Fez-Tarifa-Fez: Itinerary of a French immigrant in Morocco

Yes, when you no longer have the "carte de séjour" (in my case, because I have a new job, and my contract is not good enough for me to get the residency), you need to leave the country every three months.

(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.

I couldn't believe how clean and comfortable my hotel room nice - I really got used to the dirty rooms of the cheap hotels of Fez and Casablanca.

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.