I got a Monkey on my back...

After visiting Gibraltar and straining my eyes through fog and mist (found in all British territories, colonies, and protectorates), I decided to stop this long-distance African silliness and make the short and safe trip across the Strait of Gibraltar into Moroccan territory.

This past Saturday morning I departed Cadiz at 6 am with two friends--Raul and Joel. Raul is my roommate here--a tall and dark Spanish man that all the ladies seem to love (bastard!) and Joel is the son of a missionary pastor that spends his year running Christian-themed trips around the world (bastard!). I am jealous of both of them, yet they are both now good friends and fine traveling partners.

And so the three of us took a bus from Cadiz to Tarifa. Raul and I both slept the entire way, recovering valuable hours of rest stolen from us by Spaniards that demand our company into the wee hours of the night, singing, laughing and playing guitar. Once in Tarifa, we ran to the ferry, and were joined along the way by a Moroccan man and a Belgian man, both hippies.

We arrived in Tangiers in the early morning (oddly, there is a two hour time difference between Spain and Morocco). We were greeted at the port by Youssef, our tour guide for the day, the man who would sneakily lead us into sales pitches and pre-planned lunches. I am convinced that every stop that we made was a chance for him to earn a commission. Nonetheless, Youseff was a good guide and behaved well with us. We all learned much from our conversations with him about Islam and life in a land where 95% of the population is Muslim.

Some highlights of the day included seeing a middle aged shop owner smoking hash on a chair in front of his shop, being harassed for ages by a carpet salesman (friend of Youseef), eating delicious ¨pastelas¨ , which are sort of like chicken filled egg rolls, deliciously spiced and topped with powdered sugar and cinammon, listening to the call to prayer rolling through the city like thunder, and buying Coca-Cola with Arabic writing on the label.

Unfortunately, my plans to buy a great deal of loose-fitting, comfortable trousers was foiled by reality, and I ended up buying no clothes. I did however, buy a very small rug (the last of a long line presented by the man with the sales pitch) that will probably help me not at all, a strange rock-type jazmine perfume, a natural skin cream, some totally crazy compact discs, and some Morocco stickers. Oh well, there is plenty of time left to find loose-fitting trousers in my life. It is just that I had thought that the search was over.

And now, having touched on another continent, I find myself with a great desire to explore it more, having only barely tasted those mysterious lands that grace the far side of the Strait. OH, and before I forget, I got to ride a camel...That was cool. More photos to come.