THE OTHER SIDE

By Base Drum Ben

As published in "Europe from a Backpack"

I had been in Europe for quite some time, and had seen most of countries in my Lonely Planet Europe guide.  For some reason they had decided to include Morocco in the book, even though it was technically part of Africa.  I was in Spain, so I thought, 'why not?'  It was only a short bus ride from Granada to the Spanish town of Algiceras, from where I could take a ferry across the straits of Gibraltar to Tangier.  No problem.  I hadn't stayed in a hostel for the last two weeks and was looking forward to meeting some more travelers. 

So off I went.

Upon arrival in Algiceras, I found a bustling Spanish port town with all the life and color of the Mediterranean Sea itself.  I did some food shopping, walked around the town, and got one last good breath of European air.  Rather than going directly to Tangier, I chose to take the cheaper ferry to Ceuta, a Spanish colony in Morocco.

This was not the wisest decision of my traveling career.

Upon arrival in Ceuta, I followed the directions in the LP to the bus station outside of the ferry terminal and found only taxis.  No sign of busses whatsoever.  I also lost two hours during the trip across due to time zones and daylight savings, so it was now quite late in the evening.  The people at the ferry terminal gave me absolutely no information about places to stay or how to leave the city, and no one spoke any English.  My Spanish wasn't good enough to communicate effectively with, either, so I was in a tough position.  "Well," I thought, "I should find out when the last ferry to Spain leaves so that I can go back if I can't find anything."  So I asked the ticket salesman, and he said something like "Go now, the last ferry is leaving now.  Run!"  Great.  What could I do?  I ran and caught the ferry, and realized, as I was getting on, that it was the same ferry that I had just gotten off of. I felt about two inches tall.  Shame.  I had been defeated by fear, loneliness, and a lack of confidence.  How pathetic. 

I just wanted to go home.  Three months on the road was enough.  Enough foreign languages, enough finding a bed every night, enough looking for vegetarian food, enough enough enough.  I would just sleep on the beach for the night, take a bus to Madrid, and go home.  That was it.

I cried on the ferry back to Spain, thinking about all the things I missed from home, questioning why I tortured myself by traveling in such a way. Sigh.

By the time I got back it was well after dark, and I wasn't exactly sure how to get to the beach.  No matter, I would find it.  I didn't care how long it would take, I had time. 

To my surprise, a man approached me and began speaking to me in Spanish, asking if I needed a room.  In my best Spanish I said "No, no, I do not, thank you." but he kept walking and talking, offering good prices and asking where I was from, telling me about himself and asking about me.  And I managed to have a conversation with him despite my terrible Spanish.  I was quite proud of myself.  The price for a room was about eight dollars, so I thought, 'Why not?"

So now we were off to the hotel.  But the hotel did not have the room he was offering, only a double, for twice the price of course.  No thanks.  But wait, we can go to another. 
 

Ah, but that was full.  No problem, I would go to the beach as planned.  Wait wait, there is another!  Fine, but this is the last one.  Success!  Good good, now all I needed was food.  My new friend pointed me in the right direction and bid me goodnight, but not without asking for a few pesetas to help feed his children.  Well, he did help me out quite a bit.  I gave it to him and got myself a room, a meal, and then went to bed.  I didn't feel quite so bad anymore.  Maybe life wasn't so bad after all.  In the morning I got up bright and early, and psyched myself up.  I would not be defeated! I would meet some fellow travelers and have a great time in Morocco!  Yes!

This time I bought a ticket directly to Tangier, no silly money corner cutting games. 

I didn't see any backpackers while getting onto the boat, and the ride across was pretty quiet.  But as I made my way to the exit, I saw giant man and a girl, both with telltale bags on their backs.  Aha! John from Iowa and Leah from Colorado.  They had also found a couple of girls from New York that were in Tangier only for the day on a shopping trip.  Oh, I was ecstatic.  Finally, people to talk to, stories to tell, adventures to be had.  I was in Morocco! 

And then Morocco greeted us in its own unique way.  First, the wave of taxi drivers.  "My friend, you like taxi?  Where is your hotel?  Where are you from?"

