Day 8 Tangier to Fes (230 miles via
coast route)
I had just enjoyed the best sleep ever, waking up so early that the sky was only just brightening.
Anton and his camera had already left the tent. So I changed into my new Moroccan djellaba before heading out to greet the morning.
After so many dreary months of wearing scratchy winter woolens in England, the djellaba's soft cotton felt so gentle against my skin.
Stepping outside, the air was chillier than expected and I considered grabbing my long woolen cardigan. But I was really counting on the soon-to-be-rising sun to warm me up. So till then, physical exercise would help ward off the chill.
A series of low dunes, to the west, sheltered our camp from the worst of Atlantic Ocean gusts. And completely unaware of just how gusty those winds would be near the top of it, I chose to climb up the nearest dune.
I could already taste the salt in the air, and was so eager for my first sunrise glimpse of the Atlantic lapping at the edge of the African continent that I forged ahead, literally throwing caution to the wind!
In hindsight, my lightweight djellaba - while a romantic notion - was completely the wrong choice of garment for climbing a dune! But not until an errant gust threatened to rip my clothing from my body, did I realize my folly.
Holy Hannah that wind was strong!
Before I could stop it, the wind blew underneath my garment, expanding it like a conical sail. I had to act quickly to wrap my djellaba more closely around my hips and thighs, to avoid flashing the entire campsite
Thank heavens the other campers were still sleeping,
for I surely did NOT need witnesses to that embarrassing moment.
My struggle to stand upright, atop that dune, had, however, been worth every effort, as I was immediately rewarded by a sight one would never, ever, see in England.
A caravan of camels was being ushered down the beach by a boy, with a stick!
This camel train made no audible sound, and the animals seemed resigned to the journey, and also to their handler.
Oh, how I wished I'd remembered to bring my camera with me!
At that precise moment, I spied Anton, partly hidden on the beach side of the dune, clicking his camera furiously as the camels passed by him.
Surprised not to have noticed him there before, I now surveyed the area more closely. Those undulating dunes offered a photographer many sheltered nooks. And those strong ocean winds drowned out all but the most robust sounds.
To the west, the slow dawn painted the water's edge in a sheen of silver, for the sun had not yet risen to turn it into gold.
The sharp, chill wind made me shiver. But I couldn't leave yet - the sun would surely rise behind me above the eastern horizon, if I could stand shivering for just one more minute!
Only I could freeze
in April in Morocco!
During England's frigid winters, I stayed warm with friends in heated discotheques! So, I reasoned, the physical gyrations that worked for me in London, would also work for me in Tangier!
photo by kind courtesy of cynicalidealism.tumblr.com
Dancing like a mad lady, I played on and with the wind. Using my hands to calm the sail-like momentum created by twirling, I managed to remain decently clad.
But if I paused, a mischievous gust would flip my dress up. So I twirled a lot, stopping only when I was comfortably warm.
Anton and his cameras completely disappeared from my sight after the camels had passed by us.
I knew he had to be somewhere close-by waiting to take his 'famed' sunrise photos. But he did not call out to me and, since the beach and wind provided excellent shelter, I could neither see nor hear him any more.
Struggling to remain clothed despite the wind, I eventually wound my djellaba tightly around body, then took stock of my surroundings.
photo by kind courtesy of www.moroccansands.com
Ahead was a broad sandy beach, the tide now retreating. Smoother at the water's edge, the sand became darker and coarser as beach met dune grasses.
Suddenly, a startling
b r i l l i a n c e
illuminated the scene.
b r i l l i a n c e
illuminated the scene.
I watched in awe, as the sun painted the ocean with gold, enjoying the play of light on the distant waves. That sleepy and surreal, soft and silvery morning, had suddenly burst into full Technicolor glory.
The sun's warmth on my back was most reassuring! This day had most definitely begun! I was so excited I couldn't wait to get back to the camp and wake everyone up. I was eager to begin the final leg of our journey to Fes.
Making a mental note to ask Anton to send me a copy of his camel and sunrise photographs, after he'd processed and developed his film, I happily skipped down the dune and back to camp.
