Tangier Deux

Night, Tangier

When night falls, Tangier comes alive. Don't misunderstand. While the city vibrates like a live wire during the daytime, night brings everyone into the streets. Maybe the cramped apartments become too claustrophobic, or maybe the old Moroccan matriarchs just want a bit of peace. Whatever the reason, the nightime streets of Tangier become positively electric. It is time to walk, to find a cafe' table, to sip tea, eat, watch the night-world unfold. 

The cafes are primarily the province of men. Some cafes look as if they have never been graced with a woman's presence. Perhaps the Moroccan men feel that the sacred cafe would be profaned. As it is in Southern India, so it is here. Most of the folks one deals with are men. Store clerks, waiters, cooks, and market stall owners; in this Musilm country, they are men. There are exceptions of course, just as there are modern women who eschew the headscarf or veil. Still, a traveler will notice quickly that this is, at least in public, a male society.

The best dinner crew in Tangier

Find a tiny shoebox of a restaurant, check out the fresh fish in the display case, and belly up to a wee table. The waiter will throw down two big sheets of rough, white paper. The menu is in Arabic, so try your best Spanish or French. One of the two will probably work. Spanish is the second language here in northern Morocco.

Baguettes will appear. If the friendly cooks offer you Harira, jump at it. A staple soup of this region, Harira is a thick chicken and tomato based soup, hearty and delicious. There will be chickpeas in the bottom, egg white floating in the spices, lots of herbs. Tear that baguette apart and start dunking.

A plate of paella and a plate of grilled sardines will make a nice second course. Eat what you want, make a big mess, it does not matter. The paper will catch all the bread crumbs and fish bones. The same paper, torn into squares, serves as a napkin. The total cost for this feast? Forty-five dirhams. That comes to about $5.50 in US dollars, dinner for two. 

Night, Pool, Tangier

It is hard to peel oneself off of the streets, but a good traveler has to sleep sometime. The end of the night was spent sitting on the terrace with Te' Normale (strong, sweet tea with gobs of mint leaves) and a good cigar. Many folks take the ferry to Tangier, spend one night, and journey on to one of the more well-known tourist destinations. Fez, Rabat, Casablanca, these all lie to the south. Grimy, electric, noisy Tangier is passed by. The poor sods don't know what they are missing.

Modern Tangier, Waterfront

Stand in just the right spot on the beachfront promenade, and one can see the distinctive outline of Gibralter. From a distance, the modern skyline along the water shines white. At closer range, the age of the city becomes visible. There are empty facade between modern buildings, cracked stairways leading to twisting streets. But Tangier is getting a facelift. There is the new Tangier Port Med, ready to receive ferries and cargo ships. The shiny new city marina is just about to open. The kilometers-long promenade has gotten a facelift. Walk up the hill, however, behind the wall of white hotels, and the city changes quickly.

Jewish Cemetery, Outside the Kasbah

Above the ferry harbor, close onto the walls of the Kasbah, lies the old Jewish cemetery. Push open the gate and enter a different world. The admission is free, but the Moroccan woman who tends the place will hit you up for a few dirham. It is worth it. Historic Tangier had a large Jewish community. The tightly packed graves attest to that history. 

This is special place, a lonely place, and one that is seldom visited. It is just off the eastern entrance to the Kasbah, opposite the stone stairs. It is easily missed, but well worth the effort to find.

Spanish and Hebrew tell us of the dead.

The east entrance to the Kasbah. Dating from the 1500's, the Kasbah defies maps. This is where you get lost, immerse yourself in the state of being lost. Wander, follow whichever passageway looks best, and mind your head. There are archways that are lower than you are tall. 

From the east gate, one will find the American Legation Museum. The Sultanate of Tangier was the first foreign power to recognize the revolutionary United States of America. By the early 1800's, this building was the American presence in Tangier. While it is an interesting museum, it is also a rare chance to gain access to hidden interior courtyards of the Kasbah.

