Expanding Our Horizons

October 26, 2013   Waking up one morning, someone said, “Hey, what do you think we should do today? How about a trip to Africa?” OK, maybe it wasn’t quite that spur of the moment but it was spontaneous and not part of our trip plan.  Seriously, what do you do for adventure when you are already on what some would consider the adventure-of-a-lifetime? Eight days is a long time in southern Spain and after all, we are only an hour or so away from Tarifa and from there, we were told, there is a fast-ferry to Tangier. We talked to people, and we read books and blogs.  Oscar, the owner of the local Moroccan restaurant gave us good advice and some practical information.  He frowned on the idea of spending all of our time, no matter how short our stay, in Tangier and suggested that we visit a smaller mountain town a few hours away, Chefchaouen.  We were told to be prepared to be overwhelmed when we exited the ferry.  Taking in the Arabic language, the Islamic faith, a new monetary system, and the African continent as we set foot off the ferry could be overwhelming, couldn’t it? We read that the 35 minute ferry ride would give us a perspective more mind-boggling than the eight hour flight across the Atlantic. I tried to take a minute to think about what I expected to see and what would surprise me.    Speaking for myself, I was pleasantly surprised.  The guide books should, perhaps, re-write their pages about Tangier.  I found it to be very civilized and not scary at all.  I felt completely safe and I didn’t feel any resentment toward me because I am a US citizen.  I guess I was worried about that.  While most women covered their heads, a few did not and only a very few covered their entire face.

By the way, we chose to take a private taxi, just the four of us, with a guide.  We did not opt for the mega bus tours as did 95% of the travelers on the ferry.  I tell you that to say that, Ahmed (short for Mohammed), our tour guide for the day, explained that the Koran requires that women cover their head but it is up to the husband to decide if more of the face should be covered or not.  OK, yes, that bothered me a little.  He was also very derogatory about the ‘black’ people from Algeria.  I found that confusing but he definitely didn’t like those darker-skinned than he.  He explained that, according to the prophet Mohammed, men could have up to 4 wives if they could afford them. The reason was, supposedly, to help the women because during war times there were so many more women around.  Yep, that bothered me a bit too.  He joked that the fifth wife was a ‘black’ woman because she would be ‘free’.  Not funny.  The street side cafes were full of men.  Women had to stay inside.  However, we saw some families enjoying their time together.  Women seemed happy and content in their roles.  The children were happy and life seemed to work. OK, almost everything else was good!  The tour was great and not a cookie-cutter experience.  We saw few tourists once we left with our guide.  We saw wonderful beaches, the cave of Hercules, a beautiful light house, lots of palaces, a not-so-wonderful museum in the Kasbah, a fortress adjacent to the medina, the old city.  The medina was full of shopkeepers and that was the one time we felt a bit out of our element. We smelled bread baking as we walked through one street.  Ahmed explained that the women make the bread in their homes but bring it to the baker, a man, to bake it in his shop. Each lady had a unique design for her bread. The other shop keepers, however, are the best swindlers around. Ahmed held his ground when we arranged the guided tour with him.  We have no idea if we got a decent deal or not.  We are sure we did NOT get a good deal with the few souvenirs we bought.  At first, the asking price for a necklace was the equivalent of $75.  The shop keeper wouldn’t let us leave, kept asking what we wanted to pay and we kept saying that we didn’t want to buy it.  We did buy it, however and we aren’t even sure how that happened.  I think we paid $17 Euros and it was worth it to get out of the store.  Then, there was the carpet salesman.  We were asked if we wanted tea.  Mint tea there, is, by the way, quite tasty.  We accepted, as we were told it was rude not to drink it when offered.  Then, when George helped them out by asking what was upstairs, the sales keeper responded, “Let me show you.”  Yep, it was the carpet sales pitch.  We were seated and two men appeared.  One explained about the carpet making as the other unrolled carpet after carpet.  Moroccan carpet is beautiful and artistic.  We didn’t buy.  George did keep saying, “Wait, wait.  