¡Viva España! Hope you die, Tanger.
Hola. I would like to write this post in Spanish, but my Spanish is weak, like a half drowned puppy, so I won't.
This post is well overdue now, as Craig and I got back from Spain a week ago last Wednesday, and I've only just got round to writing it.
We stayed at Craig's Sister's house (although she doesn't live there) and shared the house with her lodger Doug, and his dog Boston:
Hello. Woof!
The house was about 4 miles from the beach, so we had to use the hire car to get about. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, but I had to do all the driving as Craig has been a naughty boy and his licence was with the court while they decided how to punish him, so he couldn't be added to the Hire car's driver list.
Actually, he's no naughtier than I am really, it's just that he was unlucky enough to get caught, twice! And then he got caught by a speed camera when we got back to England and we were driving back from Bristol! Talk about unlucky!!!
The weather was nice, despite everyone from the BBC to the Plane's Pilot telling us that the weather was bad. It rained on me once, but it was warm, it only rained for about 20 minutes, and then me and all my clothes were dry again in about another 20.
Craig's sister had a moped that someone had tried to steal by cutting all the wires in the loom (which would never work!). Craig bought a soldiering iron (although they tried to sell him an arc welder as 'Solder' can mean to weld in Spanish I think!) and fixed it. We went out for a burn in the mountains on it!
Unfortunately, the road was really potholed, we were going really fast (for a scooter, 2-up, going up a mountain road littered in potholes), and we got a puncture in the back tyre. We never really made it on to the dirt tracks either as the puncture happened so soon!
So instead, we just rode the scooter back, with the back tyre making the back end slide around as if it were on a little patch of ice. It was great fun.
How cheesy do I look? I should be in a 70's detective series.
One day we decided to go to Morocco in Africa. I wasn't that fussed, but Craig seemed well up for it, so I didn't mind going. Had I known what was in store for us, I would've point blank refused! Maybe. It was an experience, I'll give you that.
We drove about 2 hours down to Algeciras, and bought a ticket for the high speed ferry to Tanger.
We were expecting a ferry ride of about 15 minutes, half an hour max, and we were surprised when our ferry tickets cost 25 euros each way, per person. We then discovered that the price wasn't so bad after all, because the ferry crossing takes 1.5 hours by fast ferry, and 2.5 to 3 hours by slow ferry!
We were also expecting to see huts and dirt tracks. Instead we were confronted by a massive concrete ferry port, and a dirty white city sprawling out behind it and along the coastline.
I'm not gonna pull any punches, Tanger is a shithole. It's easily the worst place I've ever been to in my life.
We exited the ferry via the car exit, amongst a mad rush of other passengers and cars. We were waved to a queue of people having their passports checked by what appeared to be random blokes in green woolly jumpers. There was no gate, or anything like that. Once past, we were instantly approached by people, (one of whom was the 'The Minister for Tourism for Tangier', or so he and his ID card said) wanting to sell us a guide, with a taxi, and maybe some lunch thrown in. We decided to go our own way, a decision that was probably unwise.
We walked out of the ferryport. As we walked down the main road running parallel with the beach, the feeling of paranoia was quite overpowering. I'm not a paranoid person by nature, but the amount of random people, and street urchins (I love that expression!) that were just hanging around, doing nothing, and staring at us as we walked by made us both feel very uncomfortable. Although partially disguised behind dirty off-white skyscrapers and hotels, you could sense the poverty.
Craig wondered what they were all doing, just hanging around, and we speculated on their lives and intentions. I said that if anyone approaches us and even mentions anything about robbing us, the very first thing I was gonna do was punch them in the face. Craig agreed.
We continued walking down the main street for about 20 minutes, as we didn't want to turn off on to a less public, and possibly hazardous street. The paranoia was really getting to us. I suggested we get a taxi from outside the front of one of the big hotels, as we were less likely to get fleeced. Ha!
The taxi driver drove us in circles for about 10 minutes, stopping not more than five minutes walk from where we had started, at what must have been his brother's/uncle's/father's/whatever's shop. Filled from floor to ceiling with, well, junk. All sorts of engraved silver teapots, jugs, boxes of all varieties, carpets (of course), horrible looking jewelry, and a whole menagerie of assorted shite.
This wasn't like the African market place we'd imagined, but more of an Arabic pushy sell. After much bartering, and me getting very annoyed, we left the shop with me carrying a nice, but expensive secret opening wooden box, and Craig got a rug, a box made of camel bone, and something else, maybe.
