In Morocco, We Eat With Our Hands

“I felt the rains down in Aaaaafrica”…..I didn’t. But I’ll tell you what I did feel, my sweat. Lovely, I know. After an early morning bus ride, a long trek through town with full gear in tow, and some generous directional assistance from two native Moroccan girls, Jenny and I finally and sweatily made it to the port. After much anticipation, we boarded our ferry to…dah dah dah dahhhhhh…AFRICA! I’ve always wanted to go to Africa but thought I was surely a few years away from that prospect. Africa also doesn’t seem to cross your mind when planning a European vacation but when it became clear to me that Morocco is a mere 9 miles from Spain, the weekend jaunt seemed nothing short of essential. To say that we felt some trepidation on the ferry would perhaps be a bit of an understatement. After all, Rick Steves, our 3rd and very official travel companion, warned us of constant harassment by locals and pointed out the alarming fact that English is the 4th language in these parts. So the fact that I definitely don’t speak Arabic, surely don’t speak French, and survive on the most minute amount of Spanish, just felt like it wasn’t going to bode well for us. The best, and by best I mean BEST, 20 euro I ever spent was on our guide. As soon as we stepped off the boat it was a total mob scene of locals trying to get us to let them drive us places, wheel our bags, or be our guide for the day. After immediately being approached by someone from the department of tourism who was telling all of these other fellows to gently, “Back up off this!,” we followed his lead, and his lead took us straight to our main man, Hassan.



Hassan was a native Moroccan but looked like a mix of all sorts of backgrounds. I dare say he looked a bit like a nicely ageing, not too old, grandpa. He wore a baseball hat and a little sweater, not necessarily the garb you think befitting of a native Moroccan. This man took us under his wing and led us all over town. I know I thought Sevilla was confusing but the old town of Tangier had Sevilla beat 20 fold. Without Hassan, I would surely still be wandering those alleys in Tangier. That, or I’d have been pecked to death by the children trying to sell me their little wooden camels. Hassan knew exactly how to deal with those children too, he just swatted them with his hat. Everywhere we went, swat swat swat! The best part about Hassan was the wonderful cultural guidance he provided such as…

Hassan: “Where do you want to go?”

Me: “Take us wherever you think Hassan, this is all new to us.”

Hassan: “Any man do what he wants to do. You do what you want to do. You at home. Do like you at home.”

Hassan, I hate to break it to you buddy, but this is NOTHING like my home. God love him for being extremely amenable to our wishes but that being said, he would not make any sort of itinerary for us until we layed it out ourselves. Another favorite of mine after noticing the amount of stray cats roaming about…

Me: “Hassan, do you have any other animals common to the area other than cats?”

Hassan: “We have dogs.”

As you can see, he wasn’t always catching my drift but at least his answers always provided a laugh. A highlight of the day was being taken to a local restaurant where shockingly, Hassan did the ordering for us. When the food came out and we noticed the absence of utensils, Hassan informed us, “In Morocco, we eat with our hands.” So, that we did. We dug into bread, bowls of olives, and chicken skewers covered in saffron. Oh and there was the other option other than chicken that was presented to us…meat.

Me: “What kind of meat, Hassan?”

Hassan: “Meat.”

Could have been dog for all I know, after all, they are common in those parts. The rest of the day was spent taking in the views from the new part of town, winding through the maze of shops in the old town, and haggling with some vendors because after all, it was Morocco and I wasn’t walking out of that place empty handed. After an exhausting day, we got to come home to our GORGEOUS hostel, if you can even call it that, Dar Jameel. It was a traditional riad covered in mosaics and tiles. It was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Here, see for yourself…





The rest of the evening was spent in the little rooftop porch that overlooked the entire city of Tangier and better yet, had a view across the Mediterranean to Spain. As we sat there breathing in the salty air and watching the children play on ragged rooftops, from speakers high above the Kasbah the Islamic call to pray started echoing throughout the city. Definitely a moment, I’ll not likely soon forget.





And NowEuropeToDate…