I must have walked ten+ ks that morning so I reckon I was entitled to be stuffed. The room feels good and the double bed is comfortable. I make plans about where to go next. It’s nice to be in an urban environment again.
I head off in search of internet cafes and find two in close proximity. Then I check out the Medina, an old shopping area with a wide variety of street stalls. Some good photo ops there and may also be a place to get my sandals repaired. Got a bit lost on the way back but Tangier is so small it’s hard to stuff up really badly. Cooled my heels for a little while and watched a bit of a Euro cup match on TV. Went off and explored once more and this time found a store selling cold beer. Heaven. Bought one can and took it back and drank it. Was good so I headed back for two more. When I arrived back at the hotel the guys on reception were eating their late lunch/early dinner. One of them offered me a taste of his. How good is that.
I check out the local FM radio stations. It’s a combination of French and Spanish stations. Most of the songs are in English however. The I come across a Costa del sol radio station. That’s right, British ex pats have their own radio station. Gives an indication of how
many are living there. I head off to the Internet Café to do some web surfing. Can’t use my laptop because the Berber computer nerds can’t configure my wi fi. So I go to the other internet joint across the road from my hotel. This time I try hooking up my laptop to a cable there and again no luck. I discover later that someone has disbled my LAN connection. Could have been the computer nerds or someone in Seville. Just a click of the mouse to fix it. That’s why I don’t other people messing with my laptop’s settings. So I surfed using the internet joint’s PC. Of course there was a hassle accessing the @ symbol. Think the keyboards were French which makes sense. The lady looking after the PCs was very nice and obliging. She apoligised at having to charge me five MAD for such a short session. Wish they were that nice in Paris internet cafes.
Was feeling a bit hungry at about 20:00 so walked the streets looking for Moroccan food. Couldn’t find a place like that nearby so went to a big Parisian style café frequented entirely by men as I later realised.
I ordered a mystery dish off the menu. Couldn’t find a translation for it in my French phrase book. It was only three dollars so even if it had the aroma of cow dung it was no great loss. The waiter asked me if I wanted one or two? One or two of what I’m thinking. I lived dangerously and ordered two somethings. He comes back a little later with a bowl that has two fried eggs in it. There is a garnishing of small meaty pieces, A pepper shaker is left next to the bowl. Hot bread accompanies the meal which his very nice. I then ask the waiter for a strong coffee saying café forte. He gets it in one making this a relatively trouble free meal.
I hit the sack between 22:30 - 23:00. It’s been a long day. There’s a bit of road noise downstairs on the main drag but I expect that to recede as the minutes tick away. Wrong assumption. This place seems to kick on after midnight. I actually heard more traffic and loud voices up until about 02:00. The lesson here is that it’s best to sleep in and become a
bit of a night owl. Maybe it will be different tonight but some how I doubt it. It’s Friday night after all and anything could happen.
The next day I went down stairs and sampled the breakfast. Two croissants, a sliced baguette, orange juice and coffee. It was fine. They even put on the bbc satellite station for me while I ate. Pity there isn’t one English language station available in my room. I was stuffed and it was only early morning. Put my head down on the pillow and dozed for about an hour. I must have been fatigued. Worked on my travel blog and fronted up at the internet café across the street. This time I had no problem using my lap top. That was a big relief. Did my banking online, made an internet phone call to a friend and booked a flight from Tangier to Madrid with Easy Jet. Travelling is a lot easier with internet access. The woman there charged me the correct amount and I headed off.
I wandered down toward the beach. This young black guy says hello and begins walking with me. The amber warning signal goes off. He is
carrying a package so I figure he’s legit. We break off from one another. I walk a block and he’s back again. He attempts to engage in conversation in broken English. The usual crap, where you from, what do you do? Then he reveals the real intention of this dalliance. ‘You buy me a sandwich?’ This from a reasonably well dressed guy who is carrying what appears to be a packaged piece of electronic equipment. My body language makes it clear he has no chance of success conning me. He immediately walks off in another direction. Good riddance. I continue my walk to and along the beach without further molestation. I was hoping to see some beach side activities such as volleyball. Nothing like it to be seen. Bit disappointing really. Maybe people are right and Tangier only warrants a short stay.
I try to grab a beer from the shop I visited yesterday. It’s closed, no doubt because it’s Friday, Muslim prayer day. I was told by the guys at reception that places should open about 17:00. I check out a café that has Moroccan food on the menu. There’s a seat outside so I take it. There’s
about eight Moroccan dishes listed with photos which is handy. I choose one that looks like a large dip with vegetables but that’s only a guess. Waiter makes it clear it’s not available so I go with a chicken piece in a pot option. The waiter brings me an entree of olives and a basket of one to two baguettes partially sliced.
Boy they love their bread over here. More than the French it appears. I plow through the olives in no time and break off a piece or two of bread. A beggar woman walks up to me and places her hand out. I won’t be a part of her extortion and ignore her. She of course persists in a stand off hoping to embarrass me into yielding. One of the waiters begins an animated conversation with her. I don’t think he was offering her a complimentary café latte. She finally takes the hint and moves on. Next time I see a beggar passively sitting in the street I‘ll throw them some coin. Better to support them than encouraging this type of behavior.
