Tuesday, 28th of November, 2017.
I am concerned with what to write down in the entrance form to Morocco in “address”. But after talk with some men behind me, they say I do not need to write anything. And that is it: I get my stamp to Morocco.
At the bus back to the port, this girl talks to me. I already had seen her and the big backpacker she is also carrying, but I had not say anything.
Alex is from England, Bristol, and we talk a little bit. She is going to Chefchaouen to meet her boyfriend and both do Workaway. I decide do not hitch-hiking until Tangier and take a bus with her, what supposedly would cost us 7 Diran. After all the taxi drivers make us offers, an old guy “convince” us that the bus stop is to far and would be easier go by taxi. The taxi is 15 Diran. Now thinking better, and everything that happened after, maybe I should have hitched until Tangier and than take a bus to Caves of Hercules.
In Tangier, it takes me to much time to figure out which street to take. At the Post Office, they do not know precisely! Another guy, from a shop, help me a lot and say exactly what I should do. You can never know where get the best direction information…
It is a long away. Probably (at that time) the longest journey walking with The Monster: Over 15 kilometres. I arrive at the Caves in the exactly moment when the sun was in the perfect place to take a good picture.
After a few minutes, and after realize I could not go walking by the beach (because looks like in the hole Morocco there is something about the beaches: they are figurative! There are so many obstacles to get on them that makes almost impossible enjoy it) I take my way in other direction.
In the dark, I finally find a small entrance to the beach. I see some lights on the sand, far away, and thought that, as the same in Brazil, it was just some people looking for shells.
When I start to make my camping, the shock: where were the nails? Until now I do not know if I left them in Spain when I cleaned the tent or if I just lost them. The thing is: to be inside of the tent that night it was almost so bad as being outside. So noise and moving all the time that it was impossible to fall sleep.
Of course I had other reasons for that: a guard come a few minutes later I finished the tent and says I have to move because there it is too dangerous and in the middle of the night some “bad guys” (in his words) could come and steal from me. After a long “talk” (no one was understanding each other) he allows me to stay and says, since he had to sleep on the beach, he would pass each two hours and check if I was OK. And he really did that. Since I could not sleep that well, I saw most of the lights sign.
Leaving pretty early in the morning, going in the wrong direction but at least able to fry some eggs and make a coffee for breakfast, I finally go to hitchhike at the A1 on my way to Rabat.
So it happens. I do not know exactly what is it or if is just a plus of the bad night, the grumpiness, the fear of something, but when this guy stops and offer to take me to Rabat I accept. Thinking now, everything was wrong: I did not trust on him; he did not look trustful; before I said where I was going he said being driving me to Tangier, when I sad Rabat he said “Oh, OK! No problem, madame!” Bastard, piece of shit!! As soon as I get in the car, he turns left in the next exit, when I knew it is the A1 that goes directly to Rabat and to the who coast! So I start to ask him to stop, stop, stop. He keep saying “It is good, Madame! It is tourism in Tangier!” I realize I am in a big trouble and start to think what to do. The problem is that day I made two terrible mistakes: got in his car and put my two bags in the back. So the first plan, which would be jumping out of the car, would cost me everything. That is why I closed the door after threat him that I would jump. Then I see a woman and I ask for help, then two kids and a car with two men inside! I am asking for help and making a lot of signs! How could they not realize and do something? So I start to try take out the key of the ignition or pull up the hand break. He do not want let me do it, so we start a kind of fight inside of the car in movement. And he keep saying “It is good, Madame! It is good!”. Then I finally could take the key out and the car stops in the middle of a hill. I get out, take my bags from the back and then throw the key back to him. Going back to the motorway I was concerned, of course, that he might come back with some friends. The only thing that happen it is I take a different way and have to walk a little more. Fucking bastard!
After a small ride to a better point from an old man, I hit a gas station where a nice guy in a car, who was not going to Rabat try to give me one hundred Diran to take a bus. When I refuse, he insist that I take at least a few coins for a coffee. I humbly accept.
A ride with an honest man until a toll resulted in a free small glass of honey. An amazing honey! Then two guys in a van drive me to the entrance of Rabat. When their first question is if I am married, I get a little concerned. But nothing happen. Just the awkward situation and the feeling that I hate. And when they (and almost every man who I talk) ask for my phone number, I just can think two things: for what a hell do you want my phone number? Do you really think we are going to talk? And after start talking I am going to fall in love for you and we get married? Laugh. But the second thought it is a little less funny: If I tell them that I do not have a phone, they can take that as an opportunity to do something with me since I could not call for help; but if I say yes, what a hell I can use as excuse to not give them my number? I think I will have to start saying that I am engag… nope!