Tarifa to Larache - Day 122

Date: December 18th, 2009
Distance: 92km
Country: Morocco
Song of the Day: Hating You for Christmas - Everclear

After four months in Europe I have reached a new continent, Africa, and country 12, Morocco. This isn't just a new continent on my journey, this is a new Continent for me all together. Out of the 7 continents on this little blue ball we call home, I have now been to 5 of them.

The ferry over from Tarifa wasn't too bad. The seas were pretty rough though, so you ended up walking around like a drunken 8 year old. I did meet some other Americans that were traveling and talked with them for a while. Being on a bike seems to invite questions about who you are and what you are doing. So I gave them my cards, and maybe they will check out this blog. You also have to get your passport stamped on the little immigration office on board the ship. That was really easy. The guy didn't even ask me any questions.

Once in Tangier, the fun really begins. I am glad I didn't try this the previous evening in the dark. The first thing that happened was two men in plain clothes asked for my passport. Now this makes me a little wary. They said they were police, but I didn't see any identification. I tried to ask if they had badges (I didn't have a clue what the badges should have looked like, so I am not sure how that would have helped...), but one of the (uniformed) workers from the ferry company come over and vouched that they were police. So I handed over my passport, they checked it had been stamped, and I got it back.

Getting out of the ferry terminal was confusing. There are cars and people going everywhere. Also, they don't really have a lane for bikes. People go up and over the cars on the covered walkway. Cars go either to the gate for one last check, or to a garage for the full search. I guess I looked a little lost, and some one came up and motioned for me to follow. I was halfway through the line of cars when I realized that the guy I was following probably didn't work here. So he was going to ask me for money. Oh well, too late now. He motioned for me to follow him out, but I hadn't gone through the last check. So I just asked one of the guards at the gate. He looked a little confused and there was a small meeting of the immigration officers before they said I could go. I am pretty sure they figured that anyone smuggling things (on a bike) wouldn't request the extra screening. The guy I was following did ask for money, so I gave him 30 cents and he went away happy.

After customs someone came up to me and started speaking in English. I am not sure what he wanted, but he kept saying the roads were washed out and I should take a train. No thank you, I am biking. Eventually he left me alone, and bid me a "bon voyage".

Whew, made it out of the port only a little worse for the wear. The city of Tangier itself is large and chaotic. I did want to find a place to by a SIM card for my phone, but nothing looked quiet. There were people hanging around everywhere and I felt like I just had a dollar sign on my forehead. So I just wanted to get out of the city. I was hoping to get a map too, but didn't feel like stopping to ask any of the shops. Instead I just followed the signs that said Rabat. I knew if I was heading West, I couldn't get too lost.

There was one big problem with heading west however. Wind. A big headwind was coming in from the sea and just slowed me down. Not much to do about that though. I just kept heading out of the city and into the wind.

Just on the edge of the city I was accosted by a group of children. I was riding up a hill when they saw me. I didn't think much of it at first, just a bunch of kids. As I went past though, they came up and tried to grab at my stuff. If it had been flat or no wind I could have raced past them. As it was I just didn't have the speed. One managed to knock my bread box off the back. I stopped, glared at them, picked up my box and put it back into place. Then they started swearing at me in French. I started riding again and they kept following me. So I would stop and glare at them again. They would back up, and we would start over again. One of them started yelling "manger, manger" at me, and putting his hand to his mouth. I understood that he wanted my food, but how was I supposed to reward a bunch of delinquents who just tried to steal my stuff? Finally another boy came up and said something in French. I don't know what it was, but I got the idea he was telling me to just get out of there. So I rode off and the kids ran away. I couldn't tell why at first, but then I saw a police officer rushing over. He asked me if I had all my stuff and I said yes. So that ended my first experience with little bandits. I can now understand some of the stuff that Ishmael Beah wrote about people being afraid of kids. I wasn't scared that they would hurt me (thankfully no one was handing out Kalashnikovs to them), but if they could have, I don't believe they would have given a second thought to taking all my stuff. At that age, and possibly that upbringing, young boys don't tend to think through their actions very well. Which makes them a bit more dangerous. So after that I was much more wary of the kids I saw than the adults.

In all I was very glad to be out of the city. The road was good. A highway, but with a nice wide shoulder unlike many of the roads in Italy or Spain. Plus the people in the rural areas were much more friendly. There were a lot of guys standing around on the roads. I am not sure if they were looking for a ride, or if they were looking for work. But as I passed I usually got a big smile or a thumbs up.

The only problem I had was with the wind still. After I got out of the protection of buildings, it only got worse. Once I hit the coast again there was nothing to stop it. It was coming almost straight on. Every once in a while though it would gust in from my right side. So I had to struggle to keep from being blown off of the shoulder and into the road. (Fortunately there wasn't much traffic.) The wind was picking up sand from the beach as well and blowing it at my face. This wind matched up with the worst stuff from Iceland and northern Spain. So not altogether the most pleasant way to ride. When I was doing 10kph that was a good speed. So, as you can imagine, it was a slow day.

I got to a small town just before the call to evening prayer. I actually thought it was Larache, but it was just a small village, and they didn't have anywhere to stay. They did have a phone shop, so I bought a SIM card. I sent my cousin an text and he called me back a couple minutes after. That felt really good. The plan for the last four months is really coming together.

There was one problem though. Rabat where I am going to meet my cousin is still 200km away. Google maps doesn't give directions in Morocco. I tried to guess, but I guess I was off by 100km. Something to deal with tomorrow.

So I just headed off down the road to Larache. It was dark by this point. For being a road in Morocco at night, it wasn't bad. Still had the wide shoulder, so I could stay out of traffic. Just dark. I almost pitched my tent in some woods along the road. I just felt a bit weird about it. I didn't know the culture very well and I didn't want to be accosted. Again, adults worried me much less than kids who might be come out there to hang out and make trouble. So I decided to keep going.

Then it started to rain. A big thunderstorm rolled over. Within two minutes I was soaked. Also, as I got closer to the city I lost the wide shoulder. So I would just watch out for cars passing. When something was coming by I would pull off into the dirt and let them pass. The big trucks would still blow water and sand in my face. At one point I wished that I had camped in the woods. So that was less than pleasant biking. I was quite happy to get to Larache finally.

In town I found directions to a hotel. I dragged my bike up a tiny flight of stairs to one place, and then found out they didn't have any rooms. Urg. Then I went to another place. They were nice and I was able to get to get a room for about 7 euro. The cheap price for a roof over my head made me feel pretty good about not camping out in the rain.

The next thing on my list to do was get some dinner. I had really wanted to try out Moroccan cuisine. My first experience wasn't that great. The food was good, but I was invited to sit down by a guy. At first I thought that he worked there. But it turns out he was just walking tourist trap. "I will translate for you. I will order." He didn't seem to understand that I didn't want his help. I didn't need him to order for me. The restaurant had a menu in four languages, Arabic, French, Spanish and English. Still, there wasn't anything I could do. It was like watching a car wreck in slow motion. First he ordered the wrong thing. Tagine with meatballs instead of fish. It was good, but not what I wanted. Then he launched into talking about how his mother was sick and he needed some money to take her to the doctor. I tried to play dumb and tell him life was hard all around. He was a much better player at this game than I was. He just wouldn't leave until I paid him some money. I just wanted to go to bed, so I game him some money and he left. Still, it annoys me. If anyone in Morocco talks to you in English, ignore them and walk away. It is hard to do for Americans who try to be polite, but it really is the only way to keep from being ripped off by every huckster.

After that I just went to bed. It had been quite a day. (Also, made for a long post, so I am sorry.)

-Dravis