As it happened, there was no need for me to awaken anyone! Stragglers, with morning hair, were already heading to and from the showers. When camping, sunshine is a powerful alarm clock.
By the time I had rolled up my sleeping bag, taken a hot shower, and added much needed underwear and my thick, warm, long cardigan to my thin djellaba, I was ravenously hungry.
We were again seated at the same long picnic table at which we had eaten supper the night before. It was set for breakfast, and already laden with food, supplied and prepared by our British campsite hosts.
I was happily surprised to see a big pot of hot porridge brought to the table along with the toast and tea - in Morocco yet! But surprise didn't prevent me from helping myself to a large bowlful, so soon I felt warm and cosy inside and out.
I was happily surprised to see a big pot of hot porridge brought to the table along with the toast and tea - in Morocco yet! But surprise didn't prevent me from helping myself to a large bowlful, so soon I felt warm and cosy inside and out.
photo by kind courtesy of allthingsherbal.com
The milk was goat's milk and tasted quite different from the pasteurized cow's milk, sold in glass bottles, in Britain.
But that morning, on that Tangier beach, cold raw goat's milk was the perfect accompaniment to our outdoor breakfast.
photo by kind courtesy of cie-oxford.com
Our hosts joined us with their cups of tea, to let us know that we needed to reset our clocks and watches before leaving Tangier for Fes that morning.
We had completely overlooked the fact that
Morocco observes Greenwhich Mean Time
throughout the whole year.
Our timepieces, therefore, needed to be adjusted back to GMT - an hour earlier than British Daylight Savings Time and a full 2 hours earlier than Spanish time. Though our bodies thought it was 8am, local time in Morocco was only 6am!
Our hosts told us that, because of the time change, they had been preparing breakfast at dawn on the first morning, for every summer group that camped with them - for the last 16 years.
I was impressed that they had taken the time to make us porridge on this chilly morning too! Bless them!
I was impressed that they had taken the time to make us porridge on this chilly morning too! Bless them!
The previous night, our two drivers had ordered a huge picnic lunch for all of us, which we now collected and would eat en route to Fes.
photo by kind courtesy of worldatlas.com
The sunny day was so welcoming we unanimously decide to take the scenic route along the coast, driving south towards Rabat before turning eastwards towards Fes.
The temperature rose substantially, as we drove towards the interior desert region. Soon able to shed my bulky cardigan, I decided that wearing a light cotton djellaba had, after all, been the correct choice of apparel for that day.
Motoring inland, I noticed a lot of old Mercedes trucks and cars around. Naively, I expected to see camel trains, but not German-built automobiles.
Our drivers explained that when they had money, Moroccans spent it on cars and trucks. Much like the rest of the world, it seemed.
It was a long, slow drive to Fes, with several stops for photos, but we eventually ate our picnic lunch in an orange grove, en route to our destination city.
Along with the usual sandwiches, for which the British are famous, our hosts had packed some local fruits and delicacies, like figs and Moroccan tomatoes!
Moroccan tomatoes photo by kind courtesy of freshtomatoesexport.com
In Morocco, tomatoes grow as large as grapefruit, and were sweeter than any tomato I had ever eaten.
Although they added an unexpectedly sweet flavour burst to our salad, I preferred to eat them as a fruit. So I would cut one tomato in half for dessert, sharing the other half with someone else.
Eaten alone, our Moroccan tomatoes became a quick and delicious treat, as well as a high vitamin content, anti-oxidant snack that helped to keep all of us healthy during our stay in exotic Morocco.
Although they added an unexpectedly sweet flavour burst to our salad, I preferred to eat them as a fruit. So I would cut one tomato in half for dessert, sharing the other half with someone else.
Eaten alone, our Moroccan tomatoes became a quick and delicious treat, as well as a high vitamin content, anti-oxidant snack that helped to keep all of us healthy during our stay in exotic Morocco.
Not surprisingly, Morocco is today one the largest exporters in world of tomatoes and an unchallenged product leader in terms of Moroccan truck farming.
