The train ride from Fez to Tangier was, to say the least, crowded.  We weren't able to get first class tickets but at first didn't see what all the fuss was about by sitting in second class. We plopped down next to some people who were speaking English to each other; at first we busied our selves by reading to avoid the old man that was going around asking for money so we weren´t very outgoing as far as making small talk with the other travellers.  CH, at one point, asked the others where they were from, ¨Holland and Germany,¨ was the response followed by what we assumed was either Dutch or German.  When they looked at us with expectant faces we realized that they had said something in English and were now awaiting a response. hmm... This reminded me of when my students don´t understand something that I say in class and they tell me to, ¨Dilo mal,¨ say it incorrectly.  So instead of saying ¨One time in Mexico I rode on a scooter.¨ I say ¨Ownay teemay een Mayheeco ai rowday own ay escootair.¨  I understand, being a language-learner myself, that sometimes it is more difficult to understand native speakers than your fellow second-language friends; but I feel bad, and a bit rude, when I can´t understand someone who is speaking to me in English.  I always try to explain to my students that it isn´t because they are horribly wrong... sometimes they are... but they way English is written and the way it is pronounced is very different; not at all like Spanish where every vowel is always said the same way.

Anyway so we, once again, had to go a bit out of the way en route to Tangier and this time we had to change trains in Sidi Kacem.  This is where I realized the value of a first class ticket.  As we were pushed about by everyone, babies and grandmas alike, we looked down one side of the train and then another but it was all the same.  People basically body surfing themselves and their luggage across the mob that seemed to believe that we could all fit inside this rusty machine.  It looked to me that if even half of the peopel got in, it would weigh the train down so much that it wouldn´t have the strength to pull us.

Suddenly a random man tugged on Katie´s shoulder and motioned that we should follow him.  We had nothing to lose, and were fully expecting to have to wait for the next train, so we tackled and clotheslined our way through the swarm of body odor.  He forced open a door even though one of the train workers was yelling and making it clear that we were so not allowed to do that; but we weren´t the only ones and I am pretty sure we could have taken him down if it had come to that point.  We were going to do anything to get to Tangier.  This coach looked similar to the first class one that we were in before except that there were people sitting on top of each other and squished into the halls.  The three of us shared two seats and sat facing a family and next to the guy who had led us to this suffocating chariot.  The man was nice and we thanked him in every language that we could for helping us get on the train.  But then, despite being helpful, he began to pester us and expected us to teach him English by the time we got to his finaly destination, which was before ours, thank goodness.

Katie was feeling awful, the dates might have done it... or the camel's milk, chocolate and almond milk shake, we'll never know... so we found the first hostel that didn't look sketchy and got her into bed.  CH wanted to see Hotel Muniria where Burroughs wrote Naked Lunch and where Kerouac frequented.  A man, probably about 60, but he looked much older, led us there and also to see the Teatro Cervantes; he liked to point out all of the Spanish influences in the city.  While we were wandering around the medina that was much dirtier and creepy than those of the other cities, I saw some grafitti that made me shudder: Viva Taliban.  Not something I want to encounter when I am in a Muslim country.  He also pointed across a small stretch of water and said, "That is Gibraltar and that is Tarifa." What!? I mean, yes, I knew that the strait was skinny but it looked as though I could swim across the ocean and climb ashore in about an hour; which I suppose is why so many people try to do just that.  In my mind, however, I was imagining that is was close like Cuba and Florida... but when I looked over and saw that, what looked to be the other side of the bay was really a different continent, I realized just how large and spread out we are in the Americas.

So, after a really nice tip for our guide, he told us that he wanted to do anything else that he could to help us.  He made Katie some Chamomile tea; "I make your friend a tea because she feels bad and you give him this tea and you tell him drink one now and one before sleep yes so it make him better.  You tell your friend that."  Then he took us souvenir shopping.  The thing about that is they always take you to their "brother's" shop or to their own... and you know that they are going to get a cut out of what ever you buy.  They aren't necessarily helping you find the best quality stuff for the best price but where they know they can get a little extra dough.  We bought a few last gifts and then went to find a restaurant.

The next morning we woke up early and made our way to the port.  Katie had already made reservations for the ferry so we were sure we would make it back to Europe... but then we couldn't find the company that she had used to book the tickets.  We asked everyone we passed and they all gave us the same answer, "Oh, I don't know what that is, it doesn't exist here." Of course not... this always happens to us; we shouldn't have been surprised.  Katie goes on a head hunt for the people responsible for this mess up and we finally get everything settled and climb the ramp to board the ferry.  It is a lot nicer than I had expected on the inside, I mean I only had the ferries in New York to compare it to so I wasn't really expecting all that much.  But these were cozy and just what I needed to make the two-ish hour trip.  I could not have lasted much longer and the only reason I boarded that boat, other than to get back to Spain without paying an arm and a leg, was because throughout the trip I was able to see land.  I knew that if, for some reason, we started sinking, I could make it to shore... if I can see it, I can do it.  That tiny venture into the sea just confirmed my fears about cruises... I will never go on one.  Arriving on European territory felt good, almost like being home.  That feeling quickly went away as we then started on our 12 hour road trip to Ciudad Real.

xox cr