Our friends need to be here.”  We waited for Shelly and Rey so they wouldn’t miss the ‘show’.  I’m sure they were grateful – not. The food, on the other hand, was fantastic.  It, too, was included in the money we paid the guide.  We were quickly taken upstairs to a very nice restaurant.  We wondered if feeding us downstairs was bad for business.  Our first course was Moroccan soup (after the olives and bread and eggplant relish), secondly, we had chicken pastella, then a fish pastella and finally  tajines, a Moroccan stew or cous cous served in a cool covered dish that, ok, looked like a volcano.  We had a plate of fruit for dessert as well as baklava. Then, there was the camel ride.  Oh my gosh!  Was it cheesy?  Definitely?  Are we all glad we did it?  Of course!  Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.  Would I have wanted to sit on that animal for a few more hours?  No way!  Makes a horse saddle feel like a ride in a limo. The ride to Chefchaouen was with a different driver—a very slow driver, Mohammed! Actually, I don’t think we met a single man whose name was anything else!  Ha!  It was dark so we missed the views in the mountains.  We stopped to buy gas.  Mohammed saved us from a HUGE embarrassment.  Outside, we saw a picture of a man/woman and assumed those were the bathrooms for each.  As we headed to the ‘woman’ area Mohammed started calling, “Senora, Senora”.  He pointed inside.  It seems the place we were headed was the mosque for the workers who were employed there—not a bathroom at all.  The men and women do not worship together and have separate entrances.  Thank you, Mohammed! When we arrived, man, it was a happening place.  Mohammed took us straight up a bunch of stairs to a very nice, but sadly for us, a full hotel.  The man, of course not a woman, who worked there found us a room at a neighboring hotel, the Casa Perleta.  The manger there, Mohammed, was a great guy.  He lent us his ONE map of the city for the evening and we began our night time stroll.  The restaurant owners were annoying as they tried to get our business.  We chose Restaurant Kasbah.  We thought it looked great.  Colorful!  Could have been right out of an Ali Baba movie.  Food—not so good.  Couldn’t compare to the lunch.  No wine tonight.  It is an alcohol-free country.    Mint tea back at the hotel on the rooftop was even better! The call to prayer at 5:00am or 6:00am in the morning was a shocker.  The speaker outside Shelly and Rey’s room made it really loud.  It was a foreign sound and it took us a minute to figure out what was going on.  It was Friday, after all, the Islamic Holy Day.  After a great breakfast, back on the rooftop terrace, with a very interesting and kind Dutchman, coming back to his hometown with his mother, we wandered the streets of the city.  We saw everyone going to the mosques.  I laughed when I observed the creative ways the teenage girls still find ways to express their individuality with bright colors and their mix and match clothing, with or without their hijab head scarf.  Speaking of clothing, the men wear very strange yellow pointed slippers, babouches. I sure hope those never become the fad in my hometown. Walking through the blue town (everything is painted blue, we are told, to stop the mosquitos), we saw great mountain views and beautiful buildings.  We passed a Spanish mosque.  The hotel manager said it was never and will never be used because it is not facing Mecca.  Those crazy Spaniards!  Farther along our walk, we saw women washing their clothes in the river.  We visited great little shops and just did a lot of people-watching and loved every minute of it. We noted that the girls and boys stayed apart from one another.  Girls were out in large groups but not alone.  Boys were in larger groups.  I, for one, was selfishly unhappy with the dress code.  It was hot and I wanted to wear shorts.  I’d have a hard time in Morocco!  Our new taxi driver, Mohammed, returned us to the ferry in record time! We exchanged our dirham for Euros with only a small hassle.  We were first directed to the money changers on the street but we walked away to the neighboring bank.  It was time to end our two day adventure and head back to our home in Arcos de la Frontera! What a way to celebrate a birthday!  Actually, we all participated in Shelly’s big day—2 continents and a final celebration at the local Italian restaurant in town.  It will be hard to top this celebration in future years—but one can try! PS:  Cats abound in Morocco just as they do in Spain.  The Disney song, There are No Cats in America is beginning to make a lot of sense and I can’t get that song out of my head.