Apologies to everyone for the delay in this batch of travel rantings. The reasons are myriad. I had to go to Zimbabwe for business and then on to Cape Town for a conference. None of this made for particularly inspiring tales and so I have spared everyone. Got back to Morocco and some of the ladies invited us down to Marrakesh for the weekend. It was in one of those golden jails, a club med look alike that could be anywhere in the world. This was further enhanced by the fact that it was booked out by Italians and the sight of middle aged Italian mama's and spindly spics suntanning topless was another view that did not scream for the camera to be removed from the bag.
This last weekend we decided to head of to Tanger and the north of Morocco. The whole road there is highway and this make driving at night a feasable alternative and so we left on Friday after work. We got to Tangier at about 22h00. We were booked into the Hotel Continental, world famous for its history and raved about in all the guidebooks. Bertollucci used it for one of the scenes from Sheltering Sky. The only problem is it is in the Medina and the guidebooks suggested approaching it from the entrance to the port. Great place to be, 22h00 on a Friday night, between the Medina and the Port of Tanger, and not knowing exactly where we should be . As soon as we parked the hustling, for which Tanger is famous for, started, with the first guy going through all the standard phrases as mentioned in the LP; The Continental is dangerous, his cousin/brother runs a better hotel, let him just show us the other hotel and we can make up our minds. After getting rid of him we walked through the Medina to the Continental to check in and find out how to get the car in through the maze of streets. Unfortunately we weren't to know that you should try and book rooms facing the port. These were all booked out when we arrived and had to make do with one facing the back. The hotel used to be the hotel in Tanger, in the good old days, but is now showing an air of decrepit genteelity, but is still a great place with an incredibly friendly staff who are forever taking the time to ask how it's going and chat a while.
Up the next morning and after breakfast in the dining room overlooking the port with a view of Southern Spain in the distance, we hit the Medina. Once again the hustling started as soon as we left the hotel, but most of the time they backed off when I lost my temper with them and told them to leave us alone. We walked from the hotel through the Petit Socco, where all the Paedophile American authors used to sit in cafes and then pick up little boys from the brothels behind. We made our way around the Grand Socco and then to the Kasbah which is now a museum. The sultan of Morocco was exiled here after France invaded in the early nineteen hundreds. He complained that the place was ill built and he couldn't fit his entourage of 168 people in any comfort. As most of this following was the royal harem he got exiled (again) by the wife mafia and had to be satisfied with a few measly rooms.
Inside the museum they had a mosaic from Volalubis (see the trip to Fes for the full story) and so finally we got to see something from there. I had to beg the curator to allow me to take a photo so we have proof that Volalubis actually exists.
After we left the museum we had tea in the Cafe Detroit. Founded in 1960 by Brion Gysin as a showcase for the Master Musicians of Jajouka, a group which was featured on the Stones Steel Wheels album. It is nothing spectacular except for the views which are pretty awesome.
After wondering aroung the Medina for a while, being harassed by local Mustapha's, we headed off to a restuarant for lunch. We decided to head out of Tanger for the afternoon and so drove to the Caves of Hercules situated about 15 km West of the city. The caves are a natuaral phenomenom but have been extended over the centuries by people excavating mill stones. ] You can see the cresent shaped cuts in the picture where they cut them out. The excavatings carried on until 1920, when the excavators had to make way for the exotic call girls. Nowadays the rich and famous of Tanger hire them (the caves) for wild hedonistic parties.The caves open out into the Atlantic ocean with what the locals seem to think is an Africa shaped hole. (These are the same locals who make jokes about bleach when they see white South Africans as sub-saharan Africa is Afrique Noire to them.)
The rest of the afternoon was spent driving through Cap Spartel and the really larney area called La Montagne where all the rich and famous live/d. We were going to go to the Forbes museum but decided that it was getting a bit late and so settled for drive along the beachfront, when out of the blue Brett found it: The Star of India. Billing itself as the only Indian resturant in Morocco (I can believe that) and under British management (I can also believe that) it was scheduled to be the supper venue that night. After sundowners at the hotel (Coke and Sprite, no alcohol sold in the Medina) we headed off for a bit of curry with the cuzzins and all. Really good curry and the young ladies that were very, very pretty and so incredibly friendly in the bar afterwards made it a good evening. Luckily we left while we where still in possession of our faculties (and wallets!). Driving the car through the winding roads of the medina was doubly fun after a few whisky's. Fortunately the only people out at that time of night were very adept at melting into the shadows of a doorway.
Next morning we checked out after breakfast and decided to head up towards the Spanish enclave of Cueta (Sebta in Arabic) but the road was closed and our French did not manage to translate where the detour was. We decided to head off towards Tetuaoun. The scenery was very rugged and beautiful with many hills. The latter caused a slight delay, as the Moroccans economisimg on paint for the road lines by painting one solid white line on both sides of a hill. We had been stuck behind a slow moving truck for ages and came to the perfect place to overtake, a long straight downhill no oncoming traffic, only problem a solid white line for cars climbing the hill in the other direction. As we sail merrily past the truck I make the standard chirp to Brett that Moroccans are crazy and there was no use for that white line ... except for the police at the bottom of the hill just waiting to catch stupid Ferenghi's. Luckily the dumb foreigner routine stands in good stead in Morocco. Everything is said in English after a broken attempt at "Je ne parle pas Fran�aise". Hand over all the documents in the car including passports, SA ID book, international drivers licence etc and smile uncomprehendingly as he explains that you have overtaken on a solid white line. After a while they give in and tell you to be careful or next time you wont be so lucky.
Next week Thursday is the festival of Eid, during which every Muslim family has to slaughter a sheep or goat. It appears that a large number of sheep where being bought in Tetouan for that purpose and the market spanned both sides of the road into town. Brought traffic to an absolute standstill. It was chaos, I kid you not (a little sheepish after that joke).
Myriam had suggested if we were in the area we should look up her parents, who run a resturant near Cabo Negro. Brett thought we should pay them a visit and so we dropped in unexpectadly, and were prepeared to have a beer and say hi. However they had other ideas, and so after a hearty lunch of cheese, salad, olives, anchovies and prawns we headed off. This is a picture of the restuarant, which if Myriam is the heir, turns her from being a attractive, young lady to an extremely eligable, attractive young lady.
As it was getting late we doubled back and through Tetouan market again and then caught the road to the highway. We passed the site of Lixus which is where the Gardens of the Hesperides were, according to Pliny, and where Hercules had to perform his penultimate task. After hitting the highway the rest of the trip was easy. There was still enough sunlight by the time we got to Rabat that we decided to leave the highway and do the last stretch along the coastal road. Moroccan driving was enough to put me into an immediate bad mood once we hit Casa and so after Maccers and an attempt to watch Bean dubbed into French, bed was the only winner.
My Senagalese experience |
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My Moroccan experience |