Day Three - Tangerines

I woke up for fajr fairly refreshed; it seems that 4 hours of sleep is just enough for me. Then there was the usual wait for everyone to do wudhu (conveniently falling back asleep ¬_¬), and only 2 bathrooms to the whole hostel! We prayed fajr very close to sunrise on the roof terrace, which was an extremely calm and spiritually nourishing moment, and then everyone went back to sleep, relying on me to wake everyone up at 9. I stayed up and went downstairs to first have a shower unhindered, then type up Day One as well as check Facebook and the usual stuff.


I woke everyone up at the time I was supposed to, and only one person actually listened; everyone else went back to sleep after giving their pledge of awakedness. By the time everyone had woken up, we went downstairs, ignored the (probably drunk) nutcase in the kitchen, and instead got our breakfast from the bakery as we did the day before. Then we made our way to the coach station (via the 3 or 33 buses - for future reference :P), and boarded the midday coach to Algeceras, sat at the back, and had a chat with the two stalkers ladies who conveniently were taking the same coach, who took our photo the day before at Alhambra, and who I later learnt, saw us at the mosque as well. Before we spoke to them, we thought our trip was jam-packed; one of them came from Paris, through Barcelona, picked up her friend from Madrid, then to Granada, to Malaga and Marrakesh, then London, Vienna, America and back to Mexico where she lives! Our new-found friends got off at Malaga, and the rest of the journey was spent either talking about our intruiging conversation and the Spanish name assigned to Gallael (Geraldo), about hair straighteners (Qasad), Arabic culture and haggling techniques, or playing DS, or just sleeping with the slight bit of dribble emerging from the mouth.

Four hours later, and after admiring the clean sandy beaches (I didn't really, I was half asleep), we descended from the coach and bought our ferry tickets at a shop opposite the port, before getting halal meat and chicken sandwiches at a nearby shop. Al-Jazeera sport was on, and I was finally able to make use of my bilingual self, asking for no olives or tomatoes :P This place didn't have a full Spanish feel to it; you could feel the Moroccan influence seeping through. Would Morocco be just an Algeria with tourists? Only time would tell.

I didn't understand the whole ferry timing thing, with Morocco being an hour behind Spain, but the 5 o'clock ferry ended up being 7 o'clock anyway. The ferry journey itself was phenomenal! After boarding through what looked like a car park, we soon found the upper deck, with the breeze blowing and the sun shining, we enjoyed every moment of it, and each other's company, with the knowledge that the lifeboats were a few metres away :P We forgot about the lack of sleep and were full of energy, taking loads of photos and videos on the way. We imagined scenarios of people/things falling overboard and what we'd do in certain random situations, and then we watched the sunset together... amazing. Looking away from the sun and back towards it quickly, you could actually see it move! And slowly, it disappeared behind the calm and vast ocean. This journey was probably the best experience so far! We had our passports stamped on the ferry, and after an exhiliarating ride, we drop anchor at Tangier, Morocco.


Now, I was expecting a watered-down version of Algeria, but as we entered the port town, it seemed just the same: Mayhem. This was no Algeria Lite; similar attitudes, similar accents (sort of) and a clear disregard for toothpaste or soap. The first guy that came to us asked if we wanted a hotel to stay in or a taxi. He had a heavy Italian mafia accent, probably picking it up from a film or something, but he certainly did sort of look the part! Even after we said no, he followed us all the way to the currency exchange; these kinda guys being quite erm, persuasive; we wouldn't want to disappoint him now would we, capeesh? But we did. One other moustachioed guy tried following us (something that we realised we'd probably have to get used to over here), but we ended up walking to the nearby coach office, finding that the last coach to Fez had already left, and so we'd have to spend the night in Tangier. Golly.


Armed with our Lonely Planet guide, ignoring the stares and offers of rooms, showers and hash, we chose one place, and you could see the glee on the hotel guy's face. We instantly became his 'friends', and the standard of jokes he was cracking showed he was over the moon at the impending transfer of crusty moroccan banknotes in his favour. We initially thought it was 50 dirhams for the whole room (in which four of us were going to be sleeping on the floor- cockroach territory), but we were swiftly brought back to reality when we realised it was 50 per person (with the option of an extra 7 dirhams for a shower)! The lobby place was intricately decorated with patterned tiling (well, under the deceptive cloak of night), but the rooms were plain and adequate for the night, with a sink in the corner. Which should've been in the bathroom. The bathroom had what you'd expect, minus a sink; a toilet and a shower. And a window; a window that was head-height and accessible to any corridor-goer who could turn their head to the right and know if the toilet was occupied or not. Great stuff.

We went out looking for somewhere to eat, and as we didn't want to wander too far (as we loved to do back in seductive Spain), we settled for a place we passed on the way in, a small kebab hut thing that we all congregated around. And as they told us the price of one, I had the 'cheek' of asking a moroccan customer how much he was paying, just to make sure we weren't being swindled. Even though I avoided the salad and chips in my bread (and I wouldn't have had the meat either, or the bread), I did get a bit of a tummy ache. After everyone else went for seconds, and me just sitting wondering what on Earth I was doing there, we went for tea in a quiet restaurant the hotel guy recommended to us. I was absolutely shattered, especially as I didn't sleep on the coach earlier, but I did have the brainpower to visualise how a 'hostel' scene would pan out for us, which I thought was become increasingly likely, until the tea showed up half an hour later. I sleepily watched the others drink their mint teas, before we returned to the room in time for the hotel's 1pm curfew.

At that point I wished I was back home; my basic needs weren't being met, and at least with Algeria I knew what I'd be up against in advance and be able prepare for it, but I was thrown into Morocco not knowing what to expect, coming to the conclusion that actually, Algeria is better in loads of respects. At least there no-one shouts "Namaste" to Yemeni's!

[Wow, this day (after the ferry) was pretty painful, and I took a two day break before typing up the Tangier part just to brace myself for the recollection. It's somewhere that won't be making my list of favourite places anytime soon!]