Travel days always have the most hassles, but some spook you a bit more than others. We headed out to catch a 7:30 AM train to Tangier and after a relaxing couple of shots of espresso, buying a newspaper dated May 9th (oh, this wiley-wacky Morocco), we were greeted by a ‘Monsieur!’ We looked up and one of the hotel staff was holding out our passports to us.
We had spaced that unlike everywhere else in Morocco, the hotel had held our passports during our stay. Moments like these just send shudders through you. Sort of like a travel ghost walking over your lucky travel charms (for me, that’s a pair of fingernail clippers and a small LED keychain light).
We caught a ferry back to Spain and then a (wow, I can’t believe they make buses so comfortable and clean!) standard run of the mill Spanish bus to Tarifa.
Tarifa is a great little town, full of windsurfers, surf wear shops, Indian hippy stores, tapas bars, techno music and backpackers. It could be a sister city to Santa Cruz, but more dedicated to seriousiness of sport. The town counts the number of Force 5 winds it gets each year.
It really is an interesting contrast to Morocco. The Arab-Moorish architecture and the layout of a medina is completely revamped into whitewashed, clean, pleasant alleyways full of the luxurious smells of pizza and tapas wafting around. A much better set of smells than donkey doo, fish stalls and tannery toxins.
We hung out, slept a great deal, and sat on the benches overlooking the beaches that stretched out to eternity. We watched a parade complete with little girls in white dresses, a huge alter being toted around and incense being burned. Had good espresso in the morning, fish for lunch, and tapas for dinner(chorizo to absolutely die for). We thought about dieting, but, of course, rejected the notion.. dang! windsurfers at this level are really, really in shape! And we rejoiced that we were in the coolest section of the country; it sounded like Spain was in a 100 degree heat wave everywhere else. Keep those Force 5 winds blowing!
Tarifa sort of slows you down, and we spent a lazy three nights here basking in the Westerness of the town, the tie-dye and music.
