I too was hoping for good Med climate to take over soon on this trip. I know, it’s only February and it’s the coast but still. And still, the morning was dark and gloomy and raining. After a perfect jamon & queso sandwich I took bus no. 7 to the border.
The border was dark and gloomy and smelling of piss. The big beautiful wall features prominently, stretching into the sea. There seems to be no passport control on Spanish side when leaving. The cagey corridors crowned by masses of barbed wire remind me of Polish-Ukrainian border, people dressed as gloomily, crowded in the queue towards the “better” lands.
Entering Morocco was easy. Fill out a form, get a stamp, next. On to the grand taxi stamp, wall on each side all the way, lines of hustling men waiting along. There was supposed to be a money exchange bank counter on Moroccan side but there wasn’t or it wasn’t open. There was a dead ATM. Money changers abound on the Spanish side and their rate is better than the one I saw later in Tanger.
It’s a short 4Dh shared taxi ride to Fnideq town. The town at first sight is dirty, gloomy and empty. So is the bus station. I bought the ticket to Tangier for 20Dh, I was told the bus leaves at “midi” and when I made sure it’s 12pm I was shouted at that midi c’est 12:30pm. Who knows. Also, my watch decided Moroccan time is 1hr behind Spain while it’s the same. Also, the time on the ticket said departure at 1pm.
I decided to do what I always do first things first after getting to a new country. Internet! E-pępowina! SIM card! I walked up to what seemed to be town centre and asked taxi driver about a Maroc Telecom agency. I was told to enter the taxi because “it’s far”. I refused and decided to walk on. The agency was 100m up the road. SIM card buying was easy, it’s 20Dh with 20Dh of credit “for communications”. If I wanted to get internet, I needed to recharge, the agency doesn’t recharge prepaid accounts, the bookshop next door does. I got scratch card and when I tried to recharge my phone told me I am not authorised to use the service. I returned to the agency, the gentlemen behind the counter were as confused as I was but finally we managed. After maybe 5th call to a 555 number we got my phone loaded with internet. It’s 2GB for 20Dh valid for a week. I didn’t manage to get any info on whether there are other packages. You just recharge the amount indicating it’s for internet it seems.
The weather remained gloomy and dark and wet. It was time for thé à la menthe, the most Moroccan of drinks. It was sweet and delicious as it could be even though my remark that I want it sans sucre wasn’t understood.
There was a reason I went to Tangier. It’s not particularly beautiful town, it has bad reputation of touts, drugs etc. I know someone who lives there. I met Angel in Abidjan years ago when I was coming down there with work. Angel now studies economics/human resources in a university in Tangier. Last time we chatted he said Morocco isn’t easy, it’s full of rules, he already got robbed of his phone but he can’t come back for another 2 years until he finished his master’s. He’s stuck. I know Angel as happy and cheerful man, smiling and laughing a lot. We enjoyed poulet kedjenou bien pimenté and many a beer bottle together. Last time I was in Abidjan was 2016 or 2017, it has to be verified.
Tangier accomodation by the looks of booking.com seemed expensive. €30+. Angel said he knows someone who rents an apartment for €10. Then €10 became €20. Then the apartment got taken. Then I started looking and booking.com wasn’t promising so I peeped into Airbnb. And there it was! Entire apartment with gorgeous views near downtown! €13!! I didn’t think much, I booked. Angel said it’s in a quartier un peu dangereux but I’m not afraid.
It was the first time I booked something via Airbnb. I once tried, in Copenhagen, 3 people for 1 night but so many hosts refused me that I didn’t bother again.
Issam who rents the apartment is a very friendly guy, plays in a band as a drummer. The apartment is on 7th floor and we can’t use elevator coz Issam’s electronic key doesn’t work with it. There is a cat on the apartment. Cats that eats things. “Don’t let the cat into the bedroom or it will shit in your room.”. Cat ate Angel’s earphones while we were out for the afternoon. The gorgeous view is mainly onto a garbage-strewn piece of land. It’s 10 minutes to downtown but at midnight and in taxi. The bed linen weren’t changes in ages. The bathroom needed a scrub. I understand Airbnb originally workes like that: you leave your flat and during the time you rent it to other people. Here it seems it works like this: Issam lives in a flat. When someone books it, he leaves the flat and his guests in it, while locking his own room. Thanks but nope.
But it’s all been paid so having not much to do in the flat me and Angel went to see the Medina. It’s been a nice walk, Angel tried to show me as much as possible and we walked and walked and walked. Kasbah to Medina to Marina Bay to new shiny Moroccan TGV train station. Instead of 6hrs by train to Casablanca now you get there in 2! However I found that the prices rise the closer you get to departure time so book ahead early. By the sunset Angel was frozen. Poor man not used to +12 and strong winds and without even clothes for such weather, you could tell his nose was all red, and well, for a black man that’s something. We took bus to yet another quartier en peu dangereux to eat some Lebanese shawarma because as Angel explained to me, he is tired of all things Moroccan and anyway Lebanese shawarma is better than Moroccan but you must take out all the vegetables, except maybe cucumber. And beetroot? God forbid! And yes, the shawarma was tasty and I ordered jus de citron and it was truly de citron and that means sans sucre. When I asked about it at the counter they told me that this is how you take true lemon juice!
I remember Angel happy, cheerful, smiling and laughing. Now Angel is slightly bigger, no longer a small boy, but also more bitter, more complaining, not so much smiling and laughing. This food is too heavy, tajine makes me sleepy, every morning I wake up I feel like I have flu. It’s too cold, I hate onions, I could only eat KFC and Coca-Cola.. I wonder if this is what he’s going through. Maroc c’est la galère! But then he says life here is better than at home and that studying abroad (€1000/year for school) is always better and of course he is planning to go to France and he speaks a bit Arabic already. Immigrant life, never easy.
Coming back to Maman 