Since I didn't have my computer with me, I wrote notes in my journal, which ended up being the source for my entries on the four places on our tour, M'Diq, Chefchaouen, Tangier and Tetuan. What I didn't write in my journal was my overall impression of the experience. So here it is.
I hate tour groups. I think they are utterly obnoxious and ridiculous beings. This impression started in Rome when I would feel their overwhelming presence take over otherwise beautiful places such as the Pantheon, or little churches and chapels. I joined this tour to Morocco thinking that the group would not be that big, and also that I would not have been able to do this trip on my own. I was surprised on both counts.
First of all, Monday, October 12 is a holiday in Spain - the feast day of the Virgin of Pilar. I don't know who she is, but I am sure there is a widely believed myth about her that was responsible for converting large groups of otherwise happy people to Catholicism. Because it was a long weekend, we left on Saturday and returned Monday evening, making the trip possible for Spaniards who would have otherwise not been able to make the regular Friday departure unless they were on vacation themselves. The result? Three tour buses, packed with 50 people in each. One bus would have overwhelmed any normal tourist site, but three? I'm surprised there was anything left standing.
Of course we did not all three buses travel together. They staggered us, so that we only ran into each other occasionally. There was one group we would see most often, they stayed in the same hotel and seemed to be an hour ahead of us on most things. We would see them finish breakfast as we started. I am not sure who got the better deal there.
Our group was big enough, comprised half of American Exchange students and half of Spaniards. There was one Italian guy, a Canadian couple, an Argentine couple, and me, who seemed to always be the odd man out. The Canadians were Latino/a and spoke Spanish fluently, they hooked up with another couple and ate meals together. The Italian guy also spoke Spanish well and hit it off with a group of people around his age who liked to drink, smoke, and make a lot of noise. I was out of place with the Americans because I was old enough to be their dad, and with the other Spaniards my age, as they were all paired up and I had a hard time understanding their Spanish when they had conversations with each other. Still, I floated between groups, spending time with as many people as I could and enjoying my moments alone.
I was exhausted when I got home last night, not because I had done a lot but because it took so much out of me to endure so much time with those people. There were the American kids who seemed to neurotic - one girl needing her migraine medication, another unable to enter a room where anyone had smoked, ever, or she would have an asthma attack, and a third talking constantly about her panic attacks, afraid to eat, step outside, even try to experience Moroccan culture.
There was the family that never seemed to be able to wait for anyone in front of them to get off the bus. It didn't matter where they were seated, each time the bus stopped and we got up to get off, there they were, pushing ahead of everyone else, which started all of the other Spaniards, who apparently don't think you de-board from the front (and there were two exits on each bus).
There was the woman who had a hearty laugh that was kind of endearing at first, but on the way home when she laughed hysterically, to the point that she would have coughing fits, for almost the whole two hours straight, it really got to be obnoxious (she was also the one would light up a cigarette every time we stopped in a crowded place inside a Medina).
The food was toned down (I realized today) for their tastes, and if I had taken the offer of one guy who tried to lure me to his restaurant, I might have had a taste of real Moroccan food, in its full richness instead of eating what amounted to steamed meat and vegetables with saffron coloring.
I thought a tour group would be a good way for me to see a lot of territory in a short time, and it was, enough to see, but not enough to experience. Had I gone alone, it might have been a little more difficult, but people were extremely helpful and friendly, and I think my experience would have been so much richer. Well, you live and learn I guess.
I've been looking at the option of making a trip to Fes from either Madrid or Barcelona. I woke up feeling sad to go out and see the grumpy-faced Sevillanos going about their daily routine, construction noise reaching a pitch that was unbearable, prostitutes back in their stations, no more opportunities to sit in a coffee shop with hundreds of other men and sip on a mint tea that is so rich and strong and sweet that it almost feels like it should qualify as an illegal substance.
If Madrid captivates me as much as Morocco tried, I might stay the full two weeks (other than a weekend in Lisbon I already planned), but if it is as unfriendly as Seville has been, I will definitely book a cheap flight to Fes and an expensive hotel there and try to experience the full glory of Moroccan civilization on my own.
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