Tangier

The Tangier in my imagination was a seedy-glamorous cosmopolitan city, inhabited by artists, writers, diplomats, exiles, international bankers and spies, hanging out in cafes and indulging in the forbidden pleasures of kif and handsome Moroccan boys. There are architectural and linguistic echoes still of the days when Tangier was governed by a European consortium. Matisse, Delacroix and Picasso painted here; Tennessee Williams wrote “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” on the beach; Barbara Hutton, the Woolworths heiress, and later Malcolm Forbes of Forbes Magazine hosted legendary parties (racing camels, a simulated cavalry charge by 300 Berber horsemen, 600 drummers, dancers and acrobats, you get the idea…); Paul Bowles, Truman Capote, Jack Kerouac, Alan Ginsberg, William Burroughs…  But after independence in 1956 there was a growing backlash against all the decadence: several high profile paedophile charges, the closure of the gay bars, restrictions on the sale of alcohol and a resurgence of traditional Islamic values so that by the end of the 70s the good times were all but over.

Now the recession – ‘La Crise’ – has hit hard, with few tourists, poor maintenance of historic landmarks and little progress on some major works like the new marina. There is optimism, however: the new king is popular and he seems to have a genuine focus on the future of Morocco and the prosperity of its people. A huge new container port at Tanger-Med is helping trade, and a big new fishing harbour is under construction. Apparently a lot of the hustlers and petty criminals have been cleared out in an effort to attract tourists back to Tangier. We certainly found all the stall holders and vendors in the markets friendly and helpful, not at all pushy or aggressive.  There is no shortage of self-styled ‘guides’, including small boys, but for a few dirham they helped us negotiate our way through the maze of narrow streets in the Medina and find the things we were looking for.

Terry was delighted to find the tomb of Ibn Batouta, the great 14^th century traveller who spent 25 years travelling the Muslim empire and beyond. The markets of the souk are astonishing, with gorgeous displays of fruit, vegetables, spices, flowers – even the fish and meat are artistically arrayed. Carpets, textiles, ceramics, ornate gold and silverware, leather – each piece seems more beautiful than the last. Just as well we’re boat people with simple needs and no space or I would have spent the entire cruising budget in a day. Many of the carpet stores are run by nomads from the western Sahara: they live in the desert all winter and come into town for the summer tourist season. You also see Berber people down from the farming areas in the mountains, wearing their elaborate straw hats and selling wonderful produce (fresh cheese, sold in plaited palm frond containers, is sensational!)

You could sit for hours in a café or tea house, just watching the multitudes pass by. Although most of the women wear traditional long tunics, trousers and headscarves, the colour and variety is extraordinary – so much for trying to suppress feminine self-expression. I did feel a bit sorry for the fundamentalist Shi-ite ladies in their black tents and fly-wire screens, however, looking like sad grubs amongst the butterflies.

On our second day in town we were drinking coffee in the Café de Madrid when Terry thought he heard a girl speaking with an Australian accent. Sure enough, a young woman was at the counter, trying to get directions, and yes, Erin came from Marmion in Perth – just a couple of miles from where we grew up. She had been working in London and was heading home ‘the long way’; had caught the ferry over from Tarifa in Spain for the day and was on a mission to buy food for her mates back at the hostel, everything there being closed for a religious festival. With our extensive background of one day in Morocco, we helped her find the markets and see a few of the attractions. We enjoyed her company and the chance to speak Australian again for a few hours!

And speaking of intrepid young people, a French couple and their three-year-old son rafted up next to us on their yacht. The child was born on board and has lived his whole life at sea! They are on their way to Senegal. They were joined later by a young English/Japanese traveller named George who, amongst other adventures, has ridden a bicycle clear across Africa. And there we were thinking we were pretty brave sailing across the Atlantic!

Although this is a wonderful city, our place in the harbour is dirty and uncomfortable – there are no facilities for yachts and we seem to be a bit of a nuisance to Harbour Control – so we’re about to head through the Straits to Restinga Smir, a marina on the Mediterranean coast of Morocco.