Overwhelmed in every sense of the word and in the very best way.
By Sarah Shean
I am always one up for an adventure, I’ll admit to that. All in all, it was a crazy, wonderful, and overwhelming trip.
I was in the middle of downtown Tangier, the Tijuana of Africa, a dirty, 3rd world city with only another 20-something American girl for company. There was no guide. There was no help.
And all I could think of was “How am I going to explain this one to my parents?!”
So began my adventure to Morocco.
We hopped on a bus out of Sevilla early Friday morning and by 1:30 that afternoon we were crossing the Straight of Gibraltar and landing in Tangier. I was in AFRICA and excited as hell.
SIDENOTE: as it had been so hot in Sevilla, I hadn’t thought about my clothing while getting dressed…and I was in a tank top. Yes. I know. I am college-educated. Morocco is an Islamic country. Hindsight is always 20/20. I feel like an idiot now. No need for additional comments. Thanks.
I would definitely recommend this trip to anyone with an adventurous spirit, and who would take the risk of missing the bus (or the boat, or getting repeatedly lost, or harassed by men) in the effort to have the experience of a lifetime.
Kathryn and I had discussed the possibility of joining up with other tours, but decided to see Tangier on our own. Then we stepped out onto the street…
Everyone was Spanish and dressed as Spanish do (tank-tops, mini-skirts, and impeccable hair and make-up).
And the comments began with a vengeance. I had never been so harassed in my life. Men were coming up to Kathryn and I, asking us if we needed a taxi, needed a place to stay, needed jewelry.
We kept walking until we came up onto the city center, and I looked up. Every person, literally every person on the street was a man. Male. Hombre. Chico.
There were no women in sight. At that point, I began to freak out. Kathryn and I grabbed a taxi to the tourism office and then onto the bazaar. I was in the market for a nice tunic, or better yet a tent to hide every part of my body.
Then I saw a woman in a burqa. It showed only her eyes and was shrouded the rest of her body in a black veil.
Honestly, I have always thought of myself as an open-minded and accepting individual, but at that point, honest to God, I was terrified. Kathryn and I found some tunic stalls, but I knew exactly what I was looking for: a woman attendant. Bingo.
She took one look at us and immediately knew what we needed.
We were pulled in, and she gave us sips of tea while we tried on tunic after tunic. I cannot even begin to explain the impact of her kindness, and the difference she made to our trip. 8€ later, (I was overcharged. I don’t care.) I had on a new bright pink tunic, and the difference on the street was incredible. Sure there were still comments, but they were along the line of “Honey” or “Señorita” rather than something about me being a prostitute.
The day was beginning to look up. We wandered around the market for a while before grabbing a taxi to The Cafe Haffa that Solchasers had recommended.
The place, Café Hafa, was amazing. It is a terraced café that drops right off into the Mediterranean Ocean. Or it was the Mediterranean at that point; it’s the Atlantic in the morning before the tides sweep in and, magically, it’s the Mediterranean.
It was unbelievably beautiful, and Moroccan tea is by far the best thing I have ever drank in my life. All the leaves are still in the glass, and it’s pepperminty and sweet. Artists, like Matisse, came to Tangier to paint and often used Café Hafa as a point of inspiration. It’s not hard to see why.
After a couple of teas and some great (but very green) soup, we decided to paz afuera.
We went to go ask about a taxi because Café Hafa is slightly buried in a windy neighborhood that I wasn’t about to go stroll at night.
The owner of the restaurant personally came out and had a busboy walk us up to the main street and wait until we were safely in a cab. I began to see hope and hospitality in Morocco. Under some dirt and a rough start, it was looking better and better
We woke up the next morning, and—I have to be honest—I was a little nervous about where the day would lead me.
It ended up being one of the best days of my life.
We asked the concierge about four or five activities we wanted to do, and he recommended a friend of his who was a personal guide and could drive us to some things beyond the city limit.
For Saturday and a trip to the Caves of Hercules, it was 25 € for the two of us. We made our reservation, and then spend that morning in the market, which was much better with tunics on. Kathryn and I had a blast!
We haggled for a beautiful box and made friends with the shopkeeper. Americans, myself included, are terrible at bargaining. I personally liked fixed prices where I can plainly see if I am being hosed or not. However, that is not how Morocco works, and so I bargained.
