Conquering Tangiers like the Portuguese

We wake up at the butt crack of dawn in Tangier, not by choice, but by a combination of a shift in time zones, the port coming to life outside our window, and the call to morning prayer. Our immediate aggravation was immediately subsided when we were treated to the sunrise itself. It had started maybe thirty minutes earlier, but there's a lapse between the horizon and the hill that dominates over the eastern view of the city. "Good morning" the sun said... "why the hell are you up so early?"

Breakfast was not even being served yet, so we spent the morning reviewing the tour guides we had contacted the night before. Of the ones who had written back, some were too expensive, some had poor reviews on trip advisor and some didn't really offer much. The idea began to bubble that we could just do this ourselves. Surely there was a free walking tour map of Tangier on the Internet? After thirty minutes of searching, surely there was not.

Plan B?

We decided that after breakfast we'd check up on our lead in Tangier and see if they could recommend a guide, and if not, we'd go with one of the guides we found online. Breakfast itself was a disappointing pre packaged version of a continental breakfast, but it didn't matter, we were too in awe of the intricately decorated dining hall where we were eating. The time traveling feeling was in full effect again... Until we realized that the television in the background was playing in German and just a little too loud. It was soooo close to being a magical experience. Like you went through the trouble of lighting candles and incense around the bedroom, with fine silk sheets on the bed and Teddy Pendergrass playing in the background, and just before you start to make sweet, sweet love to your woman, the baby starts crying. In other words, close, but no cigar.

We finish breakfast, grab our bags and head out for the day. When we arrive at the shop of our friend's dad's friend (who is probably friends with Kevin Bacon), we learn that he is away traveling. We leave him a greetings from said connection and exit the shop to ponder our next move out in the streets.

Plan C?

To get a guide would involve going back to the hotel, emailing the guide, negotiating a price, coordinating a pick up, and so on. Basically, a fucking hassle. Now what? Well, we had a list of attractions, a map and a strong desire not to spend any money on a guide. How hard could it be to explore Tangier on our own? No misdirection here, my writing is not that great and I'm not a magician. Turns out, it wouldn't be that hard at all. 

First things first. Claire had a new obsession with snail man. Our exploratory trekking conveniently was not planned out. This resulted in traversing April 9th square several times. The real name is in French but je n'ai parle pas francais. Anyways... Every time we pass through the square, claire would look for snail man in the spot we had seen him in yesterday and sigh a slight disappointment when he wasn't there. More on this later. 

The first thing we "found" was St. Andrews church. Inside we learned from the caretaker the history of the church, but more importantly, deciphered the location of the casbah from one of the Matise prints he showed us. Can you guess where we went next? That's right, to see if snail man had appeared. After which, however, we headed to the casbah. 

Once in the casbah, we killed three birds with one stone because killing only two birds is less efficient. The gate to the sea offers amazing views, but the crying baby this time took the form of a jack hammer so we had to tune it out. The Dar el Makhzen is worth skipping unless you speak French, as I didn't feel there was anything there I haven't seen in other museums. Quite frankly, we were starting to suffer from museum fatigue which would later rear itself again at the Louvre, but I digress. The third bird killed was lunch.  I was literally hoping to kill a bird (then eat it) in the form of pigeon pastilla, a local specialty my excitement for was only matched by Claire's excitement for snail man. Sadly, it wasn't on the menu, but what they did have was some of the most amazing toubouli and marinated sardines we have ever had. The place seemed a little pricey when we looked at the menu, but reckoned we were paying for the view as it had a rooftop terrace. In retrospect, the price here was also a clear indication of quality and well worth it.

After lunch we headed toward the Medina to do a little shopping. To get there we walked, quite inefficiently, back the way we came. Wether it was a fear of getting lost or a diabolical plot by Claire is irrelevant. Either way, we had an opportunity to check up on Snail man who again wasn't there. Maybe he only works on weekends? Doubts were starting to build...

Once in the medina, we were able to find the fabled winding roads that are amazingly narrow, stacked with shops selling anything and everything a tourist could want, hidden from the sun, and no inkling of street signs to be found anywhere. Clearly our route here was a diabolical plan as we meandered the medina without concern for direction or location. Adventure wasn't out there, it was right here. Every store elicited oohs and aahs from the both of us, however Only one of us knows how to use our inner voice and I'll leave it at that.

One store was a bazar unto itself. Jewelry, things, more jewelry, crap, more things, and so on. The things and the crap were pretty though and we haven't completely disassociated ourselves from the accumulation of possessions as means of fulfillment (yet). After walking around for a hot minute, the shop keeper came up to us and started talking to us in Spanish. Que? Exactly... We had just spent four days in Malaga on top of three weeks in Ibiza not to long before. Additionally, it turns out a lot of people in Tangier speak Spanish which helped our unguided adventure tremendously. We were still in Espaniol mode and had said "Hola" to the shop keeper when we entered.  He immediately thought we were Spanish and comedy ensued. 

Ultimately we overpaid for a mirror that we are now carrying around the world as it would be too expensive to mail back. My negotiating skills were no match for their centuries of haggling experience. The best I could get was a measly 8% discount. The ego bruise was later compounded when I realized I had converted to Euros instead of dollars and didn't inspect the item closer to examine it's quality. In the end, we paid about $75 for a particle board framed mirror with a wood facade. We later received a consoling anecdote from friends father that he once watched his handyman argue for an hour over one durahm on the price of a hammer. One durham is about twelve cents. Clearly we never stood a chance.

