The Straits of Gibraltar behaved and we crossed on the fast ferry to Tangiers. Along with a flock of other folks including two women, Barb and Theresa staying at our resort in Las Farolas, we have a local guide tell us about life in Morocco.
The Customs and Police on both sides were uninterested in our documentation or possessions. We walked through after a cursory glance at our passports where I got a stamp coming and going and John got none. Feels like Expo 86 – I have two more stamps than John does. Aw ha! As for screening, returning to Spain, I bought some musk at a spice shop and was carrying that and a small bag with camera, etc – none of which was run through the machine. People were walking through the screening machine 3 or 4 at a time. Guess they have this down to a science with so many visitors.
The biggest news about Tangiers is that it is bursting at the seams. Since the last census taken 9 years ago, the population has doubled to about 2 million and we met at least half of them in the souk . Cranes dot the skyline and, while not a building expert, I am certain that building code (if they have any such thing) and workers’ safety violations abound. I suspect this is not true for the royal families from the Arab nations that have built numerous second homes in the region.
We drive out to the Cave of Hercules where according to Greek mythology, he experienced his 12 labours. The cave is only partially natural (about 10 %) and the rest man made as it was inhabited for many generations and the cave walls and ceilings were carved out for stones for the mills to grind grains such as wheat. The opening of the cave to the Atlantic Ocean looks like the profile of a man wearing a fez. We were accosted by everything from children and baby donkey to get our money.
Architecturally, you can see the commonality between the Spanish and Moroccan with the Moorish influences but Tangiers; ironically, appears to have far less vibrancy and colour. The new construction is very plain and looks to be of inferior quality having the feel of instant slums. Having said that, the cost is very inexpensive with economical housing in blocks costing between 15,000 and 18,000 EUROs for 600 square foot apartment. There are no renters in Morocco; you either own or are homeless. Evidence of homelessness is everywhere with make shift tents, sleeping items under shrubs, etc. Only a very small part of Tangiers pre-exists 1921 which is enclosed in the medina (which means city) walls with very narrow streets and the souk.
For lunch, we were taken to the Hotel Alfen which obviously caters to tourists as we served under a big tent. Even more dubious was the horsemen, the camels and the belly dancer but, while I doubt it is part of daily life for Moroccans, it was showy and fun. The horsemen were very photogenic and happy to pose for pictures. They put on a short show of horsemanship which climaxed with shooting off their rifles. While likely blanks, you could smell the cordite and, definitely, see the smoke. The camels; particularly the baby, were even more photogenic but there was a cost for taking their pictures. I did get a picture of John, the trainer and mom and baby camels for about 1 Euro which I suspect the handler did not think was sufficient. Yes there was a belly dancer and, in spite of the number of pictures he took, even John claimed to not have been interested. The food was a Hariri soup which I did not like but the tagines (Middle Eastern terracotta baking vessel) of chicken, olives and lemons and couscous with veggies were nice. For dessert, cannot go wrong with watermelon chunks .
The souk is an experience where every possible technique is employed to separate you for your money and it does not matter if you have US dollars, EU Euros, British Sterling and, maybe even Canadian dollars, whatever, they will negotiate with you to get it. The souk has everything from very elaborate hand sewn jabalah (will need to check the spelling) worn by Muslim women to cheap and nasty looking tin Turkish style knives and fezzes. We happened to be at the souk on a day that the Berber people from the Atlas Mountains bring their fruits and vegetables to market. They were very shy of the cameras and their clothing reminded us of the Peruvian style. Walking through the souk, I was followed by a crowd of men selling cedar camels, cheap jewellery, carpet slippers, tee shirts... On particularly persistent fellow wanted to sell me a coral necklace (I suspect it was plastic but did not touch it as that would be encouragement) and started with 45 (do not know which currency) but by the time we reached the end of the warren of streets he was down to 20 and then asked what I would pay. I had learnt only two Arabic words; one of which is ‘la’ or no and used it frequently and as clearly as possible. Asking John for help was useless as he was having too good of time laughing at me. He did tell me that that I should avoid eye contact by looking over their heads which was much easier for him at 6’ than me at 5’4” as most were my height or shorter. When you finally get out onto an almost regular street, the children start with their postcards. Extremely well taught as they know enough English to be clear in what they want and were for the most part polite but very persistent. There must be a code of conduct in the souk as there were areas they simply did not enter but waited until you came back.
One of the two shops which we did tour was a spice shop where a fellow who was hilariously funny; only he did not know it, tried to sells us age old remedies for everything. He was a cross between Groucho Marx and Peter Sellers and treated us as misbehaving school children. He knew that our time was limited as the tour guide was going to be rounding us up to return to the ferry so he wanted to do his spiel without interruptions and, of course, we kept interrupting. He had spices to cure snoring, eczema, face cream to rejuvenate you (I thought a tub full of this product may have been enough but a 3 oz jar was hopelessly inadequate), stuff to distress (he needed this as much as anyone else in the room). Scariest stuff was mint tea ~ wonder want the Customs’ Officers would make of this? (As it turned out, likely not been a problem.) Most unfortunate was the stuff to grow hair which was an impossibly difficult sell as both his assistants were significantly challenged in this area.
We were relieved to leave as the space are small tight and filled to capacity with traders of everything imaginable.
Great day and we would certainly go back to Morocco for a longer visit.
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