My Tangiers side trip from Madrid
emails

#1 email: Donna Glenn’s email to me regarding my Madrid, Spain side trip to Morocco.

“I take it your Camino de Santiago hiking is over with, and you still have time before your return ticket. (2 months) How sad (ha ha) that you have to work at finding something to do while there.”

#2 email: My response to Donna’s email above:
    From: George Eaton <[email protected]>

    Date: October 30, 2013, 12:29:44 AM GMT+01:00

    To: Donna Glenn 

Subject: Re: Scott’s continued Portugal/Spain travels.

“Yes, I finished the Camino de Santiago hike about 16 Sep after 30 days of hiking plus 3 slack days, followed by another 5-day hike to the Atlantic Ocean. Since then, I have been in Portugal and S & Central Spain when I realized that I was way ahead of schedule cuz I did the hike faster than I had originally imagined. So, I decided to backtrack to SW Spain and cross over Mediteranean Sea to Tangiers, Morocco for a few days. 

So I spent today 1st crossing to Morocco on the ferry and the rest of the day lost - literally - in the narrow, high-walled and therefore dark streets of Tangier's old town, including a walk through the street markets that go for blocks. Curiously, very few tourists, even European tourists, where I spent most of the day. 

I wandered into one building whose 2nd floor with an arched cloister had small inner shops filled with old dilapidated, damn-near home-made weaving looms. They also make their own thick thread with antique, homemade-looking spinning wheels made in part from an old metal bike rim.

Then I went down underneath to the covered market of tightly jammed individual shops lining narrow aisles. Each was selling exactly the same chocolate bars, laundry detergents etc as the 20 other shops. As with Asia I marveled how they could make any money. 

Friendly Folks: People are very friendly if you make any attempt to communicate. No ominous lurking danger as I intuitively might have anticipated in a Muslim country, but 'poor' does translate into numerous skilled pickpockets and hustlers.

I try to walk and act with the casual, confidant look of someone who knows where he is going and what he is doing. Many may look at me as just a strange-looking tourist, yet the 'mosquitoes' (kids & adults who pester you to let them do something for you so you will pay them something) seem to leave me alone. I look so strange even to a Westerner that these folks just stare at me until I break the ice with a smiling "Salam alaikum" (Hello). 

Clearly the filth & rubble of a 3rd world country. Litter everywhere, but bigger piles of trash and attendant odors are frequent. Terribly dilapidated building exteriors, but elaborate interiors with steep stairs, key-hole arched low doorways (low - my nose hits top of opening -- cuz the people then were shorter when these thick cement and stone buildings were built eons ago) and beautiful carved wood arch room doors ...............if the interior of my hostel is any example. 

Yet,  just like Egypt I wander the back streets looking for the 'unusual cultural insights' and for the classic Art Nouveau or Art Deco architecture trapped beneath the grime of many decades. It reminds me that America as we know it, sometime in the future, could revert to this grimy condition under who knows what set of circumstances.  As an Arab philosopher once quipped, "This too shall pass!" I.e. the good and the bad.

Take care,

Scott"

#3 email: My response from Debbie Schlinger who I had copied Donna’s email.

     On 10 31, 13, at 2:52 AM, Debbie Schlinger wrote:

"Wow - nice travelogue and it sounds full of  many exciting, interesting, and amazing adventures. Just like a trip should be!  Can I go next time!!!!             Debbie "

#4 email: My response to Debbie Schlinger’s email (actually just an excuse to keep writing)

     On Oct 30, 2013, at 3:54 PM, George Eaton <[email protected]> wrote:    Sent from my iPad

"Hi Debbie,

This may/WILL bore you, but some days are filled with frustration, often caused by me. These days bring me down until I self-resurrect.

Returning from Tangiers to Madrid, I got up early to catch the ferry back to Tarifa, Spain, After the ferry I walked to the Tarifa bus station for bus ticket to Algeciras, Spain from where I would get my train back to Madrid in time for a little R&R time on my computer before dinner and bed.

