Spain: Tarifa

The bus ride to Tarifa was the first real change of scenery we got since the mountains of Granada. Lush green hills snaked along the edge of Spain and the clear blue Mediterranean. The bus ride was interesting as well. We had a bus driver suffering from severe PMS because she got into an argument with one of the passengers and even after he got up and retreated to the back of the bus, she was still yelling at him from the drivers sear. She also decided to get off the bus at one point to bark orders at a bunch of construction workers who were just doing their jobs. They cooperated to avoid her hormonal wrath and redirected traffic so that we could pass the blocked off street on the opposite side of the road.

Arriving in Tarifa was a relief. We walked down the town’s main street which was furbished with surf shops and tattoo parlors. This was definitely a shore town. Carrie was actually very excited to go shopping on one of her days; I was hoping to distract her enough to forget about. We continued along to find our Hostal, Hostal Africa. The very affordable room was the best and most luxurious of the trip. It was a clean, well painted, and well lit room. The shower was perfect and we were adjacent to the roof top access. The roof garden was fitted with tables and chairs where we ate a lot. There was also a gazebo where we read and played cards a lot and took shade from the sun. From the roof is where we got our first glance at Morocco. Honestly, Africa looked so close I almost fooled myself into thinking I could simply reach out and touch it.

The first day we went to the beach. It took us awhile before we finally settled on a spot. It was along a little cove set aside strictly for swimmers; most of the other stretches of beach were being used by windsurfers and kite surfers. Although, it was cool to see the sky filled with a large range of kites varying in size, shape, and color. The water was cold but clear and really refreshing. The beach was of fine white sand. Most of the crowd was young and it made me feel connected to my generation in way. This is what people my age were doing on the coast in Spain. Carrie sometimes criticized me for being too touristy by wearing my technical gear when we explore places… But now I was just in my board shorts and sandals. The day ended and we each received pretty good sunburns, though I think Carrie’s chest was the worse of our burns.

The next day was very thrilling. I didn’t tell anyone I was considering this, but we hopped on a ferry and went to Tangier Morocco for the day. I feel it is quite an accomplishment to have made it to Africa on this trip, and I still can’t believe I was there. When we arrived we were introduced to Moroccan hospitality and friendliness immediately. A dock worker helped a complete stranger up a huge flight of stairs with his luggage. Back home, workers would certainly feel they were too busy to lend a helping hand… but everyone we passed in the city was always smiling and waving to us. It was a very welcoming atmosphere.

Before we even stepped out of the port, we were bombarded by tour guides looking to quickly grab any tourists upon arrival. We selected the guide who best suited our needs… a very experienced tour guide name Said. He spoke 5 languages and has lived in Miami and reminded me of a Muslim Obiwan Kenobi, especially since he was wearing a sagely robe. He taught us a multitude of things about Tangier and the Muslim culture. We went on a camel ride, saw a cobra. We ate in a very affordable restaurant where we were treated to a traditional Moroccan meal of olives, vegetable soup, couscous, pastries and chicken dishes accompanied by the tunes of Moroccan musicians. Tangier was full of cats, being the pet of choice; even in the restaurant there were two freely walking about the dining area, weaving in and out of the tables searching for scraps. Said took us through old town, where we looked in shops filled with crafts: carpets, jewelry, knives, tiles, traditional clothes, statuettes, and more. We saw a lot of normal Moroccan life as well. We were welcomed into tiny bakeries and markets to watch men work—we never saw a women working (must be a cultural thing). Although we left Morocco in a day, it felt like we experienced a week’s worth of the time. We returned on the ferry; I was quiet on the return ride still trying to take everything in.

The next day it rained in Tarifa, which was alright, because our sunburned bodies couldn’t take much more sun. We did get a chance to go souvenir shopping and run some errands. Carrie and I picked up matching cartilage earrings because I lost mine playing football at the abbey and hey, it was less permanent than getting matching tattoos… We had a great dinner that night. We dressed up and sat in a restaurant and had a great night. We must have stayed there for three hours. It was like a little date, we ate olives, shared sangria, and talked through the whole meal. When we had to leave we really wished we stayed one more day. This Hostal could never be beat and we were beginning to fear that Madrid, wouldn’t keep us as busy as we would like.