The American Legation Museum

Looking down on one of the Kasbah passageways, a rare view.

I love Tangier, but let me paint a realistic picture. This is not going to be everyones favorite city. Tangier is many things. It is gritty, sometimes dirty, and noisy. Tangier is crowded with folks on foot. The sidewalks, lanes, and passageways are teaming with people getting on with their daily lives. Pushcarts, Tuk-Tuks, and scooters will squeeze up impossibly narrow lanes. A traveler in Tangier will get in touch with his or her olfactory senses, as wonderful and not-so-wonderful aromas mix and mingle. Communication is accomplished with an ever-changing patois of Moroccan Arabic, Berber, Spanish, and French. Traffic in Tangier is a disaster, but drivers on an incredibly busy street will routinely stop for pedestrians. There are beggars here. Remember that a generous hand is well-thought of in Islam. School kids will call "Hola!" They are hoping for a reply, and smiling. Throw a sing-song "Hola" back at them and they will giggle. Food, color, noise, light, crumbling stone, polished tile, honking horns, lonely passageways, sea-side promenades, all of this is Tangier. 

Orderly, Tangier is not. Fascinating, yes. Beware, this is a place that will suck you in and ruin your itinerary. Go with it, there are serious rewards. We bought ourselves another day here. There is simply too much walking to do, too much exploring, and too many great cafes from which to watch the world go by.

From one of my new favorite cities, remember to travel well and often. I wil have one more view of Tangier because it deserves one more post. Until then, "Ciao for Now!"

Tangier

Mosque, University District, Tangier

Tangier (or Tanger, or Tangiers) is a vibrating, pulsing sort of place, exotic and energized. The streets are busy, but not just with cars. In the modern city, the sidewalks are teaming with folks going here and there. In the old city, scooters and the odd Tuk-tub dodge hordes of walking folk.

Old Tangier

Tangier is an ancient city, a city destroyed and rebuilt in cycles. Five centuries BCE, this was a Berber town. Then came the progression of empires and conquerors. There were the Phoenicians, then the Carthaginians, and the Romans. Rome fell and the Vandals came. These were the original Vandals, one of the 'Barbarian' tribes that swept through the tottering Roman Empire. From them we get the English phrase "to vandalize." See, history is cool, and there is lots of it here in Tangier.

Modern Tangier has a history that is just as complicated as its ancient history. The colonial invasions continued, with Portugal, Spain, and France being the major players. Tangier was an independent sultanate, and the first foreign power to recognize the fledging United States of America. This recognition came even while the founding fathers were busy fighting the British King. By the 1920's, Tangier was declared an international city, protected by agreements between European powers. The last sultan was exiled, and the city became a hot-bed of spies, plots, and intrigue. Everyone wanted a piece of Morocco, and everyone had their spooks in the city.

Old Cemetery and City Park, Tangier

We set out walkabout in this most walkable of cities. Tangier sprawls over the hills that rise from the Straits of Gibralter. Some of the walking is pretty steep. Even in modern Tangier, I do not believe a traveler can find a single ninety-degree corner. There is no grid here, no orderly city blocks. Get ready for a navigational challenge. Walk through a city park and realize that it is also a crumbling cemetery. Turn a corner at a modern apartment building and step into a neighborhood of past centuries. This is normal fare here in Tangier.

Streets quickly become markets. Across a small street from a crumbling graveyard, people are busy shopping. Fresh fruits and vege are the stars of this show, but there are other products for sale just down the hill. Cell phones, stereos, bike tires, there is always something you need in the market.

We walked a bit of modern Tangier to get the feel of it. The city is energetic and noisy. Traffic is hectic on the cramped streets, and there is a good bit of horn honking. Crossing a busy street is an excercise in trust. Like Saigon, one simply steps into the street and walks at a stately pace. No running, no erratic movements, and the flow of taxis will slow or stop to provide passage. 

