Is That an Engine or a Rocket Launcher?

---

Today we’ve got a long and convoluted day of travelling back to Spain, this time to the Atlantic Coast city of Cadiz. As we wait outside the Riad for our taxi we watch on as one of the young staff members feeds a small army of cats in the garden next to the street, something she apparently does every day. So many cats! We feel like family as we drive off - enthusiastic waves from owner Reibal, and his two trusty assistants Omar and cat girl … well I assume that was the sentiment; I suppose they could just be relieved to get rid of us.

… and just in case anyone was wondering, the dodgy taxi driver who bought us to the riad when we first arrived in Fes and then left in a hurry without being paid, never did come back to get his money. So I guess that means we had a win against the scammers in Morocco. Who would have thought!

We need to change trains at the coastal town of Kanitra which looks like it’s only about a third of the way back to Tangier. It’s taken us more than two hours to get here, and if we don’t get to the port in the next hour we’re going to miss the ferry, have to sleep in a Tangier backstreet, get mugged, and never be heard of again …. or something like that … so things aren’t looking good. But wait, what‘s this? Train number two doesn’t feel like it’s moving, but if the TV screens are to be believed it seems it’s actually charging through the countryside at a tad under 300 km/h. That was a bit unexpected. Maybe we might survive the day after all.

The ferry terminal feels a bit like an airport, including luggage screening. Sigh. It’s also a car ferry, which leaves us a bit curious about how they go about screening the vehicles. It must be a big and fancy machine, so hopefully it can tell the difference between an engine and a rocket launcher. It’s a bit busy out here in the Straits of Gibraltar, a veritable traffic jam of massive cargo ships and tankers.

We make landfall in the port town of Tarifa, right on the very southern tip of Spain, where we board a bus for the final two or so hour leg to Cadiz. It looks like this might be a fairly windy part of the world if the number of kite surfers soaring above the beach is anything to go by. There’s also no shortage of wind turbines, most of which are spinning away at a fairly rapid rate. A lot of them aren’t that far from the beach, so I hope the kite surfers are being careful not to get blown off course.

We arrive in Cadiz and are met by our host Jaime. Our apartment‘s right in the middle of the old city, and it's on the top floor. There’s no lift, only a narrow winding staircase, and our luggage doesn’t seem to have gotten any lighter. I think young Jaime’s sensing from the looks on our faces that we might be about to look for somewhere else to stay, so sympathy kicks in and he very kindly carries the heaviest bags up for us. The apartment‘s just what we were hoping for - bright and airy, with a large terrace overlooking the very attractive Plaza de San Antonio.

We head a few metres down the street in search of dinner. Our young waitress looks like she’s on speed. She turns up to take our drinks order a millisecond or so after we’ve sat down, and then tears away again almost before she’s heard us tell her what we want. Issy then quickly changes her mind, but Speedy Gonzalez is halfway to the kitchen by now so we have to yell across the room to get her back. We begin to wonder whether they might be paying her by the kilometre.

We agree it feels good to be back in Spain again. We were both starting to feel a bit Morocco-ed out. It’s a fascinating country with some of the best scenery you could ever hope to see, but having to be constantly on your guard against people trying to extract money from you in novel ways does get a bit exhausting after a while.

---