Tangiers, Morocco

It’s just past seven AM and we are preparing to leave this magical city. The noises in the harbor below us have begun. I see small boats rowing on the flat water and the bigger boats are just starting their motors. The relaxed hustle and bustle of this fabled port town is starting up again. As I watch, more and more boats join the movement. People walk along the dock to the one row of sail boats moored in the harbor. To the far left is the ferry we will take later this morning back to Algeciras, Spain. To our right front is the Medina, that ancient, mythical neighborhood inside the walled old city. Our hotel, the elegant one hundred and twenty year old Victorian Hotel Continental, is perched on the side of a hill on the edge of the Medina next to the harbor. As I write, I am sitting now on the verandah that opens from our room to this wonderful view. Here I feel like I am in another century; I am certainly in another world.

Yesterday, as I wore my new green velvet jalaba through the maze of the Medina, the people smiled at me and many commented on my beautiful jalaba. I loved wearing it and I am glad that the people here liked that I would adopt their dress. The loose fitting, hooded garment was not too hot, as I had feared, but let the breezes in and it felt cool and comfortable, graceful and flowing as I walked the narrow cobble stone streets, streets that people have walked throughout history, for many, many years. Freddie and I have been fortunate enough to learn some important customs here and it has made our stay in Tangiers a total delight. Tangiers is a city of arches and intricate design; birds in palm trees; spices and leather; beautiful colors.

On the Ferry

Last Friday we took a plush ferry from Algeciras to Tangiers (much more plush than the ferry on which we are currently returning.) At the port in Tangiers we were greeted by the proverbial taxi hustlers. We had read that a taxi only costs a dollar in Tangiers so when they said ten and later seven dollars we said, “No,” that we would walk. But finally we took one for two dollars because it is true that the taxis have to pay an extra tariff when going to and from the harbor.

Fortunately for us, we had packed extremely lightly for this trip. I carried a tiny fanny pack purse and a small day pack. Freddie carried my large purple shoulder bag back-saver purse and a bottle of water and two bananas. We were quite contained and self sufficient and could have easily walked to our hotel or anywhere else. Family members who have traveled with me in the past would be amazed! And Freddie and I both love the freedom that our light load gave us.

We spent our first night, Friday, at the Almohad, a fancy hotel that overlooked the beach and had a view of Spain on a clear day. Carlos Heredia (Freddie’s guitar teacher) had stayed here for two weeks when he came on tour with Farruco. The hotel was beautiful and geared to getting money from its visitors. The hotel staff shooed away the would-be guide who had hopped into our taxi when we left the port. The hotel then offered their guide who was official and fairly expensive which we also declined. Our room had a small ugly balcony which faced the ocean. The light above the toilet was out when we arrived and another by the bed blew and flipped the circuits, but that was much later that evening. Morocco is two hours earlier than Spain so even though we had left Sevilla early that morning and traveled all day, we still had time that evening to start to explore Tangiers. First we took showers and then decided to look up Marc Silber’s old friend, Majid, who lives in the old city. Both the would-be guide and the hotel staff assured us that because it was Friday, the Moslem Sabbath (like Sunday in the Christian world), that nothing would be open. They all wanted us to wait until Saturday to do anything. But we said that we just wanted to walk and asked the hotel staff where rue de Chretiens was and were directed there, totally incorrectly as we later found out.

We walked and walked down a busy street with many open stores, asking directions along the way, discovering that the address we wanted was in the old city but being told again that things there would definitely be closed there!

Finally we turned toward the old city and walked up the hill towards the major square from which there are many streets leading to the Medina and the Kasbah. We entered different streets and asked our way, finding many people not knowing the street and others directing us to no avail. The streets were mobbed with Moroccans walking and shopping. All the stores were open and were doing a lively business. We saw no tourists. As we made our way, searching continually for rue de Chretiens, we experienced the Moroccan hustle. Everyone wanted to show us everything but what we wanted. Finally we started speaking in a combination of “G” language and gibberish and it worked. We even spoke gibberish to the hustlers and then they stayed away, not knowing what language to speak to us. We heard someone say, “gitanos”. But we couldn’t find rue de Chretiens and it was dark so we decided to head back, acknowledging the fact that maybe we did need a guide after all so we could find Majid. We started back down the hill and Freddie got a cramp in his leg so we went back to the square where I was able to massage it out. As we again headed “home” we asked in one more store and were directed again to the old city and told to go to Cafe Central and to ask again. So we decided to go for it and walked much deeper into the Medina than before. We finally found Cafe Central and asked again for rue de Chretiens and Majid. “Majid”, a young man said, “come this way.” We told him that we were friends of a good friend of Majid’s (which I am sure helped us to actually get there). We went through a small, dark L shaped alley to another street and there was a nice shop with “Boutique Majid” in big letters on the front. We found out later that many of the old French street names had been changed to Arabic names and his street, the former rue de Chretiens, is now called Zankat el Mouahidine.