The entrance to the Kasbah

To enter the Kasbah is to travel back in time. The Kasbah is ancient, a bizarre and wonderful maze. The Portuguese are reported to have built most of the fortification walls, but who did what and when is still a matter of debate. What you, dear traveler, need to know is this: You are going to get lost. Then you will get lost again. Just go with it, it is great fun. Uphill takes one to the battlements and half-crumbled walls above the harbor. Downhill takes one to the front gateway. If you run into a fortification wall, you just found the edge of the Kasbah. Think of it as a pinball game with yourself as the pinball.

Wizards abound

Kaftans are part of normal dress here, both in the Kasbah and in modern Tangier. There are all sorts of combinations, from clerical gowns to striped Berber kaftans. Some of the women who wear kaftans also were full burka face veils. My favorites are the brown kaftans with the extra-pointy hoods.

Walking the Kasbah

I suppose that the progression from Southern Spain to Northern Africa is good training. Starting with the narrow lanes and passageways of Sevilla, one ends up in the incredible labyrinth of the Kasbah. Not only are the paths of the Kasbah narrow, steep, and twisting, they are often covered as well. Up stairs, down stairs, ducking ones head to avoid a stone arch, it is a magical maze, a maze that people live in.

The Kasbah was featured in Jim Jarmusch's darkly wonderful film "Only Lovers Left Alive." In fact, one of the first things I saw in Tangiers was a roundabout below the Kasbah walls that was featured in a driving shot from that movie. As we explored the Kasbah more remote passageways, I looked for scenes I remembered from the movie. 

A word of preparation. You are not in Kansas anymore. Your hotel will probably be equipped with western style sit-down toilets. The rest of Tangier won't. Adapt, improvise, overcome.

Cafe Au lait, Te normal,  Kasbah

Cafe life is the heartbeat of Tangier. There are cafes everywhere, full of men sipping cafe au lait or sweet-minty tea normal. The cafes range from the size of a closet, to large glass-fronted places covering an entire corner. We found our own cafe behind the hotel, a comfy little sidewalk joint called Katrina's. Two coffees will set one back 15 Dirham in a hotel or fancy cafe. The price goes down from there. Our place was 8 dirhams for a coffee, about one US dollar. 

The ruins of Cine Alcazar, Kasbah, Tangier

We wandered Tangier until hunger snuck up on us. We were still learning the basic breakdown of Tangier eateries. There are, first and foremost, the cafes. There you will find tea, coffee, perhaps some pastry. Then there are the tiny snack places, where little plates are served for very cheap prices. The food is good, but the ambiance is somewhat lacking for a full meal. Finding the restaurants is bit more of a challenge.  

Folks in Tangier love soup and they love lemon.

We found a food place off a passageway not four feet wide. The interior was bathed in unshaded fluorescent lights. The walls, floor to ceiling, were tiled in geometric patterns of dark greens and blues. Badly faded black-and-white photos hung on the walls, photos depicting life in the Kasbah.

There was no menu. An old man recited the food choices for us, the recitation in a quiet and sonorous english. We ordered soup and mixed kabob. The food was good, accompanied by the ever-present Moroccan white bread. Lunch for two, with a good tip, came to about six US dollars.

Flolurescent Light, Tile, Kasbah

For the most part, people are very friendly here. They are also trying to get somewhere, and the quarters are tight. Walking in the Kasbah is a contact sport. You are going to touch people, and they are going to touch you. It is inevitable. A smile and a nob will work wonders. I am a foreigner, different, so people look. They are not smiling when they look at me. I smile and nod, they break into a big smile and respond. It seems to work everytime, even with the stern old men.

Sunset from our room, Tangier

Night Scene, Tangier

And I thought it was busy during the daytime. Evenings are when Tangier puts on its social face and goes out to be seen. Families promenade, couples court, old men hang out. Vendors sell paper cones of sunflower seeds. Folks sit and talk, spitting sunflower husks on the cracked paving tiles. Henna Girls set up shop in front of a cannon, waiting for customers. 