He wanted close to 45 € at first and I countered with 15 €. We were getting close around 30 € (literally I had 25€ on me), and he decided a lower price would work, in exchange for my Claddagh ring.
I patiently explained to him that it’s impossible to part an Irish girl from her ring, and so he decided on my next ring, also an impossibility because it was a gift from my mom and aunts. I get attached to jewelry, what can I say? Hesitantly, I offered my bangles, explaining that they were very special to me (I bought them at H&M for 3 € the week before), and the shopkeeper bit. We were getting close. Kathryn, being a true friend and great sport, took off one of her rings, and we were done.
A ring, some bangles, and 25 € in exchange for a beautiful box for my dad… and can you really beat that story?!
So that afternoon, we met Ahmed, our personal taxi driver to go and see the monuments of Tangier and the Caves of Hercules. Ahmed is a man I will always remember with only the fondest, fondest memories. He drove Kathryn and I around for the next two days, and we were treated like princesses.
On the way to the Caves, we stopped and saw all the palaces of the Royalty of Morocco and were invited in (Ahmed knew the guard) at the Saudi Arabian business community, which itself was a little collection of palaces. Now I know why gas is so expensive…
We drove throughout the countryside and all along the coast, and stopped to take pictures at Cape Spartel, the point in Africa where the Mediterranean Ocean meets the Atlantic.
We then headed on, stopping again for a camel ride, again with friends of Ahmed.
That’s how things work in Morocco and why a personal guide works so well: Everyone knows a friend who can help you out.
Often, they will give you a better deal than other people and their services will be better. But you want to get a good guide to be able to access their good friends.
The camel ride was awesome, something that I would highly, highly recommend. It was one of those moments where I looked at Kathryn and thought, “Wow, this is my life. This is pretty amazing.” And who couldn’t do with more moments like that?
Our tour of the countryside ended at the Caves of Hercules, where there is an entrance that naturally looks like a map of Africa. It’s incredible how similar they look. The Ancient Romans carved out and expanded this cave and used it to plan their conquest of Africa. It was 1€ for a guide, and this is a place where I would either have a guide or a great guidebook because knowing the history makes it all worthwhile. And I’m not a history major, so it’s not a biased account.
Ahmed recommended a Moroccan restaurant where we ate that night. Kathryn and I were the only people there, and the food and hospitality was wonderful. After dinner we felt comfortable enough to walk home. Tangier is like Spain: the streets are still crowded at 1am. I have never felt more surefooted…If I can travel Morocco, if I can try to assimilate into a culture so different than my own, there is not much I can’t do. It’s ironic that in such an oppressive culture, I found so much liberation. That’s what traveling can do for you.
The next morning, Ahmed drove us to a beach town called Asilah.
I would not recommend missing Asilah. While Tangiers was dirty and overwhelming and what I would expect of a 3rd world city, Asilah was wonderfully peaceful and exotic.
It was a maze of whitewashed walls and brightly colored doors and flowers.
Asilah is in a constant state of being repainted because local and worldwide artists come and pain on the whitewashed walls.
Again, we meet up with one of Ahmed’s friend, Matesh, who was a rug vendor. We bought tea and sat and listened as he told us the story behind each rug. They are made in the hills outside of Asilah by women in the same fashion that they have been made for hundreds of years. He was such a kind man, and totally in awe of my digital camera, where you could see the pictures right after taking them.
If you want to make friends outside the developed world, bring a digital camera. We sat, drank tea, and haggled, and I bought one rug and two blankets, and they are already two of my most prized possessions. The story that goes along with them is, again, unbeatable.
We walked around and Kathryn and I got henna tattoos before we left. Note: Red Henna is organic whereas the black contains chemicals that run the risk of dying light skin. Only get the dark if you have very dark skin where the red will not show up. We left to go catch the boat back to Tangiers, and I thought we were done…
Well, if you are going to be traveling without a guide, the adventure is never done until you step into your house. While we caught the ship with no worries, we missed the bus. We had asked the lady at the station what time the bus left, and while she told us the right time, she forgot to mention that the bus leaves from a different place then it drops off.
Of course that was the last bus that night, and we ended up staying in a seedy hostel before catching the 6:30am bus the next morning. Now it seems like a little hiccup. At the time, there were some tears. Ok, I was tired. Give me a break!