Morocco, day twenty-one: Tangier

The official time of fajr was somehow a minute earlier today but it was a good one.

Officially, I was going to have a lie in, but fajr was followed by enough quiet to lull me into a sense of false security before the café kicked off. Once I'd heard the machine blasting into life I knew sleep was impossible and so it seemed only fair to go downstairs and have some breakfast. Yesterday's omelette and stuff breakfast was really good, but I was drawn back to pancakes with honey this morning to soothe my queer throat, and declared this the right choice for a busy morning's exploring. At the point that I chose to go exploring, I was thinking this would be my last day in Tangier, but more of that later.

I sent my postcards. Eventually.

Buying a stamp was a new challenge I wasn't really prepared for, because I didn't buy a stamp from a post office, but from a gift shop. The thing is that I foolishly expressed acknowledgement of the variety of things non-stampy available in the magnificent emporium of tat, and it quickly became clear that I wasn't getting my three stamps until I'd at least tried on some babouches that were way more than I would pay for what are essentially glorified slippers, and then looked at some more babouches which would be perfect for the wife I apparently appear now to have. It has been suggested that the correct response to quickly shut down the "where is your wife?" line of questioning is the slightly alarming "at home, doing what she's told", but if I did have a wife I don't think I'd have that level of authority so I said I didn't know her size for fear of causing a domestic with someone who doesn't exist.

I was steered away from any interesting shiny babouches because "they're for woman" (but they're so sparkly and would look fabulous) and after much more debate about other things I could buy if I wanted to – which I didn't – my resolve to just buy the fucking stamps and leave was hardening. I said that I didn't actually have enough dirhams for babouches, which was in fact true because I only had money for stamps and he wanted 250 dirhams for the pair or quickly 250 dirhams for two pairs if I wanted to get a pair for my wife, because it was me and he do special price – apparently still pursuing that angle – but that was not to be a hindrance because he'd be happy with dollars, euros, or sterling in the absence of dirhams and, look – waving the card terminal – cards too! Again he looked at me expectantly and repeated the "money" mantra a few more times. It was a little too early even for me for impromptu Abba karaoke so I opted to maintain my increasingly firm "No, really, just the stamps. Que les timbres, merci. La, shukran." Three languages, just in case.

In the end I was begrudgingly allowed to leave the shop eventually without babouches, fridge magnets, teeshirts, or a bag, hat, or djellaba, holding just an envelope with three stamps which had cost me 10 dirhams a piece. This was the correct price, because I checked the face value of them while he was off finding something else I'd like to buy – good quality, special price – and I got the envelope in which to put them for free!

I started my day's culture with a 20-dirham visit to the Musée Dar Niaba, a museum of travelling artists housed in what was once the French Consulate. It has exhibits on the diplomatic history of Tangier and a small art collection which primarily focuses on portrait paintings of Moroccan men or scenes of Tangier painted by international artists who became captivated by the country. I quickly became partial to a bit of Louis John Endres and there are a few of his works hanging upstairs for inspection.

The building itself is quite something, with a charming little courtyard with orange trees, and I can't help but imagine French diplomats of the time lounging drinking wine, unable to see each other for the vast plumes of smoke, occasionally reaching wearily for an orange. It was a nice way to spend the best part of an hour before heading off quick-march – I've now got uphill sandals down to a tee – to see the Phoenician Tombs in a new part (to me) of the city.

The walk was longer than it needed to be because I kept being distracted by kitties, and at one point a man with a big trailer of fish was surrounded by kitties suggesting I might like to give fish to the kitties. Once he showed reluctance to give the fish to the kitties himself I became suspicious that he might be being pimped by the kitties who were, in a new twist, playing with me to see if I'd be rused into paying their human for fish to then feed them. Perhaps I was being paranoid, but I wouldn't put it past them to be testing people at this stage. I declined the offer of buying fish for the kitties and left the man to his fate; why the kitties didn't just subjugate the man and take the fish themselves, I don't know. They're evil like that.

On the final stretch to the tombs I stopped for an orange and beetroot juice for the first time in my life, and it is very nice indeed. I bought it from a man sitting in his shop doorway on the street that leads to the site and got it for less than the asking price because I didn't have all the money necessary. I like beetroot, but it's not a vegetable I'd necessarily choose to juice, but it works really well with orange and adds extra sugar with a bit of something extra and I can strongly recommend trying it if ever you find yourself a bit thirsty near a necropolis built in about 1,400 BC.

The Phoenicians were the first people to establish the city of Tangier and what survives of their civilisation is a series of 98 tombs cut into the rock face of the Marshan Plateau. People seem to go there just for fun, to sit on the rocks and have a picnic or just soak in the view of the strait of Gibraltar which is unmatched. If I weren't a philistine I'd probably get more excited about 2,4000-year-old holes in the ground full of skanky water and crisp packets, but it ended up something of a curiosity visit in the end.

Several archaeological remains that were found there, not crisps, are now displayed in the Kasbah Museum. Something else to add to a list. I wandered back towards the Grand Socco and found I'd got lost on my way up. I procured a sparkly fridge magnet from a friendly chap in an optimistically-placed tourist shop, then set off for lunch.

Madame Balène was having lunch with a hitherto unwitnessed male acquaintance when I went to the Syrian place on my way back from the tombs. We waved at each other as I entered and sat down just behind a table of loud students who took forever to come to any kind of decision and seemed to think the answer "no" to the drawled question "do you sell coffee?" a prompt to think of different ways of asking about coffee in case the waiter was stupid enough not to have understood his own beverage menu the first time. I had the lentil soup and tried mhammara, a red pepper purée with tahini and nuts and olive oil and a dash of balsamic vinegar. With the flat breads, it was to die for. I have made good headway on the menu in that place but there remains so much to try; I shall have to come to Tangier again just so I can spend a week ordering everything on the menu.

Afternoon obligations dealt with, I had a look at trains and found that all the cheap seats have gone. I wanted to go from here to Málaga so that I could have a go on a Frecciarossa to Barcelona in super-duper first class, but by the time I came to look today the prices for that had gone up as had the train from Algeciras on the Friday. I discounted the Iryo on the basis of cost, which left choices of leaving tomorrow as planned and spending a night in Tarifa before getting a train to Madrid on the Saturday – there's only one a day – or just having another night in Tangier, the solution I opted for due to inertia. There was not much price difference in it; I paid 250 dirhams for another night in Tangier. The night in Tarifa would've been about 22€.

I'm really struggling to want to leave.

Guide met with me in the evening after work and there was wandering. I had a lovely falafel sandwich on the rue de Fès. I can't remember how much it was but it seemed remarkably cheap for what I got, which included little sweet things and what I think was a shot of date juice with orange flower water. It was delicious whatever it was, and I should have had more.

I bought another fridge magnet. So now I have two spare; one to act as a place-holder fridge magnet because I forgot to get one from Casablanca, and another spare fridge magnet just in case. All very organised.

I found some more Pun Ksy electricity meters. There were lots of kitties.