Morocco, day four: Tangier

I think it is safe to say that I am not what one would describe truthfully as a “morning person”.

It will probably come as no surprise that despite having set my alarm for 7am so I could be up in time to do some worky things, the morning call to prayer from the minaret seemingly right next to my pillow was not the gentle rousing from my slumber I had expected to ease me into my first morning of leisurely decadence in Tangier.

Things were not helped by the fact that the muezzin appeared also to startle a squadron of Hitchcockesque seagulls whose dissatisfaction at being woken up in – what to a normal person should be considered – the middle of the night they articulated clamorously outside my window. I tried to force myself back to sleep but it was no good as shortly after all that commotion, an army of mopeds was unleashed upon the Petit Socco and essentially resistance was futile. I did manage briefly to close my eyes long enough for the sound of my alarm to signal that I should just resign myself to giving up and getting out of bed.

After my morning obligations and ablutions, I pottered down the cracked marble staircase from my dinky room to reception where I was told I had breakfast included with my room (hurray!) and that I was to settle myself in the café, once presumably a grand dining room with chandeliers that hung over absinthe-drinking revellers but which are survived by only a couple of slightly grubby ceiling medallions.

My breakfast was taken on the terrace overlooking the square and the world that was unveiling therein.

Breakfast was plentiful. I had a bowl with two large breads, two viennoiseries, a hard-boiled egg, some margarine, cheese, a curd thing of some sort, jam, and orange juice to die for served with a coffee into which the milk was poured from a great height in front of me. The other ftour-getter was German, and he looked as if he’d settled in nicely was almost part of the furniture. He rolled a cigarette and then set to devouring his breakfast while we watched excitement unfold on the square beneath us. Two lads in a Suzuki Carryvan carrying no end of furniture were unaware that their armchairs and sofas now had decorative motifs provided by the plaster they’d removed from the Bistrot du Petit Socco as people around shouted warnings, which went unheeded, that they were ruining both.

Armed with caffeine, I found a cashpoint and then had a mission to procure a SIM card as I’d learned from a text message yesterday that Bouygues Télécom would be delighted to relieve me of 10€ a megabyte for the pleasure of using my data allowance. The nice man in the Inwi shop, which I found after serendipitously discovering absolutely on purpose and not at all by mistake the fish market and its clowder of fed-looking street cats, sold me a one-month SIM for 49MAD which comes with one hour of calls and 11 gigabytes of data. This will be useful, as the wifi in the hotel appears to run on potatoes.

In the afternoon I was taken by Waiter-cum-Guide to lunch at a tiny Syrian restaurant opposite the Cine Alcazar on the rue d’Italie where I had stunning falafely goodness (35MAD) with hummus (25MAD) and water. Guide had stuffed vine leaves and chicken shawarma for roughly the same price, and all in all it was most satisfactory. Fortified, we then navigated the rue de la Kasbah – me slightly wobbly in sandals – to the gate into the old market where there was perusal of sparkly-tat and consideration of early-evening activities.

It was decided we’d find somewhere to sit and watch the sunset somewhere but although I had now by all accounts mastered the Donostia sandals, I really thought it necessary to change back to boots and after a dash back to the hotel we found ourselves sitting in the stunning garden at Aux 3 Portes waiting for the sky to change colour. We had actually hoped we'd get onto the terrace of the Hotel Continental, but the hotel itself appeared closed with red and white stripey tape over entrances.

Sunset was announced by various minarets cranking up the evening call to prayer as if someone had just restored power to an ensemble of record players around the city. Although we didn’t see all of it because I’d had to withdraw to somewhere without a gale-force breeze, I very much enjoyed my warming pot of mint tea and the blanket a kindly member of staff thought to bring me.

The evening meal was light. I had Harira and a simple Moroccan salad in Kanzaman, just round the corner from my hotel. It did not cost the earth.

One thing that is remarkable is the presence of cats; there are kitties everywhere. There are two things I like particularly about Morocco so far: it is acceptable to wear socks with sandals, and our kitty overlords are seen as sacred. Islam believes that all things were put on the earth by Allah for a reason and will therefore be provided for. The cats clearly believe the same thing except that their belief is that Allah, in all his wisdom, put the humans on the planet to provide them with tasty treats.

While the cats are strays, locals treat them like their own, with respect, petting or feeding them. If a kitty decides it is going to visit your house, it will visit your house. You might give it some little yummy things; some people keep little supplies of kitty yums with them as they go out about their daily lives.

Tangier is lovely. I could stay here longer.