So after Italy, I made my way to Valencia where I had an awesome few days. Deciding to shake things up a bit and leave air-conditioning and the Euro as a bit of a memory, I added Morocco to my itinerary.
And to make it even more interesting, I decided to make the trip there by bus/train/ferry/walking/taxi/magic carpet. I thought it would only take 24 hours. It took 36.
Throw in some crazy bus drivers, a couple Canadians, an Irishman, and a swindling Moroccan and you've got an adventure.
As I planned my route from Valencia to Marrakech, I realized that I would have to be on top of my game. This was the first time when I was the slightest bit nervous about travelling alone.
The trip began with a bus ride from Valencia, Spain to Algeciras-the major port city near Gibraltar on the southern-most tip of Spain. The ALSA bus trip was scheduled to take 14 hours with multiple stops between the beginning and end. That wouldn't be too bad if I got to sleep the whole way, but when your entire life for the past 2 months is sitting in a backpack with all the other luggage underneath the bus, you have to force yourself to wakeup at every stop when they open the luggage compartment to make sure some Spaniard isn't running off with your backpack.
The night was pretty uneventful...air conditioning on the bus, not too bad...just major fatigue from waking up every hour. Though there was a nice Moroccan man (I think) who sat next to me and liked me for the fact that I would watch his bags when he disappeared and because I gave him some of my nuts (almonds).
This is my bus.
We got to the port at 8am...plenty of time for me to buy my ferry ticket to Tangier, Morocco. The "fast" ferry was scheduled to leave at 9am...my train in Tangier was at 11am. The ferry was to arrive in Morocco at 9:30am local time (I would gain an hour with the time difference). The problem was that the ferry didn't start boarding until 9am.
Everything would be OK, though, because of the hour I gained...I thought we would still arrive in plenty of time for me to catch what was essentially the last train of the day to Marrakech. Plus, because of the wait, I happened upon a Mike and James...a couple of cool Canadians who were travelling together to Tangier, as well. I had noticed they were speaking English and had backpacks when I walked by, but what attracted me to this set of travellers?
This is James. Hanging out the back of his pack...is nothing other than an orange ShamWow! If you're not familiar with this North American cultural icon...educate yourself here.
These guys were really cool...they had spent the night before in Gibraltar/Algeciras and actually visited the Rock. Well I would get my chance to see it was the ferry would swing around it on our trip across the strait.
Here's the Rock of Gibraltar (as referenced by Jay-Z in the Diamonds Remix by KW...and thus quoted in the title of this post). I also got to know James and Mike on the ferry and learned that they also had to catch an 11am train in Tangier-they're cool cats. The boat arrived at 10:59. Not quite enough time to make it to the train station. So they decided that they'd take the bus to their destination, Fez...while I would weigh my options at the train station. But we promised that we'd see each other in Marrakech, for they were heading there in a few days.
At the train station, I learned that the only other trains after my missed train heading for Marrakech placed me there at midnight or later. I did not want to deal with finding my way in this new town in a relatively poor country at midnight (this was also the first time I was using my money belt). Not to mention that the only directions to the hostel consisted of three sentences...none of which had any street names involved (which I later learned was for good reason: because there are no street names in the Medina in Marrakech).
So I made the prudent choice and decided to stay in Tangier for the day and take the night train over to Marrakech, which would place me there at a much more agreeable 8am. Problem was that I'd have to call my Riad (Moroccan guest house) and let them know I'd be missing the first night, so they wouldn't cancel my reservation.
I walked up to a payphone and tried to use it, but I required a special prepaid card that could only be bought at the store which was conveniently closed. Well sure enough, a nice Moroccan man with perfect English strolled up to me and offered to help (he said he was also going to be on the night train to Marrakech). And he did...in fact, he even tried calling for me from his cellphone. But he said the number was incorrect; he gave me the phone and the man on the other end spoke no English...funny since all reviews of the hostel said the owners spoke perfect English.
Anyway, we spent the next hour walking to an internet cafe (spelled "teleboutique" in Moroccan) and finding the correct number for the hostel. We eventually found an alternate number and Shareef, the man, gave a call for me and to my relief sorted everything out. This guy turned out to be my friend...I was so appreciative of the help.
We got to talking and he learned of my desire to purchase a gelebah (the Moroccan robe looking garments) and he took me a store where I could get one. Now I knew from research that all things bought in Morocco are only done so after a haggling game, but when the shop owner started the game at 900 dirham (roughly 90 Euros), my Spidey sense went haywire. Something like this should not cost this much. I talked it down to 300 dirham, but was still suspicious of what was going on and why Shareef had taken me to this store.