Then the wave of guides. "My friend, where are you from?  What is your name?  Where are you going?  Tangier is a dangerous place!  If you are alone, you will get hurt!  I will help you, come come!"  "No, that's okay; we know where we are going." "I will take you; you do not know how to get there.  Hostel?  This way!"  "No no, we have a map, thank you" "A map!  There are no maps of Tangier!  You must have a guide, believe me!"  "Oh really?  I think we'll do just fine, thanks, really."  "For five dollars I show you the city.  No one will bother you." "You are bothering us" "Oh my friend, I am not bothering you, I am helping you!  Now where would you like to go?  Kasbah? Old mosque? Come!" 

Well, we managed to get rid of the guides, find the location of our hostel, and leave our stuff.  Despite the atrocious condition of the hostel we felt somehow comfortable there, at least more so than we were outside.  The shower consisted of a pipe in the wall with cold rusty water coming out, and the beds were threadbare and smelled a bit strange.  Sleeping bags were in order here, and I could manage to go without showering for a few days.  We were definitely not in Europe anymore.  Monica and Jeneen, the New Yorkers, were eager to get spend some cash, so we took to the streets.  Five Americans in the heart of Tangier, what a sight.  A wave of children hit us with one hand tugging at our legs and the other held out for a coin.  I gave a kid a high-five instead, but he didn't seem to get the joke. Another toothless, ragged man showed me a bracelet he was wearing and said "You like?"  I couldn't hold back and said "That is the UGLIEST thing I have ever seen!"  He left us alone after that, but my friends said that maybe I should calm down a bit.  I was doing a good job of keeping the locals at bay, but perhaps I didn't need to be quite so hyperactive about it.  I couldn't help it, I had so much energy from finally making some new friends, and I felt like I could take on the world.  And I was. 

We made it to the street bazaars and had a good time watching the girls bargain, really giving the shopkeepers a run for their money.  These guys were no joke, either.  Absolutely professional salesman.  They could sell you your own shirt off your back if you weren't careful.  No language was foreign to them, no currency not accepted.  They were pretty quick to recognize us as Americans and thus spoke to us in English and gave us prices in dollars, but Monica always insisted on Moroccan Dinar.  We were, after all, using local currency while we were there.  Towards the end of the day, the girls were running out of money and still wanted to shop.  Monica had found a mobile phone in Spain and tried to barter with it.  Oh my goodness, you should have seen the look on the shopkeeper's face when she offered it to him!  She bargained hard, and at one point the guy had his friend test it to see if it indeed worked.  It did, and soon a deal was made.  Only in Morocco, I tell you!

And so they day came to a close and it was time for the girls to go back to Spain.  We escorted them back to the ferry terminal, once again pushing away the taxi drivers and guides, although John had been having a chronic problem of not keeping his mouth shut when people started talking to him.  Several times we had to go back and pull him away from some man who was trying to sell him something.  He was too innocent for his own good. 

We said goodbye and went to a restaurant for a nice Moroccan meal, and then to the hostel for the night.  We met a few more backpackers and spent the evening chatting and telling stories.  One guy in particular, George, was quite interesting.  He was studying Muslim culture and had been traveling around the world for a few years gathering information.  This was his third or fourth time in Morocco, so he was quite amused by the tales of our first day.  Our impression was that Tangier was dirty, smelly, full of crazy people, but it had its charm.

Noting prepared us for our second day, though.  I don't thing anything could have.

It started off well enough.  I woke up before John and Leah, so I went out onto the balcony and looked out to the beautiful Moroccan day.  We were on a little side street, near the loud and busy heart of the city, but not right inside of it.  I liked it.  There was a man at a shop across the street, and he noticed me looking out at him. 

"Hello!  How are you my friend?"

"Fine, thanks."

"Come down here for a moment!"

"No no, I'm waiting for my friends"

"You are American?"

"Yeah, I am"

"Please, come down for a moment my friend."

"No no, I am waiting for my friends"

I went back inside.  They were still sleeping.  Hmm.  What to do. 

I went back out onto the balcony.

"My friend!  Now what are you doing?  You should come, please, I would like to talk to you!"

