Mrehba Morocco

We were loathe to leave our wonderful, comfortable Tarifan hotel, but we staggered out of bed to catch the 11.00 am ferry from Tarifa to Tanger. We got to the terminal with no problems, and once we determined that everyone in a group was worse than useless (standing in the way of the cashier, blocking the passport lanes without proceeding through, blocking the luggage drop-off, etc), we set sail for Africa. The ferry was supposed to be 35 minutes long, and shortly after we departed we were invited to sit in the business class lounge, which seemed like a good sign for our trip. Things started to fall apart shortly afterwards. 

As the ferry docked at 12.05 (twenty minutes behind at almost exactly an hour for the crossing), we grew nervous about our ability to catch the 1.00 pm train to Fez, so we lined up early and jostled our way around every twist and turn so we'd be amongst the first off the boat. It would have worked perfectly, if only we'd heard the announcements (muted to the point of being inaudible in business class) on the ferry saying we needed to have our passports stamped on the boat. We bolted back up the stairs, found the customs bureau, and promptly settled in to wait for the immigration officer, who was obviously taking his break. Twenty minutes of waiting goes by; I'm resigned to our fate of catching the 5.00 train, while Jesse seems to think we might make it yet. Finally, he comes back, we're admitted to Morocco, and we run back off the ferry and to catch a taxi. It's 12.40 as we clamber in, ask the price (24 dirham, plus a 5 dirham tip for the guy who "helped" us load our luggage), and then ask the taxi driver to take us to the train station. I ask if we might make the 1.05, and he says "perhaps"; maybe there's hope yet! Plus, if we don't make it, the driver says he can take us one little tour of some of the tombs around Tanger. I guess that wouldn't be so bad!

It's a ten minute drive, and as we pull up, I jump out of the cab to buy tickets while Jesse pays the driver and gets our bags. I end up waiting in line, heart pounding, as I watch the two people in front of me buy their tickets. Finally, it's my turn, and I tell him - two tickets for Fez. 310 dirham, and I pull out my credit card - no, no, no, cash only. That's fine, we met a nice Canadian couple in Gibraltar who had some dirham left over, so we bought it from them - but it turns out I only have 280 dirham. Jesse arrives and tells me that the driver changed our fare to €10 from 24 dirham (about $3 Canadian), but we're in a hurry, so oh well. I'm processing this as I run to the ticket machine the clerk indicates, where I can supposedly pay with a card, but of course there are two people standing in front of it, arguing about the fare. I cross my fingers - 12.55! - as Jesse goes to the bank machine to get cash just in case. This ends up being the case, as he's able to pay before I can, and at last we have tickets for the 1.05 train!

We rush from the cashier to read the platform number, and are trying to figure out how to get there to run for the train, when a security guard asks us where we're going. We tell him, and he says the train isn't in yet. How could the train not have arrived yet? It leaves in five minutes! He points up at the giant clock just over our heads, where the hands have just ticked over to... 12.00. We lost an hour between Spain and Morocco. 

Honestly, we were too relieved to feel anything else, including embarrassment, and we were happy to wait the extra hour to catch our five hour train to Fez. It was an inauspicious start, but things have gone well since, and though I'm sure we're paying white-people prices for everything, well, we are white people, so what can you do? Also for obvious reasons, I was somewhat too harried to take any pictures on this leg, so you'll have to wait for your first glance of Fez later. I'll try to get that one up soon -assuming I can ever access the Internet again!