Day 24
The sun moves slowly across the terrace as I drink coffee and write. I’ll have to wake Gail soon so we can get breakfast before catching a petite taxi to the train station.
Normally we walk to the train, bus or whatever, but here in Morocco the stations are out of town (3KM here) and the taxis are cheap ($1.25 to get there) so it is a no brainer. The Marrakesh - Casablanca - Tangier run stops here at 11:45, and it is a forty minute ride north to Tangier where we will get a taxi to the port.
Then it is just a matter of taking the next ferry, 16 KM across the Straight of Gibraltar to Tarifa, Spain, the Southern most point in Europe.
But plans are just plans, and so we leave Morocco in The Typical Style.
The $20 dirham taxi ride to the train station? The driver demands fifty dirham.
The Typical Style.
The train is fast and comfortable enough, the taxi to the port easy and, unbelievably, we get the same taxi driver who took us to Asilah just two days ago. He drives like a crazy man again, turning two lanes into three and pulling a left turn from the far right side across two other lanes of traffic, into oncoming traffic. I realize during the turn that I am not buckled in.
The Typical Style.
We get to the port, and the next ferry to Spain leaves in a half hour. Great timing. So the taxi lets us out right in front of the ferry office. I mean RIGHT IN FRONT as in three steps and we are in…
and as I am paying the driver, a man rushes across the street, beckons wildly, and proudly leads us the three steps into the office.
Hand out.
Time to tip.
The Typical Style.
The ferry tickets are $360 dirham each, so I pull out my credit card (because I have been so great about leaving the country cash free, I have no dirham left) but, of course, the credit card reader is not working. The ATM is across the parking lot, so I leave Gail to fill out the passport forms and I run to the ATM.
Why do I run, you ask.
Because people are literally lining up to show me the way to the ATM which is clearly within sight just RIGHT THERE and so I figure I can out run them all.
The Typical Style.
So, of course, you cannot get $720 dirham, but you can get $800, so now, unfortunately, I have tip money again, plus I am wasting money now.
The Typical Style.
I run back. The same guy is waiting to usher me into the office a second time, in case I forgot from one minute ago. He proudly leads me in, having just kept me from getting lost.
Hand out again.
The Typical Style.
We gather up out tickets (to freedom) passports and exit papers, and a guy, in a uniform this time, ushers up the ramp to the ferry terminal, and points us to the passport control. All of which is perfectly signed and easy to reach. He puts his hand out and suggests, “You cannot spend dirham in España. You want me give?"
Now THAT is a helpful suggestion.
The Typical Style.
We are behind one guy in the passport line. The lady officer is scrutinizing the passport, the papers, the guy, asking questions, looking at the passport again…
Time is ticking away. Finally, a year later she grudgingly STAMP! STAMP! STAMP! and he is through.
We are up next. USA passports, find the right page, glance at us and STAMP! STAMP! STAMP!
The Typical Style.
We can see the ferry right there, just gotta put the pack and suitcase through the x-ray machine and walk down a tube to the only stairs on the left to the only boat in sight…
We get through the X-Ray and a guy pops up out of nowhere, like a rabbit out of a top hat.
Seriously.
I am looking around.
Is this a trick by Allah, the cosmic magician? There is no one, really NO ONE around except us and the security officers. Where did this guy come from?
Do I need to tell you he walked us the twenty feet through the tube, pointed at the stairs leading to the boat, and put his hand out…
The Typical Style.
One last check of the passport at the boat, we settle into seats and I am so damn glad when the ship starts to pull away from the dock.
I am really really glad to be leaving Morocco.