Please note that in most of my train travel in Portugal & Spain, the trains had been anywhere from 20-40% or even 50% EMPTY. I had no reserved ticket.  From the bus station in Algeciras I walked directly to the train station across the street and asked for the next Madrid train ticket. To my unsuspecting shock -- the train was FULL. Next train -- next morning. 

Dilemma-- take the 9-hour night bus to Madrid squeezed like a sardine in an overfilled bus or grab a cheap room & sleep comfortably until the next morning's train -- and lose a day in Madrid. After a few paint-blistering epithets at the gods who 'purposely' blind sided me with a 'full' train, I decided on the bus, bought the ticket and had 9 hours to kill until it departed.

9 Hours to kill: So, time to make lemonade. I decided to walk to the Mediterranean Sea a couple miles away. A pleasant enough walk down to & along a huge bay with huge cargo/shipping cranes & infrastructure, a half dozen big ships waiting port entry, a small pleasure boat marina and the usual fishermen.

History: Then a walk thru a neighborhood of old 'early-fishing days' narrow streets and small single story homes some of which were entrancing. Entrancing because sprinkled amongst the ordinary were art nouveau or art deco facades harkening back to a time when even these near-dead neighborhoods had had an elegant lifestyle. 

The contrast between the rundown, almost 'forces' your brain back in time FROM the cast-off present TO the much better past times; back to imagine the fresh paint, flowered balconies, clean sharp streets, patios and double street wide terraced staircases separating the rows of homes that marched down the incline and the now-antique, fancy new cars. 

Lunch: Finally, hunger drove me into a neighborhood restaurant operated by a Chinese couple who wouldn't let the Spanish afternoon siesta period shut down their possibility of making a profit from the likes of me and 'good on ya, mates.’

Station again: Then, back at the station again 3-4 hours closer to my 9:00pm departure time with nothing to do but read for a while on my iPod Touch. But I quickly got antsy again, deciding to explore the night life in the opposite direction of my earlier stroll.

The 'paseo': Another of my impromptu self-guided strolls thru small parks, large apartment complexes, serendipitously wandering left or right at each intersection. Eventually, I walked right into a big halloween fiesta and 'the' paseo in the market area. The 'paseo' is a cultural tradition I first encountered in the very old, authentic, tiny Albanian town of Berat. Each night or on specific nights, but always on Friday night, Saturday night and and holiday nights, seemingly the entire town turns out to walk Shetitorja Osumi street.

Giggling gaggles of girls, posturing packs of boys, old couples often hand-in-hand or with like-age friends, young families with the youngest pushed in the stroller while the slightly older ones run around this moving family like satellites around a small star, couples of all ages imagining their future nights walking the paseo, or not,  and, of course, the singles on-the-hunt- contemplating their possible role in this future tradition.

In the small Albanian town, Berat,  you walked to one end of main street, turned around, and walked back again for as long as you felt like it. In the large cities like Granada, Spain there is a maze large streets & tree shrouded pedestrian promenades connecting large fountained plazas with benches allowing the throng to flow by you. Every where are restaurants, cafes, ice cream shops and endless retail shops. You could wander for hours and never duplicate the route. 

Rick Steves says, " The best thing to do in Algeciras is leave.", but I really enjoyed walking in this moving tradition. Kids of all ages dressed in their Halloween costumes, shepherded by mom & dad, while the somewhat older girls fluttered in little coveys, laughing and giggling in search of the boys they would pointedly ignore. 

Smoke from the several roasting chestnut stands added the smell & fog of surrealism to a spectacle almost obliterated. I grabbed another quick bite with some families in a small cafe. Then it was time to return to the station. 

Fortunately, I was exhausted by my day's schedule and slept a good part of the 9 hours to Madrid, stumbled off the bus into the main bus lounge, splashed water on my face, did my morning stretch exercises on the station floor, figured out where in Madrid I had been dropped off, jumped on a series of Metro trains back to my hostel for a shower & shave and then finally, Metro-ed to the train station, got my ticket for Avila to see the supposedly best original walled city in Spain.  But I had 1 1/2 hr to wait for the train. Good time to get a train ticket from Madrid to Barcelona in 3 days.    Right? 