Just a random picture of Boston to break up the monotony of all the writing.
We then left, and after about 45 minutes in the shop, the taxi driver was still waiting outside. We hadn't paid him yet, as he had ushered us into the shop whilst ignoring us when we mentioned paying him.
I can only assume we hadn't bought enough in the shop, as he was hassling us for money. I told him to piss off, that he wasn't getting any money, because he drove around for 10 minutes, and instead of taking us to where we wanted to go, we ended up at some crappy pushy shop that was right around the corner from where we had been.
He got angry and spat something in Arabic at us. I think it probably had something to do with goats. By this stage, a crowd of urchins was starting to appear, as if they were coming out of the cracks in the ground or something. Hell knows where they all came from. Anyway, it was getting pretty busy, and so we walked off, headed for the ferryport, via the beach. After not much more than about 3 hours, we were outta here.
And we were even more paranoid now. My imagination run amok in my head. Armies of street urchins, led by the taxi driver consumed my thoughts. The beach was low profile, and although occasionally we had to pass by groups of shifty looking people, it was better than the street. Only problem was - the beach didn't lead us back to the ferryport. D'oh! So we retraced our steps, past the shifty people, and back on to the main street, which we followed to the ferryport.
We were early, so we went to see if we could get on an earlier ferry. In the ferry terminal, there was a long line of people lined up waiting to get their passports stamped. A ferryport worker approached us, and we asked him when the next ferry was. "It's in 10 minutes" he said, and continued to say that if we slipped some money into our passports, he would get the guards to stamp them for us, thus avoiding the queues, and making the ferry in time.
We gave him the money, and Craig went with him to get the passports stamped. We then ran from the terminal, straight past all the guards, who our new friend shouted and waved to. On hindsight, he probably shouted something like "These Suckers think the ferry is leaving in 5 minutes!". He then asked for some money for himself. Craig was reluctant, but I just wanted to get out of Morocco, so we paid him, and got on the ferry.
We waited on the ferry for at least 2 hours before it moved. Apparently, there is no set time for it to leave, it just leaves when it's full. We'd been had again.
However, on the Ferry, we met some people who really made the journey fly. A bunch of Spanish musicians and some of their friends.
From right to left, Martin (keyboard), George (Bass), Elena, Esti, Carlos (Guitar, obviously), Me, and Craig. I have a terrible memory, and hope I've got the right names to the right faces! And Yes, I am wearing a Fez.
Craig and I had sat down on some comfy seats to get some sleep, and these people came and sat in the seat bay next to us. They started playing music, and I wandered off to find something (I forget what), and when I came back, Craig was sitting among them, talking. Only Carlos spoke English, so he was the main one we got to know. They live in Zaragoza in Spain, and the five of them had traveled over to Africa to play some music and have a bit of a break. Carlos, George and Martin are in a band called Cierzo. A couple of their members were missing from the trip though.
Anyway, we're all bored, and as we're on a slow ferry, the journey is going to take about 3 hours. Carlos starts playing his guitar, and so we start singing along! We did a number of songs, such as More Than Words by Extreme, Nothing Else Matters by Metallica, and All Right Now by Free. George pulls a wicked harmonica solo out of the hat, and all the people in seats nearby clap when we finish the songs!
It turned out that Craig video'd the whole event with his digicam. I'll post the videos up soon, but I have to re-encode them first, as they're a little on the large size at the moment.
I also met a guy named Alex, with his girlfriend Sarah. He and Sarah had just hitchhiked from Oxford to somewhere in Africa in only 6 days! When I asked him about it, he looked weary, and said it had been "Six very, very long days..."! They were on their long journey home, although in considerable less time and more comfort than their trip out!
Because of this eventful trip to Morocco, we had met so many great new people, and the 3 hour ferry trip was over before we knew it, and we were saying goodbye to our new friends.
The last few days, we really got the drinking in, with some all night sessions, where we got kicked out of the club at 5 or 6am when it closed, and then had to wander home. There wasn't much time for sleep, although Craig always seemed to manage it. He can sleep anywhere, it would seem.
Another Boston picture break. He'sagooddogyesheis!