Orange Grove photo by kind courtesy of en.wikipedia.org
Picnicking in an orange grove was another 'first' for me.
The collective skins of so many fruits still growing on the tree have such an especially pungent aroma. The clean, crisp scent was not at all musty or unpleasant, but lifted our spirits, turning that picnic surrounded by orange trees into an aromatherapy treat for us all.
Orange’s greatest claim to aromatherapy fame is its ability to affect
moods and to lower high blood pressure. In fact, just sniffing it lowers
blood pressure a couple points. You don’t even need to buy the
essential oil; simply peeling an orange and inhaling its aroma releases
its beneficial effects.
Of course,
aromatherapy was still
a decade or so away from being trendy
One of the girls wanted to pick an orange from the tree, just to taste how sweet it was compared with Moroccan tomatoes. But our drivers actively discouraged such pilfering, reminding us all that the laws for theft - even of a single orange - are much more stringent on the African continent than in Europe.
So many things to know and
remember, when travelling!
We arrived in Fes by mid-afternoon and were immediately greeted by an energetic 10 year old boy with shining eyes and the widest smile ever seen.
His name was Azim, and he informed us that he would be our guide while we were in Fes. And to prove that he was trustworthy, his uncle - the Police Commissioner - had invited all of us to his home for 'refreshments' on
our last evening in Fes.
WOW!
What a warm welcome!
Azim, though young in years, was an animated, delightful soul who already spoke several languages fluently, including English, French, Spanish and Arabic.
Since Morocco's national languages are Arabic and French, his language skills alone, could prove very useful. But Azim assured us that he was also "a most efficient and well-informed guide" for our travelling crew. And because he already liked us, he was willing going to give us a BIG discount!
We were powerless to resist the charm and enthusiasm of this pint-sized business magnate!
Azim then jumped aboard the Love Bus and guided us to our gated and guarded campground, informing us that the guards had real guns with real bullets in them, so we would be safe there.
He also confided the best times and places for shopping and sightseeing, where to eat and where to purchase the exact kinds of merchandise we wanted.
He then cheekily told our drivers that he would personally be willing to escort any unescorted ladies who required his services during our visit to Fes.
This precocious 10-year old behaved more like a well-seasoned entrepreneur than like any child of my acquaintance. By the efficient manner in which he delivered pertinent information, I had the feeling he'd been a liaison for tourists since he was a toddler.
Before he left us alone to set up our camp and relax for the evening, Azim reiterated that, in Fes, any lady not escorted by a gentleman, risked being abducted or worse.
Was he kidding? No, he was not...
Our drivers had been similarly forewarned, and insisted that, whenever she wanted to leave the campsite, each lady should do so only in the company of her chosen bodyguard. Anton smiled at me then, and I knew, without words, that he would be my personal bodyguard in Fes!
Having been reassured of our security at camp, we were grateful to learn that our modern campground offered modern conveniences! In a week of one night stops, there had been no time to do laundry. But here in Fes, we had all the essentials - hot showers, throne toilets - yeah! - working laundry machines and a swimming pool.
photo by kind courtesy of http://www.motodreamers.com
Early evening temperatures in camp were in the balmy 70s. So, whilst waiting for our washing machines to finish their loads, a few of us enjoyed a leisurely swim in the clean, clear pool.
It was a sanitary, civilized and relaxing introduction to Fes. And, as an added bonus, even the heaviest denim jeans dried to a crisp in that semi-arid climate.
After swimming, we ate lightly, finishing the remainder of our substantial lunch pack! Then we completed our laundry and took to our tents.
Sleep came easily to us all that night. Our ultra early start, followed by a marathon day of driving plus the 2-hour time change meant we were asleep much earlier than most of the other travellers that night. But we did not care - dreamland beckoned and we willingly surrendered.
As a group, we were about to enjoy three glorious days in Fes. We were all eager to begin exploring! And I had rarely felt as excited about my life as I did then.
Less than 24 hours later, our youthful enthusiasm would provoke some alarming life lessons that nobody would soon forget.
Coming Soon!
Section 3 - Chapter 8
