A quien madruga, Dios le ayuda.
(God helps those who get up early)
(God helps those who get up early)
MY ROAD TO MOROCCO – Chapter 6: Day 7
Day 7 Estepona to Tangier
60 miles (by land and sea)
Spanish Sunrise
Day 7 Estepona to Tangier
60 miles (by land and sea)
Spanish Sunrise
photo by kind courtesy of juliabeverly.tumblr.com
The first light of morning upon my face woke me from a deep
slumber. It was almost 8am and Anton was already on his stomach, tent flap open,
camera in hand, his whole body alert, poised to capture the perfect sunrise
shot.
I also
propped myself up on my elbows, watching, through sleepy eyes, for the sun to
emerge on the horizon. Within a few moments, a perfect glowing sphere, orange
in a deep red sky, emerged out of the Mediterranean Sea.
My
tent-mate furiously clicked the shutter on his camera, emptying an entire roll
of film. Elated by his success, Anton impulsively pulled me towards him,
as if about to kiss me!
But, at that precise moment
the beach sweeper's motor
RRRRRRRROARREEEDD
to life, heading straight towards us!
The
unholy noise woke up the rest of our group, and we all hurried to take down our
tents and get off that beach camp, pronto!
Although
it was barely 8am, we were all so eager to get to the port of Algeciras where
would would board the ferry to Morocco, that we chose to skip breakfast.
NOT a
good idea!
We
arrived at Algeciras far too early, which aroused suspicion in the Spanish port
officials who delayed for us hours while they inspected every inch of our
"Love Bus".
They
were probably looking for drugs, but may simply have been admiring the hippie
wagon's art work!
Whatever
the reason for the frustrating delay, our bus was eventually released from
official clutches just in time for it, and us, to board the noonday ferry to
Tangier.
By
then, our hunger pangs had turned a few of us (including me) into snarling
beasts.
Leaving the Iberian Peninsula
We
anticipated that our trip across the Strait of Gibraltar would mean a further
two hours' wait before we could eat. And we were not at all 'happy campers' by
this point!
In the
midst of much group moaning and groaning, Anton ushered me away from the
others, telling me that he we had some unfinished business that required
our attention.
Curious,
I followed as he led me towards the rear of the ferry. There we watched
the sunlit south face of the Rock of Gibraltar grow ever smaller as we sailed
from Algeciras towards Tangier.
And what a majestic sight it was!
The Rock of Gibraltar
photo by kind courtesy of:
www.es.wikipedia.org
We watched in comfortable silence as our ferry put sea miles
between the amazing Rock and us. And just before we left our secluded
viewing spot, Anton kissed me for the second time, this time so ardently that
my toes curled!
So that's what he'd meant by
"unfinished business"
Our growling stomachs interrupted the romance of that moment, and
we both laughed nervously, keenly aware of our immediate need for a full
meal.
Following the wonderful aroma of simmering spices, we found a
dining room set with linen tablecloths, napkins and silverware.. The place was almost deserted
so we enjoyed a quiet but tasty Mediterranean luncheon.
Quel
Surprise!
One simply does not expect to
find haute cuisine on a ferry!
With the Rock of Gibraltar at our backs, the
Mediterranean to the East and the wild Atlantic to the west, we were sailing
towards Africa through what were historically known as being turbulent waters.
Yet we experienced only calm waters and a
steady crossing to Tangier, almost as if Morocco was bidding us
"Welcome"!
Eating on board, via credit card, had been an expensive, but
impressively wise, decision since the rest of our starving group still had to
wait for the ferry to dock before dining for the first time that day.
Moroccan Dirhams
photo by kind courtesy of:
http://www.worldcoins.biz
Assuming banks would be open upon arrival in Tangier, caused yet another
delay that day.
Nobody had thought to purchase any Moroccan currency before
leaving England - or Spain. So, everybody needed to visit a bank, to exchange
our English pound notes for dirhams. Till then we were 'penniless'.
Amazingly, we had all failed to realize that, in Tangier,
(in 1972) everyone and everything, including the banks, shuts down every
afternoon for a 4-hour siesta!
Several self-styled "entrepreneurs" had crowded around
our vehicle as we'd driven off the ferry. But we'd ignored them and driven
straight to the bank, where several more opportunistic outdoor vendors taunted
us with tasty foods and Moroccan textiles.
With the banks closed, and no money to purchase even a snack, my
fellow travellers were still hungry, whereas Anton and I had just feasted like
kings. Feeling sorry for their plight, I devised a cunning plan to help
alleviate their hunger pangs.
Leaving the Love Bus, my bodyguard at my elbow, I took my
wrist-watch from my pocket and called over one of the dubious looking
"vendors". Within minutes, I was haggling like a native and
eventually, sold him my watch for a lot more than I had paid for it in the High
Wycombe Market, three years earlier.
Delighted by my success, I motioned for the others to leave the
bus and then gave them most of my dirhams, suggesting they buy lunch for
themselves, from a nearby vendor. It was heart-warming to watch them
haggling for enough goat cheese, bread, watermelon and wine to sink a small
army.
Goat Cheese on slices of Baguette
photo by kind courtesy of: www.dashandapinch.com
We already knew not to drink the local water at all, since
regulated, safe, bottled water was still a generation away.