John and Leah didn't look like they would be stirring any time soon, so I though why not, meet the locals.  I left them a note and went downstairs.

"Ah, my friend!  You are American, from which state?"

"California"

"California!  Great!  I have a girlfriend, she is from Ohio.  You know Ohio?"

"Of course"

"Well, my friend, I wonder if you could help me.  I would like to write her a letter, but my English is not so good.  I can speak ok, but I cannot write.  Can you help me?"

"Sure, no problem"

"Great! We can go get some tea, you like mint tea? And we can make a letter"

"Um, well I am waiting for my friends inside."

"It will only take a moment, really.  The cafe is there, up the street."

Why not.  So we went.  He got a pot of mint tea, and let him drink his first just to make sure there wasn't any poison or anything (I was a bit paranoid).  We began to talk, the usual getting to know each other questions, blah blah blah.  "What about the letter?" I asked.  "Yes yes, the letter!  'Dear Annie.  Oh how I miss you my love.  I think of you every night...'"Jesus, this was the worst love letter ever written.  But whatever, it wasn't my girlfriend.  We finished the letter, and the guy (Sharif was his name) said that he his uncle had a car and they could take me around the city, showing me the sights and what not.  I helped him, so he would return the favor.  Hmm, not a bad idea.  But I didn't want John and Lea to miss out on it, so I asked if they could come.  "Of course!" So I went back to the hostel and got them, explaining what had just taken place, and Sharif called his uncle.  Within minutes we were a group of five at the cafe, another round of tea for everyone, lots of laughs and smiles.  Wonderful.  I couldn't believe what was happening.  We had not made any plan for the day, and now one was made for us, with locals no less. 

We piled into the car and took a drive around the city, fingers pointing and explanations being given, this was the Kasbah, that was the great mosque, oh, what a time.  "Would you like to see the ocean?  There are some caves there as well.  You must pay to see them, but it's very cheap.  Three dollars, maybe."  Sure, why not!  We drove past the palace of the prince of Saudi Arabia, one of many.  Mohammed put in a tape of traditional music and we all sang along, clapping and screaming.  This was life, truly.  And then the Atlantic Ocean came into view. 

Oh it was beautiful. Pictures, must take pictures!  We stopped the car and out came the cameras, and along came a boy and his donkeys.  Crazy!  More pictures.  How about pictures ON the donkey!!! Oh my goodness.  More singing, more driving.  Before long we were at the caves, and Mohammed did a little talking to the ticket guy while we walked in.  Beautiful.  There was one special spot where the holes in the rocks looked almost exactly like a reversed image of Africa, complete with the island of Madagascar, as you looked out to the sea.  Amazing. Perhaps we would like something to eat?  How about gong to Mohammed's place?  Super!  Not quite, we hit a minor snag.  The main road through the city, which we had to cross, was blocked, because the king was supposed to come.  We could wait if we wanted, but the king would come in maybe in ten minutes, maybe in ten hours.  Never mind waiting, we were close enough to walk.  Leave the car parked in traffic. (!) Sure, why not?  This was Morocco! 

We walked to Mohammed's flat and had some sweets and more mint tea, and talked some more.  I told them of my idea to see more of Morocco, and Mohammed said he had family all around the country and I could stay with them if I like.  Awesome.  "You know, Mohammed has a carpet shop in town.  Perhaps you'd like to see it?  Not to buy anything, but to see part of Moroccan culture.  See here, these carpets are made here in Morocco, by women on the mountains.  Let me show you one that has just arrived."

Ok, why not.  Mohammed's son brought a carpet and unrolled it for us to see.  Very nice indeed.  It was wool and camel hair, handmade. Sure, why not go to the shop and see more? 

Very well.  Mohammed went to get the car, and came back looking quite distressed.  Sharif explained that while we were eating, someone had broken the window and stolen the stereo.  Terrible!  But not to worry, we would still go to the shop.  The police couldn't do anything about it, so just forget it, it's not our problem.  We could also come back for dinner that night, a nice Moroccan couscous meal.  Excellent idea.

On the way to the shop we learned some Arabic so that the people there would be impressed by our multilingual skills.  Well, we tried anyway. 