Magically we found our way back to Snail Man Square (April 9th sq). He wasn't there, but we figured out we had managed to see the Mendoubia, Teatro Cervantis, the grand socco and the petit socco over the course of the day, but just didn't realize it at the time. Sadly, it was time to give up on the snails so we went back to the hotel to deposit the days spoils and plan our evening.

After a quick regroup at the hotel, we decided to walk over to the Minzah Hotel to make dinner reservations. On the way, we gave snail man one last chance... And he was there! 14 durhams delivered the most delicious snails we had ever eaten. Eating from a street vendor in Tangier just added to the allure, but don't worry, the ciproflaxin was on stand by just in case. We polished the snails off with random pastries from a local shop. Point, pay and eat. We didn't know what they were called, but we were rewarded nonetheless. Dinner was three hours away, this may have been a mistake :(

The day ended with a traditional dinner of tajine and couscous at an elaborately decorated restaurant inside a five star hotel. Don't let that fool you though. I had the feeling we were in an overpriced tourist trap as the food was mediocre and the entertainment felt kinda meh. They band was so so and the belly dancer might as well have been wearing training wheels. In hindsight, that would have been hilarious and far more entertaining.

We had made it through a day in Tangier on our own. Plan A worked after all. Maybe it wasn't a Portuguese level conquest, but a triumph by our standards. Turns out comfort zones are more about confidence than conditions.

- Bill

The Comfort Zone

After spending two days in Vienna, I was haunted by this feeling that I've been here before, that I've seen this city, and felt at home. It wasn't a sense of deja vu or a newly found appreciation for past lives, rather it was the sense of the familiar. Largely architectural in nature, it took me a while to realize I felt back in New York. Throw in the chic riverside bar with panoramic views and a trendy, no sign restaurant packed at 10pm on a Tuesday and the similarities were remarkable. Cementing the sense of comfort was a walk down a major shopping boulevard that had all the hallmark shops of Fifth Avenue and Soho.

The twist, was the overwhelming sense of class Vienna exudes. For example, the opera house has an exterior jumbotron so the less fortunate can also enjoy the opera. Not to mention the green belt of public buildings, with identical facing museums, various testaments to the Hapsburg's wealth, etc. The city is also saturated with cafes that serve as portals through time and space. While searching for an end of night espresso, we stumbled upon the Michele, a small cafe and pizzeria that our Italian friends testify to being straight out of Italy in the 1920's. The decor was antique (and most likely authentic) which helped create the sense that we were now part of Woody Allen's new movie (with a few minor substitutions). Claire's observation that Vienna could be the love child of Paris and New York couldn't have felt more true.

Having spent almost three months abroad only to feel like we were back in NYC however, began to paint a bigger picture: we never truly left our comfort zone. We had foreknowledge that a summer in Europe would be a step out of the zone before we leaped out of the zone (and into India), but in retrospect we barely put on our shoes. Well, maybe at least the socks...

With the exception of Zadar, we had visited places where we knew people and/or had an elementary language comprehension. I can speak a little German and a little Spanish, and we had friends in Berlin, Italy, and Ibiza. Even in Vienna, our friends from Italy now lived there. A convenience of timing, jobs, relationships and flight schedules. Perhaps more of a contrivance than a convenience, but to our benefit nonetheless.

Then we hit Malaga.

We were relieved to be back in warmer weather, but this time we were on our own. No friends, no phone and a barely passing ability to speak the local language. Unlike Ibiza, not a lot of English is spoken here. Best guesses, English words with Spanish accents, and hand gestures that hopefully won't be mistaken for insults would have to suffice. Despite these obstacles, we still felt, well, relaxed. The pace of the town and our experiences were not unlike our time in Zadar. Sit on the beach, eat seafood, explore the city, repeat. No hassles or feelings of discomfort here. "Una jarra de Cerveza con Esperato Sardinias" while starring off to the horizon would put anyone at ease.

Until you start thinking about the horizon.

Not the literal one, but the figurative one representing the "out there", or "just ahead". That, for us, is India. I've been joking along saying "India is going to punch our reality in the face" half believing it. Though after a day in Tangier, I fully believe it.

My personality skews towards "hope for the best, prepare for the worst". The problem is, I know ZERO about Morocco. It's hard to prepare for the worst when your not prepared at all. I'm not trying to say It's the shit hole 50% of the people you talk to say it is, but what I am saying is when you don't know where you are, don't speak the language, don't know the culture and stick out like a sore thumb, comfort takes a back seat to practical matters. Your priorities go from "let's get donuts from a street vendor" (which we later did anyway) to "don't let your wife out of your site" and so on.

We have left the comfort zone.

But we're soon heading back. We're only in Tangier for another day, followed by three days in Paris. Then we hit India. Which, hard to believe, might keep us in the zone. We did a ton of research, they're notorious English speakers, and at no point will we be on our own. Three weeks with a volunteer group followed by a week with a guided tour. Our expectations are reasonable: we know about the toilettes, customs, foods, etc to manage the experience as best we can and will just have to wing it from there. Compared to Tangier, we should be OK.

Then again, we're taking a 48 hour train ride from Delhi to Cochin... I really hate getting punched in the face.

- Bill