A surprisingly memorable, lovely little port town in the south of Spain, Algeciras is a great place to spend the night before embarking on the ferry. Schmooze with locals and foreigners in transit. Everyone here is a bit strange — you have to be colorful to live in this port town, or to want to go to Morocco. A nightlife exists; go find one of the tiny bars near the water and down some gin and tapas. Ask the Norwegian next to you about how Morocco really was for him, because you’re a bit nervous and mind blown that you’re going to Africa for the first time. The next morning, take a bus to Tarifa, driving through green fog and solar windmills in the hills overlooking the sea. If you’re sleep deprived; your grogginess will add to the effect; you’re about to be reborn.
Crossing the Straight of Gibraltar is an experience when you realize the immense history surrounding you. Off in the distance, as your half-hour ferry ride zooms along, is Jabal Tariq, Arabic for “Mountain of Tariq,” better known as the Rock of Gibraltar, a towering natural landmark where a Moorish castle stands. Pulling into Tangier, you are in Africa. Immediately, there are taxi drivers and merchants hollering at you. You might see a small monkey on one of their shoulders. Bargain your way for a ride to the Medina (old city center), and find yourself a pension. Now it’s time to explore Tangier.
If you lack a literary motive for visiting Morocco, pick up “The Sheltering Sky,” the famous 1949 novel by Paul Bowles about an American couple who embark upon existential wanderings through the country. A night’s stay at his first digs at Tangier’s now-luxury El Minzah Hotel (85 Rue de la Libertie) will place you near all the clanging, senses-pleasing souks (marketplaces) and cafes that Bowles writes about in his sullen, dreamy prose. Get a coffee and open up one of his books (“Let it Come Down,” “Points in Time”), or read a biography about him and his turbulent marriage to wife Jane, herself a writer, who joined him in Morocco. Warning: Bowles’ books elicit a certain kind of loneliness.
Head south from Tangier on the night train and wake up on the Atlantic seaboard in Casablanca. This is going to be the beginning of a beautiful relationship, or so Rick said to Louie in the 1944 classic “Casablanca.” The largest city in Morocco, this thriving economic epicenter is a mecca of visual splendor. Keep in mind, Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman didn’t really rekindle their romance and evade Nazis in this city — it was all filmed on a Hollywood back lot. The iPhone can capture some of the cinematic beauty of this place. Visit the Hassan II Mosque (the largest minaret in the world, and the second-largest Muslim structure after Mecca), and capture from its vast plaza some images of the sea sweeping in. Witness the lights flare up in this modern cityscape from the tower of the Phare d’el Hank lighthouse. Load up your iPod with some Crosby, Stills and Nash, because Marrakech is coming up…
“Take the train from Casablanca going south…” Your dad’s favorite band from the ’60s, Crosby, Stills and Nash first sang “Marrakech Express” in 1969. It’s a real train to a real city. This will be among the most memorable legs of any trip of your life. Make sure its a day train so you can see the roadside oddities. Yes, you will see camels chewin’ and chillin’ on the side and passengers sharing water bottles with strangers in the heat. Every window open and the air in your hair, head south towards a transcendental experience in Morocco’s most exotic city. You’ll experience the arid ruggedness of the landscape on this three-hour tour of wonderment. It’s the greatest way to share space with the locals while feeling that spirit of the hippie movement.
Park yourself at a hotel overlooking the Jemaa el-Fnaa, the central square of the marketplace in the medina (pictured above). Venture out into the bustling crowd; it will be sweaty and confusing at first, but just chill out and grab a fresh orange juice from one of the wagons piled 12 high and 10 deep with the fruit. There will be snake charmers here wearing fez (cylindrical red hats with tails); you cannot even dream up this stuff. Pick a street and start your labyrinthine journey through the souk. Above you, mesh and netting create a tunnel-like effect. The rays of the sun beat through, picking up the dust kicked up by vendor carts jangling bells and hauling trinkets. Yarns and wools are hanging all around, freshly dyed, some of them dripping what appears to be blood (it shouldn’t be). Don’t even think here; lose yourself so much that when you return, you’re ready for a drink on a rooftop terrace.
Ah, Essaouira! This is how it happened (we think): the first plucky foreigner to ever visit here just wanted to desperately escape the sensual overload of Marrakech, and just put his/her finger on a map. There! That place! Take me to that place I can’t pronounce! And that’s what everyone else has done since. It’s right there on the Atlantic — so quiet, the ocean view is just gleaming from your private pension chambre (no more expensive than $18 a night if you search right). Traverse the small streets and eat in the small cafes. This is Diet Morocco. Make tons of local friends, and get ready to sleep like you couldn’t in Marrakech. Jimi Hendrix sojourned for a bit here, but it might well be you who stays awhile, finding all kinds of peace and time to write the greatest memoirs of North Africa (or life) ever to be read. Your Moroccan metamorphosis is nearly complete!
Only optional because it’s so far from the linear path. However, thousands of wanderers and adventurers every year go for a caravan in the world’s hottest, perhaps most soul-reaching location. You’ll have to travel west from Marrakech on a bus to the small oasis town of Erfoud, “Gate of the Sahara.” Here, you can rent desert motors with some other travelers, or join a Bedouin caravan and venture out into the vast full emptiness. Your psychological state will soon lock in union with the dark orange undulations of sand, the most carnal geological unveiling you will ever see. Cold at night, sweltering during the day, your desert tour comes highly recommended with a camel and an expert of the dunes to lead the way. It’s a bit off the tourist trail, but you will never be the same after seeing sunrise over the Sahara with some tea.
Are you a painter? A photographer? Ouzoud Falls, located on the road heading north between Marrakech and Fez, is worth the trip. You can travel into the Grand Atlas mountains by bus, but more fun is a taxi (bargain! Don’t do more than $30/290 dirhams per person!), a local driver who may blast some thumping Berber music as you wind up and up into the rugged high terrain. There are a few hotels, so book ahead. The entire village hugs the falls from above. When you hike down to the base, take a dip in the crystal pools with village women and children. Le Cascade roars down from above. Have a guide take you up there, or find a buddy. Wear shoes! At night, follow the music, as there’s always some somewhere. Young vagabonds mix with the locals for sebsi (traditional long smoking pipe). Someone may offer you the “water of life.” I don’t really know exactly what it is, but drink at your own risk. Have fun.
Fez! Fez! Fez! Time to head back north and go shopppppping!!! You can get here relatively easily from anywhere by bus. It’s a pretty straightforward Moroccan city: new metropolis, old city, bazaar. You’re almost on your way back to Spain, so it’s souvenir time. Every smiling owner of every open-air shop to your left and your right will offer you traditional mint tea, and until you’ve had your fill, accept their invitations. Don’t be afraid to say “no” to their friendly urges to purchase. Load up to your heart’s content and enjoy the last big city on your trip before taking an easy ride to Rabat for a flight, or back to Tangier.
