So glad to be alive
26 December 2011
Transit from Spain to morocco. This has got to be the most epic leg of our travel so far. Thank God that I'm alive.
So it was all fine and dandy when Celine and I got onto the bus from Seville to Algeciras. With some nifty navigation skills we got ourselves to the Algeciras port at 1pm to catch the ferry which was due to leave at 4pm. Being a good 3 hours early, we went to grab some lunch at the cafe upstairs. At 2 we started lining up for the tickets (which we had pre- bought online mind you) the line which moved at turtle-like speed was made up for by fastmoving conversation so it was hardly noticeable that we had waited 55 minutes before we got to the front of the line.
When it came to our turn the man at the counter told us that our train had been delayed by 2 hours and would only leave the port at 6. Finding this hard to believe we attempted to corroborate this with the information counter- who proceeded to tell us that the head of the port just told her the ship was delayed till 8pm. This was first encounter with ''moroccan standard time' - minimum 2 hours delay beyond stated time
Since we needed to catch a train at 9.05 in morocco 8pm was definitely not an option. There was another ferry available that was stated to leave at 330pm. We decided to forgo our previous tickets (cross our fingers we get a refund) and buy these ones. By this time it was roughly 310...
We rushed to pass through customs - by the time we got through it was already 331. If this was Singapore surely we would have missed the ferry or been barred from entering, but nope, this is how the Spanish do things - so we rushed in only to find out that the gates to board the ferry wasn't even open!! As we doublechecked the ticket that had been printed for us we realized this ferry had been due to have departed at 2pm!!! (at this point we gave each other bewildered looks)
But the story gets more exciting. After we went on board the ferry , there weren't any signs that told us where to go. So we had no choice but to follow the crowd. Time check 3.45pm. As we went up the boat we stopped where majority of the people were. A kind Spanish man (Mario from granada who only has 4 thumbs per hand but is still able to write) told us that we had to line up for the Moroccan police to stamp our passports. After about 15 minutes of waiting,
(pause: real live update, Celine and I are in the moroccan night train from tanger to Marrakech- and the engine just went off and the lights just went off)
Okay they just came on. Minor scare. Back to my story-- so finally after waiting for the Moroccan police to start stamping the passports... ONE official appeared. At this point there was a mad rush to get the passports stamped. There was no sort of organization whatsoever- no line, no officials to control the crowd, no order! Result? Chaos. And Spanish men yelling at each other and raising hands and voices. It was such a big crowd that Celine and I decided that she would stand by our luggage while I pushed through the crowd. Thankfully, Mario the nice old Spanish man with glasses kept assuring me and Celine that we could follow him. He kept asking questions about Singapore (he saw our passport) the size, the religions, how to pronounce my name - I felt really bad because he seemed genuinely nice but being 2 vulnerable Chinese girls it was not too wise to engage with strangers. When his turn was done, he raised his arm to let me through, saying ('cinca, Singapore cinca') which means Singaporean girl -- and that's how We got our passports stamped. A pity I didn't get to talk to Mario more, would have loved a chat with a local, but ah well safety first and don't worry Celine and I got our fair share of interaction with locals...
It was now about 440 and the ferry had not yet left! After about 20 more minutes of confused waiting the engines of the ferry finally rumbled and we got a move on. 1 hour 30 minutes of calm seas and a smooth ride was a deceiving prequel to what was to come.
At about 630(or 530 moroccan time due to the time difference) Celine and I decided to be smart and get up to queue to leave the ferry. At first we got a little confused by a long line but realized quickly enough that this was the line of people STILL lining up for moroccan passport stamps. So we ditched the line and went back to the place that we had entered the boat from. After more prolonged waiting, we were directed down by the ferry official. After we went down however, another ferry official told us that we had to go up again. In the flurry of things, the claustrophobia of being trapped in a ferry must have gone into the Moroccan lady beside me. She starts raving and yelling in a rapid fire of frustrated Arabic. The Moroccans around her keep shouting back at her and asking her to calm down. She finally stubbornly sits on the steps as her moroccan sisters offer her water and wipes her face. the tourists (Spanish french indian and 2 Asian singaporeans that stick out like sore thumbs) shoot each other bemused and half sympathetic looks.
