56:01

It's December 1st and I've been in Morocco for just shy of three weeks and I do not know where to begin, hence why I've taken so long to write about Morocco, and more specifically, Marrakech, where I am spending the bulk of my time. Sitting down to write now is more of an act of desparation rather than inspiration. I have these places, people and pictures piling up and I need to get some of them out or they'll be lost. Lost to me anyway. I'm sure the places and people will go on existing whether I write about them or not.

Perhaps I'll start with getting here.

The last you saw of me in Barcelona was balloons at night. That was me walking to the port to get on my Grimaldi ferry that was setting off for the port of Tangier, or what the dropdown menu on the website where I booked the ticket so confusingly referred to it as Tangier Med. It's like a resort, but not.

It was setting sail (though there were no sails to speak of so I'm not sure why that nautical term for departure is still applicable) at 11:59pm, or, since I was in Europe 23:59, for a thirty hour voyage. Yes ladies and gentlemen, thirty hours.

The following captures the essence of that voyage.

Actually, not in the slightest.

I'd been itching to get out of Europe as I was feeling it was time to start to experience somewhere that I thought would be truly different. Now, I realize that the countries and cultures of Europe are all unique, and that they're different from Canadian culture, but the feeling I'd been developing for a bit by this point was that, fundamentally, they're quite similar, and the experiences I was having were very similar to one another, and in fact, similar to experiences I would be having back home in Toronto. Perhaps this is a user error and I am failing horrendously at this travel thing. Perhaps not. Perhaps I don't have a friggin' clue as to what I've actually experienced and won't be able to fully appreciate it until I'm back home.

In either case I've got this metaphorical itch (felt it important to clarify) and figured it was time to get it scratched (again, still metaphorically) in Morocco. Well, it didn't take getting to Morocco for that to happen. It took getting on this ship.

From the moment I got on the ferry I was in something completely different than what I had experienced so far. To begin, not all of the customer service crew spoke English. Arabic, Spanish, French? Yep, pretty much consistently nailed. English? Not so much. Next, people had alot of stuff with them, and I mean alot. A husband and wife with four gigantic bags all taped up, plus some luggage on wheels. Families with bag upon bag upon enormous bag, again all taped up. Cars, trucks, vans, all seemingly crammed full and with another few feet worth of stuff bungied to the top. People were bringing STUFF.

Actually, people were just returning home from a season of selling their goods (carpets, scarfs, blankets, clothes, etc.) in Spain, and lugging their remaining inventory with them.

Once I got settled in my cabin (yes, I splurged and got one again - much cheaper this time by the way) I went for a walk about to see what sort of entertainment and such this ship had to offer. I found my way to the back deck and there was a guy on a little keyboard, and another guy singing, all of it in Arabic, and relying heavily on quarter-tones. Just fantastic music. More fantastic was the crowd of men and boys sitting around at tables, clapping, dancing, and smoking like it was going out of style, which by the way, in Morocco, it is not.

It's easy to feel isolated in this kind of moment. Not understanding a word being spoken, not recognizing the tunes, not feeling like you can just turn to the person leaning against the rail beside you because you don't expect to be understood, watching men behaving and expressing themselves in a way you actually seldom see men behave or express themselves when they all hang out together without women around. Ya, it can be isolating. It can be lonely. That said, if you opened yourself up to how amazingly awesome it all was then you could sit there in total silence and love every minute of it and feel more connected then you do some nights at your local.

I went for open. And make no mistake, it was most certainly a very deliberate choice. It's a choice I made for that entire thirty hours, to just, pretty much silently, enjoy everything going on around me, even though I had no clue what the heck was going on. Smiling goes along way in these moments by the way.

So who knows, maybe that sunset does kinda sum it up.

What goes around comes around does really seem to be true. In this particular case I had helped a gentleman get his several items of luggage on to the ferry. It was a long hike and he'd have been going back and forth a few times, so this was of some benefit to him, and no skin off my nose, as I had two free hands and was walking there anyway.

Getting off the ferry in Tangier port I had no idea what to do. Yes, that's right, I had arrived in Morocco and had no idea how I was going to get to Marrakech.

Okay, not totally true. I knew I had to get from the port to Tangier proper, and that was about 45 minutes away. I also knew I could catch a train or bus to Marrakech. And I knew some timetables. Thing is, I had been planning on using some time on the ship to figure out the details as I had not been able to find anywhere to book stuff online thus far, but figured I should be able to sort it all out during the thirty hour voyage. And yes, this would have been ample time had there been internet access. But nope, there wasn't, so at about 1pm on Tuesday the 11th of  November I stepped onto dry land in Morocco without the slightest clue as to what to do.

Okay, again, not true. I knew what to do. I knew to ask the guy in the customs uniform standing beside me wanting to quickly see my passport what I needed to do. And he told me. Go get on that bus that will take you to the train station. Take the train to Tangier and then get a bus to Marrakech.

Simple.

So I go get on the bus, sit down, and wait for it to load up with what eventually felt like ten people and a hundred bags and take us all to the train station. While waiting along comes the fellow who I'd helped with his luggage. So, I helped him again, and he sat in the seat beside me. His name was Abdul (and I'm sure it still is, I just continue to have issues with tense, and the overuse of paranthetical statements), and he took it on himself to make sure I got my ticket to Tangier, and also gave me the excellent advice of not taking the bus, but to take the train to Marrakech, which I took. The advice, and the train.

And that's what I mean. Simple acts of kindness get repaid again and again. And we all know (or at least I hope we all do) that you're not being kind to get some sort of reward, but it really is amazing, or at least I find it anyway, how these things come together. And yes, this is a little one, but there have been some big ones. And yes, I could have sorted this out by myself with little issue, but its actually really great and comforting when I don't have to, when people come along and just help for the sake of being nice. Friends back home have asked me about how I feel travelling alone, and honestly, I really don't feel like I am. I'm pretty sure I've said it before, but I feel like repeating it. It would take an enormous effort on my part to actually be alone out here. I'd have to deliberately not only not initiate communication with people, but shun or quickly shut down other people who initiate. And I'm not about to do that. This planet is full of incredible people and the blessing of travel is the opportunity to meet some of them. So you give, and you take, and it works out.

Moving along.

This is the train to Tangier.

And this is a view of the port from the window of said train as we headed off.

The port of Tangier has been growing and growing over the past several years, and is now the largest port in Africa, or will be when it reaches full capacity in 2015. And duh on me, Tangier-Med, the Med is Mediterranean. Again. Duh me.

I'd bought my ticket for Tangier to Marrakech when I bought my ticket for getting from the port to the city, so I knew I was on the overnight train, and that I had about six hours to kill in Tangier. What did I do in that time? I ate shawarma and read my book. Pretty simple. No sites. Just enough wandering to find some food and then sit back and wait. And I've really come to enjoy this part of the travelling, the waiting to depart, or the actual being in transit. Going to Rabat the other week having not been on a bus or train for only five days or so I found myself thinking I would dread the travel but actually felt really wonderful being on a train again. It's peaceful.

It was a night train so I found myself in a sleeping cabin with two other people and asleep pretty fast, having had a quick hello with one of the fellows who lived in Tangier but worked in Marrakech, and who took this trip twice per month.

Here are a couple of quick shots out the window of the train the next morning on the way to Marrakech.

So, having left Barcelona at 11:59pm on Sunday November 9th, I found myself, surprisingly refreshed, and setting foot in Marrakech at 8am Wednesday November 12th.

And the rest will follow.