Welcome back to the ramblings of a deluded narcissist in the grip of a mid to late life crisis.
I rose early and made the 25 minute walk to Santa Justa station, leaving Seville for Algeciras That was pretty much as exciting as the day got, to be honest. My plan was to just get something to eat once I arrived and then vegetate until I went to sleep. I had to be at the port for 6am the following morning so I wasn’t throwing the top hat and tails on. The hostel didn’t fill me with confidence but it did the job. Next morning it was early bird catches the worm, or in this case the ferry to Tangier. I got there two hours before embarking as requested, although it seemed I was the only one who got the message. I have to admit I was experiencing a modicum of twitchiness about leaving Europe and in particular about going to Morocco. My experience of people from there had been largely negative in the past but everyone I knew who had visited were largely positive. Sometimes you have to tell yourself a different story. The ferry ride was uneventful, just went through passport checks as there were customs staff on board. I then noticed we were heading into a port but Google Maps, the unimpeachable source of all things geographic, was telling me we were 60km from Tangier. We were actually at a place misleadingly called Tangier Med. When I booked the ticket I was obviously all a quiver with anticipation and had failed to notice that Tangier Med is not Tangier. I had also made the now highly questionable decision not to get any Moroccan lucre until arriving in Tangier. There were no cash machines in sight but not to worry, a young girl who was travelling with her family and who spoke very good English informed me there was a free bus to Tangier for ferry passengers. We all walked up a large hill and waited at the side of a dual carriageway for the bus, which soon appeared. The driver stopped, opened his door, looked at all the luggage the young girl’s family had and then drove off. Just when things looked to be getting uncomfortable a couple of Spanish hombres suggested we all share taxis which would work out at three Euros a piece. When I explained my situation he most kindly paid for me. Before you could say General Franco I was hunched in the back of a taxi with the young girl’s family and their bus driver alienating amount of luggage. Whilst we were on the way the young girl kept telling me to be careful as Morocco is not like Europe and that all her fellow countrymen would be out to get their hands on my money. Obviously not a problem at that very moment. It came up In conversation that I was heading to Chefchaouen from Tangier and I showed her my bus ticket. She pointed out that the ticket was only to Tetouan which is not far from Tangier but a considerable distance from my destination. The day just kept getting better and this young girl was just looking at me as if to say “You are a fucking idiot and you are going to get eaten alive!”. At this point the taxi driver offers, most generously, to take me to Chefchaouen for only one hundred Euros. I of course declined. I knew the family were going to the bus station so I felt confident I could get another bus ticket once we arrived. I had pinned the bus station on Maps and imagine my horror when the taxi driver was hurtling through Tangier in the opposite direction, in fact, he had left the other side of the city. I was somewhat anxious now thinking that they were all in it together and were going to take me somewhere to rob and murder me, or even worse. I asked the girl to ask him to stop as I wanted to get out as he is on the wrong side of the city for the station. Again looking at me with a mixture of pity and contempt she said not to worry, the bus station has moved. It was at this moment that we did indeed arrive at the bus station, which had indeed moved. So much for Google Maps. I said my goodbyes and thank yous and got a ticket to Chefchaouen, which took four hours on a bus with no air conditioning. It also seemed like they were trying to break the world record for the amount of people you could fit on one bus. Anyway, once I arrived at my destination all was forgiven. Obviously not forgotten otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this now. Chefchaouen is nestled in The Rif Mountains and is known as The Blue Pearl due to the fact that the vast majority of its buildings are painted blue. Nobody could give me the definitive reason for this but suggestions include; Jewish refugees in the sixteenth century initiated it to mark out their space, it deters mosquitoes and it is just a cynical ploy to attract tourists. I suppose the reason is irrelevant, the end result is a labyrinth of azure. Winding alleys, narrow streets, small squares and plazas all painted in various shades. You can get sidetracked but you can’t really get lost, reminiscent of Venice in that sense. I have to be honest, apart from walking up to The Spanish Mosque, located on a nearby hilltop, to watch the sunset over the city, I did very little. This was partly because I just wanted to rest after Europe and partly because I developed a stomach complaint on the second day. I just pretty much ambled through the streets and had the occasional stop for refreshments. The locals were very friendly and everyone I spoke to wanted me to smoke hashish with them, and buy it. One artist, Mohammed, offered me a lump the size of his thumb. I obviously had to decline this very kind offer but he just got absolutely trolleyed whilst we talked. The area is synonymous with hashish and there are tours of the local hash farms if that is your thing. The food was good and cheap, three courses for £7, but my stomach situation prevented me from enjoying as much as I would have liked. I feel there is a certain irony there. There are bazaars and shops everywhere and you are constantly being asked to part with your money, in a polite and yet repetitive way. A bit like that man from the Safestyle UK adverts but in an Arab accent. Despite the illness I had a wonderful time in Chefchaouen. Great people, beautiful place and very affordable. I had my own room in the hostel, Casa Amina, and it was pretty relaxed, I heard American voices whilst there but didn’t really see anyone. Maybe it was the television. Over the four nights I spent about £100, and that was rolling out the red carpet.