We managed to get a parking ticket on the last day, the fine was 60 euros! We'd parked in an area where we didn't think we had to pay. Unfortunately, we were just the wrong side of the pay/non-pay border, and we'd been caught. However, there was a get out clause, where you go to the ticket machine with your fine on the same day, and pay the ticket machine and post your fine in it, and it was all sorted! So, on the way to the airport, running a little short on time, we traveled back to the beach, got money from a cash machine (50 euros, we didn't know how much we'd have to feed the ticket machine), then had to get change, then actually go to the ticket machine - ah, it was all quite a lot of effort.
Still, the cancellation charge was only 3 euros - which is what the fee was to park there - amazing! Why don't they have a fair system like that in England?!? Huh? Are you reading this, Prime Minister?
Anyway, I had a great time! In the Summer, Craig and I are gonna ride our motorbikes down through France and down to the south coast of Spain. It's gonna be fun, I can't wait! Riding through the Pyranese sounds great!
I've probably missed some stuff, in which case, Craig, please tell me, and I can always edit this post later. I'll edit it later anyway, once I get the videos up.
Ryan out!
This post is well overdue now, as Craig and I got back from Spain a week ago last Wednesday, and I've only just got round to writing it.
We stayed at Craig's Sister's house (although she doesn't live there) and shared the house with her lodger Doug, and his dog Boston:
Hello. Woof!
The house was about 4 miles from the beach, so we had to use the hire car to get about. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, but I had to do all the driving as Craig has been a naughty boy and his licence was with the court while they decided how to punish him, so he couldn't be added to the Hire car's driver list.
Actually, he's no naughtier than I am really, it's just that he was unlucky enough to get caught, twice! And then he got caught by a speed camera when we got back to England and we were driving back from Bristol! Talk about unlucky!!!
The weather was nice, despite everyone from the BBC to the Plane's Pilot telling us that the weather was bad. It rained on me once, but it was warm, it only rained for about 20 minutes, and then me and all my clothes were dry again in about another 20.
Craig's sister had a moped that someone had tried to steal by cutting all the wires in the loom (which would never work!). Craig bought a soldiering iron (although they tried to sell him an arc welder as 'Solder' can mean to weld in Spanish I think!) and fixed it. We went out for a burn in the mountains on it!
Unfortunately, the road was really potholed, we were going really fast (for a scooter, 2-up, going up a mountain road littered in potholes), and we got a puncture in the back tyre. We never really made it on to the dirt tracks either as the puncture happened so soon!
So instead, we just rode the scooter back, with the back tyre making the back end slide around as if it were on a little patch of ice. It was great fun.
How cheesy do I look? I should be in a 70's detective series.
One day we decided to go to Morocco in Africa. I wasn't that fussed, but Craig seemed well up for it, so I didn't mind going. Had I known what was in store for us, I would've point blank refused! Maybe. It was an experience, I'll give you that.
We drove about 2 hours down to Algeciras, and bought a ticket for the high speed ferry to Tanger.
We were expecting a ferry ride of about 15 minutes, half an hour max, and we were surprised when our ferry tickets cost 25 euros each way, per person. We then discovered that the price wasn't so bad after all, because the ferry crossing takes 1.5 hours by fast ferry, and 2.5 to 3 hours by slow ferry!
We were also expecting to see huts and dirt tracks. Instead we were confronted by a massive concrete ferry port, and a dirty white city sprawling out behind it and along the coastline.
I'm not gonna pull any punches, Tanger is a shithole. It's easily the worst place I've ever been to in my life.
We exited the ferry via the car exit, amongst a mad rush of other passengers and cars. We were waved to a queue of people having their passports checked by what appeared to be random blokes in green woolly jumpers. There was no gate, or anything like that. Once past, we were instantly approached by people, (one of whom was the 'The Minister for Tourism for Tangier', or so he and his ID card said) wanting to sell us a guide, with a taxi, and maybe some lunch thrown in. We decided to go our own way, a decision that was probably unwise.
We walked out of the ferryport. As we walked down the main road running parallel with the beach, the feeling of paranoia was quite overpowering. I'm not a paranoid person by nature, but the amount of random people, and street urchins (I love that expression!) that were just hanging around, doing nothing, and staring at us as we walked by made us both feel very uncomfortable. Although partially disguised behind dirty off-white skyscrapers and hotels, you could sense the poverty.
Craig wondered what they were all doing, just hanging around, and we speculated on their lives and intentions. I said that if anyone approaches us and even mentions anything about robbing us, the very first thing I was gonna do was punch them in the face. Craig agreed.
