I almost get knocked down by a kid who comes barreling round a corner and dives past me.  In hot pursuit, a panting, red faced woman wielding what looks like a chair leg with murderous intent…

It takes a whole day of hustling in a service station to get a ride to Algeciras, the southern port city of Spain.

It is hot, dusty, and very frustrating, but finally I make it to the coast and get aboard a ferry for Morocco.   Africa baby!   It’s a new continent, and I’m excited.

(Top: The Medina, Tangier)

The ferry is delayed about two hours.   It arrives in Morocco about 11 pm, at the massive, newly completed Port complex east of the city, called “Tangier Med”.   Then it’s a tortuous and expensive ride from the port to the city in the back of a crowded, beat up taxi.
The Moroccan passengers and the driver argue loudly about the fare in Arabic during the one and a half hour journey.  It IS extortionate but the passions aroused during the debate seem out of proportion to the issue.

(sweet interior design on the Spain / Morocco ferry)

(Tangier’s hustlers are less worrying in daylight)

(the old harbour area)

(livestock in The Medina)

(the same animals 30 minutes later)

(the cheapest hotel in Tangier – note close proximity to attractions)

I arrive in Tangier City just after midnight.   It’s hopping with young, partying Europeans, Moroccan hustlers,  street people and taxi drivers.   I read in my “Wikitravel Offline” app (free from Android app store) that cheap hotels can be found in laneways surrounding the eastern end of the water front district.   I set out, weary but confident.
I walk in circles for a while, trying to find affordable food, and a cheap hotel.   The city is full of tourist traps, and rip off joints it seems.   As I walk, I am constantly approached by seedy looking guys who pop out of dim alleys to mutter invitations at me to “buy hashish”.  I studiously ignore them, but they are persistent, and a bit creepy at one in the AM.

I finally locate the object of my search: cheap street.  Every large city I’ve ever been to seems to have one; a road, or a district where the hotels are absurdly cheaper than anywhere else in town.  In Tangier, this street is called “Rue Magellan”.  As promised by Wikitravel, it is at the eastern end of the water front, away from the trendy bars, overlooking a decaying old harbour complex.  All the hotels in the street are good value, but I settle on the “Hotel Excelsior”.  I don’t know what you look for in a hotel but the number one feature I am interested in is the tariff, and in that department, the Excelsior really lives up to it’s name.  I obtain a clean, well ventilated room with a working lock, a comfortable bed, a basin a table and chair for 50 Dirham, the equivalent of about US$6.00.  The hotel is quiet, the manager friendly, and there is even an attempt at kitsch decoration evident in the lobby.  I notice several empty double rooms as the manager shows me around, so with a little diplomatic chit-chat I get myself an upgrade to a double, gratis.  The room I end up in even has a view, a window, and a balcony!  Score.

In the morning, I discover that all Tangier’s sights and attractions are located in the old “Medina” district, which luckily is only a few hundred metres from my hotel.   I spend the day wandering through the winding streets of the Medina, trying delicious fruit I’ve never seen before, trying on traditional Arab style clothes, and tactfully evading touts, who are legion.  The preferred method of luring customers seems to be the friendly greeting ploy.   Judging me to be a Spanish or English speaker, the typical tout calls out to me “Ola, hello, my friend…”   When ignored he proceeds to ask questions: “speak english?   Where you from amigo?   American?   Spanish?   You want souvenir my friend?   Why you not talk?   You don’t speak English?   You are not really cool, are you?…” etcetera.   At first it is odd, and slightly funny, but after a few hours it is just irritating, and I resort to telling a few of the more persistent, and worse smelling touts to “take a hike”.

“Westerners” are, basically, gullible consumers.   We are soft targets for every half-arsed, cancer inducing, poorly made product on the market.   We will happily spend money on anything if it looks like a novelty.   What we don’t like – coming from prim, urbanised societies – is people getting in our personal space and pawing us.   Despite this fact, high pressure selling still seems to be the preferred method to try and offload goods on us in Morocco.   Relax guys!   We tourists will buy anything if you give us some time and space to feel like we discovered it ourselves.
(At this point please ignore the irony of a hitchhiker criticising hustlers… ;-) … it’s all about the way u do it!)

(some things about Morocco are very French)

(a Riffian in the market)

The majority of the shops in the market sell leather goods, clothing, jewellery or local hand crafts.   I explore some out-of-the-way side streets, and find the workshops, and tailor’s where the merchandise is being produced, which gives the market a greater sense of authenticity.   At least the over priced souvenirs here are being made locally, not churned out in China.

The fresh produce area is awesome, with everything from whole sheep heads to snails available by the kilo.   It is Sunday, so the Rif mountain people are in the market selling vegetables and handmade cheese, beautifully wrapped in woven leaf baskets.

The market, and the Medina in general, are full of street kids, hustling for change, nabbing food of market tables, and generally surviving.   I almost get knocked down by a kid who comes barreling round a corner, and dives past me.  In hot pursuit, a panting, red-faced woman wielding what looks like a chair leg with murderous intent.

The old city is so picturesque, its hard to take photos that don’t look like clichés, so I give in, snap post-card shots and just enjoy the feeling of being in a real life Tintin book.

(the back streets of The Medina)

(do not loiter under this arch)

(The Medina of Tangier, seen from the harbour)

I take a look round the small, but interesting “Kasbah Museum”, which has archeological artifacts from the old city, including burial vessels, crockery and weapons.  There is a long history here, from ancient times, through the Arab empire, and into the time of the Spanish conquests.

While I am walking around the museum, I notice some people setting up PA and lighting equipment.   I have a chat with them.   They are a French music festival, which is touring to Morocco for the first time.   They tell me the gig tonight is free by invitation, and give me a ticket!
I go to the Cinema in the old city square, the “Grande Socco” and chill out for a while with a coffee, then head back up the hill to the Kasbah for the show.  The line up is a mix of French and Moroccan bands, playing smooth, jazzy lounge music.   The crowd is young, trendy, and middle class, a mix of black denim hipster types, college students and musicians.  The music is fun, but the crowd are subdued, self-consciously sophisticated.  Compared to the frenetic, colorful life of the Medina outside, the concert feels dull and a bit bland.   A few game street kids climb over the museum wall and crash the party, but the bouncers give them the bum’s rush.  Shame… at least they were dancing and looking like they were enjoying themselves.