How bout we go to Morocco?

Cadiz is a nice, sunny beachside peninsula town parked right on the south Western coast of Spain, and unfortunately we had no time spare to see if all the good things muttered about this place were true. I´m sure they were, however we had a destination to get to, a plan of sorts, a new unknown territory to conquer and a random adventure to have. A weeks of so ago, Rev and i posed the idea of skipping Spain for a couple of days over the Strait of Gibraltar, and check out what a bit o´ the North of Africa might have to offer us. We had no idea what to expect of Morocco, no real idea about where we were headed and no firm hold of Arabic, French or Berber, though i was hoping my 6 wasted years of high school French might come flooding back in a stream of recall once we arrived at the French speaking country. So with very little else other than a keen sense of adventure, we set sail for Africa!

Gibraltan sun

Took a bus from Cadiz through some amazingly lush green hills and misty ocean vistas in the far background, through forests of awkwardly spinning wind turbines, onto the fairly seedy, nondescript port town of Algeciras. Buying tickets for the 3pm ferry to Tangier, Morocco, we were thrilled to wait an additional 2 hours before the hulking-ass ferry reversed out of the port, past the British governed hunk of rock ´Gibraltar´ on the left, onwards through the relatively smooth waters of the strait. Got talking with a Kiwi chick, Min the Pom, Freddy the Brazilian, discussing jive about Morocco and our collective plans for the trip. From word go we were pretty much in the same boat (no pun intended), all hearing advice that once you get out of the port town of Tangier - the sketchy end of the place - it would be smooth sailing from the on.

more morocco

The ferry was one of the most bizarre experiences of the trip so far, an enormous vessel almost totally empty except for a few of us and some other randoms. It felt like something right out of a shady Steven King film that never quite cut the standard of the novel, where everyone dissappears from a ship and 12 stereotypes are left to work out what the hell happened, eventually discovering that something went awol with space-time, they´re in the wrong dimension, and the tall outspoken leader character snaps and starts killing everyone. Anyway, we pierced slowly through the waters of the strait with only 20 or so metres of visibility on each side and a thick eerie mist diluting a hot Gibraltan sun, adding a further tinge of unease to the isolating B-grade Steven King vibe.

morocco again

But only time was killed and two hours later, through the misty balminess up ahead emerged the first visible outline of Morocco, an afternoon sun silhouetting the African buildings of the Tangier skyline. It was like something out of an old Hollywood movie. Africa. Morocco. How the hell did we manage to find ourselves here?

Now let me just say that Tangier is perhaps the dodgiest, seediest place i have ever witnessed in my life. After setting foot on Moroccan ground, we were instantly approached by a seedy old Moroccan vying for our cab fare to the train station, a dude with a degenerate shady uncle vibe and very few teeth. With 6 of us, we took a punt on this bloke and jumped in, convinced our bags half dangling out the ockey-strapped boot would be pinched methodically by the driver´s mates at a nearby intersection. The roads were absolute chaos, with cars and motorcycles employing total disregard for any notion of traffic convention. We passed by plain, run down open windowed flats and buildings, sparse construction lots, signs in Arabic everywhere, and people in khaftans milling about their business along shady, darkening Tangier dusk streets. I have never been so far outside my comfort zone, eyes darting in every possible direction, anticipating almost inevitable trouble. It was an eye opening experience, much to my chagrin.

Steven King ship

Murdered some time at the more comforting train station before leaping aboard the 9.30pm night train to Marrakech, a dirty old bastard of a train with an obsolete diesel engine, which rocked us to sleep nicely, my mind speeding around with thoughts of what weird and wonderful things might be in store for us tomorrow.

Yo morocco