We found the nirvana of restaurant streets not three blocks from out hotel. Hidden between several big boulevards, this became our feeding ground for the next few days. But that is the stuff of the next post. 

We were walked out, happy, and tired. It was time to head back to the Hotel Chellah, our time warp from the 1960's. There are so many odd things about this hotel, I don't know where to start. The incredible vibe of "Modern Tangier, 1962!" Is so amazing, it covers a lot of the hotel's warts. The evening was done, and night was here. I wanted only a quiet cigar on the hotel terrace, which is what I had. 

From crumbling, dirty, wonderful, vibrant, noisy, and electric Tangier, it is time to say "Ciao for Now!"

 

 

 

Dire Straits

Tariff, Spain

It is morning, the wind is still howling, but the rain has moved on. Saying "I hate wind" in Tarifa is like saying "I hate snow" at Vail. The locals tend to get a bit snarly, as if you were picking their pocket. This day we were leaving Traifa behind. In fact, we were leaving Europe behind, making the jump to the African continent. Tangier (or Tanger) is a mere twelve miles across the straits of Gibralter. How hard could it be?

The head of the ferry queue and through security.

The ferry was scheduled for a One PM departure. We were told to be at the terminal a half-hour prior. No problem. The queue stretched through the entire ferry terminal. It was a sort of quiet chaos. The lack of any viable system would become more and more apparent as the day wore on. At that moment, we knew that there was no way that ferry was going to be leaving on time. There was nothing to to but wait.

Chaos in action.

How a system breaks down. First, high winds on the straits cause the ferry folks to cancel a sailing. The ripples from this are passengers forced onto other boats. To move the huge queue forward, they process people from the queue through security, where the queue then bumps up against Spanish (Schengen) passport control. Once out of passport control, there is a holding area for passengers. The next ferry is not ready for boarding. We did not know why, but we would eventually find out at the other end. 

Because the holding area is so chock full of people, the passport folks stop processing any more travelers. So the queue comes to another halt. The passport guys make a feeble attempt to get folks to squeeze tighter in the holding area, but it basically comes to naught. The whole time, there are no announcements, no direction, and no supervision by the ferry terminal staff. Watching the spectacle was a bit like watching an ugly Christmas sweater being unraveled. It was the only show in town, so I watched. Total time in the ferry terminal: 12:30 -- 1:50. The ferry finally embarked at 2:10.

My One, all smiles as we finally get aboard.

This should be the easy part, yes?

Adios Tarifa

There was a new line forming up, a queue inside the ferry. Folks were in line before the ferry slipped from the dock. It turns out that this line was for the Moroccan passport stamp, a line that everyone would have to go through. The line was too long to bother with. If they wanted to get a stamp early, fine. We would get ours when we got to Tangier. Foolish, foolish first-time travelers we were.

Yet another queue, the passport stamp line.

Isla de Tarifa from the water, the southernmost point in Europe.

The skies were clearing, but the winds were high, sweeping across the straits from Africa. The boat began a gentle roll, running half in the trough. And in response, there was a gentle moan that ran through the boat. The passport queue looked a little less steady. The seas ran a bit higher, and the ferry crested a few waves. The gentle moan was less gentle. Then the seasickness bags came out. 

I'm lucky. I do not get seasick. Even working the Bering Sea, the motion-sickness thing just never bothered me. I remember reading that this was a sign of a deformed inner ear. Maybe that's the reason, or maybe I just love the schadenfreude of watching others collapsing into their little blue bags. That could be it. I can be a right bastard at times.

  

The boat lurched along, the queue swayed in place, and people moaned. That was the trip. Land hove into sight, and then we were in the harbor of Tangiers. The one hour crossing was, indeed, a one hour crossing. But the passport line was not moving and, without a stamp, no one was getting off the boat.

So we queued.

And we queued.