The shop was open and Majid was there. He had just returned that day from a two week buying and site seeing trip in the Sahara desert in Morocco. He does a lively business of selling beautiful, fine quality Moroccan antiques at his store to customers all over the world. He has been written up in Leisure World, Moroccan Interiors, and some other magazines whose names I don’t remember. He has known Marc Silber for over thirty years, even coming to the US for Christmas dinner with Marc and his family. When Marc met Majid in Tangiers in the early sixties, they had both been “hippies”, Marc with long, long hair and Majid with big, wide, curly Jimmy Hendrix style hair. Now Majid has short hair and is starting to bald. He has been married to his third wife, a Dane, for eighteen years and has six children, two grown ones from two previous wives, and the rest with his current wife. She and the younger children were in Denmark visiting her family. That evening we had mint tea and coffee in Majid’s shop as we talked. Before we left, he invited us for lunch the next day. When he learned that we were staying at the Almohad, Majid recommended that we move to the Continental Hotel in the Medina because it was much cheaper and nicer than the Almohad and it was in the Medina, in the middle of everything. He sent us there with a guide to see if we liked it. Seeing Hotel Continental was like stepping into another century or into a page of a romantic novel. After we had looked at a room and made arrangements with Absalam, the owner, Majid’s guide walked us down the hill to the beach and stopped a taxi for us. It did only cost us one dollar to get back to the Almohad. And we discovered that this way was much faster and more direct than the way the hotel staff had directed us earlier that evening.

Once in our room again, we heard wonderful Arabic music from across the street and so we ran down and had a snack in a little outdoor restaurant on the beach, called Sheharazad, where the band was playing. It was so loud that we had to stuff pieces of a paper napkin in our ears. But the music was good.

When we again returned to our room, exhausted and ready to fall asleep, all the lights in our bedroom blew out and the night clerk didn’t want to fix it. We insisted, as we were paying one hundred dollars a night (a lot for Morocco). Freddie had to yell at him but it did get fixed, finally. And we got to bed a lot later than we had wanted! The next morning we awoke to find that we had missed breakfast. I was feeling more and more upset and frustrated with the service and the attitude at the hotel. I had not slept well the night before so I didn’t have much patience with the continued inconvenience and poor service. Freddie, on the other hand, was enjoying the luxury and comparing it to his other two trips to Morocco where the bathrooms were just holes in the floor and the living conditions squalid. He was reluctant to move from this insulated beach front upscale hotel to the elegant but much older and perhaps less comfortable and luxurious Hotel Continental. I didn’t know what to do but was increasingly uncomfortable with the Almohad. I called the Continental to see if we were able to have the better room that might have become available and Absalam, the owner, said yes, he had been able to reserve it for us. Freddie and I agreed that if we didn’t like the Hotel Continental we would return to the Almohad and spend our last night there. So we had a plan and we took our bags and walked along the beach and then up the hill to the old city and to the Hotel Continental.

Our room there opened to a balcony that overlooked the harbor and the Medina. The small staff was gracious and friendly. The continental breakfast was served any time and was included in our thirty five dollar a night price. We had a comfortable double bed and the toilet flushed more easily than at the Almohad. Our small room was furnished simply but nicely. Small oriental rugs covered the wooden floor. Two small cabinets with lamps and drawers were on either side of the bed and a small folding writing desk was in one corner. Two chairs and a small round table were opposite the bed. Another chair and table were on the balcony. The bathroom didn’t have soap but I had brought some with me. The shower hanger was broken but they graciously fixed it the next day and we loved the hotel.

