Scotlanicity: Sunday, April 4 - Tarifa / Tangiers

Yes, just for the record, Sandy and I realized the incredible irony of us going to an Islamic country on Easter. But I made up for it ... you'll see.

We woke up bright and early and walked down to the port to board our ferry to Tangiers. The process of getting a ticket could not have been easier. We arrived 30 minutes before departure time, bought a ticket, filled out a customs form, went through customs and boarded the boat. It took maybe 15 minutes. Why is it so easy to get to Africa? The boat ride over was a little too reminiscent of my journey to Robben Island from Cape Town ... there was a lot of pitching and rolling and a lot of people were getting sea sick. I got nauseated, but didn't chunder like others did. We arrived in Morocco two hours behind Spain. The kingdom doesn't recognize daylight savings time like Europe does, and it uses Greenwich-Mean Time as its national time. So in the summer they're two hours behind. Getting off the boat, we didn't have any intention of hiring a guide because we couldn't afford it. However, as per usual in an African country we were hustled in the direction of a tour guide who proclaimed to give a great price and spoke good English. Sandy and my only goal for the day was to not get sold into white slavery. I was a little put off by this guy though, because he was very demanding, and when we told him we could only spend €25 on a tour, he got really upset with us. But then he handed us off to the man who would become our Moroccan grandfather, Mohammad, a.k.a. Mo. Mo agreed to take us around his city for the price we could afford and we instantly liked him a lot better than the other guy. Maybe it's just because I trust cute old men. Mo took us over to the taxis and had a driver take us to the top of the city and the Kasbah. On the way, he taught us a few words in the Moroccan dialect of Arabic, showed us a bunch of buildings like the Catholic church was is called, ha, the Cathedral of St. Andrew, he pointed out several mosques which we could not enter because we're not Muslim, and a bunch of places where famous people like the owner of Forbes Magazine lived. He then paid the driver for us in Moroccan dirham.

Mo led us to a restaurant that was once someone's home but now gives traditional Moroccan performances for tourists and patrons. Mo had us try on the musicians garb.

Inside the restaurant.

Trying the hats on for size. Photo by Mo.

Mo also took us to a view point to see the confluence of the Atlantic and Mediterranean.

Me and Sandy with the Medatlantic in the background! Photo by Mo.

He then took us to the Kasbah ... and just for the record, we rocked the kasbah. The Kasbah is the center of the city, where life happens in Tangiers. While there he took us to all kinds of places: the house where the traditional healer lives who cures people (Mo swears by him); the crowded street where people try to sell crap to tourists for over-inflated prices; we saw traditional Berber women whom do actually believe that if a photo is taken of them it takes away their soul; Mo took us to the seafood market where they had fresh (REALLY FRESH if you get my drift); we walked through a meat market and vegetable market; he took us to the oldest rubber tree in Tangiers, which is older than America; he took us to visit the water man and get our picture made with him; and then he took us to a rug demonstration.

Rock the kasbah ... rock the kasbah.

Many doors have the hand of Fatima over them to ward off evil spirits. The evil eye that we saw in Greece and Turkey was also everywhere as well.

The oldest rubber tree in Morocco. It's older than America. The base is painted white with limestone to protect it from bugs.

At the fish market. This guy was cutting freshly cut shark.

Fresh olives and dates!

Now, I've been to a rug demonstration before once in Turkey. I know how persuasive these guys can be. So as the only customers at the demonstration, I knew they'd be especially persuasive. Our little shop owner offered us tea, which I was more than happy to accept. Turning it down is quite offensive, as it is a gesture of hospitality, and plus tea in Arabic countries kicks the pants off our tea and I supped mine up very quickly. They laid out all the rugs before us and I tried my best to look indifferent. There was one that was particularly beautiful but I just kept a straight face and didn't do anything. I don't know that Sandy's ever been to a rug demonstration before. She got a little more excited about one rug in particular. After the demonstration the man b-lined for Sandy and said, 'Which one do you like?' and she told him. Poor choice. He pulled her over to the rug and told her how much it was ($600) and tried to get her to bargain with him, which she engaged in for a little while. When she told him multiple times she couldn't afford it, he then made his way over to me and told me to point out which rug I liked. I told him in my best dead pan:

'Well, if I buy a rug, I want it to be one that speaks to me, and I'm just not hearing any that are talking. Plus my family already has a rug we bought in Turkey and that is very special for us and I don't want to take away from that.'

He said, 'Ahh yes of course, well please tell me if one of them does speak to you and I'll be happy to help.' And then he went back to Sandy.

Round 1: Catie. Ding.

He drove his price down even further ($400), and kept saying 'Plastic, fantastic!' There was nothing I could do to help my friend so I just wandered around taking pictures of rugs and drinking my tea. Poor Sandy was effectively accosted by the salesman. I was probably having too much fun watching her try to back out of buying a rug from this man, because she kept looking at me with an exasperated look on her face, and all I could do was shrug my shoulders, shake my head and chuckle to myself. I bought a little thing for Jim from the store which I negotiated down from €15 to €5 because that was literally all I could afford, and then we got the heck out of there. Mo then took us to a jeweler, where I played the indifferent card again and he successfully sold a hand of Fatima necklace hand made from silver to Sandy using the plastic fantastic technique. They are relentless.

The rugs at the shop.

The delicious tea.

Mo then took us back down towards the port and told us about the time he met Col. Sanders. yes, the Col. Sanders of Kentucky Fried Chicken. We also figured out that Mo speaks 6 languages: Italian, English, French, Arabic, Swedish, and something else. The man is ridiculous. We parted ways with our beloved Moroccan friend and walked down to the beach, which had only two other women on it but was filled with men. Welcome to the Islamic world I guess. When returning to the boat through customs, a man in an official-looking uniform and a government badge asked to see our passports while waiting in line. We suspiciously handed them over, then he handed them to a sketchball in a leather jacket who began to speak to us in Arabic. Sandy immediately ripped our passports out of his hand and we quickly walked away; we're not that stupid, sir. We ran down to the ferry and prepared ourselves for the journey back which was not nearly as rocky as the journey out. We realized on the way over, that it would probably be a rat race to get to customs and because we didn't have EU passports, we would be put in line with the Moroccans, who had proven their wiliness many times already that day. So we pushed our way to the front of the debarkation line and then sprinted off the boat towards the customs house. Unfortunately, some people with rolling suitcases cut us off, and we were about 15th in the 'line' for everyone with a non-EU passport. We then had to go into defensive blocking mode because Moroccans have no concept of a line and will cut in front of you without a second thought. I basically had to stand on top of Sandy to keep us together. We were glad to get out.

Me, Mo, and Sandy. We love him!

At the beach!

For dinner we cooked some spaghetti bolognese in the hostel and had some very fresh strawberries with it. And because it was Easter Sunday, and I felt I hadn't given the Lord his time, I walked to the beach facing the Atlantic so I could watch the sunset over the Atlantic Ocean and just meditate on the day and the trip. The sunset was absolutely incredible, and the cloud formation looked like this painting done by Spring Branch's artist in residence, Todd, that used to hang in my friend Troy's office. I'll never forget just sitting there watching the sun set on an incredible Easter Sunday.