The meal finally arrived and consisted of a large piece of chicken swimming in
a shallow soupy base with olives. A number of sauces were also supplied. I chose what I thought was the spiciest one. It had a bit of a kick. The meal was okay without being spectacular. I‘ll try one of the other dishes tomorrow as a comparison. It was certainly filling with the huge quantity of bread supplied. Back at the Hotel the big Euro soccer match was meant to be in progress. They were still warming up. What’s going on I thought? It’s almost six and it was meant to start at five. I grabbed a couple of beers from the local store and down them in my room. I go return to the TV room and find it’s just about time for kick off. There’s a few guests watching but I struggle to stay awake until half time. I headed up stairs and snoozed for an hour or so. Checked my lap top’s clock and see that Casablanca is one hour behind Madrid. The penny was in the process of dropping. Would have been nice if the ferry staff had announced there is a one hour time difference between Spain and Morocco. So Moroccans don’t kick on quite
as late as I’d thought.
I slept a bit better than the first night although I still found the traffic noise a bit off putting. I again had a cat nap after breakfast. Not like me to do this. Chatted to a friend via the internet and it was pretty good connection. Didn’t have time to fully update the blog. I’ll work on that tomorrow afternoon when I have time to burn waiting to catch my sleeper to Marrakech. Napped again at around 14:00. Didn’t realise I was this tired. Guess it was all catching up with me. The 500 mil can of beer may not have helped me stay awake as well. Ate at a new café off the main drag. The waitress spoke very little English and I just took a stab at the Moroccan part of the menu. A large basket of Turkish type bread was delivered to my table. It was cold and not that appetising. Not a good sign. The main course arrived in an attractive Moroccan style pot. The lid was removed to reveal a reddish colored stew. I ate a couple of mouthfuls and realised it was sliced Frankfurt’s in a gunky
sauce which no doubt has some exotic name. This wasn’t what I wanted but I finished the meal anyway as it at least filled the spot. The second waitress took my money and was very pleasant and reasonably fluent in English. Wish the first waitress has passed the baton to her.
Watched a bit of the Euro cup soccer, drank a couple of beers in my room during the half time interval then watched the conclusion. The gallant Swedes were outclassed by the Spanish who had their cheer squad at the hotel. It was an entertaining diversion before I retired to my room to do some more work on the screenplay. I prepared for last night of sleep at Hotel De Paris and dropped the head on the pillow at 23:00 hours. At quarter past four in the morning my sleep was disturbed by some Moroccan hoons dragging up and down the main strip beeping their horns and screaming at the top of their voices. A national past time in this country. They continued doing this for what seemed hours. Racing past, causing the maximum disturbance and then fading off into the night only to return five minutes later
repeating the same inane stunt. Is there a huge cash prize over here for proving you’re the biggest dickhead on the road? If that’s the case these guys’ wallets ‘d be bulging..
My time in Tangier was coming to an end. Trekked down the hill to the railway station and picked up my sleeper ticket. Then trekked back up again making it a fifty minute round trip. Good for losing the kilos but not so good for my sweat soaked tee shirt. Packed my bags and headed off to do some serious web surfing. Went back to the hotel to recharge my laptop batteries as excrementally melodramatic Moroccan soap operas played on TV. Got a lot of writing done as I had nothing better to do. At 16:00 I grabbed myself a bite to eat. Chose a targine from the menu. Got the olive entrée and a basket of bread. (not as absurdly big as the first time at this café) I ordered a coke which I opened with my own bottle opener, much to the amusement of the waiter. He main meal was really just a stew in a hot pot but very tasty.
Bid my farewells
to the staff at Hotel De Paris. Had a good time there, my type of place. Grabbed a taxi to the train station. Offered the driver ten MAD which he seemed happy with. He offered me change when we pulled up outside the terminal. I refused to take it. Was directed to the correct carriage but a uniformed guy who only spoke French. He told me which compartment to go to but I couldn’t understand a word. He then directed me in English to the correct place to bed down. I had the compartment to myself up to ten minutes before departure. Then a young Moroccan guy joins me. We try to communicate but it is heavy going as English is his third language behind Arabic and French. I hear northern English accents nearby so it appears I’m not the only English speaker in the country. One Moroccan [passenger kept poking his head in and out of the compartment several times. Wasn’t sure whether he wanted to sleep in our part of the train or not. It really pissed off my Moroccan travelling buddy.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.104s; Tpl: 0.018s; cc: 11; qc: 49; dbt: 0.0481s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.3mb
TC
non-member comment
Hotel Tarik
I did a web search of Hotel Tarik and it had a Ratings grid at the top of the page. The 'Fun' factor came in at 30%, which upon reading your blog, sounds a little on the generous side perhaps? But as you suggest, Hotel Tarik offered the opportunity for 'local color' and a couple of priceless anecdotes that served to spice up your visit and your blog. Sounds like Hotel De Paris is more up your alley? Closer to where the action is. Pity you didn't book this in the first place but alas the fog of tourism was to deny you yet again and no doubt will again before your trip is concluded. I wonder how long you intend to stay in Morocco? What is your next destination? And of course, you haven't mentioned the weather.