So, despite the early hour, everyone drank the wine, and some even
washed it down with bread, cheese and fruit.
While our group was busily munching their impromptu lunch, or
getting a head start on their latest hangover, I took my few remaining
dirams to the itinerant clothes merchant, eventually purchasing a blue and
white, striped cotton djellaba for myself.
The djellaba is a traditional shift, similar to the caftan
because of its long flowing style. Made of cotton, it does not have a belt,
comes with a hood and covers the body completely.
Moroccan Djellaba
photo by kind courtesy of
http://www.berbertrading.com
Mine was similar to the one shown in this picture, except that was
striped in pastel blue not brown, and was made of thin cotton that enveloped me
from top to toe.
The djellaba is very easy to wear as it allows the
slightest breeze to circulate beneath around your legs and torso, keeping one
comfortably cool in desert heat.
The sun seemed much hotter here, though I, too, was a bit
light-headed from the wine. Because of the daily siesta, we would have to
wait several hours for the banks to re-open so that we could pay for our
campsite that night and have spending money for the next day.
Following lunch, our wine-weary drivers took a long nap in the
bus, urging the rest of us to stretch our legs by exploring the hilly city.
Tangier Medina
photo by kind courtesy of nagual.yuku.com
Anton and I were more than
ready to soak up
a little of the history,
culture and colour
of this acclaimed Moroccan
city.
Situated on the North coast of Africa, Tangier
is built on a steep hill that borders the narrow Strait of Gibraltar, gateway
to the Mediterranean Sea to the North, and the Atlantic Ocean to the West.
Many civilizations and cultures have influenced
this city for over 1500 years, from Berbers to the Phoenicians to modern day
Europeans.
Because of its colourful history, artistic
appeal and key political location, Tangier has also been inhabited and
colonized by modern foreign and colonial powers, attracting diplomats, spies,
writers and businesses.
Here, Muslim, Christian and Jew peacefully
co-exist, creating a flourishing, diversified industrial complex that
specialized in textiles, metallurgical mechanical and ceramic products.
Tangier Football
"Stadium"
While Anton took photos of some nearby buildings, I spied and
joined a soccer game with some local children.
Their version of the game involved running up and down the long
flat steps that were carved into the hillside.
It was certainly a very odd way to play soccer, but very good
exercise for the legs, since both teams jostled for the common goal post - at the very
top of those steps!
Cooperation within teams was managed by a series of lightning
quick hand-signals and facial expressions. The boys ran rings around me!
Thus my pitiful attempts to follow the game succeeded only in providing
everyone with a good laugh.
When siesta was over, we all returned to the Love Bus, and our
drivers took us to the bank. By now, tired of the day's delays, we all wanted
to set up camp and relax for the rest of the evening.
And an ocean-side
campsite
was just what we
needed!
Our campsite was run by a hippie English couple who had visited
Morocco in the 60s and never left. It was situated at the western edge of
the continent, with only a line of sand-dunes separating it from the Atlantic
Ocean.
Upon our arrival, our noses told us that whoever they were, they
could certainly cook!
A slightly fruity, warm aroma of roasted vegetables welcomed us,
and we were told that hot food would be ready for us by the time we'd finished
putting up our tents.
The outdoor courtyard was simple but spacious, providing plenty of
room for all of our tents and a long rustic banquet table at which we all
gathered for our evening meal.
photo and recipe courtesy of
http://chefmichaelsmith.com/recipe/moroccan-couscous-chickpeas
True to their word, this incredible pair then served us a hearty
vegetarian meal of Moroccan couscous with roasted vegetables, all washed down
with goat milk or wine. It was the first time I'd ever tasted couscous!
Afterwards, as the Atlantic pounded the shore just beyond the
dunes, we relaxed, sharing that afternoon's experiences with each other.
Despite its delays and hunger pangs, today had been a good
day! I had seen the Rock of Gibraltar; sailed from one continent to
another; sold my watch to feed my travel companions; haggled for a djellaba;
and enjoyed my first taste of Moroccan cooking in Morocco.
And then there was Anton's unexpectedly passionate kiss, which had
felt so wonderful at the time. Yet, there was something about it that
bothered me. I just hadn't figured out what yet. But I would, of
that I had NO doubt. And when I did, Anton and I would have a serious
'talk'.
I knew that broaching any personal issues with Anton would require
finesse, timing and privacy. And a public campsite in Tangier just wasn't the
right place for it!
Convincing myself that there was no need to explore the
ramifications of our kiss, or anything else, that evening, I focused only on
enjoying my time in the company of others.
I rationalized that the right opportunity for a serious 'talk'
with Anton would present itself, either tomorrow, or the next day.
Believing I had all the time in the world, I
then deliberately, stupidly, chose to ignore that small, nagging voice of truth
we call 'woman's intuition'.
In the days and months that followed, I was to pay dearly for that
mistake. If nothing else I should have remembered that: "Life is what happens to
us while we are busy making other plans."
Fate was to about to throw me a curve, and would show no mercy
till I had well and truly learned my lesson!
Tomorrow,
we would arrive in
the ancient
Moroccan city of Fes!
Coming Soon!
.
.
.
Section 3
- Chapter 7
From Tangier
to Fes
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