I’ve put it off long enough.

I suppose that I’m a little depressed that my pictures didn’t turn out… and that I accidentally left my video camera on and only got random shots from the first 50km or so of my trip. I also didn’t do much talking to the locals down there. The talking I did do was with Tangerine folks riding the ferry to and from Tarifa. I have a little admission to make… and this takes a lot to say this, but I was out of my element in Tangier. I was experiencing something which I had written off as an issue which did not affect me: I had culture shock. I didn’t know what to do.

But how about I start from the start?

I got to Tarifa without knowing that I could actually catch a ferry to Africa. I imagined it was possible, but I hadn’t bother to look it up. I figured that if I got down there and there was no ferry, I’d either motor on to Algeciras or I’d hunker down and enjoy Tarifa. I didn’t really care. Like I said, it’s not about getting to your destination. If it were… I guess we’d all be killing ourselves rather than trying to take a breath and live. I arrived at 3pm. The man at the cash box said the boat left at 5.

“Does it leave at 5 or does it load at 5?”

“At 5pm, that ship will no longer be there.”

At 6pm, I was standing on the bridge wing with a beer in one hand talking to the deck officer about why the ferry never got underway on time. At 6:10 we were on our way to Tangier. I don’t understand unfriendly travelers, and I’m going to have to learn to shrug off rude people. I met an American, a German, and a Swede traveling together from Alicante. I put on my friendly non-skowl, and I did my normal thing when I approach a mixed group of co-ed travelers: I talk to the guys… let me back up for a second. When I go into the bathroom and someone’s peed all over the seat, I clean it up; I don’t want anyone to think it was me. Call it a complex. It’s applicable to a lot of things I do in my life. So I talk to the guys instead of the girls. It’s so they don’t think that I’m the sketchy moto-guy trying to pick them up. Well, I wasn’t interested… I seldom am, but I’d rather not even give them the chance to get that impression. So I wiped the toilet seat and talked to the dude. And in return, they didn’t want anything to do with me. We’re intended to stick together, people! When we’re on the road, us vagabonds only have each other. So let’s keep what we got. I guess it’s so easy to make friends on the road for that very reason: if nothing else, you always share the mentality that you’re not at home anymore. Enough about the rude people.

It took two hours to cross the border once we landed. There is no rhyme or reason to that immigration check-point. They have customs agents. They do something. What that something is, I don’t know. And I don’t like being taken advantage of. Have I ever said that? Have I ever said that I frequently allow myself to be taken advantage of because of my unnaturally good nature? I’d rather concede a $10 error in a bill than make a waiter or waitress feel bad. It’s a character flaw… and those seem to be coming out of the woodwork in droves these days. Well, when someone ‘official’ looking ‘helps me out’ and then demands a tip, it’s hard for me to tell them to go pack sand. It just is.

Public transportation in Tangier.I finally passed immigration and customs and was in downtown Tangier. One word comes to mind: circus. There’s people everywhere… in the road, on the sidewalk; spilling out of cafes, giving me the stink eye. I rode around for over two hours trying to get the uneasiness to go away. My first chore was to find a hostel or a campsite where I could crash for the night and get my bearings. I rode, and I rode, and I rode. It seemed that there were only fancy hotels advertised. The seedy motels and hostels seemed to be hidden from the streets. The few that I did see didn’t seem to have any place semi-secure to park. I figured that I could talk my way into parking in the lobby if I needed, too… but there were stairways and large groups of teenage boys posted in front of every possible hostel candidate. I’m not used to being uneasy in a foreign locale. I suppose that it’s been a while since I’ve ventured into a 3rd world Muslim country by myself on a questionable motorcycle. But I won’t justify. I’m going back down there ASAP. I’m going to be an Africa stud by the time I leave Spain. It’s as simple as that. It’s a skill-set and a comfort level which I don’t yet possess.I’ll save the trip back up the coast for a little later today.



Overlooking Medina.