I was having a hunt through my photography hard drive and discovered quite how much slips through the net when you’re looking for photos. After several months (or longer in some cases) of not seeing a set of photos, it’s amazing how much of a different light you might view some of them in. Photos you previously hadn’t liked or had thought weren’t suitable may suddenly jump out at you, or you may find some that need that extra touch up and then they’ll be ready. Either way, I found a few panoramics that for some reason I’ve never posted on my blog so thought it was best to pop them up here.
In case anyone was wondering whether Moroccan customs had got the better of me and I was now some big guys bit of arm candy in a Moroccan prison…there’s no need to worry! The silence is due to the impending deadline of my dissertation in a few weeks, so as soon as that’s out of the way I’ve got some more articles written about my experiences in Morocco with Mid Wales Paragliding and the wonderful bureaucrats to post.
Last time I was in Morocco I was in Tangier. Someone pulled a knife on me, around every corner someone was trying to scam you or rob you, and that is literally no exaggeration. It’d be a stretch to say I’d go back to Tangier to save my own mother. OK, well maybe I would for that, but nothing short of that. All I remember of being there is having to watch your back wherever you went, not really being able to trust many people. I think in four days, I met possibly three or four people I was able to warm to and actually liked.
When I was invited back to Morocco, I was naturally apprehensive. I know you should never judge a book by its cover, however, it’s almost human nature to do that. If you don’t have any good experiences somewhere, why should you come back with a positive outlook on the place? Now that I’m out here, I have to say I’ve had enough humble pie to even put Desperate Dans cow pies to shame. I’m ashamed and embarrassed to have held such negative views on Morocco and Moroccans.
I wasn’t at my most comfortable, having Moroccan security officials pulling all of my possessions out of my bag in front of the whole of arrivals. Everyone starts to stare, more and more security turn up. Eventually there were five of them there! 5?! All for a camera?!
“Follow me please sir”
This really will be a hassle! I’ve never been taken away for an interview before. Let alone one with someone that can’t speak English. I’d done nothing wrong and I knew it, but there’s still something inside you that’s making you nervous, that little “what if”. What if what?! “I’ve not done anything!” I kept telling myself, but as I sat in this small dark office with someone pulling my bags apart, I felt my heart start to beat faster, my legs start to tingle and my mouth going as dry as the Sahara.
Despite some very careful packing, I was still way over my weight limit for flying. Things were getting desperate. Toothbrush, gone. Toothpaste, gone. About 3 pairs of pants and socks, gone. Eventually I got my main luggage down to 25kg and my hand luggage down to 7. Even that wasn’t good enough! I mean yeah it weighed the same as a small child…but maybe the baggage handlers should have just eaten their weetabix!
After some rather positive first impressions of Tangier, we headed out in pretty high spirits thinking that Morocco really didn’t deserve the stories we’d been told about how dangerous it could be. Whilst out and about around the Medina we got chatting to a few stall owners, and despite the language barrier, they all seemed extremely helpful and friendly. As we walked deeper into the covered markets I noticed Sim was engaging in one of his favourite hobbies, attracting locals. A small man, no more than 5’5” and with a build smaller than Sim’s (those of you who know Sim will know that despite being toned, his frame is somewhat small).
Within minutes he was offering to show us the sights of Tangier, most of which we’d already seen the previous day, so it was made clear that all we wanted an interperator to ask the various stall owners and craftsmen whether it would be possible for us to film them at work. As we moved from stall to stall, we got bits and pieces of footage with him acting as an interperator and giving us all sorts of bits of information. Pretty soon though, various signs started to show. Firstly he started to push us to buy from the stall owners and then he greeted another man. Alarms bells began to ring as we saw the shirt this new man wearing sporting the logo of a local tourist agency.