I could see Tangier from the boat deck. I could stand in the Tangier sunshine. But we could not get ashore. The Moroccan passport folks have done what I believed no one else could do: They have made the Nicaraguan passport folks look efficient. Tough duty, that. It was more than an hour before we stepped up to the harried and angry Moroccan passport stampers. No friendly welcome here, just three uniformed guys stamping for all they were worth, and still going at a snail's pace. But we were done. The entire ferry run had lasted four hours. Elapsed speed of travel, three miles per hour. We could have walked it, given some flotation shoes.

Tangier, Morocco! This is the first time in my life that I have set foot on the continent of Africa. We did our best to navigate the route to the hotel, but overshot it. In a patois of French and Spanish, we managed to get back on track, but not without some harshness between us. My One and I are a phenomenal traveling team. Still, four hours of queuing and trying not to get seasick will test anyone's last nerve. We managed to find our equilibrium, and we then managed to find our hotel. All-in-all, a tough travel day, and a high payment levied by the Travel Gods. But hey, we are in Tangier, right? Exotic gateway to Africa. Time to get after it! 

The way to the Kasbah

The streets of Tangier are lively, bustling with folks, and folks selling things. There are cafes everywhere. Men sit at the sidewalk tables, sipping coffee or sweet mint tea. We passed the cafes and shops, heading for the tangled maze of the Kasbah, the old fortified city.

Night, Tangier, looking down on the Kasbah

Main Street of the Kasbah, Tangier

Our route led us to the walls of the Kasbah, up a set of stone stairs, and under a white archway. Through the archway was a maze of twisting passages, many of them covered. It is akin to walking through five foot wide tunnels that wander crazily. The Kasbah makes the tangle of Sevilla look like a well-ordered grid. We followed our noses, our instincts, and trusted to luck. Unbelievably, we walked directly to the American Legation Museum, closed at this hour. At least it was a landmark. With only one short backtrack, we found the cafe we were looking for. We were welcomed, escorted to the above-street terrace, and settled in for an evening meal. 

Tangine Poulet, Standard Fare in Tangier.

The Souk, Kasbah, Tangier

Of course, we had to walk home a different way, getting lost being half the fun. Walking through Tangier is a gritty, noisy, magical thing. It is also a bit like taking part in a wizard convention. Many folks wear traditional kaftans. Some are clerics, or religious folks of certain sects. Others are simply wearing a kaftan to keep warm. There are women wearing kaftans, some of them with full face-veils. I swear that I saw Yoda, or at least Yoda's second cousin. It is like walking on Tatooine.

A hard travel day, but a travel day with rich reward. One short evening in Tangier was enough to cause us to extend our stay by another day. We are ready to explore, ready to get lost, and happy not to have to travel for a few days. There will be much more about Tangier. It is a place that demands description, demands attention. It is the adopted city of Paul Bowles, the destination of the Beat writers, the debauched refuge of rock bands. 

Enough, I am tired. This will be my first night in Africa, a new continent, a new country, a new city. Who could lead a more charmed life? From Tangier, Morocco, it is time to say "Ciao for Now."

Town with an Identity Disorder

Some days are easy, some days are not so easy, and some days are just weird. So it goes with traveling. We pulled up stakes in Barbate and navigated the local bus from Barbate out to Vejer de la Blanca, Vejer on the Bridge. There was a three hour wait for the main bus, but the Travel Gods smilied on us. There was a great Meson right next to the bus stop. It was cafe time!

Hanging out in style in the tiny hamlet of Vejer de la Blanca.

Tuna burger, calamari, all the good things that make waiting bearable.

Eventually we piled onto the crowded Cadiz-Algeciras bus. Barbate is about halfway between the two. This was a busy travel day so we were lucky to get seats anywhere close to each other. Our destination was Tarifa, the southernmost point on the European continent. We knew a bit about Tarifa, but we were about to learn a lot more.

