Chapter Four: Magic Carpet Ride

Much like every other portion of the trip, our journey to Morocco began before the sun had risen. We rose early, packed, and were out the door pretty quickly in order to catch the ferry over to Africa. Now - the drive was only a little over two hours, which wouldn't seem too bad, but the night before yielded very little sleep. For you see, Paige lives on the 2nd floor of an apartment complex, but directly below her is a night club, that at one time was open, but then closed for excessive drug use. Low and behold, the week I arrived in Spain, it opened again, and boy was it bumpin' the night before our departure. We could hear the bass boomin' and feel it thumping through the floor. Now - I don' think it affected her as much due to the low, slow, heavy breathing I heard, but for me, it made driving a bit harder than it needed to be. Not once did I fall asleep, or drift over in any of the lanes - no no, I'd never drive like that or put a passenger of mine in danger - but I was told numerous times, my eyes were beady, hanging open, and I looked rather dead - staring straight ahead. That I can admit to. Damn contacts get so dry when I'm tired and blinking with dry eyes is such a pain - I'll tend to just look straight ahead and deal with them. Thank god for two things:

1.) Peanut and banana sanwiches. Paige and I lived off them during my visit and that was my breakfast and it gave me such a boost once it hit my stomach.

2.) We stopped for a quick photo op. The sun was rising over the mountains and illuminating early morning mist that was lingering around a series of wind turbines. Not so much did the photos wake me up - but how damn cold the Spanish countryside was. Burr.

But drive aside - we eventually made it to Tarifa, found a place to ditch Ruby, hoping she'd be fine hanging out by herself for five days, and made it onto the ferry just in time. Getting onto the boat, we found some seats and headed out across the Straight of Gibraltar. As expected, we both passed out and missed almost all of the ride to Africa. Upon arrival, we gathered our things, got our passports stamped and walked off the boat.

Welcome to Tangiers (a place I probably don't need to go back to).

Immediately I could feel the difference in culture between Europe and Africa. Not only did it look different - it just felt different. Of course the people helped - because the moment we stepped into the port, we were being grabbed, offered taxis and tours. It was a bit overwhelming, but honestly not as bad as I would have assumed. That is, until we met Abdule. He seemed to nice on the exterior. He worked for the tourism commision. Offered to help us get from the port to the bus station and even throw in a bit of a tour along the way - showing us the old market, the new parts of the city, the royal palace. But before all of this, we asked how much he cost - we were prepared for this sort of thing. How much he cost!? Don't be ridiculous. He did it out of the kindness of his heart - he liked Americans, it allowed him to practice his speech, it was fun. Sure sure. Ok Abdule. We went along with it, asking numerous times on our journey his cost, to which he always replied, "nothing."

Well that son of a bitch duped us. Maybe we were just ignorant and gullible, but if someone insists multiple times they aren't going to charge you, you don't expect them to grab your wrist at the end and demand a significant amount of money from your wallet. 

Touche Abdule. You won this one. 

Now, I'm not one to get intimidated by people who are smaller than I am - but there was just something about the look in his eyes and how he was squeezing my wrist that convinced me to just give up the dough. Thankfully, once it was in his hand, Abdule scampered away to whatever hole he had crawled out of.

Annoyed - Paige and I climbed onto our bus and continued out journey to Chefchaouen.

What. A. City. 

If you could even call it that. Maybe a large town? Massive village? Regardless - it was beautiful. Tucked away in a valley, built into the side of a mountain, every building is blue (as we later learned to kill mosquitos in the summers) - Chefchaouen was a magical place. Low and behold it is also one of the hash capitals of the world. So there were a lot of high individuals stumbling around, feet dragging below them, offering pieces to us. Chocolate? Chocolate? Nah - thanks though, we're good. A few times we were even offered to hike up to one of the weed farms and take pictures of the plants for Facebook. 

Hah. 

While we were only there for a day, there was something special about that place. The winding streets lined with hundreds of shops. Indigo buildings. The cats that roamed the streets. Kids playing everywhere. Soccer, hide and seek - eager to look upon us as we walked by, greeting us with brief "holas." Everything about it was beautiful. We saw the sun set over the mountains, painting all the houses in radiant reds, the moon rise and illuminate the passageways between them in a brilliant white. The next morning we hiked up to an old Spanish church that overlooked the valley, listening to the call to prayer echo throughout the streets, finally reaching us up on the hillside. Our time there was brief. Almost too short to be honest. But in retrospect, it's alright because it gives me a reason to return. It's certainly not a city to be easily forgotten.

