Marrakech
I wake up alone at 5 30 am. Im in Southern Spain. Its August already. I’ve been travelling for about nine months. Living out of a backpack. I havent shaved in about a week, but I dont have any cares, so this bothers me not.
I grab a taxi to the bus station and get my ticket. Two hours later I’m in Algeciras, the southern tip of Spain and entry point into North Africa. I walk to my friend Freddy’s house, who I stayed with the last time I was in Algeciras, but he isnt home. I duct tape a note to his door that says I’m going to Tanger and I’ll be back in a few days.
I walk to the port and make the typical travellers mistate. I buy my ferry ticket from a travel agency – one of the many lining the street to the port. ALWAYS buy tickets direct. The actual port sells tickets for alot less than these guys, just like bus stations always sell cheaper than small agencies. Rookie mistake, but oh well. I’m still on my way to Morocco.
I chill in the back corner of the cafe with my feet up on a chair, watching the people. Alot of Morccans speaking French. French is the second language, Arabic being the other. I dont have a place to stay in Tanger, but I have the names of a few hostels if the overnight train to Marrakech is all booked up. If the train is full and I can’t find a place to say, I can grab a ferry back to Spain and stay in Algeciras. My escape route is fully formed.
We pull into Tanger and as I’m going exit (sortie -brushing up on my French) the port, 2 people approach me and ask me if I speak English. Indeed I do. 2 people from Cali, they want to know if I have a place to stay or know whats going on. I tell then that I dont have a place, but I know whats going on.
They follow out of the port and on a whirlwind tour of Tanger.
A driver took us around to all the major spots- the rock of Hercules, the med side of the ocean, the atlantic side, and the point at which the 2 oceans meet. After than he dropped us near the Kasbah, the old part of town and some guy I thought he was a scammer showed us all around. He called himself the ‘Mickey Mouse’ of Tanger. He turned out to be a good guy.
Alot of people seemed to know him. Walking buy people would yell out -Hassan! then tell us ‘you’re in good hands.’ So I find myself sipping mint tea and getting show hand woven carpets and different goods. We walked all through the old section of town, through the local markets, and to some vistas. This took a couple hours and we were being shown around to places I never would have found on my own, at least not in 1 day.
The overnight train was not sold out and left Tanger at 9:30 pm.
I wake up in the morning at about 8 am. Been wearing the same clothes for about 3 days. The view out the window is like watching a movie. There is a huge hill/mountain in the background and different layers of hills coming closer. The contrast makes the hills in the back appear to hardly move, and the closer hills to zoom by. It looks really strange, the colors of the ground almost sand colored, but not sand.
After looking around a bit and winding through these narrow streets, we grab a place for 50 dirham a night – about 6 dollars. Inside is a square with the centered hollowed out. The center goes put 3 floors to the roof and the rooms overlook the opening. I grab a shower and wash the grime off. I realize that after you wash off the filth, thats all you’ve done. I’m ready to see Marrakech.
Tags: Marrakech, Morocco, Spain, Travel, Tag Index
J
August 4th, 2006 at 6:51 pm
ive been reading your travel log for some time, following your movements, and trying my best to soak in all that i can from your words. the writing of this one actually put me there. thank you for showing me Tanger.