The grand taxi pulled up outside the bus station among a sea of blue petite taxis, there must have been a good hundred of them all parked around the area waiting patiently for their turn to shuttle people to their destination. Jumping out of the cramped back seat, I stretched and donned the backpack. Time to take in Tangier.
The
city of Tangier has an interesting and sordid past. The entrance to the
Mediterranean, it was invaded, captured, swapping empires in the
ancient times up until the Sultan took the city back for Morocco.
However after WWII, it was declared an International Zone, so while the
rest of Morocco was in the hands of the French or Spanish, Tangiers
strategic importance meant several countries had official and legal interest in
the city.
When
the International Zone ended, so did Tangier. Declining into a zone of
crime, drugs, prostitution, and generally unsavoury behaviour, it was only recently that there was an effort to gentrify and turn it into a
tourist city. If you’d been here 30 years ago the medina would have been
a very different place, and one you wouldn’t want to walk alone in.
I headed off towards the medina, where the riad I was staying was located. I grossly misjudged the distance, and a long walk around the port, an uphill climb to the Grande Socco (grand market plaza), I finally entered the medina and was immediately zeroed in by a tout.
This guy came over telling me he had a hotel I should stay at, but telling him I’m not interested doesn’t deter these types. As he followed me, he soon asked where I was staying and looked perplexed by the name. A group of African guys sitting at a nearby cafe watched smiling, having seen this drill a thousand times or more. The tout then randomly grabbed some other guy, who looked bewildered by what was happening, and the told him to take me to Dar Rif, where I was staying.
A momentary pause, he nodded and started to lead me towards one of the lane ways to god knows where. I has GPS and Google Maps, which I had to point out to them, and said I was going in a different direction and started my way down a different lane way. This clearly pissed off the touts friend (were they even friends?), who shouted he knew the medina better than me, and stormed off.
It’s hard to tell what exactly was going on here. The cynic says I would have been lead to some riad that I hadn’t booked where they would receive their kickback if I happened to give in and stay. However another part of me wonders how much money these guys are losing with the advent of GPS and offline maps on your phone. One upon a time you’d end up having to pay someone to guide you through the medina, but with GPS you have a pretty good chance of navigating it yourself. And I did see just about every foreigner walking around sporting a backpack, their phone in their hand guided by the satellite magic of GPS.
After checking into the riad, and having an interesting conversation with the day manager about the changing view and customs of Islam thanks to the Internet giving people a wider understanding of the world, I ventured back out into the medina and made my way to the kasbah.
The kasbah isn’t that interesting itself, where as the museum was not too bad (but I’m a museum junkie, so take that with a grain of salt), but what did amuse me were the touts rattling off the same lines as the ones in Rabat.
Where are you from? Australia! Oh, Sydney or Melbourne? Sydney. I have family in Melbourne! No you don’t, but on one occasion I did wonder if he did when I told me his brother lives Geelong. I had to double take, was he telling the truth, or did he looked up different suburbs in Australia to make people second guess if it were true or not.
As for the kasbahs, the line they use is to tell you the kasbah is about to close, and you have to go with them before you’re locked out for the day. This is, of course, a lie, but a good enough lie to make you wonder at first if that was true. It’s not until you enter the kasbah and see if it’s full of homes does the absurdity of the lie sink home, it’s like saying an entire suburb will be closed just because of some arbitrary curfew.
Most of the touts are harmless. Just keep walking and they’ll eventually thank you and say you’re welcome (they’ve very polite). Most are just trying to sell you hash, I had one ancient fossil telling me he’ll show me the Turkish bars, which I can only guess is the code name for brothels, or worse. The guy looked like he’d be at home in an archaeology museum, resting arms crossed in the mummification exhibit.
It had been overcast since i left Asilah. In fact there was one single herald of thunder the morning I left, and the weather forecast continued to threaten rain everyday. The rain never came. If this were Sydney, the dark foreboding grey would mean we’re on the cusp of the clouds about to burst and pour down and storm. But with almost half the humidity, the clouds here just meandered in the sky, impotent and without threat.
