up north

When I recall India train rides, three words come to mind. Stuffy, hot and smelly. Though I’m currently in a country far from any form of Indian transport, I rode the same three word train from Tangier to Rabat this past Sunday. To put things in context, last week was a holiday for all the schools here, making our Sunday train the Moroccan version of post-Thanksgiving break airports. In the course of a four hour train ride I sat next to (1) no one, then (2) a ten year old boy who tried desperately not to doze off on my shoulder, then (3) a larger older women whose linen djellabah kept rubbing up against me, then (4) a girl and her sister who kept fidgeting with the tray table, then (5) a cute four year old boy who I gave chewing gum to, and finally (6) a chubby toddler who kept wiping sweat from his face with a crumpled up tissue. Suffice to say, I made it back to Rabat and welcomed the sea breeze with open arms and sweaty pits.

Preceding miserable train ride was a weekend of fun in the northern Moroccan sun. Tangier is the port city at the very northern tip of Morocco where, on a clear day, you can look out at the ocean and see a faint outline of the southern Spanish coast. Highlights of the weekend: the Kasbah, uphill walk, panoramic view, beach tackles, sand writing, the Cave of Hercules, picnic lunch, Bel Canto, wine and cheese, gin and tonic (and lemon).

While on the beach, a man attempted to sell us hashish. Actually, his sales pitch began with multi-colored wallets and when we refused those, hash was naturally the next product to offer. Apparently, along with the beautiful beaches and ocean views, Tangier also offers the largest supply of cannabis in the country. After refusing hashish man, he randomly appeared later, when we were having dinner at a restaurant, trying to sell assorted nuts to the customers. A jack of all legal and illegal goods.

When I think about it sans drug dealers and trains, Tangier is one of the most beautiful cities I have seen in Morocco. One of those places that beckons for second and third visits. I hope to return at some point during the rest of my time here.

On another, completely random note, tonight, my host mother had me translate and write out a letter for her to send to former students. At the end, she told me to finish it with the line Je vous quitte avec mon stylo, mais pas avec mon coeur. It roughly translates to I leave you with my pen, but not with my heart. That one made me smile pretty big.