Day Nine

Algarve to Gibraltar

Half past nine in the morning we arrive at Tangier but have to anchor for two more hours before we are finally allowed into the harbour. So, at quarter past one, I set foot on Africa for the first time ever. Instead of stamping my passport, I received an eighth of a form from the Captain, the rest of which was kept by either him or the local police. Apparently, this is all a sailor needs to be allowed into Marocco for the day.

Tangier resides on the southern entrance to the Strait of Gibraltar. The port occupies the western side of a small bay and the town lies on the hills beyond. The flank of the first hill is the kasbah, the Arabic old town. It is a maze of small streets with white buildings to its side, sometimes even above. Unlike similar European quarters, it is lively to the extremes even during the Siesta hours of the day.

A terrace provides a terrific view both for tourists and the huge English gun stationed here. Ahead the Atlantic turns into the Mediterranean at a cape east of town. Today visibility is poor, Europe is only a dim shadow in the hazy distance.

Thanks to its location, Tangier is a mixture of the Muslim, Christian, and Jewish worlds and provides regligious homes for all of them. It is an North Africian city, though, and for that I am by no means prepared. The way of living that is expressed by all those people on the streets also means that there is no being left alone. Everyone has something to offer and even if it is a only a piece of advise. Stopping somewhere to admire a building is impossible. It simply seems that being by yourself is thought of as unnatural. For an introvert Westerner this somewhat wrecks the experience.

Back at the harbour I once more realize, that Tangier is a very busy ferry port. There is a catamaran that makes the ten miles or so to Tarifa on the other side of the Strait in thirty five minutes. Then there is regular ferries to Algericas, Casablanca, and even to Italy and France. This all creates quite some madness in the public part of the port. Compared to that, the fenced off container terminal is soothingly calm.

Our ship is very closely guarded. All doors are thoroughly locked and a crew member stands watch. He is supported by one or two armed Maroccans. Still, some men are trying to sneak along the lines on board but are spotted to easily. Neither side seems to be new to the game.

We take off around ten for a short, two hours' trip to Gibraltar. While there is only little traffic in the Strait itself, the bay that is formed by Gibraltar is quite a maze of anchored ships, mostly tankers. With the help of a very British pilot we get through and squeeze into the harbour proper.