jackandthecitylights.org

Lalla Takerkouste to Tangier

Riding from Tangier to Lalla Takerkouste, all 700km of it, was a great experience in a lot of ways. However my monthly tolerance for near death experiences was exceeded on a daily basis. So for the journey back I decided to take the train. I set out from Lalla Takerkouste on my bike early saturday morning and arrived in Marrakeche at around noon. After being directed in 5 different directions by 4 different security guards I discovered I would have to ship my bike separately by bus to Tangier as they are not allowed on the train. Some how I managed to pick the wrong day as well, and they told me they would not be able to ship it until monday. Not wanting to ride another 50 km back to Lalla Takerkouste I decided to take a bus instead.

The bus station was not the standard tourist service, and so upon approaching the entrance I was surrounded by drunks, peasants, and con men all shouting various commands at me in different languages. I walked through mass and pushed several men aside as they attempted to barricade the way to get my attention and fall into one of their tourist conning routines. After negotiating a ticket, the tariff on my bike, and a tip to the guy who insisted he show me which bus I needed it came out to about $30-$35.

Standing amidst the chaos of the bus station I watched the goings on of many different things, not out of interest so much as boredom. Vendors of all sorts walking about sold everything from shoes to coffee to people waiting for their bus. An occasional skeleton of a cat darted past looking for any scrap of waste to eat. It’s fur blacked with the grease from the undersides of the busses. Just when I thought I had seen the most wretched wreck of a cat in all of Morocco, another would slunk by that beat the last. Ripped ears, a leg joint fused from a bad break, patches of fur missing, the spine and hips almost poking through the skin. I felt sorry for them, but alas I had no extra room in my bags and was not headed to kitty paradise anyway.

As I sat listlessly staring off into the out of focus flow of different colored cloaks and motor bikes weaving precariously through the crowds of people a sharp rapping sound caught my attention. I looked up into the window of a bus to see a little girl waving enthusiastically at me. I smiled waved, and attempted to return to my thoughts, but she persisted. She was trying to show me something. I smiled again, waved and watched her disappear from the window only to reappear in front of me a moment later with a set of earrings or something held out in front fo my face. Talk about ambition, I thought to myself. She couldn’t have been more than 8 years old and here she jumped off a bus that was about to leave to try and sell some odd trinkets to the lone white goof who had strayed off the tourist path she saw out the window. On the third decline she ran off back her bus which left practically the moment she hopped back on.

In Transit

My bus left an hour late at about 10pm. Nine hours, too many stops, bad food, and no sleep.

Tangier was cold and early.

I waited in the port for 9 hours to connect with my ferry to Sete.

I went straight for my bed, and slept for days. I woke up running and just barely made it to the bathroom in time to violently displace the contents of my stomach into a clogged toilet. “Must have hit some rough seas”, I mumbled to myself, while staggering back to my cabin. I caught a glimpse out a window and to my chagrin noticed that the boat hadn’t even left the port. Natural born sailor.

I did however leave my passport and debit card in the bathroom. By dumb luck or an act of god 6 hours later I found myself in the captains office having cookies and tea as he returned my things safely returned to me.

I met a few interesting characters who told me of how close the US once came to nuking itself off the face of the earth via a Russian sub armed to the teeth and out of communication with it’s fleet.

France

At the port in Sete I met a french couple touring on a tandem who were returning from Morocco as well. Here’s a link to their blog:

I stayed the night in Sete with Veronique, a couch surfing host. Luckily I arrived on Crepe day and we ate a million and 3 crepes that night. Veronique gave me a tour of the city the following morning and told me of the boat jousting tradition that is carried out in the canals in Sete in the summer time.

Saying goodbye to my new friend I set off in search of what adventures France held for me.