Tangier has an absolutely fascinating and notorious history. I couldn't wait to get a good look for myself. Chatted with some nice Dutch folk on the 4 hour train journey, including the 7 year old daughter who proudly told me she could speak English (and Dutch, French and Arabic)
Checked into the hotel and then braved the rain cos I wasn't going to waste any time. It being the birthday of the prophet, not much was open. Except all the shops. It turned out I was staying in absolutely number one position for all the sights, restos and bars. If only they were open of course. Having trudged around the streets for 3 hours, back to the hotel for a shower and small restette. As I rested on my bed, a little verse came in my head. No, not that one.
"Twas a rainswept day in Tangier.
And twas big A's birthday, oh dear.
So with naff all to do
Big A, cos of you
You don't mind if I have a beer?"
And that's how my new years resolution was scuppered. It wasn't my fault! But it would have been scandalous, nay, unnatural not to have had a drink in Tangier so I would have cracked anyway. I popped down to the wine bar and, seeing the price of wine, decided to have a beer. The walls of the bar are filled with photos of all the celebs and famous folk who have stayed in the hotel. In keeping with the spirit of the hotel, even the modern photos are black and white. My offer to buy a lovely poster of the hotel on the wall was scornfully rejected by the maitre de. People had told me the hotel was past its best, a bit shabby - nonsense. There's a sense of history all over the hotel which beats 5* luxury which you can get anywhere. This really is the coolest hotel I've stayed in. Another cold Casablanca por favor, my man.
Then following my 12 year old Rough Guide, a gift from my old mate Mikey which he got at a boot fair, I wandered down to the Africa restaurant. Completely empty and the three staff are sat a table having a chat. No problem though, everything on the menu was available. Obviously I wanted a drink and the proprietor happily informed me that Moroccans weren't allowed to buy alcohol today, but I was alright. That was ok until Don Mohammed and his 5 Goodfellas (they were wearing gangster overcoats, honest) sat down at the table opposite me and glared menacingly at my red wine. Or was it jealously? No, they definitely didn't approve. Finished with a mint tea with more mint in the the glass than in my garden. I wonder where they grow all the mint? Are there mint farmers? Are they minted? It has a number of meanings, mint. A feckless New Zealander might say "I mint to call yer, honest".
The next day, breakfast was as I had been told. Bacon, eggs, the lot. Need to do a bit of walking to work that off. Would you adam and eve it, the lazy sods have taken today off as well! No sights open today either. I avoid mosques, temples, cathedrals these days because, on the one hand, I've seen enough of them and, on the other, I'll probably be struck by lightning for all my blasphemous thoughts. So, it's got to be bad when I had to fill up some time by visiting the nearby C of E church. Having said that, it was a nice experience. The caretaker was a pleasant fellow, the churchyard could have been in Sussex and church smelled churchy just like churches do. And this has to be worth a look, the Lord's prayer is written in Arabic around the nave.
So I trudged around the city, not so much fun when it's raining. Couple of coffee stops then, bugger it, let's find a bar. Which I did:
Nice bar, you get a tapa with every beer and I nearly had a full meal. I had to pace myself because I was meeting a chap who was going to take me out on the town in the evening. He won't mind me saying that he is well acquainted with the more outrageous and seamy side of town as well. But the evening turned out to be fairly normal. Loads to drink and only one quite polite queen joined us earlier on.
Next day, a fairly long uphill hike to the kasbah. And what a lovely kasbah it is. You'll have to see it for yourself. Au revoir Tanger, I'll be back
The train journey home took an hour longer than it should due to an unplanned stop at Ksar el Kabir, that well known landmark. This was enlivened by the station master trying to do something with a cable coming out of the back of the engine. It was so frayed it looked like a witch's broom. With the passengers all out on the platform looking on, the station master was making sparks fly every time he touched the cable. Another chap then climbed into the engine (the train) and sparks didn't fly when said cable was touched again. Perhaps he had a brainwave and switched the power off? Eventually, the cable was secured to a pipe or something with sellotape (yes sellotape) so the frayed bits weren't touching anything. Then off we went. Hurrah for common sense and no H&S police.