When it was time to climb on the bus a short twenty four hours later, I had a bit of remorse in me, but I was eager to get to Fez - the second largest city in the country.

The bus pulled in fairly late and we hopped in a cab with another American who was backpacking through Europe and made our way to the hostel. One thing we quickly learned though was that the language barrier was larger. Unlike farther north, Spanish was not commonly known. It was either Arabic or French. Neither of which we were too familiar with. But with some luck, pointing at the address on my iphone, repeating myself slowly and using what little French I do know, we made it where we needed to be.

Checking in, we were greeted with the traditional mint tea (oh my god that stuff is like crack). All we really wanted to do was stretch our legs and find somewhere to eat in the Medina (the old city), which was a stones throw from the hostel - but literally everyone told us not to enter after dark. It wasn't safe. We didn't belong in there. We shouldn't even attempt going in.

Man. Scare tactics. And did they ever work. But, in our favor.

We ended up eating at the hostel's restaurant and the head waiter, who spoke very little english, took a liking to us and called up his brother on his cell phone and thrust it into Paige's hand. Waiting on the other side was an English speaking man, who agreed to meet up with us the next day and give us a tour of the city. 

Oh. Dear. God.

Not this again...but to be fair, it all worked out. We met Zach and his friend, Jaweb at the only McDonalds in Fez (how ironic is that) and began our tour. Both were students at the American University and eager to practice their accents with us and show us around.

It ended up being the perfect day. We saw everything. The royal palace, leather tanneries, the ins and outs of the Medina, turkish bath houses, schools, mosques, sampled some authentic food - tajine and cous cous. By the end of the day we literally saw every inch of the old city. They were wonderful hosts, expecting nothing from us in return. I walked away from the tour with a lovely leather jacket and Paige made out like a bandit - a couple bags, shoes - all sorts of goodies (Morocco operates much like the Caribbean - on a bartering system, so prices can be dropped significantly and boy, did we drop em').

Later that night - we met back up with Zach and Jaweb for some shisha and drinks, but with a twist. We had to meet them in the heart of the Medina - after dark. Um. Okay. Wandering through dark alleys, in a maze-like city, in a foreign country is a bit nerve wracking - but both Paige and I were surprised to realize in just a day we had become pretty familiar with the winding paths and narrow passageways. We only showed up twenty minutes late (a few wrong turns here or there), but we made it. After a quick hookah, we went out to a local bar - and I'll be honest with you. I can't even really describe it via this blog. It truly was one of those "see it to believe it" places - but I'll try. Just imagine a ridiculously crowded bar. Hazey. Filled with layer upon layer of smoke. Drunk older men everywhere. A live band. Dancing. Yelling, singing. Oh and hookers. Tons and tons of busted, gnarly hookers making their rounds from man to man. Thank god for Paige - otherwise I would have had to turn a few of them down.

It really was a day to remember. I'll always be indebted to Zach and Jaweb and how well they treated us. Taking time out of their day to show us around, free of charge, and welcome us as openly into their culture as they did. It was the perfect way to see Fez.

The next two days we spent on our own - training down to Meknes for one of them, and wandering around the Medina in Fez again another. The second time in the Medina allowed us to stop and shop some more, meander about at our own pace. Highlight of the day? Eating camel. Yup. Camel. Sure - it was in burger form, but check that off my bucket list.

I'll be honest. Morocco was nothing like what I expected it to be. I went into this leg of the trip expecting chaos. Hecklers everywhere, trying to sell you things (yes, we did get dragged into two carpet shops and begged to by some lovely rugs), run down towns, food and water that would make you sick. But I was pleasantly surprised. Morocco took my narrow-minded assumption(s) and slapped me in the face with them. I love that country. The warm and inviting people, decadent and rich food. Skies that are always blue (at least during our visit). There really were no aspects of Morocco that I didn't enjoy.

Oh right, besides Tangiers.

Eph you Abdule.