(I obviously don't want to complain here. Morocco is a lot more generous than France in this regard.)
So last week, after having postponed my trip at least three times, I booked a hotel room in Tarifa, Spain, and I left.
At the train station, in Fez, they told me that the tracks were flooded in the north, between Sidi Kacem and Tangier; so, instead, train until Kenitra, and then bus, until Tangier.
Our train was maybe the worst train in Morocco - the one with the broken loudspeakers that make a crazy noise, and where it's freezing.
I arrived in Tangier, I went through the mandatory formalities, and here was my boat.
It was nice, and fast.
The boat didn't stay empty for long; a lot of very hungry, very thirsty, and very loud people got on board.
I was a little groggy when I arrived in Tarifa, and it was pouring with rain. I sat on a bench, and waited a little.
I had photocopied a map of the town, but of course I lost it somewhere between Kenitra and Tangier.
Very quickly though I understood that I wouldn't have any problem to find my hotel, since Tarifa is a tiny town.
In any case, Tarifa is very nice; usually, there are a lot of surfers, but in the winter, it was empty.
Then I had a beer in a bar; it's was empty, except for the owner and a big bouddha above the counter (eight o'clock i's too early for the "apéritif" in Spain)
The restaurant where I had dinner was deserted as well; I got back to the hotel.
The next morning, a little more than 12 hours after I arrived in Spain, I was back in the harbor.
This time I took a picture of the Moroccan coast; it's so close that it's disturbing.
Those two ducks (?) seemed lost in the sea.
When I bought my ticket, I was told that the captain wasn't sure we could leave, because of the wind. But then he decided it was ok.
The sea was raging; this time, no bar or sandwiches for anybody. Only the stewardesses were able to stand, ready to clean the mess and gather the vomit bags.
I collapsed in my chair, and I concentrated very hard on the TVs and their hypnotic perfume ads.
After having seen Kate Moss and Cloë Sevigny for what seemed to be the hundredth time, I realized we were in Tangier and that I hadn't been that sick.
The sun didn't shine for long. I fell asleep in the bus, and when I woke up my seat was wet - it was raining a lot, and there was a leak in the window by my seat.
Then, in the train, we drove through the flooded field. A little before Meknes, the train stopped; the rain had swept away the ballast, and we needed to wait for the workers to take care of it.
Finally, I arrived in Fez 36 hours after I left, with a brand new stamp in my passport.