Madrid to Barcelona Train Ticket: I went to the ticket office, but there was a line for same-day tickets only. The Otra Dias (other Days) line was closed. I went to the Info desk where the man spoke good English. He advised the otra dias line was always closed on weekends and holidays, but this was just an ordinary Friday. Maybe not.

He said I must buy from an Automated Ticket Machine. I discovered that most of the machines were either inoperative or could not print their ticket. So I waited, finally I get my chance and a volunteer to help me, but alas, he really didn't know how. I tried again with a British girl helping me, but all the morning trains were full. With my train to Avila  boarding, I thanked my helper and rush off for the Avila train. 

Another self-inflicted calamity: On the train I got into a spirited discussion with a young women on Apple and its products. I'm an Apple groupie. No longer focused on my trip, the train made a stop, I looked out the window SWEAR I saw a track sign that said Avila, apologized and raced off the train just as the doors were closing and the train pulled away.

I left the station walking toward The Wall, confirming my location and direction on my map with a local, I walked another 1/4 mile until my map no longer made sense and got some more advice form a fellow traveler. Looking at my map for a few moments, he realized that my map was of Avila and I was in ESCORIAL.

Can't tell you how shocked I was as this reality-fist that slammed into my stomach. I had mistook or mis-read or mis-interpreted the purpose of the Avila sign I saw thru the train window and jumped off the train.

The mildly bitter irony was that the Escorial Monastery/fortress was the one sight of all the Spain and Portugal sights I had visited in 2 1/2 months that I felt was completely worthless for the average visitor who is not a connoisseur of lesser Spanish artists with which the monastery was filled. 

Solution: I raced back to the train station and asked for the next train. Nope! It was too much later to be of any value. Grabbed a taxi outside and raced to the bus station ticket office: "Sorry," the lady said,"there are no buses to Avila." --- like in 'period!', nada, zilch. Her only suggestion: go back to Madrid and get a bus to Avila. Not good cuz would kill the entire day and I had a return train ticket at 4pm from Avila back to Madrid. I HAD too make it work or I would have wasted a day. 

Expensive Taxi Solution, BUT a Solution 😀:   The taxi drive 'estimated 60-70 euro to drive me to Avila.  That was the only practical solution that would work other than stealing a cop car with a good flasher & siren. I arrived in Avila an hour later than I should have and 75 euros poorer.

Raced up on to the famous Avila Wall, Spain’s best-preserved medieval fortifications, briskly walked the length allowed and then walked outside the wall shooting the dramatic entry ports with my video-cam.

Ironically, it may be the best preserved wall in Spain, but that also includes a huge % of reasonably recent FAUX restoration. Only occasionally could I detect any portion that might be truly authentic.

OTOH, it WAS so completely restored that it was the best example of the size and scope of what the many walled cities I had seen all over Europe might have ACTUALLY looked like. So that was quite useful and worth the trip. 

Back at the Madrid train station, I asked the new info person where I could find a travel agency that could book my ticket. He spoke zero English, but wrote the travel agency name down and pointed towards the agency which I found moments later, but which had closed a half hour earlier than its sign indicated. I was most discouraged. Usually getting tickets is straight forward and easily accomplished.

I returned to Madrid's town center, had a nice spaghetti Bolognese dinner and went to bed. This was an unusally frustrating day and a half, but the same kind of things and many others can occur frequently. It ain't always as exciting as you would like. It is just the price you pay for the satisfactions and, on balance -- worth it.

Take care,

Scott

PS: Friday evening the 2 owners of my hostel spent easily an hour trying to buy me a ticket from the train company's online ticket site, only to be told when they phoned for assistance that their system was not accepting any debit cards, which was the only way you could buy online.

Next morning I got up early, went to different train stations' ticket centers' agent speaking more than adequate English and immediately purchased an 8:30 am, window seat, senior discounted ticket. Go figure. I was going to kiss him, but I shook his hand instead.

I am in now in Barcelona.

HEY, wake up. I've finished.

Scott