Not in Paris
Trip Start
May 31, 2007
1
6
12
Trip End
Jun 10, 2007
Tangier, Morocco
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Indeed, it was a monster of a boat that quite gently floated us across the channel to North Africa.
Disembarking we were immediately accosted by a most persistent tour guide. I used to think that Chinese vendors were persistent; they are bashful and warmly polite compared to this fellow. The exchange shall be forever embedded on my memory. He followed us along explaining that we should let him show us around. He would take us through the Kasbah and to eat local specialties and to do all manor of shopping. We wouldn't need to worry about a thing, he said. We communicated our appreciation of the offer, but really we just wanted to wander around on our own. "This is North Africa, not Europe! You can't just wander around here!" said he. "We'll get a map and find our own way around. It will be no problem," we said. He continued to castigate us for that idea. At this point Sneeze ceased to pay attention to him. She stopped a guy passing by with "Excuse me, do you know where I can get a map?" The guy smiled and told her to go to such and such a kiosk across the way. Our tour guide wanna-be grew red-faced upon hearing this exchange. "Lady what are you thinking! What's going on in your head!" he jabbed a finger at Sneeze's head. "I am official tour guide" he practically yelled, brandishing an id hanging from his neck, "and you ask some stranger for a map!" Sneeze glanced at him dispassionately and said something like "we're going now." At this we trotted off towards the city. Another potential tour-guide ran after us, but accepted more readily our refusal of his services.
We entered a bank to find the exchange rate and then stopped by an atm. Turns out the DH was something like 8 to the euro. It was particularly distressing, not knowing even how to say "how much is this or that?" We bumbled along, stared at by people: for my long shorts? For Sneeze's halter top? For our whiteness? Probably for all of these things. We passed a group of schoolchildren, and a little boy kicked my leg. Why? Nobody knows!
After some time we encountered a German family who were on holiday there. They directed us to the center of the city. There we found hoards of people and shops and delicious smells. Sneeze did some shopping and then we wandered around the Kasbah until we were a little lost. We wanted to find our way to a lookout which was supposed to be on the edge of the Kasbah. Some little boys led us through a maze of alleyways and we found ourselves looking out over the sparkling blue water. Here we were accosted by more potential tour guides that would not leave us alone. At last I tired of being polite and said what one must always say at such moments "GO AWAY!" "Please don't say go away" was the reply. But at this point I was too annoyed to feel remorseful.
We resolved to pretend ignorance of the English language. We responded to people for a time in Chinese, saying we didn't understand. People yelled after us asking where we were from. One such guy yelled "The Doors? Jim Morrison is alive and living in Morocco!" To this Sneeze broke the no-English rule and protested, "But I've been to his gravesite in Paris!"
We tired of the Kasbah and took ourselves down to the beach. It seemed a welcome relief after the crush and oppression of the city center. The sand danced in the wind and boys played in the surf. A lone woman walked along, her robe floating in the foamy water.
Some time later we ate at a restaurant along the beach. An older waiter spoke excellent English and delivered a multitude of food to us: bread, butter, olives, and eggplant as appetizers. We had some sort of Moroccan dishes and then very sweet tea to wash it all down.
At this point we found ourselves tired of Tangier and ready to go back to Spain: there simply wasn't much with which we might entertain ourselves.
The ferry did not leave for an hour or so, but we were not the only ones there early. We went to the port police station to get our passports stamped and then waited. An extraordinary number of people got off the ferry before we could get on. Two veil-clad young women tried to engage a porter to carry their luggage, but all went catawampus when he tried to, apparently, overcharge them. There was much yelling and anger and at length the girls stood aside unhappily, their baggage piled around their legs.
We breathed a sigh of relief upon arriving in Tarifa. I had never felt such a striking contrast in atmosphere before. The city was filled with surfers and young people on holiday. Everyone seemed carefree. The white buildings were clean and picturesque against the blue of the sea and cobblestones of the street.