For forty-five minutes, the bus climbed over steeper and steeper grades. There were higher slopes on both sides of our route. Strung across the ridges of the mountains were giant wind turbines. Huge  modern versions of Quixote's windmills swung above the Spanish rock. On this part of the coast, the wind howls off of the Atlantic. Clue Number One: Tarifa is windy, hence its fame as one of the wind-sport capitals of Europe. 

Modern Main Street, Tarifa, Spain.

The bus pulled into the modern streets of Tarifa. Every other storefront was a wind-surfing or wind-kiting business. Thee were gear shops, wind-kiting schools and rentals, mountain bike shops, and signs for vegan food. It was like landing in Boulder, Colorado, or Moab. "We are here to sell you the gear." 

Kawabunga, Dood! Surf's Up!

I have been to lots of ski towns, lots of climbing towns, and lots of trekking towns. I get the vibe, the vegan goodness, the pushing of limits. The thing is, this is still the coldest spring the Spanish can remember. We had a nice break in Barbate, with two days of sun and relative warmth. Here in Tarifa, however, the Atlantic gale was slamming into the coast, with huge grey clouds along for the ride. If I was riding a kite-board, snug in my wetsuit, I would care less. But we are walking down a grey street, on a grey day, getting blown backwards by a cold wind. 

Here is where the identity crisis begins. The first impression of Tarifa is a moderately successful sports-tourism town suffering from a slow start to the boom season. The wind-kiters and surfers must be somewhere, but they aren't on the streets of the town. But venture a bit further downhill, and one is suddenly at the archway of the old city. Hey, this is cool, and it's out of the wind. Inside the old city, there are the typical labyrinths of narrow streets and smaller passageways. There are also a plethora of trendy shops and restaurants, each geared towards the well-heeled sports crowd. If you want to get your healthy-yoga-organic-new-age Thang going, this is the place to do it. 

Old town, just before the rains cut loose.

I can see Africa!

Tarifa is also a transit town. Ferries sail the straits between Spain and Africa, carrying cars and travelers across the windy gap. This is the end of the Atlantic and the beginning of the Mediterranean. Gibraltar lies not far to the northeast. This was why we were here, to make the jump to Morocco.

Clouds above the ferry terminal.

We were fleeing Spain ahead of the Easter Holiday crowds. Tangier, Morocco, that's going to be our new hideaway. A simple one hour ferry ride across the straits and we would be back in the land of cheap hotels and cheap street food. 

See the little pointiy bit where Europe and Africa almost slip each other the tongue? That's where Tarifa is.

Isla de Tarifa, the Southernmost point in Europe.

Did I mention that it is windy as hell here? And cold? And Rainy?

This guy is having fun. Here is where the town makes their money.

Okay, time to say something nice about the town. The food is really good here. Not cheap, but good. This is a tourist town that aims at the folks who can afford expensive sports gear. There are a huge number of trendy cafes and bars, most of which seem to be of a high level of quality. Our place was a busy, family-run restaurant. The food was great, the service was great, and it was fun to watch the people show.

All that's left of my poor, dead fish.

First, to be fair, the weather in Tarifa sucked. This always colors my impressions. The modern town is cheerless and bleak. The old town reminds me of a medieval ski-resort. Not a bad place to spend one night, unless the streets are sheeted with cold-ass rain driven on a biting wind. So, yeah, there was that. I just didn't connect with Tarifa.

In summer weather, there is a lot to do here. There are Roman ruins up the coast, hiking trails in the hills, and birdwatching in the nearby national park. And there are all the water-sports one could want. When it's grey and nasty, get a wetsuit and maybe it will be fun.

So, is Tarifa a sports town, a transit town, or an historic town? I suppose the answer is all three, maybe, but I am going to be glad to climb onto the ferry and get the hell out of here. The weather forecast for Tangier is good, sunny and warmer. And hey, it's Africa! How cool is that? We have our ferry tickets in hand and we are ready to go.

From windy, Not-My-Favorite-Town, Tarifa, Spain: "Ciao for Now!"