After checking in we called Majid who immediately sent some one over to guide us back to his store. After more coffee and tea we went with Majid to his home where a fabulous lunch was delivered from a nearby restaurant. We talked and relaxed, exchanged stories, and got to know each other. Later we went back to the shop and after carefully looking at everything Freddie and I made some purchases that Majid will mail to California for us. Now we will have a few beautiful things from Morocco to remind us of this magical trip. Majid will be getting e-mail Monday or Tuesday and then we will give him Marc’s e-mail address and of course will stay in touch with him ourselves. He is a genuine heart person and we are so glad to have met him. It was dark by the time we had finished in the store. I had seen women wearing simple and elegant jalabas and I wanted one for myself. The night before I had found a store selling just the kind I wanted. I asked Majid what the price should be and then Freddie and I left and walked back to that store on rue Libertad, just outside the Medina. But the store did not have any small enough for me and because they would be closed the next day, Sunday, they wouldn’t have the time to alter one for me. I had not seen that exact style in any of the other stores and that was the exact style that I wanted. So I gave up the idea of getting my jalaba. Freddie and I ate dinner that night at the little restaurant, Restaurant Andaluz, where Majid had ordered our lunch. The place looked like a hole in the wall and the food was exquisite. From there we returned to our hotel, in the heart of Tangiers. We both slept wonderfully that night. The next morning, after our continental breakfast, we walked back through the Medina to meet Majid for coffee and tea. On the way there we looked at the beautiful embroidered Berber slippers for sale in the shops here, but we did not find the right ones to buy. When we arrived at Majid’s I asked him about the slippers and told him that I hadn’t been able to get my jalaba.

Majid immediately took me a few doors down to a store that sold embroidered slippers and I chose the styles we wanted and then the store owner brought us many pairs to try on in the comfort of Majid’s store. Then Majid left and returned shortly with a man with a tape measure who measured me and returned again with just the green velvet jalaba I had wanted. He had to take it back once to shorten it. And then I had it! Freddie found two pairs of the perfect (plain) men’s slippers and I found some beautiful embroidered women’s slippers. We will wear these inside our shoe-less house in Soquel. We also bought some Moroccan leather glasses cases because we both use glasses to read up close now. Majid will include these purchases in the three packages he will be mailing to the US for us. I am amazed. We got everything we asked for and with no hassle. Saturday at lunch Majid explained the Moroccan system to us. First he told us that when someone tries to hustle us, to stop and look that person in the eyes, acknowledging him as a person, and say “no thank you,” or “I beg your pardon,” or whatever we want to say to him, and not to move until the other person moves first. It works like magic. But, you have to stop and wait for them to move first or it won’t work because they will chase you. Ignoring them never works, nor does walking faster. But, he said, the Medina is very small and is divided into territories. Now that we are associated with him, at least in his territory, they won’t bother us. And they did know and we felt very safe and cared for in the streets of the Medina. Word spreads very quickly and people watch and know everything that goes on there.

On Sunday afternoon when Freddie and I walked to the Kasbah we were out of Majid’s territory but all we had to do was to stop and communicate with anyone who tried to hustle us, looking them straight in the eyes, and we were respected and left alone. All of Sunday I wore my new jalaba and the women smiled at me and the men were respectful. Wherever we walked now we walked un-bothered, hassle free. In this way we felt that we had been given “the keys to the city”.

Our trip has indeed been magical, with doors opening up so easily and naturally that we merely had to walk through, from one wonderful adventure to the next. Again, I thank the spirits whom I had asked to guide us and to help us. This trip has been incredible and Freddie and I both would like to return to Morocco for more time.

When I was seventeen, in 1962, I was traveling in Europe. My older and wiser friend who was nineteen, Penny Gorshoff, traveled with me after we met in the Soviet Union, through Czechoslovakia and Vienna to Barcelona. When we had met we discovered that we were both reading Lawrence Durell’s Alexandria Quartet on this trip. Penny and I had wanted to go to Tangiers but the ferry in those days only left two times a week and we heard that we had just missed it. That meant that we wouldn’t have time to wait for the next ferry, go, and return in time to catch our return flights home to the US. So instead we went to Ibiza and swam and drank wine in the hot Spanish sun by a road named Figaretas. Tangiers remained a dream. So now, in 1999, I have finally made it to Tangiers and the dream has become the very welcome reality.