We continued walking down the main street for about 20 minutes, as we didn't want to turn off on to a less public, and possibly hazardous street. The paranoia was really getting to us. I suggested we get a taxi from outside the front of one of the big hotels, as we were less likely to get fleeced. Ha!
The taxi driver drove us in circles for about 10 minutes, stopping not more than five minutes walk from where we had started, at what must have been his brother's/uncle's/father's/whatever's shop. Filled from floor to ceiling with, well, junk. All sorts of engraved silver teapots, jugs, boxes of all varieties, carpets (of course), horrible looking jewelry, and a whole menagerie of assorted shite.
This wasn't like the African market place we'd imagined, but more of an Arabic pushy sell. After much bartering, and me getting very annoyed, we left the shop with me carrying a nice, but expensive secret opening wooden box, and Craig got a rug, a box made of camel bone, and something else, maybe.
Just a random picture of Boston to break up the monotony of all the writing.
We then left, and after about 45 minutes in the shop, the taxi driver was still waiting outside. We hadn't paid him yet, as he had ushered us into the shop whilst ignoring us when we mentioned paying him.
I can only assume we hadn't bought enough in the shop, as he was hassling us for money. I told him to piss off, that he wasn't getting any money, because he drove around for 10 minutes, and instead of taking us to where we wanted to go, we ended up at some crappy pushy shop that was right around the corner from where we had been.
He got angry and spat something in Arabic at us. I think it probably had something to do with goats. By this stage, a crowd of urchins was starting to appear, as if they were coming out of the cracks in the ground or something. Hell knows where they all came from. Anyway, it was getting pretty busy, and so we walked off, headed for the ferryport, via the beach. After not much more than about 3 hours, we were outta here.
And we were even more paranoid now. My imagination run amok in my head. Armies of street urchins, led by the taxi driver consumed my thoughts. The beach was low profile, and although occasionally we had to pass by groups of shifty looking people, it was better than the street. Only problem was - the beach didn't lead us back to the ferryport. D'oh! So we retraced our steps, past the shifty people, and back on to the main street, which we followed to the ferryport.
We were early, so we went to see if we could get on an earlier ferry. In the ferry terminal, there was a long line of people lined up waiting to get their passports stamped. A ferryport worker approached us, and we asked him when the next ferry was. "It's in 10 minutes" he said, and continued to say that if we slipped some money into our passports, he would get the guards to stamp them for us, thus avoiding the queues, and making the ferry in time.
We gave him the money, and Craig went with him to get the passports stamped. We then ran from the terminal, straight past all the guards, who our new friend shouted and waved to. On hindsight, he probably shouted something like "These Suckers think the ferry is leaving in 5 minutes!". He then asked for some money for himself. Craig was reluctant, but I just wanted to get out of Morocco, so we paid him, and got on the ferry.
We waited on the ferry for at least 2 hours before it moved. Apparently, there is no set time for it to leave, it just leaves when it's full. We'd been had again.
However, on the Ferry, we met some people who really made the journey fly. A bunch of Spanish musicians and some of their friends.
From right to left, Martin (keyboard), George (Bass), Elena, Esti, Carlos (Guitar, obviously), Me, and Craig. I have a terrible memory, and hope I've got the right names to the right faces! And Yes, I am wearing a Fez.
Craig and I had sat down on some comfy seats to get some sleep, and these people came and sat in the seat bay next to us. They started playing music, and I wandered off to find something (I forget what), and when I came back, Craig was sitting among them, talking. Only Carlos spoke English, so he was the main one we got to know. They live in Zaragoza in Spain, and the five of them had traveled over to Africa to play some music and have a bit of a break. Carlos, George and Martin are in a band called Cierzo. A couple of their members were missing from the trip though.
Anyway, we're all bored, and as we're on a slow ferry, the journey is going to take about 3 hours. Carlos starts playing his guitar, and so we start singing along! We did a number of songs, such as More Than Words by Extreme, Nothing Else Matters by Metallica, and All Right Now by Free. George pulls a wicked harmonica solo out of the hat, and all the people in seats nearby clap when we finish the songs!
It turned out that Craig video'd the whole event with his digicam. I'll post the videos up soon, but I have to re-encode them first, as they're a little on the large size at the moment.
