21st to 23rd September
Because we had exceeded the amount of air miles we could do on our round the world air tickets, we had to go overland from Portugal into Spain, in order to catch the ferry from Spain to Morocco. This was all planned before we left Aotearoa so it became part of the adventure. It would have been good to spend more time in Spain as it turns out that Roger has not been here, but because I was in charge of travel planning, I made the decisions and I thought Spain was a bit expensive for our budget.
It is really interesting to come to Seville for two nights and Stella announces on arrival that this is her favourite city so far. She does however, say that, every time we go somewhere new. At least she is enthusiastic.
We have a really nice apartment in the old part of the city though the walk from the bus to our accomodation is slow, particularly as Louie stops and refuses to move every one hundred metres or so.
When we do finally arrive, we are happy to just have somewhere to sit and we leave our exploring until the next day. Roger likes to go on little reconnaissance tours to the local convenience store so he gathers food while I drink wine, alone.
The next day we head out to walk the old city. There is a huge queue for the Cathedral that houses the tomb of Christopher Columbus but considering he is a murderous, pillaging coloniser and there is a queue, we bypass that attraction.
We wander around the back of the cathedral where Roger does his old trick of trying to drift through the exit unnoticed. It has never worked so I don’t know why he persists.
Our favourite part of Seville is the Plaza de Espana, where each province of Spain has its own tiled alcove.
On the way home we stop at a cheap local tapas bar where we order, amongst other things, eggplant, deep fried in cane sugar syrup. I love eggplants but this takes the prize for outrageously delicious dishes. Surprisingly (because we’ve become accustomed to Louie being notoriously fussy) everyone eats enthusiastically.
In Portugal, we cooked at home nearly every day so it’s nice to go out for a treat and we meander happily home to our apartment.
The next day, (the 23rd of September) we are up early to catch the bus to Tarifa.
The drive, via the South Western Coast of Spain, is really picturesque. What stands out about much of Portugal and Spain is the number of wind farms everywhere. There are miles upon miles of them, often paired with Solar farms with huge stands of Solar panels.
Last time I travelled to Morocco in 1996, I went via Alcacethras, past the Rock of Gibraltar and across to Tangier.
The ferry trip from Tarifa to Tangier is much quicker (just one hour) and we depart and arrive at 3pm, there being a one-hour time difference between the two countries.
What is also very different is the efficiency of the ferry building which is like an airport. The whole customs process is very orderly and much of it is done on the ferry which is extremely modern and clean. Unlike the feeling that we were unknowingly involved in a drug heist, last time I cleared Moroccan customs, our arrival in Tangier is also much like an airport. There is even perfume!
The usual hustlers wait outside to offer their hotel and taxi services and because we are struggling slightly with our bags and I can feel a bad Louie mood brewing, I accept the help of a taxi hawker. Five euros seems a fair price to pay to get to our hotel; until we realise that because we are in the Old City, we will not get very close in the car. In fact, we drive once around the car park to the opposite side where we are dropped off. It’s almost funny, except that we still have to walk up a lot of stairs and a few narrow streets and the person who introduced themselves to us as the owner of our hotel, is actually a hawker trying to get a commission.
Welcome to Morocco. It’s like being back in India and we will need our wits about us, but today we’re a bit slow off the ground.
The Medina feels a little seedy and there are men on every corner muttering to us as we pass. Jasper is particularly nervous and his unease is making me feel very conspicuous. By the time we arrive at the hotel, Louie who was very hyper on the ferry, has lapsed into a hypoglycaemic fury and insists on going out of the hotel and wandering around the Medina on his own.
Of all the places in the world we have been so far, the Old Medina of Tangier feels like the least safe place for him to be alone. Now, one would think that it would be easy to make him understand this, but for some reason, Louie becomes very reckless from time to time, completely unreasonable and utterly dangerous to himself. We can’t figure it out, but put it down to the afore-mentioned psychiatric disorder or rabies. Either way, the prognosis is not good!
This rebellious episode is particularly extreme and because I will not compromise on his going out alone and he refuses to go out with Roger or me, we end up patiently restraining him in the room while he bites and scratches. He quickly becomes hysterical, despite my calm and measured approach which is a surprise even to me as I am hot and extremely tired. The days following, when I am sporting bruises on my arms, he seems quite good humoured about the whole episode which falls into the category of ‘The Dubai Tantrum’.
It seems to me that Louie is a very complex and deeply feeling little human. He is the sweetest, most affectionate, loving child who shows enormous empathy towards others and draws people in wherever we go. On the flip-side, he behaves so badly and with such lack of care for his own safety that we wonder how he will negotiate his young adult years.
Roger, meanwhile, has left in search of food and bus tickets and picked up a guide who takes him all over the Medina. He assures Roger that he does not need money. He explains that he is like a mosquito, needing very little.
After taking us to a restaurant of his choice, trying to inspire us to do a little shopping and afterwards, a tour of Morocco’s oldest tree, he wants a little more than the two dirhams which Roger has in mind. Mosquito my arse! He was however, quite helpful in finding Roger a SIM card and bus tickets for the next day to Chefchaouen.
The fact is that his tree tour (to a Moreton Bay fig), is historically inaccurate, as the tree could not be older than the European invasion of Australia, and therefore nothing like the 800 years old he claims.
Because there are two local women having a fight outside the door of our hotel, we pay him quickly and escape inside. The medina is a noisy place and the drunkenness and fighting continues for quite some time.
We are eager to leave Tangier behind. Some experiences are best forgotten, particularly the ones that involve bad family dynamics.
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