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MOROCCO BOUND
A Solo Motorcycle Journey
to North Africa
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17 Sept 2002
(Tuesday)
Catamaran Fast Ferry, Port of Cuetas, Spain (enclave in
Africa)
It is 11:26
am local Spanish time, while right outside the border post it is 09:26 am
Moroccan time. (Don’t ask me why). I’m
sitting on the fast ferry awaiting my short trip back to Europe, and can feel
the thrum of the diesel engines through the hull as I write this. Contrary to my three-hour opening voyage
from Algeciras to Tangier, this catamaran EuroFerry promises to make the Cuetas
– Algeciras crossing in 35 minutes.
Let’s see, 45 Euro and three-hour trip coming over, while it is 36 Euro
and 35 minutes to return. I believe
that Cuetas will get my business in future trips back to Morocco.
Today has been easy so far.
Was awakened with the first call of the Mu'adhdhin (the Callers to Prayer) around 5 am. As I lay there in my
bed, I smelled the wonderful aroma of fresh bread wafting thru my window from
the bakery across the alley. Packed
quietly, then stumbled by Braille down the darkened flights of stairs in the
rabbit warren of my “hotel”, only to find the front door bolted and
padlocked. Groped my way back up the
stairs and stood in the hallway trying to figure out how to find the concierge. Eventually found him asleep on a couch in a
side room. Had to wake him up to pay my
bill and get him to let me out. Gave
him and extra 10 dirham for my “moto guardia” (who was nowhere to be found). Funny, I had three different men stop me
last night to tell me they were the hotel guard for my “moto”. But this morning the streets are empty and
my motorcycle is all by itself on the sidewalk. Hmmm. But it is there, so
something worked.
Last night, after filling in the journal, I did change
clothes and go back downtown. The gate
to the old medina was only 50m from my hotel, and as I strolled thru it, I
walked back in time about 50 years. The
labyrinth of streets was so tight and steep that no vehicle could enter. As I wandered through the cobblestone
alleys, I was amazed by the whitewashed walls of the buildings. But then I was astonished to find
whitewashed streets too!
Then I rounded a corner and
found tiny little alleys and walkways that were sky blue! I’m not kidding you. Everything was blue;
the walls, the building, the walkways, and they were offset with turquoise
doorways and windows. With the rapidly
fading light it was very difficult to get pictures that even came close to
showing the surrealness of the colors.
I kept wandering along as if in a dream, eventually finding my way to
the old city square. The main mosque
was situated right on the square, which butted up against the kasbah. With the sun gone behind the mountains, and
the stars beginning to show above, the square came alive with people. All I can say is, forget about ever forming
an opinion of a Moroccan city during the day.
Wait until nightfall. With the
breaking of the heat of the day, the town will come alive and that is when you
will see its true spirit.
I picked a nice
table at one of the open-air restaurants on the square and ordered Tangine
Poulet. It is a chicken dish, with
vegetable and rice, cooked in a clay pot.
Then I just sat back, relaxed in the cool of the evening, and watched
the world go by. The dichotomy was
amazing. At one end, nestled up against
the outside of the Kasbah, was the finest hotel in town (single room 350
dirham). It catered to rich tourists on
guided bus tours. The expensive cars
parked outside were testament to the type of clientele therein. On the other end of town, through the old
medina, was the backpacker and local lodging district (single room 30 to 80
dirham). My dinner table was right in
the middle.
From one end I could see
clustered groups of husbands and wives in pressed slacks and dresses, wearing
gold jewelry, slowly venturing into the main square in tight defensive
packs. Venturing out of the Hotel
Parador without a guide and into the medina, they mostly seemed a bit
overwhelmed. From the other end,
emerging from the boisterous streets of the old medina came the young,
adventure-seeking and footloose backpackers.
They wore tie-dyed clothes, ripped jeans, sandals, goatees, dreadlocks,
and a relaxed, almost joyous spirit.
The two different worlds would walk by each other in the square, and you
could almost hear the thoughts from each as they caught sight of the other…”God
I am so glad I don’t have to travel like that!” Observing the timidity with which the older
crowd walked, it is easy to understand why entrepreneurs constantly approached
them. Their clothes, jewelry, and obvious wealth, combined with timidity and
glazed look, just begs someone to walk up and offer to help/guide
them. I am glad that my beard and
road-worn appearance has finally allowed me to move freely about without being
approached by anyone. Either that, or
the two days of road sweat and Sahara sand in my ears is giving them a
hint. Either way, I am left alone now
and it is wonderful.
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photos and text are property of Jeff Munn.
Please do not use without my permission.