Sheesh that’s fucking hot!
-Australian guy after putting two sachets of chilli oil on his Kushari
Next stop was Marrakesh. This meant a bus to Casablanca and then a train from there. The journey went remarkably well and when we were nearing Marrakesh there were the first real clouds I had seen since Prague. There was also the awesome spectacle of a sandstorm which was most enjoyable from the safety of the train. The temperature reached 47 degrees that day although it was only a mere 45 when I arrived. As in Chefchaouen my hostel was in the Medina and initially took a wee bit of finding. However, that and people trying to extract money from you were the only real similarities. It was absolute bedlam, walking through the narrow streets it was like Whacky Races. At one point in the space of a few seconds; a woman in a burka riding a motorcycle with a child behind her and one sat on the handlebars, followed very closely by an ambulance with its sirens and lights on, then two young guys racing each other on what looked like 1970s motorbikes and finally a deranged looking guy riding a tuk-tuk with a psychedelic paint job. All this in streets that are only a car and a half wide and full of people and animals. Within a few seconds of leaving my hostel on my second day I encountered a gentleman, Mohammed, who was most keen that I visited the Berber tanneries as the merchants are only in town for a few hours each week. I thought why not and followed him to the oldest part of the Medina. On entering the tanneries you are given fresh mint to neutralise the smell, which is absolutely rank. They call this the Berber mask. The process of preparing the hides involves them being soaked in lime, flour and the excrement of pigeons. Lovely soft finish though. I was then led to the showrooms full of wonderfully crafted leather goods and given the hard sell. When I made it clear that I wasn’t going to buy anything I was shown the door in a very curt manner. Mohammed was then waiting outside to badger me for money to cover his role as my guide. When i gave him 20 dirhams (£1.80) he was unimpressed and muttered a great deal in Arabic as I walked off. This is Marrakesh, everybody wants a piece of the cake and everybody has an agenda. This was a pattern that repeated itself in North Africa. The hostel was great, Mosaic, and through them I organised an overnight trip to The Sahara for the next morning (£56). This was something I was particularly keen to do and was in fact the main reason I visited Marrakesh. I had pretensions of flaunting through the desert like Lawrence of Arabia, astride a mighty camel. The journey to the desert took the best part of 10 hours but we did stop off for a tour of Ait Ben Haddou. I had never heard of this place but I did recognise it as it has been used as a location in numerous films. These include Gladiator, Jewel of The Nile, Indiana Jones, Game of Thrones, The Living Daylights and, of course, Lawrence of Arabia. We finally arrived at the edge of the desert and were met by some Berbers with just the right number of camels, how fortunate. The beast assigned to me was young and had many characteristics of the teenager. He was also frothing at the mouth which, unnerved me as no one else’s was. I wasn’t quite positioned correctly on the seat but every time I tried to remedy this situation he became very animated. I just stayed as i was and endured the chaffing for an hour until we reached the camp. We were all given a tent but also told we could sleep under the stars if we liked, which most people did. We had food then sat on rugs and played drums for an hour or so. I got some sadistic pleasure from watching those with no sense of rhythm struggle awkwardly. Then, in an off the scale moment of irony it started raining, in The Sahara. I have to say that at this point I did feel a little cheated as the sky was also clouded over so I wasn’t getting to enjoy the famous desert stars. I was just working through how amazing the experience was anyway and being all Eckart Tolle about it when the clouds cleared and I was staring at the most heavenly starlit sky. Pure magic. Despite my best efforts to grab a different camel for the ride back in the morning I ended up with the moody teenager again. The Berber guide was even laughing as he explained how unpredictable the camel was. To be honest, it was a truly great experience and even the travel time didn’t dampen my enthusiasm as it meant we got to drive through The High Atlas Mountains twice. Back in Marrakesh I just had