Crossing the pond 1

Another attempt to catch up.  This was the day to cross the Mediterranean from Spain to Morocco on a ferry, trying not to think about all the "ferry burns and sinks" headlines.  It was a lot of hurry up and wait.  For some reason there was a trail of crushed almonds following our route to the boat, odder still there were no birds picking them up.  On board the ferry, the hundreds of passengers stood in line waiting for one single passport control agent to view and stamp their passport.  We made it across without encountering any kraken or rogue waves, waited some more to collect our bags, and waited more to put them through a scanner.  On both sides there was a scanner for the bags, but no sign that anybody was questioning or even seeing the results.  While in line I petted a kitten - you sssppssssppsss at them and hold out your finger and they can't resist.

Now that we were in Morocco, we changed our clocks back an hour.  Franco had put Spain on the same time zone as Germany and Italy to suck up to their WWII leaders, and it was still that way.  Then we settled in for a 5 - 6 hr drive from Tangier where the ferry landed to Fes where we were staying.

We not only set our clocks back, we set our calendars back by a century or so.  The land is surprisingly green and covered with wildflowers, poppies prominent among them, but this is near the end of the rainy season and later it will all turn brown.  We passed miles and  miles of primitive human and animal-powered farms - plowing with horses, carts for transport, goats, sheep, cattle, chickens.  Reaping by hand with a scythe, carrying huge loads on heads or backs.  Few tractors or cars.  Often we would see what looked like the uninhabitable remains of a mud brick house, with laundry hanging to dry.  Occasionally there would be electrical wires and a sattelite dish.  Wells with ropes and buckets.  Fields worked surprisingly high up on mountainsides, and there are many mountains.  In contrast, at a rest stop for lunch we saw a Mercedes Maybach, so somebody has money.  They fence fields with prickly pear cactus if at all, and respect historical but invisible boundaries.  We passed through villages with heaps of fruit and nuts and vegetables, piles of watermelons, large carcasses hanging, and creative ways to use every bit of space and material.  It was like being in a documentary about subsistence farming, although there seemed to be plenty of food.

Ramadan starts on the 16th, which changes a few things for us.  Some shopping free time was moved to earlier days in case shops are closed when we get back to Tangier, and it turned out we had to set our clocks back yet another hour, but as it gave us another hour of much-needed sleep, it was okay.  We have had a lot of early mornings, and it's really hard on those who are not morning people.

Dinner was in a former palace, with beautifully ornamented walls.

There was traditional (I assume) music, although the instruments did have amplifier pickups in them, and then we were entertained (I assume) by belly dancers, one who ate fire and one who made her boobs dance, and some enthusiastic but not all that talented guys randomly dancing.  Small dishes of spiced vegetables started the meal, followed by skewers of meat and a tagine of tender lamb.  The full tourist treatment, in other words, but it was tasty and fun and beautiful.  I think now that my dollhouse is built, I'll start a new project building rooms with Arabian/Islamic tile designs and carvings.

Next post (I'm too tired to do it justice now); the Medina in Fes.  Truly a sensory overload.