It's about 6 Moroccan time and we had been in the ship for 30 minutes since it docked. Apparently the delay was due to the vehicles in the ferry that had to get out first- (some kind soul translated for me- thank God for kind souls) speaking of kind people - at this point we met himo from Gibraltar who speaks pretty darn good english. She's a fiesty Moroccan lady who works as a nurse in the navy, a widow with 2 children, 2 grand kids. She looked at us sympathetically (our faces either scream 'rob us' or 'help us') thankfully she did the latter... She first remarks that we should take the free shuttle instead of taking a taxi because taxis would try to rip us off. And then she starts telling us that it's so slow because it's the day after christmas and people are going home.and she also repeatedly tells us that if the taxi quotes 20 we must say 10 if they say 10 we say 5...
In the mad rush to get out, We parted
Ways with himo. So the strange thing about the ferry port is that after we got off the ferry we still had to take another bus to clear customs - (our confusion at this was cleared up by himo, whom we bumped into a 2nd time) this took about another 10 minutes thanks to the jam of cars leaving the boat. By now it was 7pm and we still had a train to catch (and buy tickets for) and 9.05pm
At customs we asked the money changer about a good price for a cab but once again we were told that it was Better to take the free shuttle(which takes us to central tangier but not the train station) - as we got out we asked the police official and he once again advised us to take the bus. After being told 3 times to do that we thought we had better follow their advice.
Too late. We missed the 7pm bus. But guess who else missed it too? Dear old himo -- she seems excited to see us again. But now we had somehow decided that we trusted her(it was a risk I'm glad we took) so we told her we were going to the train station. She told us to follow her on the free bus and then her friend would help us flag a cab from there. So that was the plan. Or so we thought...
Then suddenly a taxi driver offers to take us for 20 euros. We agree, and she agrees too...saying that he was trustworthy. But just our luggages got put into the cab, another taxi driver comes and angrily fires off in Arabic - I dont really know what happened but suddenly our luggages were taken out and we were moved to another taxi. Himo told us that it was safe and it would be 20 euro. At this point the taxi driver shook his head and said he wanted 30- in reaction, God-sent himo angrily says no no no no in an exasperated manner and walks off while Celine and I meekly follow behind. 10 minutes later a man who could speak relatively good english appears behind us and says that he too is going to the train station. One other woman (whom I am still unclear if she was himo's friend??) too. We are told that we could each pay 5 euro and share a cab to the train station. We look at himo and she says that it is safe and we can trust him. As we got in the cab, without first asking our consent 2 other people magically appear and soon 6 people are sharing the cab to the train station - Celine and I are put to share the seat in front -- time check 730pm
The train station was about 60km away and our train was at 905. But time wasn't even important at this point, we had literally got ourselves into a cab with 4 strangers, a questionable can driver, all on the implicit and somewhat naive trust in a Moroccan woman who could speak English and was nice to us. Those were the longest 40 minutes of my life. I didn't even feel that risk last year when we had hitchhiked in mexico in a coca cola van! The roads were pitch black, the people in the car were making conversation in Arabic (despite being 'strangers') a million possibilities raced through my head - what if himo was a cheat? What if they had colluded to kidnap us? What if the taxi stops in the middle of nowhere and demands more money? What if they weren't really strangers? What if what if what if? In response to my multitude of worries I could only pray really jard and text the taxi number to Joelynn (who somehow did my reply!) and my dad (who was asleep)
After 40 minutes which felt like 4 hours, we finally reached the train station - my heart felt this big sense of relief. Praise the Lord, Thank God for safety... I never felt so relieved in my life. Thank God for sending himo who was so kind to us though she had no incentive to be!!! Thank God for honest cab drivers and helpful people in the cab (though I continued I be suspicious of their intentions sad to say) thank God that we managed to get tickets...
Wow. It's really been quite a long day. Celine is beside me now - we're in a sleeper cabin. A british couple are below us...we reach 8.05am tomorrow ... But knowing the Moroccans, will we really? :-p
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