a wander around the Medina on the last day before setting off early for Casablanca to get a plane to Cairo. I had thought it would be better to get to Casablanca the day before my flight so there weren’t any worries about missing it and I could just relax. My old friend hindsight had different ideas. The hostel was really difficult to find, I got hassled and hit for money at the train station in a scene which felt rather ugly and the hostel itself was just someone’s house. The family would be having tea and watching the Moroccan equivalent of Eastenders as you were trotting through the lounge to use the toilet, loo roll in hand. Anyway, no harm done and I got to the airport and caught my plane no problem. Cost about £160 for the four nights and stay in Casablanca.
If Marrakesh was like a Robin Williams stand up routine then Cairo was a Joan Rivers drag tribute act on speed. It is enormous, bustling, loud, busy, in your face lunacy. A constant cacophony of car horns which is referred to as the Cairo music. Everyone wants a piece of you and everyone has an angle. You make eye contact with someone they want money for letting you look at them, you don’t make eye contact then they want money for being ignored. It is the way of the place but it does wear you down a little. The part of Cairo where I was staying is a mix of soulless mega hotels and beautiful old apartment blocks that have been sadly neglected. It has plenty of character and it is definitely an experience but it wasn’t my favourite place. Maybe it is my age and the fact I was still suffering with a stomach problem. Having said all that, I saw some amazing things while I was there. I arranged a trip to Giza, Memphis and Darshur with a tour guide through the hostel. Just me and him, cost £45 not including entry to places we visited (Giza Pyramids £10, Darshur Pyramid £5 and Memphis museum £4). We drove to Giza from the hostel passing through Tahrir Square, the Garden City and some large areas of seeming deprivation. One minute you are driving down a huge multi lane road and then suddenly you are seeing the pyramids at what looks like the end of the street. The Great Pyramid of Kufu is feckin huge and, platitudes aside, it does beg the obvious question. I stood in silent admiration for a few minutes until the guide moved me along. We also looked at the others from a distance and then a quick shuffle down to The Sphinx. To be honest it was a bit like “right you’ve seen it, we haven’t got all day!”. I imagine it all must get a bit boring if you live there but . . .. Darshur next via what seemed like a dirt track at eighty miles an hour with bikes, cars and donkeys all over the place. Arrived and the guide pointed at The Red Pyramid of Sneferu and off I went. I had to climb just over a hundred steps to get to an opening where I presented a ticket and was then allowed to go down a long thin shaft, backwards, for about 70 metres. The inside is remarkably well preserved and shows the level of craftsmanship involved. There was nothing in there though, either in terms of artefacts or decoration. Back up the shaft, down the stairs, back to the waiting guide and we were off again as though delivering blood, or organs. Final stop on the Cairo Rally was Memphis and a museum with some amazing pieces of statues and other stone exhibits, albeit a very small museum. It was quick and it felt rushed but it was still awesome to see the things I did. The next day I moseyed on down to The Egyptian Museum, home of course to the treasures of Tutankamun, no cameras allowed. Many other treasures and statues reside there and it was a compelling few hours, cameras allowed. Entry was £10. I also had a quick butchers at Tahrir Square and the island of Zamalek where the The Cairo Tower stands. My final day was spent walking a couple of miles across the city to Salah Al Din’s Citadel (£6). This was originally built by Saladin but much has been added to it since then. There is a mosque inside the walls reputed to have been built with stone pilfered from the pyramids at Giza and another, that of Mohammed Ali, with a great hall and courtyard, all of which are magnificent. It is also home to the Military Museum which is included in the price. I found the citadel very peaceful and just sat and chilled for a good while. I absolutely loved the things I saw in Cairo and stood in awe on more than one occasion. The hostel was great, The Australian, and I have many fond memories of my visit. I did find the city hard work though. I spent about £150.
