Out of Africa

By the 20th, I knew it was time to leave morocco for a long time. I had some good times, but I missed showers with reliable heat and water pressure, no toilet paper shortages, and being able to ask strangers for direction without fear of having to pay to be led into their "cousin's" carpet store.

My plan was to go to the Spanish-controlled city of Ceuta and catch a ferry to Algeciras, and a train from there to Granada.

I woke up as early as I've done recently and caught a taxi to the bus station. Even though i used all the arabic words I know and never spoke a word of english (i had heard this would impress locals) the guy charged me twice what the ride was worth. I then caught the chicken bus to Tetuaon, and I was getting worried because I had the equivalent of 5 euros to do this while thing and the cap was one and the first bus two. I then caught another bus for a euro and spent the last on a cab to take me as close to the border as he felt like driving.

At the border, an old moroccan man who only spoke arabic and spanish helped me figure shit out. It was kind of scary, because as we were walking towards the first moroccan control post, the corrugated steel roof fell in. Like, the a large part of the roof was so rusted it just fell 5 meters and smashed onto the road. The moroccan officials then had it lifted back up and put into place again, but with a small safety cone under it. Excellent work.

Nothing fell apart on the spanish side, but the security equipment was all unplugged. The old guy put his bag in a metal detector and the spanish border guard got mad (because he was trying to read a paper) and pointed to the unplugged cord coming from the machine.

Ceuta was not too bad a place, i don't think i would go back on purpose, but it was good to be back in the first world (even if it is europe).

The old guy helped me get to the port and buy my ticket for the ferry, which was pretty nice of him, especially because all i had to give him was a slice of an orange.

The ferry sucked, it was the fanciest one but i almost got seasick because of how bumpy the waves were. Occasionally I heared a really loud puking sound coming from some guy behind me. Poor bastard.

When I arrived in Algeciras I had no idea what the hell to do because I didn't plan this part of my trip quite as well as I should have. I was very pleased that there were no conmen and hustlers at the port trying to rob me or take me to some awful guesthouse they get a commission at, but it was still kind of weird being left alone in a strange city where even fewer people speak english than morocco. I eventually decided to just head into town and hope for the best. I was delighted when I saw the bus and train stations were not far from the port and right beside eachother (thanks, algeciras!) but both places told me, in quite bad english, that i had missed all the transportation to anywhere I would even consider going that day and should return in the morning.

I went outside and for a few minutes was seriously considering hitchhiking to Granada, but i decided that it's a 4 hour ride and europeans are weird to begin with, so i had better just stay the night in town. I found a pretty great hotel with my first private bathroom since I began this trip and luxuriated. I wandered around town a bit, looking for something to do, but at night it seemed like the whole place was run by kids. Everyone over 20 seemed to be staying inside, probably out of fear of those damn teenagers.

The next morning I went to a supermarket to get breakfast and was so incredibly happy to see clean white floors, airconditioning, and plentiful food (probably inspected by some kind of official too!). I wanted to get a baguette and something to dip it in, but apparently spanish people aren't in to dipping or something, because all I could find was this weird tub of stuff with a picture of pigs on it. The only word I could read was ROJA, which i know to be the colour of great flavour, and I explained away the pigs by just reminding myself that europeans are weird.

I sat in a park near the train station and tried to eat my stuff, but the ROJA was not living up to the flavour sensation I had imagined. Infact, it was kind of gross. I looked a little closer at the bottle and that research, combined with the taste and texture, convinced me that it was pig lard. It even says it's for bread right on the label. What the fuck, europe?

After that i caught the train to Granada and made friends with 3 frat boys from MIT.