Leaving Tetouan

Issam's madrasa

Three, no four, no five arches, all different.

transportation options in the medina

With these pictures, we leave Tetouan on a (sort of) arduous journey back to Spain. I woke up early to a last rooftop view: drifting smoke weaving lazily upwards from the baker's ovens roosters crowing, cooing and chirping; never heard muezzins in Morocco.Just as I emerged from the Riad Dalia, Bhilal was turning the corner and headin in my direction.
 Don't really recommend reading the next few paragraphs, tedious travel details.  Bhilal took me to a cab, which took me to a bus, thence to the border at Ceuta. I was encouraged to see the line was not long, only about 30 people, but it took at least 90 minutes to get through. Then various dashes that seemed like obstacle courses or short assorted athletic events, sprinting from one official to the next, to get exited from Morocco, checked by customs, admitted to Spain by their immigration, rechecked for some unknown purpose-- with several hundred yards of hot sun between each. Finally, we were in Spain, Ceuta-- though still in Africa. From there, one gets a taxi to the ferry, but the taxis wait in the same line as cars waiting to cross the border, and there is a u-turn 20 feet form the border station. Traffic crawled, so the wait was long and -- well, things did not seem well thought out. As suggested by a large, cheerful woman with two small children, I teamed up with a somewhat morose man to split the taxi fee and eventually did get to the ferry station,

Ceuta Ferry Station

and talked about comparative religion at a quite basic level considering neither of us had a common language up to the task. He showed me a photo of his lovely toddler daughter; all the little children are beautiful here. We waited listlessly for the ferry, ran out of things to say, eventually got to Spain and each moved on. Customs was ok for me; many ramps, lines, etc. but they were very detailed in their searches of vehicles, which were often packed to the gills and had huge loads perched on top. I caught a cab to the bus station, headed to Marbella to visit Neil, a Charlottesville friend who had retired there. But the last bus had left. So had the last bus for Granada, my next possible stop. Across the street at the train station, the next train to anywhere I wanted to go was the next morning. I wound up on a bus to Malaga, with the idea of making a connection to Cordoba, and luckily the new phone was working so I could tell Neil he wouldn't be seeing me, and confirm an extra day in Cordoba with my host there. Then things started looking up. As the bus ground past Marbella, it didn't look so appealing; I got to Malaga, bought a ticket, and waited at the place indicated on the ticket...all by myself. A friendly young man confirmed that I was in the right place... some time later, he ran towards me, explaining that the bus to Cordoba ws just getting ready to leave, across the terminal. Just made it! One thing about travelling is you have many opportunities to confirm a view of the kindness and helpfulness of strangers. Arrived at Cordoba's station and saw my bus leaving just as I emerged to the street. Twenty minutes later as darkness crept up, I got another cab, which took me to the Best Deal Medieval House in Historic District.
After a few days in Mediterranea, meeting the very businesslike German hostess was a bit of a jolt; but the room was nice, with its stone walls and pretty courtyard right outside the door. Next morning I set out to meet Cordoba.