(France, I'm looking at you.)
Before I start the tale of the actual trip, I should probably provide a little backstory. When I signed up for the study abroad program in Spain last year, I mistakenly got the impression that a trip to Morocco was included. When we found out that it wasn't, my friend Ramya and I decided to plan our own trip. I mean, when else were we going to be a scant three hours from Africa? We started doing some research and found that students who visit Morocco usually go with one of three expensive tour groups designed for Americans. Being the intrepid adventurers that we are (read: poor), we decided to go it alone. Tour groups are for babies! Guides are overrated! Who cares that we speak neither French nor Arabic, we're going to experience REAL MOROCCO!
I was feeling excited and only mildly apprehensive about the trip until about two weeks before we left, when Ramya (who has a promising future as a professional worrier, by the way) sent me a link to a website listing all sorts of horrible things that travelers had experienced in Morocco. I'm talking high-pressure sales pitches, getting drugged, sexual harassment, food poisoning, getting mugged at knifepoint, you name it. After an hour on that site, I expected to leave Tangier at worst in a coffin and at best penniless and molested, with a suitcase packed full of overpriced rugs.
So, maybe the whole "two girls going to Morocco alone" thing wasn't such a good idea after all? Luckily I'm used to making terrible decisions, and plus we had already booked the hotel so there was no way in the world we were going to call off the trip. However, we decided that it would be a good idea to take some basic precautions to avoid disaster.
Our weapons of choice:
- Ramya's "personal safety alarm"- a small machine that hooks to your belt and makes a really loud noise if you're attacked
- Money belt- a pouch worn under clothing to prevent pickpocketing, kind of like the fanny pack's less ostentatious cousin
- Baggy, unattractive clothing that covered lots of skin- basically my regular wardrobe, now that I think about it
- Ingredients for 12 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches- because we simultaneously love PBJ and hate food poisoning
- Healthy mistrust of strangers- "Why are you talking to me, three-year-old girl? What's your angle?!"
- Gibberish- if anyone attempted to approach us to sell us something, we started speaking nonsense words in an Asian-sounding dialect (SO MUCH FUN)
We were going to also print out some basic terms in French and Arabic, but my senora assured me that everyone in Tangier speaks Spanish. Note to self: never, ever listen to my senora.
On Friday we took a bus to Tarifa, a coastal city in southern Spain, then a massive ferry to Tangier. We arrived, put our bags through a scanner, and walk outside the building with our guards up. We're both expecting huge crowds of screaming locals outside of the port insisting to show us around for a price. We're expecting to be jostled, pushed, and followed incessantly. Cars honking, smog, terrible smells, etc. In reality?There were maybe 13 people milling outside the port, and two offered to be our guide. When we said no, they stopped asking and didn't follow us. What the what?! Are we in the right country?!
We leave the port to head to our hotel and promptly get lost. This was due to three main problems:
1. The streets do not have names printed on them anywhere. ANYWHERE.
2. The address that Google Maps gave us for our hotel was not, in fact, our hotel. It was the address to some random restaurant that sold creepy olives.
3. Asking people for directions tended to be useless, as very few people spoke English or Spanish.
The very few people that we met who could understand us recommended strongly that we take a taxi. However, cabs in Morocco are notorious for cheating foreigners. Combine that with the general mistrust of strangers mentioned above, and we concluded that everyone was just trying to get more money out of us. We ignored the advice and continued wandering around, growing increasingly tired, hungry, and frustrated. After two hours of walking with heavy backpacks and getting stared at, we finally relented and hailed a cab.
The aforementioned taxi, also known as OUR SAVIOR.
Ten minutes later, we arrived at the hotel, checked in with no problems, and nearly passed out with relief. The hotel existed! We had somewhere to sleep! The probability we would be murdered that night decreased significantly! Plus Hotel Tarik was absolutely beautiful, with very nice rooms, a pool, a giant lounge area, and plenty of beachfront property to explore.
The view from our hotel room. The lights you see are downtown Tanger-- we were directly across the bay from the main part of town.
To be honest, Ramya and I were a bit shocked-- we hadn't paid much for the hotel and were expecting dirt floors, no bathroom, flies buzzing around, a mule chilling in the corner, etc. In reality, everything was very clean and neat. They had toilet paper, towels, and hot water in the bathroom. They even had a television! Granted, it was the size of a toaster and only had one channel (in Arabic) but it was nice nonetheless.
Our hotel room. Much more awesome-looking in real life.
Since we were told not to leave our hotel at night, we ate some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, took ridiculously long showers, and promptly fell asleep.
Rats, we've barely even gotten to Morocco but I have to go to class- I'll post the second half of this update later.
hahaha love it!
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