Tangier

2 hour bus ride to Tangier to see the point, the "imaginary line" where the Mediterranean meets the Atlantic, a young boy in tattered clothes, sandals with dirty feet, standing in the center of a busy parking lot at the lookout point with two donkeys - one fitted with a saddle, the other young, a baby, perhaps just for decoration, to get people's attention, a cold wind, fog blowing, reminding me so much of San Francisco, the American kids snapping pictures of the boy who gets angry because they will not throw him a little bit of change (which is daddy's money anyway) after treating him as if he were a public building.

Back on the bus and down the hill to the beach, where faux camels await us. Each member of our group (except me perhaps the only one) take turns getting hoisted up on the animals, walking in a circle, women screaming, their friends following them and taking pictures. This time everyone pays because they were told to do so.

On to the Caves of Hercules - a stop that we could have done without, we park our behemoth bus, walk down the hill to the cafes, a "guide" appears, seeming to come out of the stone, insisting that we follow him and pay attention, I do not, I leave because I know he is hustling us and it's just a hole in a rock with the ocean coming in and the sun nearing the horizon.

With wasted time waiting for those who did not realize the guide was not our guide, we finally board the bus and head towards our hotel, evening rush hour as men pour out of the mosque, thousands of people, it seems the entire population of Tangier is on the street, all going in a multitude of directions, some walking, some driving, cafes with hundreds of men inside all facing forward in one direction, heads tilted slightly upwards, outside a river of men sitting, lining the sidewalk, all facing the street, not a woman present, some chatting, some smoking, some sitting stone faced, apparently some of them advertising their availability to work as electricians, plumbers, carpenters.

We check into our hotel and are given two hours before dinner to go to the market, a maze of shops selling some junky souvenirs alongside mostly daily needs of Moroccans, shoes, scarves, clothes. I feel like I can't really say I have been to Tangier since I didn't really see it, so I get up early the next morning and take my own walk, feeling like I get at least a little bit of a taste for it, including a very good breakfast free from chatter about majors, classes, drinking, and other favorite topics of American Exchange students.