Marocc ‘n’ Roll

When I started my journey I thought it would be funny to go there as it is quite near to Spain (at the closest point it’s only 14 km) and of course to be able to say “I’ve been to Africa”.
Well I wouldn’t consider Morocco to be African as it’s quite different. Even compared to Europe. That’s crazy.

Cameron, a coworker in Valencia, told me she had a huge culture shock when she arrived. I wanted the same experience. This and a couple of other reasons made me finally go there, so I booked a ferry from Algeciras to Ceuta, a Spanish exclave on the African continent.

Ceuta is not a big deal and definitely skipable. I wished I went to Melilla as there is this huge border fence to keep out immigrants from the EU. However, those who crossed the border by foot once know this is a weird experience.

You walk and walk and see the sign “Morocco” but as it’s not part of the Shengen area I was confused. No boarder patrol or anything like that.
Then you come to a small fence, maybe 1 m high, with two doors simply saying ‘in’ and ‘out’. So I kept on walking.
Then somehow the path or whatever you want to call it turns into one of these cages they use in circuses to send in the lions, tigers and stuff and you’re standing there. Frightened. Around you only Moroccans. I’m not racist but being the only ‘white’ man in a huge line is a weird feeling.
After felt 5 km walking you eventually get to the hut where they put a stamp in your passport (this is btw the first stamp ever in my passport. OMG I’m so proud. Finally a true traveller.)
Then you’ll see all the police officers who actually do nothing. They were just standing there, looking at you. Maybe because I’m such a peaceful man they just wave me through. Loooool.
However, after a while people ask you for a cab and all these things. The very first guy who asked me talked to me in German. And that’s weird. I’m aware that I don’t look like an African or whatever but how the hell does he know that I’m German. That scared the hell out of me. And this was not the only time this happened to me.

Long story short, in the end I took a cab to Martil, a small beach town in the north of Morocco.
It was more or less the first time that I successfully was hosted on Couchsurfing.
So I slept on the couch of Rabie. He studies cinema and showed me some of the movies he made. Pretty cool.
When I was younger I wanted to be a director and called myself Tommy Wood (in accordance to Hollywood) this didn’t last long. Why am I telling this? Never mind. The first night we hang out with some of his friends who more or less study the same.
One of them, Maria, is from Greece. This was nice as there was another person from Europe who told me about all the differences and what to be careful about, e.g. they share the cab. With six people. So there are two on the passenger’s seat and four in the back, it’s cheaper like that. But if you don’t know this and you’re sitting in a cab minding your business when all of sudden somebody opens the door and kinda sits on your lap as there is no more room left.
Yes, Morocco somehow is a weird country. Let’s not say weird, they are just used to do things in another way.

After wonderful three nights in Martil, I went to a small town called ‘Chefchaouen’ aka the blue city. Rabie never has been there before so he came with me. Which was really nice.

The ride was a little bit scary as the bus drove like a retard through the mountains. This is not for everybody.

But this small city is such a beautiful place. Walking through the Medina, the inner city, which is completely blue, is so calming. Somebody told me they painted it blue to get rid of evil person who can kill you by just looking at you … I guess my ex girlfriend is one of those.

One of the reason I liked it so much was to see my ‘sister’ again.

Together we experienced some adventures in that town like hiking couple of hours to a waterfall or getting fucked over by locals. Dem besterds.

Morocco is pretty cheap compared to Europe but if you don’t take care it can turn out as quite expensive. Their currency is called Dirham and 10 DH are more or less 1€ so you walk around, go out to eat all the time and in the end you spend 40€ a day thinking what the hell did I do … oh yeah, drugs.

Not only with Cameron, but also with the other folks from the hostel I had lots of fun.

There was this one Italian guy, they are everywhere, and he had this really easy going attitude. Marocc’n’rolling really nice blunts. I liked hanging out with him and the Australian girls he was travelling with. Talking about Aussies, they are really everywhere. The peak was definately Chefchaouen. Each day I met at least two from ‘Straya. But they are really nice hey.

I ended up staying in Chefchaouen twice as long as intended because it’s pretty ‘chill’ until I eventually decided to go back to Spain.

So after 10 days in Marokko I went back to Tanger, a port city in the North where I shared a hostel room with an annoying Korean girl, what a bitch, and took a ferry the next day.