Now my gut had been pulling at me this entire time about whether or not I should trust him, but I kept on hanging out with the very nice guy who I wanted to buy lunch for because of his help. Our first stop was a bar where he knew the bartender; Shareef offered me a beer (I declined...I had already decided I needed my full senses around Shareef, even though he was my friend) and was fed ridiculous amounts of fish and meat. I filled up on the food and when it came time to pay, Shareef paid the 300 dirham bill and said I could get the next tab. Being that there were another 7 hours until the train and that I owed the guy, I agreed.
My security sensors went off again when at the next bar, he was friends with the owner...in fact, he seemed to be friends with most of the people at the bar. But, be strong. Long story shortened, he ended up ordering 7 more beers (to my none) and I ended up paying the tab...300 dirham. It was fine with me, because I owed the guy. In fact, the nice bartender even gave me a little antique souvenir from the bar as a token of his appreciation of my friendship.
Here's Shareef and me. Homies, right?
When we left the bar, Shareef tried to withdraw money from 4 ATMs, but he couldn't withdraw the money. In fact, he even called someone at his Moroccan bank and yelled at them in English right next to me. A couple f-bombs here and there and conclusion was that he was out of cash and needed it.
He asked me for some cash. All I had were the 200 dirhams left in my pocket. I graciously noted that this was all the money I had. He asked if I could withdraw some. I said I have no more in my account. He said "let's go". I said "How about the destination be the bus station" (where I had dropped of my bags at luggage drop desk) "then the train station where we can wait until our train leaves". The drunk man finally relented after I gave him the 200 dirham to "borrow" and to pay for the cab.
I was searching my mind for excuses to ditch the guy who had so nicely helped me out of my situation earlier in the day. Got to the train station where Shareef was explaining to me that he had to sort things out, but the police who'd help me where standing "just over there". I thought to myself that for someone that might be taking advantage of me, it was weird that he was pointing out the police. No matter, as he said I could sit in what he called the "safest" spot in the train station, conveniently located next to the ATM.
While I sat patiently and waited, he kept walking over and giving me food and water bottles. I couldn't wrap my head around this guy. For someone so nice, my gut was screaming at me that something was wrong (700 dirham later, of course).
He came back to me later with his cell phone in his hand and said it was his friend, Abdul, on the line. Turns out that Shareef didn't have money to make it to Marrakech, but had a friend Abdul who would help show me around, there, and would meet me at the train station in Marrakech.
Well, while I waiting, I met Furdia. This Irishman was having a terrible day. In fact, he had spent the day being led around Tangier by 2 of the false tourguides that I had read so much about. These men show you around town (as friends) then ask for money in the end as payment for their services. He had to deal with not one, but 2 of them. In fact, he sprinted away from the last one. We soon became buddies as we seemed to be the only people that we sort of trusted.
And as a side note, we both agreed that we hated this attitude we had. We are guests in this country of Morocco, it is a different world, we'd like to keep an open mind and not gravitate towards westerners every chance we get. But when you have untrustworthy locals left and right, it makes it very difficult.
Funny thing is, when Furdia sat down next to me, Shareef stopped coming to talk to me. I decided I'd call my hostel in Marrakech to confirm everything. Sure enough, when I called, the man had no idea that I wouldn't be making it until that night.
So much for being my friend...Shareef conned me...and he got me good. But I wasn't too angry. Sure, I was disappointed that I let myself get played, but I honestly chalked up the experience to a learning experience with a couple of expensive souveniers. In fact, I think I've become stronger, because nothing like self-experience can help you more to learn how to trust your instincts.
I also met some cool Arizonians in the airport who live in Morocco now. Natalie, Mike, and little Caleb were super nice (and insanely cute in 2-year-old Caleb's case) gave me hints and tricks on spending time in Marrakech.
Finally, time came to get on the train and I couldn't wait to get out of Tangier.
Spent the night catching sleep in my sleeper couchette with someone who looks like Benner. And was so glad when I finally made it to my riad in Marakkech.
Yes, I'm being careful...it's not like I wasn't before. And Yes...I've seen "Taken".
Oh...and 2 epilogues...
Abdul did find me at the train station in Marrakech and tried to talk to me but I told him go away...
And Mike and James did find me in Marrakech...they, too, had a similar story about being ripped off in Fez on a desert trip.
Mom,
Sorry for not telling you that I was going to Morocco...but I knew that it was stories like this that would do nothing but make you worry yourself sick. I'd like to assure you that I am more than fine...I'm great. Marrakech is nothing like Tangier and all the people are for reals nice. At no point in this story did I feel like I was in danger of being harmed. Just a bruised ego and an expensive lesson. But still thought you'd like to know about my story. Love you and be home soon.
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