Soon we were there and we said Shalom! And there was much laughter, lots of smiles.  The man there asked us the usual background questions, told us a little about the carpets, and offered us tea.  John refused, but Leah and I were game.  In fact, John didn't seem too interested in the carpets at all, like something as up.  Curious.

The men brought out a book full of postcards and letters from people around the world, satisfied customers.  How nice.  Perhaps we'd like to see some carpets?  Yes?  Wonderful.  Ah, take off your shoes and socks, walk on the wonderful camel hair and wool, feel how soft it is.  This one is pure silk, very nice.  Look, if you put fire to it, it will not burn.  Look! Look!  We can play a little game.  The boy will show you a carpet, and if you like it we will put it into one pile, if you don't we put it into another. 

Lea and I played, but John just sat back and flipped through the customer book, talked a bit with Sharif and Mohammed.  Mohammed had been complaining all day about a toothache, probably from all the horribly sweet mint tea.  Again, John wasn't impressed. 

Before long we had gone through a big stack of carpets, and narrowed it down to the few that we really liked.  "You know, we could give you a very good price for these.  We understand you are students and don't have much money, but you will not be able to get prices like this outside of Tangier, much less Morocco.  You could buy two or three, and sell the others back in America.  That would easily pay for the one you keep."

I rolled the idea around in my head for a while.  Perhaps he was right.  They were nice carpets, and I know I had seen them for sale for really high prices back home.  But how to get them back?'

They delivered.

And how to pay for them?

Credit cards are gladly accepted.

Hmm.  Well...I don't know.

Idea: We go to an internet cafe, check eBay to see if we could indeed sell the carpets for a profit, and base our decision on that.  Leah concurred, and we told the guys the plan.

"My friends, you do not want to buy now?  But there are many customers; your carpets may be gone tomorrow!"

"Yes yes, we'll take that chance"

And with that we left.  In the car it was utter silence.  Tension filled the air, thoughts of Mohammed's tooth, the stereo, the lack of a carpet sale all flew through the air, unspoken.

"Don't worry about the carpets, or anything.  No problem my friend." said Sharif. 

Right.

At the internet cafe my suspicions were confirmed.  We would make no more than 10% profit, if we were lucky.  Definitely not worth the hassle or the expense.

We still had the dinner date with Mohammed and Sharif at Mohammed's place, but a couple of ours to kill before hand.  It was then that John explained his behavior.

"You guys remember at lunch, when we saw the 'hand-made camel hair Moroccan rug at Mohammed's place?  Well, I happened to notice a sticker on the back that said 100% acrylic, made in Indonesia.  I also doubt that they actually paid for the caves.  These guys are frauds.  I could feel it from the moment we met them."

Yes, it did seem that way.  But what about dinner?

"I'm not going.  I've had enough of these guys."

Ok, but Leah and I still somehow felt obligated to keep our plans, and we'd go.  If they asked, we would just say that John was sick. 

No problem. 

So off we went to down the street, on our way to get some food and mend up the loose ends.  Before long we were greeted by Mohammed.  "Look!"  He showed us his car, which his son was washing, complete with a new window.  He proudly showed the faceplate of the new stereo.  Only it looked pretty old.  I thought back to the way the car looked last time we were in it, and yes, only the faceplate of the stereo was gone.  The window was definitely broken, though.  Mohammed also opened his mouth and showed us the hole where his tooth had been.  No more tooth, no more toothache.  Wow, talk about a productive two hours for him!

Upstairs in the apartment were two Portuguese kids, a couple in their early twenties.  I asked if they were friends of Sharif, and they said they had just met him on the street a little while ago and he invited them up for food.  Interesting.  Moroccan guys are awfully hospitable.

