Week 5: The Pillars of Hercules

Our bedroom in Tangier was haunted by a jinni that kept slamming the door every couple hours throughout the night. Each time it woke me I’d go shut it, just for it to soon open and close again. I woke up to a collection of new mosquito bites—a sure indication to the presence of mischievous spirits. On our walk down the coastside street we saw a somewhat worrisome situation: a man standing on the 3rd-story ledge of a building, on the wrong side of the wall. Fear not, for he wasn’t saying goodbye to any cruel world, but rather was casually cleaning the outside of one of the building’s windows. I suppose they don’t have access to the suspended platforms we usually see in cities. This guy is certainly balling on a budget.
Once we attained a good deal with a taxi driver named Abdislam, we got a scenic ride to our first destination: Hercules’ Cave and the aboveground Cape Spartel lighthouse. On the ride we passed the sprawling royal palaces of the Moroccan and Saudi Arabian kings. We also stopped on a mountain roadside to get a good look at the white coastal city and the deep blue Atlantic Ocean. We went further down to amble down the beach for a bit, passing a number of camels for the tourists to ride.

Eventually we made it to the lighthouse, made a few good deals with some souvenir vendors, and then descended into the caves. The space was larger than I expected, damp from dripping domed ceilings, complex in structure, with crevices, fissures, and excavation marks in the walls. The coolest part was the cave opening, which is widely regarded to be shaped like Africa itself. The cave’s origin is attributed to the resting spot Hercules made for himself after his battle with Attraeus.

Our taxi drivers (at this point more like tour guides) then brought us to a scenic mountaintop with a view of an old bullfighting stadium in the distance. We heard the call of the muezzin from up there, notably nicer than others. Our last taxi destination was a return to the medina, where we reentered the kasbah to show Alan and Shady the mazelike alleyways, various colored walls, intricately decorated mosque, and stunning view of Spain’s distant landmass in between the ocean and sea. We also entered a museum there with a number of old local artifacts, including an impressive mosaic of an old ship.

We walked down through the medina, absorbing the multitude of products and café’s that we see so often in Moroccan cities. We passed a car full (from floor to roof) of mind leaves, being unloaded through the trunk by a couple men. Something I’ve noticed here in Morocco is that most clothing vendors sell hats that curiously say “FBI” and “POLICE” and “CIA” on them. We stopped by a shop to make some purchases with the enthusiastic salesmen. It was there that I made my biggest accomplishment in bargaining: I reduced a simple painting’s initial price of 200 dirhams down to 3 dirhams plus a euro that i was looking to get rid of. The man’s first price was absurd and I told him upfront the only change I was willing to spend. At first he wouldn’t concede but once i started walking away (it really wasn’t an impressive art piece) he gave in. Technically, I pulled off a 94% price reduction. Never pay the original price in these markets. Unless it’s a golden fake Rolex that only costs only 50 dirhams.

We went running barefoot along the beach the next morning. There were groups of people jointly pulling long ropes out of the ocean. We never saw what it was they were pulling out—maybe fishing nets? I came across a sharp knife on the beach that I nearly stepped on. I thought it best to dispose of it. We found a number of cats chilling at the end of a rock pier; nothing new there. On our way to the train station later on we passed the least enthusiastic drug dealer we’ve ever encountered. “Want hashish?” he chirped, without even bothering to stop walking. Weak efforts compared to the guys in Chefchaouen. Walking down the Hogwarts Express-like train car aisle, I saw an old man in our compartment—but upon entering it, he disappeared. Wide-eyed and bewildered, I tossed by bag down and ran back out into the aisle, looking for the ghost. Turns out it was a trick of the mirrors positioned in a way that reflect the front-facing people in the previous compartment to seem like they’re in the back-facing seats of our compartment.

Until I came to Morocco, I had never made good use of my French. But between the preliminary days in Paris and the four weeks we’ve spent here it has proven crucial in daily activities and public interactions. It is even applicable in other African countries. I’d argue my French is better than any of the other American students’ but I could always improve, so I’ve been making use of Duolingo—a website designed to teach languages—much more often. However, after completing all of its French exercises, I wanted to try out a new site that Gbeton (one of our instructors) had strongly recommended. It’s called Mango. I started using it and noted that it does have more features but it’s far more repetitive. Another site I tried, Transparent, is similar to Duolingo but more rigid and strict in its grading, penalizing you for justifiable disparities in the answers. I don’t recommend it. My advice: use Mango if you’re starting a new language from scratch (they have a wide selection) and use Duolingo if you want to practice one you already know. Good luck registering.

On Tuesday we went to a clinic in the afternoon because Shady was down with the sickness. He brought me as an interpreter because many Moroccans mix their Arabic with French and their French with Arabic so we each get really confused unless we get them to speak just one language. The only person I ended up speaking to was the secretary because as soon as the doctors found out Shady spoke Arabic they’d encourage him to talk instead—despite the linguistic differences between Palestinian Arabic and Moroccan Darija. After getting a prescription from the doctor we headed out to find a pharmacy; a task we thought would be simple but ended up being exasperating since every pharmacy in the vicinity seemed to be closed, despite it being the early afternoon. After the 4^th closed one I asked a passerby about it. He showed me the map outside the pharmacy door that marked a location open 24/7. With difficulty we made it to that one (they had Real Madrid posters all over the walls, interestingly) and got the medicine.

I then headed to the Bab Rouah Gallery for maybe the 5^th time and hamdullah it was open for once. They had an impressive collection, with one piece in particular that impressed me greatly because it incorporated newspapers and lots of red and black paint. Next, I went to the Bank Al-Maghreb, where there was a very high-quality collection of distinguished artists’ works on display, as well as a very useful computer with a large database of information on those artists and their pieces. Lastly, that evening I went to a presentation at LeCube Independent Art Room by an artist named Youness Atbane in which he explained his actions and props as he performed a number of seemingly random movements. One I liked was part of his post-performance powerpoint discussion in which he showed a photo of drill bits arranged in the form of the European Union flag.

One of our apartment neighbors has a key to the roof and offered to let us onto it one night to check out the nice view of the city. Of course, the most prominent and immediately
striking part of it was the Hassan Tower, lit up by some powerful floodlights. The horizontally flowing Bou Regreg divided the brilliant lights of the city sprawled before us. The following evening I took a tram and taxi ride to the Méga Mall, to meet with Professor Youssouf Amine Elalamy, who Rachid had gotten me into contact with and who had agreed to be interviewed by moi. After ordering some hot drinks we dove into it. I learned that he’s a distinguished writer, working on his 9^th book, and also an artist himself. I got long and thorough answers for all of my interview questions.

For lunch on Friday we aimed to finally go to Dar Naji for the one time a week that they serve couscous. Although we should have foreseen it, the place was more packed than we’d ever seen it before, but fortunately we got a table without much of a wait. The platter was served on a massive dish from which we each served ourselves. It was delicious and I ate so fast that it took time before my stomach suddenly alerted me it was at full capacity. In the afternoon I worked on research for my paper and also took an hour to go jogging along the coast. I made it down to the lighthouse where a number of kids were playing soccer and then turned around. I cooked us some pasta and scrambled eggs for dinner, which we ate with some reheated lamb leftovers. Before hitting the bed we packed our bags for Sidi Ifni: the southern city setting of Weeks 6 and 7.