Footnote on the changing facilities in my gym (see previous blog) I'm beginning to hide behind my towel when I change just like the Moroccans. It's getting so bad I'm scared to have a wee in the showers.
Checked into the hotel and then braved the rain cos I wasn't going to waste any time. It being the birthday of the prophet, not much was open. Except all the shops. It turned out I was staying in absolutely number one position for all the sights, restos and bars. If only they were open of course. Having trudged around the streets for 3 hours, back to the hotel for a shower and small restette. As I rested on my bed, a little verse came in my head. No, not that one.
"Twas a rainswept day in Tangier.
And twas big A's birthday, oh dear.
So with naff all to do
Big A, cos of you
You don't mind if I have a beer?"
And that's how my new years resolution was scuppered. It wasn't my fault! But it would have been scandalous, nay, unnatural not to have had a drink in Tangier so I would have cracked anyway. I popped down to the wine bar and, seeing the price of wine, decided to have a beer. The walls of the bar are filled with photos of all the celebs and famous folk who have stayed in the hotel. In keeping with the spirit of the hotel, even the modern photos are black and white. My offer to buy a lovely poster of the hotel on the wall was scornfully rejected by the maitre de. People had told me the hotel was past its best, a bit shabby - nonsense. There's a sense of history all over the hotel which beats 5* luxury which you can get anywhere. This really is the coolest hotel I've stayed in. Another cold Casablanca por favor, my man.
Then following my 12 year old Rough Guide, a gift from my old mate Mikey which he got at a boot fair, I wandered down to the Africa restaurant. Completely empty and the three staff are sat a table having a chat. No problem though, everything on the menu was available. Obviously I wanted a drink and the proprietor happily informed me that Moroccans weren't allowed to buy alcohol today, but I was alright. That was ok until Don Mohammed and his 5 Goodfellas (they were wearing gangster overcoats, honest) sat down at the table opposite me and glared menacingly at my red wine. Or was it jealously? No, they definitely didn't approve. Finished with a mint tea with more mint in the the glass than in my garden. I wonder where they grow all the mint? Are there mint farmers? Are they minted? It has a number of meanings, mint. A feckless New Zealander might say "I mint to call yer, honest".
The next day, breakfast was as I had been told. Bacon, eggs, the lot. Need to do a bit of walking to work that off. Would you adam and eve it, the lazy sods have taken today off as well! No sights open today either. I avoid mosques, temples, cathedrals these days because, on the one hand, I've seen enough of them and, on the other, I'll probably be struck by lightning for all my blasphemous thoughts. So, it's got to be bad when I had to fill up some time by visiting the nearby C of E church. Having said that, it was a nice experience. The caretaker was a pleasant fellow, the churchyard could have been in Sussex and church smelled churchy just like churches do. And this has to be worth a look, the Lord's prayer is written in Arabic around the nave.
So I trudged around the city, not so much fun when it's raining. Couple of coffee stops then, bugger it, let's find a bar. Which I did:
Next day, a fairly long uphill hike to the kasbah. And what a lovely kasbah it is. You'll have to see it for yourself. Au revoir Tanger, I'll be back
The train journey home took an hour longer than it should due to an unplanned stop at Ksar el Kabir, that well known landmark. This was enlivened by the station master trying to do something with a cable coming out of the back of the engine. It was so frayed it looked like a witch's broom. With the passengers all out on the platform looking on, the station master was making sparks fly every time he touched the cable. Another chap then climbed into the engine (the train) and sparks didn't fly when said cable was touched again. Perhaps he had a brainwave and switched the power off? Eventually, the cable was secured to a pipe or something with sellotape (yes sellotape) so the frayed bits weren't touching anything. Then off we went. Hurrah for common sense and no H&S police.
Footnote on the changing facilities in my gym (see previous blog) I'm beginning to hide behind my towel when I change just like the Moroccans. It's getting so bad I'm scared to have a wee in the showers.
