Tangier.
We decided we had to hop over to Morocco because we were just a two-hour ferry ride away. How could we resist? Unfortunately, we were totally unprepared and had no information about Morocco or the city of Tangier. Afterwards, we heard that Tangier is one of the top 10 most difficult cities to visit in Africa. We’re not surprised. While we were on board the ferry, we found out about the Iraqi wedding party that had been gunned down by our army, and 45 people were killed. I said to Warren, belatedly, “We are soooooo stupid to be going to an Islamic country right now.” That just added to my anxiety about being a western woman in an Islamic nation. I didn’t know how I would be received, or how conservative they are in Morocco. I knew nothing. Basically, you could take the anxiety levels I’ve had at every job interview, first date, and immigration interrogation (okay, I’m guessing at that one based on my brother’s experiences) and that sum might equal how I was feeling as we stepped off the ferry onto Moroccan soil.
Immediately, we were besieged by men offering to take us on tours of the city. We tried to resist them at first and just make our way to our hotel, but we eventually broke down with a guy named Ben Ali Ahmed. He won us over by insisting that he had looked like Jimmy Carter when he was younger. He only mentioned that fact about five times. Before we begin, let’s review Ben’s favorite sayings:
Ben Ali took us on a whirlwind tour of Tangier with a taxi-driving accomplice. At first, his price seemed perfectly reasonable: $10. But then, at each stop, he had a friend that would show us around and maybe explain a little bit about the site. These guys were less tour guides than gatekeepers. Believe me, you are not getting into that cave of Hercules unless you have some guy walk you down the steps into the cave, and then palm him a euro.
We ended up in the market, where every shop we walked into had been closed until the rich Americans entered, at which point the lights came on, tea was served, and the shop keepers rubbed their hands together in anticipation of what they could sell us. Little did they know that we live on a boat and had no intention of walking out of there with a rug or a hookah. At least, we didn’t enter the shop with the intention. But these guys were good. We ended up buying a rug for my parents. I don’t think my parents have room for a rug, either, but they got one. Warren haggled over the rug and some miniscule pieces of jewelry that I had picked out, and I think we got a decent price. I was incapable of haggling, because the prices that were being thrown around actually sent me into a fit of denial. Here is how the negotiations began:
After much mumbling to himself, our man said: “For the rug and the jewelry, a package deal, it’s $1250.”
Steph: “$250? Oh, no, we can’t afford that.”
Warren, in an aside to Steph: “He said $1250.”
Steph: “Yeah, we can’t do $250.”
Warren: “Uh, it’s not $250. It’s $1250.”
At which point Steph went silent in shock and the two men moved on from there.
So, we didn’t end up with the first rug we picked out. But I think we got something nice.
We had planned on spending two nights in Tangier, but after 18 hours of haggling and fending off every person that came within spitting distance who had something to offer us, we decided we wanted to go back to Spain. Blessed Spain. We were literally out of money, with no euros, dollars or dirham (Moroccan currency) left.
Unfortunately, we didn’t get many pictures because our memory card was running out.
Large versions of the photos are available here.
“I take you to the camels! Ha ha!”
“George Bush is crazy! Ha ha!”
“Look at the medina! It’s like ice cream! Ha ha!”