Getting to Morocco wasn’t too hard, but it was definitely a round about way of going. I will sum up the transportation situation first.
Taxi to Santander Airport. Fly to Malaga Airport. Take a bus to Malaga city center. Walk to Malaga Bus Station. Take a bus to Algeciras. Take a bus to Tarifa. Walk to Tarifa Port. Take a ferry to Tangier (finally in Africa). Take a ferry back to Tarifa. Walk to Tarifa Bus “Station”. Take a bus to Seville (the second real stop of the trip). Take a bus to Malaga Airport. Fly back to Santander Airport. Take a bus to the city center. Take a bus to my apartment.
All in all, 7 busses, 1 taxi, 2 flights and a lot of walking. Not to mention a camel ride or a tour of the Moroccan coast by way of van.
Algeciras, Spain
As my guide book blatantly says, nobody comes to Algeciras for its beauty, it’s only a stopping point between Spain and Morocco. I couldn’t agree more. We got there late at night and left early in the morning, but that was enough. The only memorable part was when we first got to the hostel we were kind of bouncing on the beds like children, taking pictures when all of a sudden CRAAACK!!! Hillary broke the bed. In order to hide the evidence, we took the slats to Morocco.
Tangier, Morocco
We arrive in Africa after a short ferry ride from the very southern tip of Spain (Tarifa) to be greeted by our guide Rashid. Right away we are rushed off into a van past what seemed like a palace for every ruler of a Middle East country to see the Atlantic coast of Morocco. We pit stop for some pictures of the ocean and speed off to an area where camels are waiting. We are told that a short ride costs a euro. WORTH IT! We ride the camels as our guide and our driver shout “SMILE! RIDE THE CAMEL! CHRISTMAS CARD!” We then return to Tangier and get out of the van for a tour of the Medina, the old part of town with all the shops and restaurants, on foot and for lunch. At the restaurant a group of old guys are playing music on a guitar and drum in this place with great Moorish architecture. As we ate our cous cous, I thought to myself, yes, we are in Africa.
After lunch we are hurried from store to store, where we are taught about traditional Moroccan rugs and spices. This is the point where Morocco unfortunately started to make me feel uncomfortable. I have been to other touristy places before, where people surround you, asking you to buy their goods, but I thought if I had been on a tour the stores we stopped at wouldn’t be quite like this. I was wrong. The carpet guy reminded me I was making a mistake when I didn’t buy a carpet (I showed not even the slightest interest in purchasing a carpet, yet the man went down from 80 euro to 50 to 30 without me even offering a price), I was offered hash, but most of all I was reminded I was among friends and if I didn’t like what they offered, I shouldn’t feel pressured. The spice store was better, and we learned about the uplifting effects of ginseng and I actually purchased a Moroccan spice mix for dummies.
We escaped the Medina and were brought back to the hotel. We asked our guide where we could get falafel, and he told us to just to go the new city center, not to return to the Medina. Okay. So we dropped off our stuff in the room and made our way toward the new city center, with our eyes peeled for falafel. Sadly, we didn’t locate any falafel, instead, we met this old man, and I made a mistake that would lead to an awkward encounter ultimately leading to a sour note in my memories of Morocco.
