NB: Pictures will be added to this entry next week.
17MAY10
We left Cadiz at dawn, tracking back down the Spanish coast by bus to Algericas. Memories on the bus ride of swapping stories with Anomalisa, not-so-secretively passing a bottle of manzilla between us as we share stories and d23 naps. Another bus hop later brought us to La Linea, and a 5 more minutes of walking crossed us from Spain into England. That is, Gibraltar.
The main thing I have to mention about Gibraltar, that I was not ready for, was The Rock. Simply, it is Very Large. On a stretch of gently rolling coastline, it juts up without preface or context, a mountainous anomaly with its toe in the Medeterainian. We paused there for lunch on the oldest English pub then walked back out of England, back to Algericas.
There's some confusion with the ferry, but within a pair of hours we're on the water towards Africa. The boat lifts and rocks in all directions. The Moroccan Embassy opens up aboard ship, and we catch our last glimpse of an unappreciated virtue, the orderly queue, as people line up for their passport formailities. d23 takes a first turn in the line while Anomalisa and I sit with the luggage, and returns a worrisome time later, explaining that things got bad after the third person in line was violently seasick. This becomes a minor blessing for Anomalisa and I, as the official is ready for it all to be over with when our turn begins, stamping our passports without fuss.
The ferry lands, and I whisper conspiratorally to Anomalisa, "We're in Africa." Then when we step onto land, "No, NOW we're in Africa...ninty-eight percent." We leave the international zone of the harbor, "OK, now we're really in Africa."
One of the enduring themes of Morocco manifests immediately, as we start changing money. "Don't trust him. I'm looking out for you." Variations on this speech are constant; everyone is a tout on the side, and their first tactic to steering you towards their associates is to steer you away from everyone else.
We have a train to catch from Tangier to Fez, except that we don't. The late train doesn't show on the schedule at Gare Tangier. There is the scramble of changing plans, and we land instead at Dar Jameel, a guest house up the winding single lane streets that overlook the harbor of Tangier.
We step inside to a cool courtyard, intricate tile floors, carved and painted plaster molding. The soft spoken proprietor shows us to our rooms, which continue the beauty of the atrium. We pause to take a glass of heavily sugared mint tea each.
It's coming on midnight, and we're unfed since our British lunch in Gibralter. So we step outdoors to find a late cafe on the waterfront. We take the first guide who offers to lead us there, and he walks ahead with the exaggerated rolling swagger that I associate with baby gangstas back in the states, calling out to acquantances as we pass, enbracing friends for a moment before leading again. He's being sure to be seen while he's with us, travelling with the high rolling Americans as his charges. He drops us off at a good cafe, where we catch up on dining on tajine - the local style of stew.
17MAY10
We left Cadiz at dawn, tracking back down the Spanish coast by bus to Algericas. Memories on the bus ride of swapping stories with Anomalisa, not-so-secretively passing a bottle of manzilla between us as we share stories and d23 naps. Another bus hop later brought us to La Linea, and a 5 more minutes of walking crossed us from Spain into England. That is, Gibraltar.
The main thing I have to mention about Gibraltar, that I was not ready for, was The Rock. Simply, it is Very Large. On a stretch of gently rolling coastline, it juts up without preface or context, a mountainous anomaly with its toe in the Medeterainian. We paused there for lunch on the oldest English pub then walked back out of England, back to Algericas.
There's some confusion with the ferry, but within a pair of hours we're on the water towards Africa. The boat lifts and rocks in all directions. The Moroccan Embassy opens up aboard ship, and we catch our last glimpse of an unappreciated virtue, the orderly queue, as people line up for their passport formailities. d23 takes a first turn in the line while Anomalisa and I sit with the luggage, and returns a worrisome time later, explaining that things got bad after the third person in line was violently seasick. This becomes a minor blessing for Anomalisa and I, as the official is ready for it all to be over with when our turn begins, stamping our passports without fuss.
The ferry lands, and I whisper conspiratorally to Anomalisa, "We're in Africa." Then when we step onto land, "No, NOW we're in Africa...ninty-eight percent." We leave the international zone of the harbor, "OK, now we're really in Africa."
One of the enduring themes of Morocco manifests immediately, as we start changing money. "Don't trust him. I'm looking out for you." Variations on this speech are constant; everyone is a tout on the side, and their first tactic to steering you towards their associates is to steer you away from everyone else.
We have a train to catch from Tangier to Fez, except that we don't. The late train doesn't show on the schedule at Gare Tangier. There is the scramble of changing plans, and we land instead at Dar Jameel, a guest house up the winding single lane streets that overlook the harbor of Tangier.
We step inside to a cool courtyard, intricate tile floors, carved and painted plaster molding. The soft spoken proprietor shows us to our rooms, which continue the beauty of the atrium. We pause to take a glass of heavily sugared mint tea each.
It's coming on midnight, and we're unfed since our British lunch in Gibralter. So we step outdoors to find a late cafe on the waterfront. We take the first guide who offers to lead us there, and he walks ahead with the exaggerated rolling swagger that I associate with baby gangstas back in the states, calling out to acquantances as we pass, enbracing friends for a moment before leading again. He's being sure to be seen while he's with us, travelling with the high rolling Americans as his charges. He drops us off at a good cafe, where we catch up on dining on tajine - the local style of stew.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
argene:
In addition to the above, I'd also like to visit Essaouria. Ideally, I'd like to save up enough to do a NA/Middle East tour. I love tajine! I had a chicken and almond one when I was in Toulouse (fr) (large Muslin/NA population) at Le Riad.
anomalisa:
Werd.