After two nights exploring Fes, I jumped on an early morning train to Tangier. As much as I enjoyed the “spiritual heart of the country,” I was more than ready to move on.
I don’t know how it is for others in similar scenerios, but as soon as I have a semi-crummy experience, it taints the place and I become anxious to move on to my next destination. It’s like fight or flight, though more flight to potentially avoid fight, if you catch my drift. Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t have ended up at a better riad than that of Omiami, especially considering the circumstances, but in the back of my mind was always the that gnawing aphrenhension that I would round a corner and come face to face with manic man.
Eeek…
I called it “The Fes Frightening,” like a movie… or a spine-chilling documentary.
Unnerving.
Anyway… once I was on the train, with that behind me & it all nothing but a side-splitting old story, I figured it was high time to put some plans into motion for the next few days. I had decided on only one evening in Tangier and three in Chefchaouen.
Tangier was nothing but a big city.
Daunting.
Chefchaouen seemed so much more charming.
I can’t even attest to having visited Tangier when I was here 25 years ago. My stop was so brief, it’s hardly worth mentioning at all. Tangier had merely been a landing spot, having sailed over from Spain. I remember we got off the boat and right onto the Marrakech express train. Nothing else. Nothing else that I remember, anyway. It was a long time ago.
Perhaps I should read my old memory books. I recorded every single detail of my time in Morocco in 1999. I should have read them before I came back.
But… l didn’t.
As I think I’ve already mentioned, I didn’t do a lot of Morocco research or preparation prior to my trip. Again, I should have.
I didn’t.
Blame my new business, family visiting, selling my house, having too many errands to run and laziness. I’m positive it was an accumulation of it all.
I very much regretted my lack of planning as soon as I laid eyes on Tangier, the White City. I knew immediately that I needed more than the 24 hours I’d allotted myself here.
I had to stay longer.
I was mesmerized.
I loved Tangier.
Within moments of arriving at my riad, I made arrangements to stay another night. Then I put in a request to my Chefchaouen accommodation to ‘pretty please’ change my reservation from three nights down to two nights.
They did.
Of course, I lost a little bit of money on my non-refundable bus ticket, but that was the price I had to pay for time in this enchanted city.
Anyone in my position would have done the same.
My riad was nice. Simple… but nice. My room was located on the top floor… and my window was directly beside the local Mosque’s loud speaker. Call to prayer happens five times a day; Fajr (before dawn), Dhuhr (noon), Asr (late afternoon), Maghrib (at sunset) and Isha (nighttime).
Lucky me.
Anthony Bourdain once said: “… but the good stuff, the real good stuff, the sounds and smells and the look of Tangier ~ what you see and hear when you lean out the window and take it all in, that's here to stay.”
Do you think he had the call-to-prayer loud speaker out his window?
My first stop was Café Hafa.
During my stay at my Fes riad, I’d met a fashion designer and once she discovered I was heading north to Tangier, she spent a fair amount of time praising the city to me. She was absolutely glowing as she recommended of all the iconic landmarks I “simple HAD TO see” while I was visiting her beloved home.
Knowing I had less than 24 hours there, I listened attentively and diligently made note of her suggestions… but hardly paid any of it much mind. I complimented her local knowledge and sincerely thanked her for all the advice and much-appreciated suggestions, but there was no way I was going to have the time to see everything Tangier had to offer.
Well… now I was.
Yay!
Her first recommendation had been the renowned, Café Hafa, a true symbol of Tangier’s artistic and bohemian past.
The café was quite close to my riad, so I figured it might be a nice place to relax after a long journey, and enjoy a traditional cup of mint tea.
This place blew me away. I had no idea what I was walking into until I was right there.
Perched on a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean Sea, Café Hafa is not only known for its laid back atmosphere, but also for its panoramic view of the Straight of Gibraltar.
This café has been around since 1921… if you can believe that… and has always been a gathering spot for numerous writers, artists and musicians. So ya… I was sipping mint tea in the sunshine, enjoying a light breeze and gazing across the Straight to Spain… just like so many celebrities had over the years… like The Rolling Stones, the Beatles, Sean Connery, Truman Capote, Jack Kerouac… and me!
From there I wandered along the historical Bab Al Bahr, all around the Place de la Kasbar, and down through the charismatic, narrow and winding cobblestone streets of the old, yet lively, Medina.
It was truly magical.
They say Tangier, the Gateway to Africa, has always fascinated many travelers, adventurers, writers, spies and lovers of exotic culture.
And me.
I never thought I’d be categorized with ‘spies,’ but here I am.
I couldn’t help but think back to my recent time in Marrskech. It seemed so far away now… and my opinion of it has changed so much from what it once was. I once praised it for being so exotic, cultural and alluring. No. The truth is that I will probably never return to the chaotic & claustrophobic vibe of Marrakech. Tangier is quieter, friendlier, more creative and so much more peaceful than Marrakesh. It boasts a very relaxed atmosphere.
It’s a timeless city… and all I kept thinking was, “I’m going to live here one day.”
I better hurry up.
Time’s a ticking’.
My Mom used to work here, in Tangier.
Back in the 1960’s, Mom was one of the private nurses hired to adhere to Barbara Hutton’s every whim and fancy. Barbara Hutton, otherwise known as ‘poor, little rich girl’ was the heir to the Woolworth’s fortune and was, at one time, the richest woman in the world. She was also married to Cary Grant, amongst many others.
Desperate for escape from a treacherous life, abandonment, failed marriages, abusive husbands (not Cary Grant) and much loneliness, Barbara Hutton became dangerously addicted to pills. While Mom was employed here, she refused to let the nurses bath her, instead only insisting that they fix her makeup each morning.
Barbara Hutton was so rich, she kept a barrel of pearl necklaces beside her bed, and would often gift staff members and other visitors a string of pearls when they were in the room.
Apparently she hated Canadians, so Mom had to try and pretend she was from the United States. I don’t think the lie worked though, as Mom said she was always quite rude to her, and unlike the other nurses, she never received a string of pearls.
I really loved Tangier.
I will always come back here.
As writer Josh Shoemake once said: “You can be anyone in Tangier. You can remake yourself, rewrite your backstory, reform or deform, indulge your subconscious, cultivate nemeses or simply start anew.”
I can understand why Barbara Hutton chose it for her escape…
💙
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