6:30 a.m. - leaving Sevilla, standing outside of the Hotel Lebreiros in the dark, young Spaniards just returning home after a night of heavy drinking - boys dancing around drunkenly, clapping, girls wobbling in super short mini skirts and incredibly high heels, and like in some Surreal World, people arriving, two, three, four at a time, still groggy, unsure of what lies ahead.
I'm put on a bus that goes to Cadiz - I sleep, while the tour guide and six Spaniards on board chat most of the way. We arrive in Cadiz and our bus fills, ladies looking like they are going to the casino, families, couples, and one single woman who sits next to me. We chat. She teaches English, we eventually switch to English. I am relieved to find one other solo traveler who I have something in common with among the pairs and groups.
We arrive in Algeciras and for some reason I am moved to another group, joining about 25 American exchange students and a bunch of other strangers. I say good-bye to my new friend and move on.
We arrive in Ceuta, a Spanish town across the Strait of Gibralter, Spaniards, Arabs, Jews and Indians live "peacefully". I begin to see hints of Morocco - women dressed in colorful kaftans (I think they are called jilabs), wearing scarves, some not, men in coffee shops smoking, drinking mint tea or coffee.
We cross the border as we watch Moroccans returning from a day of shopping in Ceuta, which is a duty-free port, bags loaded with goods they will sell in Morocco (maybe some to unsuspecting tourists), and finally arrive in M'Dig, a sleepy fishing village turned tourist stopover, shiny and bright on the surface, but scratch beneath and it is simply a poor sleepy fishing village, a market where flies reign, women are mysteriously missing and American girls walk cluelessly around in short shorts on their first day in Morocco.
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