I also met a guy named Alex, with his girlfriend Sarah. He and Sarah had just hitchhiked from Oxford to somewhere in Africa in only 6 days! When I asked him about it, he looked weary, and said it had been "Six very, very long days..."! They were on their long journey home, although in considerable less time and more comfort than their trip out!
Because of this eventful trip to Morocco, we had met so many great new people, and the 3 hour ferry trip was over before we knew it, and we were saying goodbye to our new friends.
The last few days, we really got the drinking in, with some all night sessions, where we got kicked out of the club at 5 or 6am when it closed, and then had to wander home. There wasn't much time for sleep, although Craig always seemed to manage it. He can sleep anywhere, it would seem.
Another Boston picture break. He'sagooddogyesheis!
We managed to get a parking ticket on the last day, the fine was 60 euros! We'd parked in an area where we didn't think we had to pay. Unfortunately, we were just the wrong side of the pay/non-pay border, and we'd been caught. However, there was a get out clause, where you go to the ticket machine with your fine on the same day, and pay the ticket machine and post your fine in it, and it was all sorted! So, on the way to the airport, running a little short on time, we traveled back to the beach, got money from a cash machine (50 euros, we didn't know how much we'd have to feed the ticket machine), then had to get change, then actually go to the ticket machine - ah, it was all quite a lot of effort.
Still, the cancellation charge was only 3 euros - which is what the fee was to park there - amazing! Why don't they have a fair system like that in England?!? Huh? Are you reading this, Prime Minister?
Anyway, I had a great time! In the Summer, Craig and I are gonna ride our motorbikes down through France and down to the south coast of Spain. It's gonna be fun, I can't wait! Riding through the Pyranese sounds great!
I've probably missed some stuff, in which case, Craig, please tell me, and I can always edit this post later. I'll edit it later anyway, once I get the videos up.
Ryan out!
Labels: away from home, friends, My Life
Ryaninja flipped out at 11:20 pm
Throw me a Stabby Shuriken - 8 thrown so far!
8 Comments:
"From right to left, Martin (keyboard), George (Bass), Elena, Esti, Carlos (Guitar, obviously), Me, and Craig. I have a terrible memory, and hope I've got the right names to the right faces!"
No, you haven't got the right names to the right faces. You didn't even get your own name right, as you called yourself George. You nutter. Maybe you meant "from left to right"?
Yes, I did mean that. Dammit. I read through my post to check for stuff like this, and blatently missed it!
Actually, now I think about it, this was a test. Yes. It was a test to see if anyone actually reads my posts.
Foss, you've passed, and for that, you've won yourself first prize, a shuriken.
Congratulations!
imagine a band of pygmy ninjas living on a south pacific island, in grass huts, collecting shuriken heads. That is a cool thought. Ryan, glad to hear that you got out of africa with all your internal organs whole and in their correct slots. also, i like the parking ticket thingee. just got a ticket for ignoring a traffic control device, and it cost me $200 us and about 8 hours of my time to keep it off my record. i did not notice the people/name/directional thingee and really think foss should lose points for being a wanker and looking at shit too closely and not just enjoying it for what it is, which in this case is a good travel story.
I'm imagining the pygmy ninjas now...
Are they supposed to be wearing sombreros? No? Huh.
200 dollars just for a parking 'thingee' off the record? That's scandellous. I'd take the hit, and recieve the points I think.
Speaking of points, I agree Jeff. Foss, please take 10 points off your total for the day. I shall check your total at the end of the week to make sure you've taken them off.
it was not a parking "thingee" it was disregarding a traffic control device "thingee" which is cop speak for running a red light, although it was distinctly yellow as far as I am concerned. If it was parking, which is not a moving violation, i would have paid on gone on, but moving violations over here are bad news as your car insurance rate is based off driving records, and tickets make your insurance premium go up. Cops and insurance agents are both bastards.
hey, just read our little advertures, hey you forgot to tell them about the spanish trouble in bar, endless boob watches on the sea front, err knives maybe, nope cant think of anything else for the minute.
I hate dogs. But I love Boston.
Is he for sale?
Anyway, in case you hadn't noticed, I have the pleasure of owning the site just before you on the bloggingbrits webring.
Great blog, btw.
Unfortunately Boston isn't for sale!
Besides that he lives in Spain, so it's a bit of a trek to buy a dog...
But the hound is a quality dog, although completely mad! He's only about 2 though, still sort of a puppy.
Cheers for the comments, I checked out your blog, it made me laugh.
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