Landing in Morocco #5

Days 22 and 23 (25th-26th February)

I took the ferry. From Tarifa to Tanger Ville. Most of the people were with a car. The police in the border was surprised to see me with the bike. They checked the passport and made the classic joke “Ahhh, you are basque, now I understand…”

So I arrived in the middle of Tanger with the bicycle. I was a bit anxious and a bit paranoid with so many things: How is the traffic gonna be? Will I be able to make it with the bike through the Medina, where my hostel was? Will they actually let me keep the bike there?

So I basically went straight to the hostel. No thinking, just drive, be fast, land, and then, “we will see”. I was lucky and only had to push the bike with its 20 kg through 30 stairs or so. Could have been worse. Locals already started approaching me, saying “welcome to Tanger!”. I made it to the hostel and Luna from France and Abdel from Morocco welcomed me. “-Uffff the bike” -they said, “maybe you can leave it on the terrace…”. So another extra 30 stairs.

I went for a walk of my own. There are not so many “must see” spots in Tanger, but the Medina is small and nice. I soon started getting used to what was going to be a tradition in the north of Morocco. “amigo, amigo, do you want kiff / hashish?”. If I only knew how tired I was going to get of this question. JODER.

I returned to the hostel and met Kevin and Emily. Kevin is a freelancer photographer that does really good reportages in critical spots. He had recently been in Iraq and he was working on a reportage about inmigration in Morocco on its way to Europe. Emily is a British artist and was for 2 month already in Tanger. Really nice people, i think we connected very well. Together we visited Assylah, a super beautiful village in the Atlantic Coast. Kevin had a car, and I thought I deserved a rest day, also because I had some admin stuff to do, like getting a Sim Card and withdrawing money from the ATM. Later on we met Micaela from Argentina and had a tee watching the sunset in the Cafe Haffa. Ah, it was full of locals. I guess that made it even better. Avoiding tourist traps was now definitely a topic. I was out of Spain, so a bit out of my comfort zone.

I found Tanger nice but very soon I had to remember from other Moroccan trips these classic guys that see you just as a walking Euro and want to take every penny out of you. In Assylah it was calmer, but in Tanger, wow. Specially with the Kiff. I was telling them “I don’t smoke”, and then one guy told me “Come on, with earrings and you don’t smoke?”. I took the earrings out.

Day 24 (27th February)

The day of action arrived. First day of cycling in Morocco. I must admit I was really nervous again. The road, the sideway of the road, drivers… uncertainty everywhere. I hate it and I like it at the same time. Makes me feel alive, I guess? Whatever, let’s go.

2 hours after, I did a small balance. Roads: much better than expected. Drivers: better than expected (there are a lot of small motorcars that go super slow, so they are used to overcome them “respectfully”). But the wind…. JODER THE WIND COÑOOOO. I forgot to check it. I though the Levante wind that killed me in Cádiz was over and that somehow the “gods of weather” would be merciful and compensate for all the front wind I had before. What a stupid rationale. It was 65 kmph ! I was constantly stepping out of the bike, beceause the wind was about to throw me to the road or off of it. The journey to Tetuan, was definitely the most miserable so far.

Finally, at 6pm, I arrived in Tetuan’s main square. Somehow I managed not to freak out, accept the wind and the fact that I was gonna be veeeery slow.

Tetuan used to be the capital of the Spanish Protectorate in Morocco, which lasted until 1957. My granfather actually did the military service there! I could imagine him walking around. The city was full of spanish legacy: old factories, theatres, even churches. Most of people spoke much more Spanish than French. Which doesn’t necessarily mean that is a good spanish.

In the hostel, I met two very nice German girls, Janna and Charlotte. We went out for food and for a walk in the medina. Again, all the time offering kiff. Tetuan was super authentic though. I only saw one tourist in the zouk. In the zouk there were just locals (with their local donkeys) buying their food and stuff.

Day 25:

After having breakfast in the hostal terrace with a craaaazy view, I set direction to Chefchauen. The landscape turned very green and rush, with lots of uphills. There was no wind, but a crazy amount of elevation. 1’100 m+ elevation. Almost double of the maximum done in Spain. The final slope up to Chefchauen almost killed me. I started the habit of finding a local “restaurant” to get a chicken Tajin for 2€. I soon realized of the huuuuge difference between the touristic cities and the villages in the middle of the road, without much interesting stuff. They are just wild. No hostels, no one speaking anything but Arab. What I was looking for, at least what I thought I was looking for.

Arrived to Aline Hostel. A bit dirty, but very nice people from all around the world. And, let’s admit it, the whole thing in Chefchauen is really hashish oriented. Met Angus from Australia and Raviv from Israel. Both on their thirties, they were really hardcore travellers. They had been in around 70 countries, like Papua Nueva Guinea, and had work in things like fishng in Alaska and goldmines in Australia. I saw they shared a lifestyle, and they had done it for a long time already. “Would that be something for me? “I thought. We saw a crazy sunset from the Spanish Mosque, and found a tajin f or 2€, recommended by a moroccan that spoke a bit of basque because he had been living in Renteria. The first reaction was to think he wanted a tip. So we were a bit reluctant to follow him, but he didn’t want any. I felt a bit bad that I mistrusted him in the beginning. I guess its a difficult-to-avoid consequence of all the atmosphere of “buy, buy!”. It’s a pitty.

Day 26

Went for an early walk in Chefchauen, full of blue houses, with Raviv. I was somehow eager to keep exploring, so basically, I took the bike and set direction to Ouezzane.

It was again completely wild, although I could see a lot of touristic buses connecting Fes, my next big destination, and Chefchauen. Also lots of caravans and motorbikers cheering quite a lot to me.

I had a dilemma whether I should visit Ouezzane, since I had to deviate a bit to get in. Finally I decided not to, and found a signal that said camping place. “Motel Rif”. Perfect, I thought.

I made it there but they told me that they only allowed Camping Caravans, not tents. And the rooms they had was like 25€! The boss, however, showed me without alternative and so tired that offered me the room for 50% discount. I took it and spent the evening with the girls from the reception of the motel, Araja and Mehla, learning some words in Arabic, and having a fun time.