Moroccan Culture Series
Transportation
Travel within Morocco is something of an an ordeal. In addition to being very slow, the inter-city trains and buses are often full, so you really have to plan ahead. During Orin's Christmas/New Years/Ramadan break, we wanted to take a train to Tangiers and then a bus to Ceuta (Spanish Morocco) and then come back via Fez in order to spend a few days there. On Christmas day (which is of course not a holiday here), we went to the train station at about 1 in order to buy tickets for the 2pm train to Tangiers. It was full, so we went to the bus station, and found that the bus was sold out as well. The next bus was at 6pm, which would have meant that we would be arriving in Ceuta very late, so we went back to the train station and bought tickets for early the following morning.
That morning, we got up early, packed, and set off on our trip. It had already been raining for three days and showed no sign of letting up now, vacation or no vacation. We got on the train and sped along happily for the first 4 hours of the 5-hour trip. We noticed a great deal of flooding in the fields along both sides of the train. Then the train stopped at some nameless station, and just... stayed there. After nearly an hour, the conductor finally announced to us that the tracks were flooded and they were arranging for a bus to take us the rest of the way.
Orin and I got off the train and looked around. We had a feeling that the bus wouldn't be along anytime soon, so we decided to make our way into town and find our own way. It turned out that we were more of a village than a town, and we were just about the only non-Moroccans ever to visit it. It was obvious that not many tourists stopped in this town - everyone was staring at us. We stood at the edge of the road hoping a taxi would come by, but all we saw were donkey carts.
We’d been standing on the roadside for 10 minutes or so when a suspicious-looking fellow "befriended" us and got us in a petit taxi which then took the three of us to the grand taxi station. We stood and haggled in French, Spanish, and Arabic for a good ten minutes, while increasing numbers of Moroccan men drew near to enjoy the spectacle. After a grand attempt on the part of our "friend" to rip us off, another man came to our rescue and kindly directed us toward the bus station. We strode away in mock disgust, grateful to escape with our wallets intact.
After a ten-minute walk, we made it to the bus station and boarded a bus that as luck was leaving fifteen minutes later. Away we went confident that we would arrive on time and wondering whether our fellow train passengers were still waiting for a bus at the train station.
We made it to the Tangier bus station at 4pm and began looking around for a bus to take us to Ceuta. There were none leaving until the next morning, so we went outside for a grand taxi. We were met with a fee that was exceedingly high ($40), because the short route was flooded and the trip would take twice as long. Moreover, nobody else was traveling to Ceuta so it wasn’t as if the fare could be split with some fellow travelers. After half an hour we were able to get the price down by 25%. While we were hesitant to pay, we really had little choice.
Our only remaining doubt was the driving ability of the taxi driver. He seemed just a bit crazy. His head would jerk occasionally as if he was being played by an inexperienced marionette. He would also mumble to himself, wander across the yellow line, and tailgate closer than we had ever before thought possible. Due to the rain, we were quite scared, especially after we passed several accident sites.
It then turned out that it was the last day of Ramadan, and at 5:30 the driver insisted that he had to stop for ftor. This took a half hour or so, and then we got back on the road and finally arrived at the Ceuta border. We spent the night there, miserable because of the rain, and so we turned around to go home early the next morning.
At the Moroccan checkpoint we got our passports processed, and all the while we were standing in a huge puddle outside the window with the rain coming down in sheets. There was no overhang of any sort. Despite our miserable state, the situation was in some sense quite comical and we couldn’t help but laugh.
We got past the checkpoint to the waiting grand taxis and it was still pouring. Here too, there was no overhang or protection from the weather. Again, we suffered an overpriced taxi ride. The ridiculousness of our haggling over the fare in the pouring rain while the taxi driver was in his dry taxi didn’t elude us. He could have gotten more!
We passed a number of people standing in the road, desperately flagging the taxi. He didn't stop. I tried to explain that of course he should, but he spoke virtually no French, and our Arabic is sorely lacking. He took us to the nearest big town, Tetouan, and from there we caught a cold and damp bus ride back to Casablanca. What a trip.
Since Orin still had five days of vacation left, we tried to reserve a hotel in a few places like Marrakech and Ifrane (to go skiing), but everything was booked solid. We ended up staying home, playing Scrabble, cooking lots of good food, and reading. We did manage to squeeze in a day trip to El Jadida, but the trip was so short as to be almost pointless. Once again the bus we wanted (at 10am) was full, so we took the noon bus, which was half an hour late. We arrived at El Jadida at 1:30, and returned on the last bus at 4pm.
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Questions or comments? |
The moral of the story: there is no such thing as spontaneity when it comes to traveling within Morocco. In addition, it's best to allow yourself a cushion of several hours, because the odds are that you'll arrive at your destination late. :-)
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