Tangier, Morocco

The flight from Paris to Tangier was early in the morning, 8:00am, which I thought was a good idea, giving me lots of time to get my bearings the first day in Morocco. What I didn’t realize it that it was too early for the Paris metro system. Since I wouldn’t be able to get to the airport by train with enough time to check-in and to clear security, I was obliged to take a taxi. The taxi fair was pretty much equivalent to the cost of the flight - 63 Euros! One of the hidden costs of flying with budget airlines…

This time I had a window seat, and it was really neat to see Gibraltar from the air - it is such an iconic piece of geography (remember Walter Cronkite and Prudential Insurance - “Solid as the rock of Gibraltar“?). After retrieving by baggage, I sorted myself out with Moroccan dirham, and got through on the phone to my Couch Surfing host after a couple of tries. This new chapter of my travels was about to begin!

It was a lovely day, warm and sunny, it felt like a real novelty, stuffing my jacket into my pack once outside the airport (which is more like a glorified bus station). I jumped into a Grand Taxi (as opposed to a Petit Taxi) which is the only way to get to Tangier from the airport, and within minutes I was standing at the junction of Rue Pasteur and Blvd Mohammed V. (Every city in Morocco has main street named Mohammed V and some have Mohammed VI as well. Mohammed VI is still very much alive, and apparently much loved, as his picture is in every business establishment and on billboards throughout Morocco, reminding me of Iran in 1974 when the image of the Shah was to be found absolutely everywhere…). My Couch Surfing host lives in an apartment at this junction, and a minute or so after getting out of the taxi I noticed her looking down at me from her second floor apartment, waving me up. Bahia warmly welcomed me into her home, and as is the Moroccan custom, we started our first visit with tea. Later she introduced me to her husband, Zindin. Unfortunately he had suffered a stroke and was left partially paralysed on his left side, affecting his arm and mobility. A former physics professor, he now spends his days primarily at home.

My first outing was about two hours later, with Bahia and her sister Suoad, to the Sunday market. Wow! What a scene that was. Fruit and vegetable vendors spread their produce across an otherwise empty lot, right on the ground, few tables, benches or surfaces other than maybe a plastic tarp. Or maybe not! Beautiful produce, including the yummiest looking strawberries you can imagine, oranges, zucchini, peppers, grapes, walnuts, almonds, olives, oil, cauliflower, lettuce, onions, beans, raisins, honey, eggs, chicken, mutton, beef, fish, eggplant, cilantro, potatoes, squash, carrots, mint, thyme, dates, figs. The crush of customers presses on though the muddy aisles, stalking up on a weeks worth of fresh food, no mercy is granted to a gawking tourist with a camera.

When we arrived at the market I noticed a young black man greeting Bahia. She responded with a familiar smile and an ever-so slight nod of her head. Little, if anything was said. The fellow proceeded to follow us, and as Bahia made her purchases, she passed the bags to Kevin to carry. It turns out he hires himself out to carry bags for a small fee. I got to talking to him and found him to be a sincere and hopeful young immigrant from Cameroon. He had made his way, on foot, from that country to Morocco in hopes of finding a better life for himself. As the oldest son, it was his to send money home to his family in Cameroon, earning it anyway that he could, including by carrying groceries for a few dirhams. He speaks fluent French, English and Spanish. He had ambitions to get to Spain as a footballer. From there, he would make his way, somehow, to Canada. If he could make his way on personality, sincerity, and enthusiasm alone, he would be a millionaire…

Back at Bahia’s place, I met her daughter and her niece, both high school students. Her niece was living with them now, instead of in Rabat, because she was able to go to a better school in Tangier, apparently. She speaks excellent English, due to the fact that she lived in the US for 12 years, and French and Arabic. Bahia’s daughter speaks the same languages, as do Bahia and Zindin, but Bahia is weakest in English. They, all four, switch back and forth between Arabic and French with ease. Zindin is a dedicated father and uncle, assisting the girls with their studies, particularly physics, mathematics and Arabic.

As a Couch Surfer, one is encouraged, by the on-line community, to make yourself useful to your hosts in any appropriate way you can. In that spirit, Bahia asked me to prepare Canadian supper for them. Canadian supper! Yikes!!! I explained that since Canada is a country made up of immigrants, there really isn’t a typical “Canadian” cuisine, but I would be happy to cook up something with Moroccan ingredients. It wouldn’t be much different from how I normally prepare supper anyway, what with the groceries she brought back from the market earlier that day.

So with the help of her niece, the two of us had a pretty good time in the kitchen over the next four nights, rustling up some grub. They all loved what we prepared, and Bahia wanted me to show her what I did with eggplant, which I was asked to prepare a second time!

The second day I was there, Bahia took me to the medina, the old city, with it’s narrow winding confusing maze of lanes and alleyways. It is super easy to get lost in the medinas of Moroccan cities, but eventually you can usually find your way back to something familiar. It is impossible to see where you are, in relation to anything else because of the narrowness of the “streets”. The best landmark to search for overhead is the minaret of the main mosque. It was good to be taken there for the first time by someone who knows the way around a bit. She wanted to show me the grand old lady of Tangier hotels, The Hotel Continental. It is one of those relics from another age, when travel to exotic Morocco was luxurious and cheap and decadent. It has seen better days, the Continental, but still oozes charm and Moroccan character, and awaits a restoration and upgrade to return it to it’s place of prominence in Tangier. After that, I was on my own to explore Tangier.

