Day in Tangier

Judy. When we decided to come to Cádiz, sometime last year, Ted promised me that he’d finally take me over to Tangier, Morocco. While we’d heard how dangerous Tangier was—a typical border town—the new king of Morocco decided tourism was a good bet for the country, and saw to it that the city cleaned up and welcomed visitors. Even Rick Steves touted how much he liked it. In fact, he recommended foregoing the tour, and just taking the ferry over to explore on your own. And we have the time, if only for an afternoon. (Anyway, more tourists mean more expensive hotels, and we are, after all, on a fixed income.)

After a 5:30 AM start from home, we took a bus to Tarifa to catch the ferry to Tangier. Some of those on the ferry had the sticker that showed them as part of a tour, but we decided to follow Rick Steve’s advice, and went on our own. The only downside was that, upon arrival, the tour group was hustled off, while we ran through a gauntlet of guides to get up the hill to the Medina. That’s a term used for the old, non-European part of every North African city. 

From the port up to the Medina

We found our way up through the maze of the Medina, which I found pretty darned exciting. As it happened, it was market day, so the Berber women in their straw hats decorated with colorful pompoms were out in full force.

Market day

The absolute BEST was walking past spice shops! I could have stood and sniffed all day.

But Ted had a specific destination in mind—the grave of Ibn Battuta. (He’ll tell about ol’ Ibn in another post.)  Up we climbed through narrow streets, past blankets of food, metal goods, djellabas, and cheap soccer jerseys, past men wearing the djellabas, women in hijabs, and Western-dressed Tangerines (yep, that’s what they’re called) going about their daily lives. After several twists and turns, we found it, and took the photo.

 From there we headed off to find the Kasbah Museum, which was easier said than done. After a few turns, we wound up on an overlook of the ocean, where we met up with one of the guides who had cornered us at the dock. He was carrying a Chinese flag and leading a huge group of Chinese tourists. He greeted us, and Ted told him he’d come out better by having a big group. “Yes,” he told us. “Can’t talk now, I have to show these tourists around.”

Alone on our search, we passed the same shops and houses several times, 

View through a gate

 much to the amusement of young guides and shopkeepers. Finally a nice man with shopping bags saw we were lost and pointed us in the direction for the Kasbah—steps away from the overlook where we met our old buddy the tour guide. 

Third time we passed this neighborhood

But we made it, and the palace was worth it! Another nice gentleman helped us to find the Kasbah Gate, which we had walked through twice. Sigh… 

Kasbah courtyard

One of the rooms in the Kasbah

We worked our way back through the market, past the tour group from the ferry and their Tangerine guide and his umbrella, to a plaza where we ate a delicious lunch of chicken kebabs and tangine vegetables with couscous. We did forego the mint tea with huge pieces of sugar.

After that we headed past the old Jewish Cemetery (from the time when the Jews were expelled from Spain and welcomed in Morocco) to the American Ligation.

Welcome sign

American Ligation

Here’s some history for you:  Morocco was the first country to recognize the US; in 1777! In 1821, the Sultan of Morocco gave the US a building in Tangier, which became the US Legation. It’s the oldest American diplomatic property and the only Historical Landmark outside the US. Pretty cool, huh?

Now the building is used both as a museum and as the Tangier American Legation Institute for Moroccan studies.

Having tackled that site, we walked to St. Andrew’s Church, an Anglican Church right there in the city. 

In 1880, the Sultan donated the land to build an Anglican Church. In recognition of his generosity, the building was built in the Moorish style, with beautiful woodcarvings in the ceiling of the Sanctuary, and the Lord’s Prayer written in Arabic. A plaque on the side contains a quote from the Koran. The bell tower even resembles a minaret—so when Matisse painted the view of the park from his room at Villa de France Hotel, he thought it WAS a minaret!

"Minaret" bell tower

 

Interior of St. Andrew's

The church is surrounded by a cemetery overgrown with trees, which almost hide the building itself. Graves dating from the 1800’s to 2016 are there, and a very touching section where crew members from British bombers who had been shot down during World War II were buried, not only side by side, but with the headstones actually touching, since the crews had died together.

Buried togethere

Haseem, the caretaker of the church and cemetery, introduced himself and suggested we visit the Hotel Villa de France, across the street.

So in our jeans and jackets, we walked into the fancy 5-star hotel and up the elevator to the balcony and finished our day with a glass of wine and a charming view of the city. 

 

Slumming it at the Villa de France

We wandered back to the dock, where things began to go wrong. The ferry ran late, which affected our catching the last bus to Cádiz. We arrived in Tarifa with minutes to spare, but the security line there was really long—no way would we catch our bus.  A Spanish gentleman standing next to us saw I was getting worried. He murmured, “Tranquillo,” then headed to the front of the line. Ted grabbed me and we followed him, where we heard him tell the women at the front that he had to catch the bus to Cádiz. They let him ahead of them, and when I told them we were in the same situation, they sent us ahead as well. Many thanks to them!  Then the passport police changed shifts, chatting with each other all the while!  FINALLY, they let us through, and we grabbed a taxi to the bus stop, where we met the man who helped us get through Passport Control, thanked him, and had a pleasant conversation till the bus arrived.

Home and to bed about 1 AM after a long, exhausting, and fun day of discoveries and surprises.

I’d like to add something here. The women who so kindly let us in line were Muslim, in hijab and abaya. They were full of smiles and ready to help out. The last time we asked to break in a security line was in Malaysia, and the folks there kindly waved us through. They were also Muslim. Sadly, I’m not sure that if these lovely people were to ask the same in some Western countries, they would receive the same kind and generous treatment. I hope so.