Thursday, 6 April. The morning was free, and it was a beautiful day in Tangier. Jane and I decided to do a little shopping on our own. We left the hotel at 08:45, apparently the first of our group to come out. We were immediately surrounded by at least twenty boys, all grabbing at us and shouting, most holding out their hands. To our relief, the largest of the boys, maybe 16 years old and carrying a shoe shine kit, chased all the others away. Without speaking English, he managed to convey that he was now our guide. I tried to make clear that we didn’t want a guide, and the boy seemed to understand. Instead of trying to lead us, he then followed close behind.

 

The only map we had was a poor one in the hotel brochure, but it would have been enough for us to get to the Medina and back. We had only gone half a block from the hotel along a steep road with a hairpin turn when our "guide" pointed out that there was a flight of steps leading to the lower level, saving the long walk along the road. We saw the advantage and took the steps, thereby accepting the boy’s services as a guide. We knew it and he knew it.

 

The street on the lower level was completely lined with condominium buildings. A few Berbers were sitting around in front of them, but there was no sign of anything especially interesting. We would have walked right by, but our guide took my arm and motioned for us to go through what looked like the entrance to a parking garage. Actually, the driveway led into a large courtyard in the center of the block of buildings. We were amazed to find it was a busy outdoor farmers’ market, filled with vendors’ stands and swarming with people. They all appeared to be Berbers, in that none of the women wore veils. Apparently very few tourists ever found their way into the market, and almost everyone seemed to be staring at us. But we bravely made our circuit of the market.

 

 

At one point, I got out my camera to photograph some of the most colorful characters, but our guide indicated that it was not allowed. He walked over to the vendor I intended to photograph and, after some discussion, returned and indicated to Darrell that the man would let us photograph him if we paid him a few dirham ($1.00 = 5 dirham). [Remember, our guide did not speak English, so all communication was by gestures.] I made it a practice never to pay to take anyone’s picture, so I just put my camera away.

 

The chickens for sale were alive, but the vendor would wring the neck when one was purchased, then hand it to the customer, no bag or wrapping provided. When fresh eggs were purchased, they were taken from a wicker basket and laid on a newspaper that was then folded around them. There were all kinds of vegetables, also wrapped in newspaper when sold. A few handicrafts also were displayed but, the episode with the jeweled dagger still fresh in mind, we were afraid to look too closely or to ask the price.

 

We left the market and continued through the Medina, then the Casbah. We looked at a few things but didn’t buy anything. Our guide seemed to inquire what we were looking for, and we managed to convey "carpets." He led us to a large three-story building, not exactly the small rug merchant we expected. The boy also indicated that he wasn’t allowed inside but would wait for us.

 

One tiny corner of the huge carpet store

The building housed a huge inventory of hand-made carpets. The proprietor was very gracious, and also very patient since we were totally ignorant about both quality and value. We also had no idea what we were looking for. We finally picked out a long-pile, rural, tribal carpet and bought it, after haggling the price down from $290 to $150, probably still twice what it was really worth. They accepted our U.S. check and agreed to deliver the rug to the pier.

 

Our young guide was waiting for us outside. On our way back through the Medina, I bought a home-woven wool jalaba (man’s ankle length robe with a hood) for $9.00 (asking price $20). We also wanted to get a kaftan (long robe) for Jane, but there wasn’t enough time for her to make a selection.

 

As it was, we just got back to the hotel in time to board the bus, first tipping our young guide, of course. The bus left at 11:15, and we were at the pier in twenty minutes. Our rug was waiting for us, but unfortunately the ferry wasn’t. We were supposed to sail at noon for Malaga, but finally left on the 13:00 boat to Algeciras. Apparently the ferry from Malaga was still out of commission.

 

Somehow Mr. Lehmann managed to have a bus waiting for us in Algeciras. We drove up the Costa del Sol to Malaga, passing through many beautiful towns and villages, but with no chance to take pictures. [My original notes lists these as the places we passed through on this day: San Roque, Guadiaro, Estepona, San Pedro de Alcantara, Marbella, Fuengirola, Torremolinos, and Malaga.]

 

It was about 19:00 when we arrived at the Hotel Luz in Malaga. It was right across the street from the beach, and there was a great view of the Mediterranean. There was also a lovely garden and a large pool behind the hotel. It was too late to enjoy it very much, though. Also, because we had lost several hours due to the ferry problem, we did not get to take a scheduled bus tour of Malaga. We had dinner at 20:30 and retired early.

 

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