August 24, 2014
Sunday/ Going to Morocco: Ferry from Algeciras: Ceuta to Tangier.
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The hostel in Algeciras is good value. My own private room, fast internet, though the price doesn't include breakfast. I have that in the adjoining cafeteria. Crusty baguette toasted, spread with melting butter, an orange juice and good coffee for an extra three euros.
I am down on the avenue by the ferry terminal shortly after a eleven on the inside of which is a row of travel agency shops selling ferry tickets. A question of take your pick. Will one place sell me a cheaper ticket, or possibly try ripping me off with an a agency fee. Anyway I go into the first shop in the row where the man behind the desk on the phone appears trustworthy, though what exactly does appear trustsworthy mean.
The call finishes and he puts the receiver down. He greets me in French and seeing my inability in the language switches to English. I ask for a one way ticket on the next sailing to Tangier. And he tells me twelve-thirty and starts pressing keys while looking at the computer screen. Then I mention that I'm taking a bike. "No. No bike.." he says sounding unsure. And then says "Wait a moment. I'll check..." and picks up the phone again. After a short call with his freehand fiddling with the computer mouse he replaces the receiver and says "Bike, no problem bike" and continues to book my ticket. When he finishes and gives me the printout, the price is fifty seven euros. Less than expected. Before I leave he leans back in his seat and drags out from a trouser pocket a roll of bank notes and asks "You need money change?" I decline his offer.
I wait anxiously in the queue for passport control. Anxious because my passport expires on this day six months and I've read in the visa section in The Rough Guide, that although European Union passport holders enter visa free, there must be at least six months left before the date of expiring. I'm hoping the exactly six month left on mine doesn't cause refusal to enter. In the end I need not have worried, I'm waved on after a quick glance.
On board the ferry is basic. Not much comfort. Well used tables and chairs all occupied by families with young screaming kids. Expensive coffee in plastic disposable cups. But the crossing is surprisingly short.
I had asked for a ticket for Tangier and so when looking out as the ferry is approaching land, I'm not expecting to see bare brown hilly coast without any city in sight, except that is for a town off to the right in brown haze spread round a cove, I take to be the beginning of Tangier. The odder of oil lingers in the warm air from huge concrete tanks by the quay and a continuous deep sloping band of concrete across the hillside up from the coast shores up a highway. I find out later where we have arrived is Ceuta, a Spanish concession and almost fifty kilometres from the city.
My passport is stamped and a policeman at the checkpoint asks where I'm from and when I say replies welcome to Morocco then directs me on my way which is up a steep ramp to the aforementioned highway. Up above joining that highway I see "Tangier 46 km" signposted. Not far but unexpected. I really wanted today to be a rest day after two weeks continual riding. It is well when leaving the port I got a litre and a half mineral water in three 500ml bottles from a young man giving it out free as a mobile phone promotion.
A few kilometres west, I turn off the highway to take a minor road that would follow the coast ahead and enter the town I'd seen from the ferry. A beach resort with quite a few hotels and pensions. So I think of calling it a day here. I need local currency and stop at a bank. A local bank with name in both French and local script, thought there are all the international card logos above the ATM. I place my card in the slot and the card is sucked in. I do the transaction and the message on the screen says wait. Shortiy another message appears "the transaction has been rejected" and my card slides out. I try a different bank. This time I go for a lesser amount assuming I may've overdrawn. This time after waiting for the money, a message comes up on the screen "the transaction has been aborted".
What is happening here? I've had problems before with different cards, but this card I have now has been extremely reliable. Could I have been scammed. Paranoia kicks in. The bank machine where I withdrew cash at the port back in Algeciras the evening before, could've perhaps been rigged up and now criminals have my bank details. But I couldn't let the anxiety of not knowing stop me. I have to get on with the job in hand, riding to Tangier. Probably if I try again tomorrow it will work fine.
The road ahead rises and falls over headlands with the coast of Spain visible across the straits on the right. There's no shoulder and the surface is deformed with lumps of melted tar and truck-wheel rutted in other places. The traffic is steady, a mix of modern and ancient cars and a lot of motorcycle trailers. And all along there are trestle or blankets with fruit laid out by the roadside and the sellers women with big hats sitting in the shade of trees.
Many cars sound the horn in encouragement rather than get out of the way. And passing through one or two villages there are lots of pedestrians walking on the roadside, mainly young men some of whom shout out friendly greetings in English. But its an anxious ride. I'll have to phone my bank tomorrow if I still don't receive any money.
I still have a hundred and twenty euros from the withdrawal the evening before and when I reach Tangier I ask a policeman at the Gare the location of a cheap hotel. But not having a common language, I can't convey cheap. So I keep riding until I'm on Avenue Verte and stop by a hotel. I ask the man on reception do they except euros. They do. The price a night is fifty-four. Hoping to find something cheaper I continue a kilometre or so along the avenue. Then pause by a French Societe General bank. I think to myself its maybe worth a try. I put the card in the machine and press the keys. Seconds later there's a clicking sound and the hatch opens with a thin wad of notes sliding out. It's hard to explain just how relieved I feel at that moment. I go and have something to eat and look more for a cheap hotel, but all are just as expensive as the first one I called at. In the end I check into IBIS for 690 DH; sixty-two euros.
Today's ride: 45 km (28 miles)
Total: 4,695 km (2,916 miles)
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