Lots of talking, introductions and such, and then out came the hashpipe.  Everybody was toking, except me.  I never do, but this time I had even more reason to stay level headed.  Then the Leah and Portuguese kids were taken into the other room by Sharif, and I was left with Mohammed in the living room as he performed his daily prayer.  Wow, that was a sight see.  I'd never witnessed a Muslim prayer before, and now I had it up close and personal.  Cool.  I went into the other room to see what was going on, and it was a deal.  The Portuguese were buying some hash.  Well, that was there business, not mine, no problem.  I just wanted to eat.  A big bowl of Couscous with chicken was brought out, and we all dove in.  Mohammed and Sharif ate only a little, and the Portuguese guy said that his mom was going to call, so they left pretty early.  Soon it was only Leah and I filling our faces.  I felt like we were being watched.  In fact, we were, by Mohammed and Sharif.  I was nervous, and so was Leah.  We were pinned into the room, between the wall and the table, with Mohammed on one end and Sharif on the other.  Great.

"So you do not buy a carpet?"

"No, we can't afford it, really."

"And when will you leave Tangier?"  Tomorrow, I think."

A heated conversation on Arabic ensued.  Leah and I could do nothing but sit and wait, looking at each other with wonder. 

"OK.  We have shown you many things today, maybe you can give us some money, twenty dollars each."  What!?!?! 

"Um, I don't think so.  You said you'd show us around as a favor.  What happened to being friends?"

"Please, my friend.  We have driven you many places, paid for the caves, given you food."

"Well John isn't here anyway; we need to talk to him."

"You can pay for him now and get money from him later."

"We don't have any money here.  It's at the hostel.  We need to go."

"OK, we go to the hostel.  And you give us money."

"We will pay for the caves, that is all.  Let's go."

And we got out of there as fast as we could.

"We can drive you to the hostel"

"No thanks, we'll walk!"

Was he crazy?  Jesus, what seemed like a dream had turned into a nightmare.  We hurried back and went upstairs, found John and told him what was going on.  I looked out the window, waiting for them to come up for their money.  Soon the whole hostel was in an uproar.  The Portuguese kids were staying there, too!  The hostel owner said that this was not the first time that he'd seen this, and in fact it was a common problem in Tangier.  So common, in fact, that there it was made illegal for a Moroccan to have a foreigner in their house without written permission of the foreigner.  Aha!  So we had the law on our side.  Good to know.  We wanted to talk to George because he had lots of experience in these parts and probably knew what to do.  But he was out.

And there was a knock at the door.

It was Sharif.

He wanted money. 

I talked to him, calmly, and said that we would give him nothing.  If anything, we would pay for the caves, but we would go to the tourist information in the morning and find the real price.  He was furious.  I said "you didn't even pay for anything, go away!"

"You want me to bring Mohammed?"

Mohammed smoked A LOT of hash, so I knew he was in no state of mind to argue.

"Go ahead, bring him here."

With that he left, and soon George came.  We all went out to one of the few bars that were open, and let out a sigh of relief.  The day was over.  If Mohammed came, so what. 

Back at the hostel the Portuguese were sharing their hash, and everyone stayed up until the wee hours in conversations of all sorts. 

In the morning, we quickly packed our things so we could get the ferry back to Spain.  I certainly wasn't going to be staying with Mohammed's family anywhere else in Morocco; I was staying with my new friends in Spain. 

Another knock at the door.

Mohammed, dressed in his prayer robe and sunglasses.  It wasn't over yet.  Again the hostel was in an uproar.  "Don't give him anything Ben!" "Call the police!" "Don't talk to him!"

"Calm down, I have it under control," I said.

Mohammed was a bit timid and a bit angry.  "Why are all these people shouting?  It's not their business!  What is their problem?  No police!"

"Don't worry about it, no police.  Let's talk."

"So you don't want to give me any money?"

"We will pay for the caves only, because that is what we agreed to.  However, I want to go to the tourist information to find out the actual cost."

"Ok, my friend.  I don't want you to have a bad impression of Morocco.  Let's just say goodbye and it is finished."

"Well, it's too late for bad impressions.  But yes, let's just say goodbye.  Thanks for showing us around, and good luck in the future."

"Ok, goodbye my friend."

And out the door he went.  A few minutes later, we went out the door as well, and got onto the ferry back to Spain.  We stood on the rear deck, watching Tangier grow smaller and smaller, waiting for it to disappear  from sight, but never from our memory.  We had been to the other side, and survived.