The Grand Socco, or properly know as Place du 9 Avril 1947, is the main plaza outside the entrance to the medina and souqs. It’s a chaotic affair, with cars and people intermingling on the roundabout as police officers blow whistles for reasons I can’t figure out (other they feel like they’re helping somehow?).
One evening a troupe of traditional drum and castanets musicians played outside of the cafes, people watched and recorded them on their phones, but as soon as they’d finished and took off their hats for donations, the crowd very quickly dispersed. However, from the balcony of an overlooking block of units, a group of women were calling out to the troupe and offering them money. The group entered the block and minutes later the sound of drums could be heard from their apartment. Their own private show.
Luckily the riad had my room available for a third night, which I really happy that worked out. Taking it slow and just absorbing Tangier is the way to do it. My officially favourite Moroccan past time is people watching in a cafe for an hour sipping a cafe noir (a small black). This is such a huge thing, in fact it’s a thing in Arab countries in general. Men (and the rare woman), sit in cafes for hours on end, just sipping coffee. A friend will walk by, their name gets called out and they greet each other (handshake, both cheek kiss), chat for a spell, then they’ll move on. It’s a social nexus point, and it’s hard to finally summon the will power to stand up and leave.
In the medina is the Tangier American Legation Institute for Moroccan Studies. This turned out to be a really amazing museum, located on the only foreign US historic landmark, it was Morocco who was the first country to recognise the fledgling US as it’s own country. There are letters between the Sultan and George Washington, thanking the Sultan for his support and the Sultan pledging to convince Tunis and Tripoli to recognise them too and gave their ships safe harbour.
One of the must amazing letters from the Moroccan US consul writing to the US about the gifts the Sultan was trying to give him. As part of the new constitution, representatives were forbidden to take presents, so he couldn’t accept the gift of 2 full grown lions. Attempting to explain this, the prince who had brought the lions asked who made the constitution, to which the consul answered “the people”. The prince was happy with this and offered the lions to the people instead. Again the consul had to object and the prince told him he couldn’t return with the gifts as he’d lose his head, so he offered to just release the lions onto the street. Finally giving in, the consul locked the lions in a room and asked for advice on what to do in his letter. He then made mention he’d heard rumours there were horses on the way too!
The riad owners also own a restaurant just 5 minutes away that I felt I needed to try, even though it was a little pricier than I was usually paying (50-80dh is about average for meal, most of these were 100dh). But as they say, you get what you pay for. The seafood tangine was easily the best meal I’d had in Morocco, and ranking up there with best meal ever. A creamy tomato sauce with fresh calamari, fish, pawns, and mussels. So very very good, I had to go back a second time.
I’d also tried a set meal twice. The first time I wandered into the restaurant not knowing it was a set meal, and the waiter showed me two options, one for 120dh and the other for 150dh. I still have no idea what language it was in, none of the words were French, Spanish, or English. So I just shrugged and pointed to the 120dh option.
The first course as a soup, not a huge surprised really. It seems the same noodle soup is served everywhere for an entrée. The next course was interesting, a pastry filled with chicken and dusted with caster sugar and cinnamon, making a curious mix of sweet and savoury. Not actually that bad. Next was the couscous and chicken, this was pretty amazing with the chicken perfectly moist and the couscous absorbing the chicken flavour. The only thing I didn’t like of this was the mountain of raisins I pushed to the side. I apologised sheepishly to the chef; sorry, I don’t like raisins. Finally was a sweet biscuit and the ubiquitous mint tea. All told it was quite a satisfying meal.
On my last day in Tangier, the medina had a collection of new guests in the shape of sheep. They were herded through the alleys and lane ways, stopping both people and motorbike traffic. The men who has bought them struggled getting them to budge, the sheep being pretty defiant on not wanting to go with them. And I can’t blame them, these were being purchased for the Feast of Eid, which is this Friday on the 1st September, The feast involves sacrificing the sheep, recreating the sacrifice Abraham made, and over the course of the week each part of the sheep is eaten. The day manager at the riad told me I’d probably see sheep heads and hoofs around the place on the day, so I’m oh so looking forward to that sight.
The next stop planned would be another grand taxi, and an hour ride towards the Rif Mountains and the city of Tetouan.