Feeling like a Muggle

My first day in Tangier, Morocco I feel like a muggle. Seriously. All over the place grown men are walking about, doing business, you name it, wearing long robes with pointed hoods. Not all of them have the hoods up, of course, but many do. And the robes are in a wide variety of different materials and colours; I note one in white that really looks like fancy tablecloth material to me, another in pink velour, and dark teal with extensive gold brocade seems a popular option this year. The women too, of course, of all ages, even more extensively than the men, wear long robes, and these often have pointed hood too, though I feel their hoods are merely for decoration as most have their heads covered with a scarf. The men’s robes tend to be one solid colour, the women’s, wow, you imagine it, it exists. In many ways their outfits remind me of a child’s colouring book full of princess outfits, not because they look like ballroom dresses, the styles tend to be quite simple in fact, but because of the range of colours and patterns of the cloth they are cut from and the extensiveness of the tassels and embroidery and other extras. Oh, yes, and I can’t read a word of Arabic either, which also adds to the feeling of otherworldliness.

My goals for the first day are simple; visit a market, a church or museum, and eat some street food. Two out of three of these I succeed in commendably.

It is, by chance, Sunday, the biggest market day of the week. Not only are the locals selling all manner of goods; the classic market fruits and vegetables and meat and fish, the classic Moroccan brass and leather and rugs and jewelry, and also of course clothes and cigarettes and CDs and computer parts (used), but it is as well the day of the week that the Rif mountain women descend on the city in their odd outfits and outlandish hats with their fresh produce, mostly garlic and onions, and hand crafted goods, mostly woven items. As I wend my way towards, and then through, the old city I pass stalls with dried legumes piled high, or spices, or an assortment of dates, or richly scented fresh mint, or, best yet, strongly pungent olives in dozens of different varieties.

I start off simple with my local food objective getting a sample of the ubiquitous flat bread, about the size of a small pizza, which costs 1Dh or 10 cents. I think it is too big for me to eat the but rough whole wheat texture is quite compelling and as I wander along though the narrow twisting lanes of the old city, built on a hill and full of staircases, usually wide enough for two people to pass easily, I note many young boys playing chase up and the alleyways, goats seemingly roaming free, women doing laundry on washboards at public taps, and before I know it I have finished my bread.

I am heading for the Kabash, one of those amazing historic buildings that has lasted for generations built first as a church in what was then a Portuguese fort but turned later into a Muslin temple and currently serving as a museum. The medina, or old town, is predominantly occupied by what we in the west would consider very poor people but it became fashionable for foreign writers to live there at one point and now some houses are owned by wealthy foreigners or have been turned into tiny, but expensive, five star hotels. Often the walls are built out over the street a story or two up so the passageways turn literally into tunnels.

Eventually, having become lost on several occasions, I head back towards the main city’s modern core where countless bars and restaurants spill out onto the streets. I had been offered mint tea by one of the brass sellers in the old city and turned him down for fear of having to reciprocate his kindness by buying something I didn’t want, but here in the modern city, where everyone also seems to be drinking mint tea, I wander along until I notice someone who looks like they speak English sitting by themselves people watching, and I ask if I can join them. The tea is piping hot, comes in a tall glass glass with a generous helping of mint in it, is very sweet and tastes overwhelmingly of both tea and mint. Delicious.

I realize that I am not going to make it back to the boat by nearly the time I had said I would so stop in at a cyber café to send a quick e-mail to my captain (we do not have cell phones with us) only to be almost stumped by the keyboard totally covered in Arabic symbols. Yes, I definitely feel like a muggle.

Being a tourist is tiring so next I stop in a park to take a break, do some sketching, watch a group of boys out walking their sheep, listen to the eerie call to prayer being broadcast, at great volume, over scratchy loudspeakers… I accidently buy a huge baguette filled with lots of freshly grilled chicken, onions, and hot sauce, 10 Dh or 1$. At least tourists don’t have to starve!

Shortly afterwards, still on break and still eating, I think, as I sit by the fountain in one of the main squares, pick at a paper cone of hot curried chickpeas, 3 cents, and watch the world flow by, that with a good travel partner my life would be perfect. For me this has been an amazing day; all that was missing was someone to share it with. I guess that that’s why HS takes crew on, he would rather travel with someone than do so on his own. But what travelling includes for him I have not figured out yet. Three weeks in I am pretty sure we will get along well for the fall/winter but likely that will be all. He is continuing on to circumnavigate again but I am not sure, at this point, that, even given the chance, I would choose to continue on with him. His desire to come and explore the city was zero. He would not have wanted to walk nearly as far as I have roamed and I, despite the broken bones in my right foot, would not have sacrificed one step. I consider my various family members and friends, know several that would happily head off with me to see bits of the world. At the moment, however, I am feeling greedy, I like feeling like a muggle and I hope to do more of it, a lot more of it, I just need someone, almost perfect, to join me in my quest. Any takers?