Early morning walk to Ramses Station and a ten hour train ride to Luxor. I had booked first class and the ticket came my way for the princely sum of £11. I have to admit it wasn’t luxury but I had a big seat that reclined and some serious air conditioning. The journey actually took thirteen hours but I wasn’t particularly bothered and it really was a great way to spend the time. I felt like I saw so much of Egypt, good and bad. The date trees were laden with fruit, donkeys in abundance carrying their burdens, kids playing football on dusty pitches, the affluent villas and then the run down shebabs. I arrived in Luxor after dark and opted for a taxi to get to my accommodation as I just couldn’t be arsed walking. Turns out you could hit it, The Bob Marley Peace Hostel, with a tennis ball from the station. No ganja smoking rastas and no dub reggae, although there was an Egyptian guy who was constantly chonging the shisha. The stomach had improved but I was still eating a very limited range of foods. Next morning and I decided on a visit to Karnak which is a short bus ride from Bob Marley. There was a young English guy who also wanted to go so we ventured off. We were reliably informed that you just jump on a blue and white bus and it will take you there for two Egyptian Pound, about 40p. This information was correct and before you could say Amenhotep III we were at Karnak. It is a large site of many temples built by many different pharaohs. The highlight for me was The Hypostyle Hall which has dozens of immense pillars liberally adorned in hieroglyphs. After The Great Pyramid and The Sphinx this is possibly one of the most recognisable places. The site covers a large area and takes a couple of hours to take in. In every nook and cranny there was someone lurking who would show you a special place for a tip. Sounds a bit like Kings Cross. We couldn’t find a bus back so walked for a bit and then, despite warnings from our host, jumped in a horse drawn carriage. I have to be honest, I have always wanted to lord it up in a carriage through a city but I never thought it would be in Egypt down the banks of The Nile. Funny how things turn out. Later that day I went to Luxor Temple as the sun set over The Nile. Although nowhere near as large or imposing as Karnak the effect with the setting sun was spectacular. Both sites were £5 each. Early start next morning as we were booked for The Valley of The Kings. It is a 45 minute drive from Luxor and we stopped at The Colossus of Memnon on the way. These are two crumbling statues which are all that remains of a once mighty institution. Sounds a bit like the Manchester United defence. Finally arrived at the main attraction and paid for tickets, £5 to visit three tombs. You can also visit extra ones but at a cost and we were advised that the tombs of Tutankhamun, Seti I and Rameses V were not really worth the extra. The ones we did visit were amazing although all quite different. In two of them the wall paintings were still vivid and fascinating to see. Not bad for 4000 year old graffiti. We had also visited Hatshepsut’s Mortuary Temple which was fabulous from a distance but up close disappointed as it had been extensively restored with modern stone. If it feels that I am shortchanging you with descriptions of what I saw it is purely because words don’t do justice to many of the sites of Ancient Egypt. I would just keep using adjectives like amazing, awesome, mind blowing, breathtaking to the point they became irrelevant. I hope you get the idea. My last day was taken up trying to resolve an issue with my phone; couldn’t get a connection anyway, anytime, anyhow so had to buy a new one only to find later that it was a network issue and not a phone issue. How I laughed. Excluding the phone it cost about £140.
So, North Africa. I have to be honest and say it was a massive culture shock to an entitled European playboy such as myself. Unfortunately it was also a shock to my body, hence the sustained gastric complications. However, it was an awesome experience and to see the things I did is beyond words. The people I talked to and engaged with were interesting, resilient and welcoming. It is a place of massive character and massive characters. I just didn’t enjoy the hassle and constantly being hit for money. It may just be because I was ill so I will own that one. Onwards to Jordan.