So as I said before, we met this guy while we were just wandering the streets. He said he was a cook from the hotel down the street and wanted to welcome us to Morocco (as a blond male, outside of the US/Canada and eastern/northern Europe, I essentially have an arrow with the word TOURIST directed toward my head). He said that he would show us the next street up because it had more places to eat and then he would be on his way. Seeming nice enough, I agreed that it couldn’t hurt for him to show us the next street up. He then said there was a market that we shouldn’t miss, and he could show us there and then he would head on his own way. Again, he seemed nice enough, he was old so obviously he couldn’t cause any physical harm, so I said okay, but was a little more hesitant. Once we got to this “market” (read: outdoor pet shop) he kept on leading us to different stands, telling us we could take pictures of the animals. Feeling pretty uncomfortable at this point, I told him we had to go, and he said he did too. Once out of the market area he asked for one euro from each of us because he had acted as a guide for us. I told him we didn’t ask him to be our guide and explained that we didn’t even have a euro (not a lie by the way, we weren’t carrying much money on us for clear reasons). Hillary offered him the change she had, probably around 70 cents or so and I only had 10 cents. Caitlyn and Reina walked off, pissed that he wasted their time and then asked for money. He looked at our change, took it, and insulted, threw it back at us. We just quickly walked away toward the crowded streets. I felt pretty horrible after that, not because I didn’t pay him, but because I allowed me and the girls to get into that kind of situation and because, being from the Midwest, was being too trusting of people. Besides about a half hour of time and some 80 cents lost, there was no actual harm done, which was a very cheap lesson. We all agreed that we would no longer talk to anyone on the street for longer than 30 seconds.
Following that encounter, we decided it was late enough to return to the hotel, and if we found falafel on the way back we could stop. We stopped at a convenience store for some cards and a guy told us that falafel isn’t Moroccan. Thanks Fodor’s guide for telling us that Arabia in Madrid had the best falafel north of Morocco. That should be a given, seeing as Moroccans don’t have falafel.
We returned to the Medina the next day in search of some souvenirs. Caitlyn bartered like a champ and the girls got their fill of fezzes and we boarded the ferry back to Spain.
Tarifa, Spain
After one of the choppiest ferry rides back to Spain across the Strait of Gibraltar, we disembarked and found our hostel and settled in. Now, we didn’t expect anything from Tarifa. It was just a stop in our way towards Seville, but I would have to say it was one of the most fortunate stops we have had.
Tarifa is this great port town with great a really nice beach and crazy wind making it a perfect wind and kite surfing site. Well, on our way to the bus station to check the schedule Caitlyn just happened to glance toward the beach and asked, “Can we go over there?” She was referring to the beach facing west where the sun happened to be setting. Eager not to miss the moment, we ran towards the beach for some pictures. We kicked off our shoes and ran towards the water where there were some rocks peeking out from the water. The whole scene was perfect, the sunset, the beach, the rocks.
After checking the schedule we headed toward this restaurant that my book recommended for falafel. As we were disappointed by the availability of falafel in Morocco, we were really looking forward to some good fried chickpea balls. We brought the falafel back to the hostel and had a feast, it was delicious.
Not really feeling like going out, we just bought a bottle of vodka and started playing cards in the hostel lounge, probably one of the best decisions we made. After some cards and an intense round of Uno, we heard an accordion and a guitar/ukulele coming from the kitchen. We went in and found a group of French and a German singing and jamming out. We offered some alcohol and sat down with them, singing along to Zombie and the Beatles. It was just a perfect night.
Details about Seville will be up later.
So, I should probably update you guys on Thanksgiving first, seeing as I promised an update on the following day and it is now more than a week later.
Well, much to my surprise, Thanksgiving was a raging success. No, we didn’t actually rage, but we had a turkey (a $50 turkey I might add). We had pie, we had bread rolls, corn, green beans, mashed potatoes, great stuffing, cranberry sauce. What more could we have asked for? Well internet wouldn’t hurt, and that was installed on Thanksgiving too! Which meant we got to slingbox the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and some good ole American football (thank you Mr. and Mrs. Richard). The four Spanish students that are coming to Cornell (Alberto, Borja, Deivid and Raquel) all came to celebrate with us, and even helped with the cooking. I don’t think our celebration through gluttony scared them too much either.
This isn’t to say that Thanksgiving was easy. The power probably cut out on us seven times. We burnt the tops of the two pumpkin pies (which we strategically just peeled away) while trying to figure out how my oven worked. We (apparently) cooked the turkey upside down. We had to DEFEATHER the turkey. The turkey leaked turkey juice everywhere.
But, I repeat, it was a success through all these problems.