I spent the next couple of days looking for and finding most of the important monuments, including the Kasbah (fort) and it’s Museum, the Café de Paris, the scenic lookout where the Mediterranean and Atlantic oceans meet, and the Tangier American Legation Museum. This museum is really interesting, being the former American ambassador’s residence in Morocco. It is composed of three riads (traditional Moroccan town house with an interior garden) connected by overhead covered walkways. Morocco was the first nation to officially recognize the United States as a nation, and this is the first American government real estate abroad. There is a facsimile of the letter of thanks from George Washington to Sultan Moulay Suleyman, which is a really interesting read, given its historical significance and the rather ornate and flowery use of English. A good example of how our language has changed and become more technical, and less gracious perhaps. As well it illustrates a beautiful handwriting style, with long since un-used scripts that serve to beautify the document. There is also a copy of a letter from the then American ambassador recounting his frustration and angst at his attempt to refuse a gift of a pair of lions from the sultan, in 1839. It is quite humorous, the sultan obviously winning the test by insisting that the gift be accepted, despite American law prohibiting such.

In the medina I found a very small café run by a former Londoner, who had decided to move to Tangier with his wife and 2 young children about 3 or 4 years ago. Originally from Damascus, he spoke perfect Arabic, English and French. Spanish too, I bet! He was very welcoming and made easy conversation with me as I enjoyed a good strong cuppa and watched the busy street life go by. He was very interested in my story, and he in turn inspired me about Damascus, which he told me is the oldest city in the world (some Chinese might dispute that…). Perhaps Syria will be my next destination.

I went by bus on a day trip to the nearby city of Tetouan. I was very impressed by the hundreds upon hundreds of wind generators on the hilltops along the way. If Morocco can do this, I don’t see why we aren’t using them in Canada to generate electricity - it’s not like we don’t get any wind… They look fantastic, churning in unison, brilliant white against the backdrop of lush green of the rolling hills.

I was also impressed by the highway between Tangier and Tetouan. It is very new, or at least newly “improved”. However, upon closer inspection from the bus window I realised that there were no drainage ditches on either side, and that seemed really stupid, since it was obvious that there is a LOT of erosion that takes place during rain events. I didn’t see a single culvert under the highway, and it appeared to be a strip of blacktop just sort of floating on the ground. Sure enough, on the trip back to Tangier that afternoon, it was raining cats and dogs, with red mud streaming down the hills and across the highway and undermining it in many places. There are many, many partially completed, fully abandoned buildings along the way as well, especially on the outskirts of Tangier.

It was easy to find my way from the bus station to the main square or Tetouan, and when I got there I pulled out my (sometimes) trusty Lonely Planet guide, to have a look at the small map therein. As I was getting my bearings, the usual happened, and I was greeted by a man who welcomed me and asked me if I parle en francais, or English, and where I was from. “Canada! Ah Canada, you are welcome in my country! Welcome to Morocco! I am Berber, my name is Hassan.” This is the standard approach to foreigners, and it is always delivered with a huge smile and right hand on the heart. Hassan told me where the Jewish Quarter is, and the Berber and Arab quarters. I thanked him for pointing the way and said au revoir as quickly as I could. I knew that he wanted to guide me through the medina and show me around for a price, but I really didn’t want a guide.

So I dove into the medina with my fingers crossed, thinking I had shaken him. After a couple of hundred metres, I hear someone speaking in English, and sure enough it’s Hassan just a few steps behind me. He kept pointing things out, here and there, and before too long, like it or not, he was guiding me through the medina. I had to hand it to him - persistence pays off, and in fact he was a pretty good guide. He showed me all sorts of nooks and crannies, inside beautiful Riads, ancient mosques, the tanneries, and of course the artisans co-operative. I told him that I was not buying anything but of course he said “No no, just looking, no pressure, you are welcome!” After sitting through an obligatory carpet sales pitch, and refusing to take the bait, I asked him not to take me to anymore shops, that I was definitely NOT buying anything. He was gracious enough to accept that request, and we carried on with exploring the rest of the medina, sans shopping!

At the end of the tour, he took me to a restaurant where locals eat, and sat with me while I ordered lunch. When I paid him (equivalent of about $15) I realized that I had no more cash left, and so he took me to a bank machine. I put in my card, and the machine promptly retained it and advised me to contact my branch! OMG!!!!!

Hassan was in almost as much shock as I was, and he dashed into the bank to tell someone what had happened. With his help, I was able to get my card back, after much chauvinistic scrutinizing by the bank manager, who told me that my card had expired and that was why it was retained. When I explained that in fact it was only just issued in October, and I had used it successfully in Tangier just a few days before, he was disbelieving and reluctant to give it back to me along with my BC divers licence for ID. This was a Moroccan bank, and so I found the nearest French bank and thankfully had no problems. Whew - that was a scary moment!

Next day I said my goodbyes to my Tangier host family and boarded the bus headed for the town if Chefchaouen, in the Rif Mountains.