Porque esto es Africa

It’s terrible, but I had “Waka Waka” stuck in my head all day a week ago.  For those of you who haven’t been inundated with this song, I think it may be Spain’s new national anthem (actually, the official World Cup song; Spain’s still proud).  In English, one of the lyrics is “Because this is Africa,” but there’s a Spanish version, so claro, I was singing that one. 

The ferry (apparently a 35-minute ride, but it actually runs on Spanish time...)

The view leaving from Tarifa on the ferry. Also, my first glimpse of Africa in
the background! 

Of course, I was only in Africa for about 5 hours, but still, it was just so unique and … awesome.  We caught a ferry from Tarifa across the Strait of Gibraltar, and within a half hour, we were in Morocco! As we sailed over, some God-light broke through the clouds over our destination, and it was obvious that this trip was meant to happen (end cheesiness).

But actually, it was just so interesting and beautiful, and unlike anywhere I’ve been.  And yet, it had such potential to be the most touristy thing I’d ever done.  See, with your ferry ticket, you get a guided tour of Tangier, complete with a bus ride and lunch. But since we were literally the only people on the ferry who were possibly interested in the tour, we got a private tour for free.  And this was a big deal; our guide told us he literally never gives tours for such small groups. Normally, he’s got 40 or more people.  So, we felt special…

My actual first glimpse of Morocco

Sure, there were cheesy parts.  I paid 1.50 Euros to ride a camel for literally 1 minute.  We were given a tour/not-so-subtle “shopping opportunity” at a carpet factory, jewelry store, and spice store/herbal pharmacy.  We were pursued by persistent vendors on the streets desperate to sell their souvenirs to the few gullible tourists.

But really, it had such potential to be terrible and cheesy and custom built for ugly Americans, but it wasn’t.  Bachir, our Moroccan guide, in addition to being extremely friendly and speaking perfect English, gave us much more insight into the local history and culture than we could have gotten by just wandering independently around Tangier.  Everything was just so interesting and different, but it wasn’t uncomfortably different – just different.

Arabic!

First, we had a van tour through the city up into the hills, which gave us some amazing views of the sea of white houses that kind of reminded me of a more exotic Daly City.  After my momentary camel ride, we headed into the city center to see the Medina, the old city center. 

While we walked throughout the markets and the narrow streets, Bachir gave us all sorts of interesting background, and we even got some political insight from him.  It was fascinating to hear his perspective on the influence of Spanish culture on Morocco (not good, in his opinion), which he shared openly but respectfully.  He was also genuinely interested in hearing about American politics, especially immigration issues and why the DREAM Act failed. 

The entry gate to the Medina (old town)

At any other time of the year, we would have been in a herd of tourists invading the city center, but I felt like we were a little less of a disruption since it was just Dad and me.  Obviously, we stuck out in our North Face coats, but those differences just made the opportunities for people-watching all the more interesting.  It was particularly interesting to note at times that I was the only woman in view without a headscarf.  It was never a problem but just a sign that we really were in a Muslim country and that we were the only tourists in sight. 

Bachir, unaware that he's in the photo, and me. Poor guy
didn't know what to do with our constant photography.

Sharif don't like it...

We had a delicious lunch (included in our tour - free food!), where we were not only the two lone tourists but also the lone customers in the entire place.  Regardless, the food was delicious, a welcome change from Spanish food – cous cous, kebabs, baklava, and delicious mint tea!

This literally has more spice in it than all the food I ate in Spain, combined.
And that's just from the small smear on the left.

One of the unique spots that we saw was one of the Medina's bakeries. Unlike a commercial bakery in other countries, though, this was a neighborhood bakery, more like a communal oven, where the families and restaurants bring their bread, cookies, or anything to be put in the wood-burning oven. Not only is this handy; it's required. Even Moroccan neighborhood is required to have a mosque, a school, a fountain, public baths, and a bakery. Bachir even bought us some cookies there - such a sweet guy.

We wandered about with Bachir a little more and shopped a little. I particularly hate bartering, after an unpleasant experience in Mexico with a vendor who yelled at me for being “like a little child, playing games.” So I wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of shopping here, but with Dad here, I managed to come out of it with a pretty Berber (Moroccan) scarf.  The man in the store only fake-cried and told us at one point, “You’re breaking my heart!” But we ended up on good terms.

At the spice store/pharmacy

We left our visit to the spice store hurried along by Bachir back so we could catch the 3pm ferry back to Spain.  And as we waited to embark on the ferry, the rain that had been threatening to fall all day finally began.  It was clear that Morocco was already mourning the loss of us (okay, now actually, end cheesiness). 

And... I ended up with a souvenir: a Moroccan water bottle!