While Barbara was away visiting her parents, I decided to visit Ceuta -- I had long been curious about this tiny peninsular enclave of Spain, and figured I could brave the travel alone to see whether it would be attractive for a longer visit with my spouse. The short answer: probably.
I also decided to take different routes to and from, in order to check those as well.
I took the fast-train to Tangier (oh, first taking the tram to IbnSina, then walking a long way to Rabat Agdal station -- too long to walk if you have any bags...better to take the tram to AvenueDeFrance stop and catch a petit-taxi to RabatAgdal station from there)
I purchased a ticket to Tétouan: after the quick 100-minute train ride (second-class seats are perfectly fine), a nice bus waits on the side near the taxi stand (completely unmarked--you just "know").
The train ticket has reserved seating on both train and bus.
I asked the bus driver about getting a share-taxi from Tétouan to Sebta -- when we arrived at some unmarked location in Tétouan, he helped me get a taxi to the CTM station where the share-taxis wait.
Oh, and on the bus I sat next to Ahmed, who told me he was visiting Morocco from Dubai, where he works for Google. (He may contact me later)
The share-taxi at the CTM station in Tétouan worked very well-- only 17dhs, in a Fiat taxi built to carry 6 passengers, quite comfortable as the road is smooth and straight, and the ride was about 40 minutes to the roundabout near the border.
Then the trudge along the unkempt sidewalk with no markings or signage; just follow the others. Except at a few points some people stop at a little office while others just walk on.
I got my passport inspected carefully at the little office and exit-stamped Morocco, then walked on. And on. Past a couple of old drunks and young guys evidently regulars trying to wheedle their way past the unflinching Moroccan security guards. And walked and walked. The queue of cars is right next to the sidewalk (though with high secure fencing separating us), and that queue stretched a mile back -- don't plan a quick drive to Ceuta!
When I finally reached the Spanish frontier, a number of people were queuing up at some office, but when the guard saw my US passport, he just waved me on through. No stamp.
I never saw any horde of zombie migrants trying to crash through the fence; just a very long queue, with numerous Moroccan policemen along the way. Nothing fearful, no guns or dogs or cameras, and not even much barbed wire; just a long walk.
I picked a taxi right away (I had read that they simply use the taximeter, so I would not have to negotiate a fare and would not have to worry about getting ripped off) and gave the address of my Hostal Gutierrez. EUR5.85 later, he drops me off, at the bottom of a long flight of stairs. Ah well. I check in, and the lady chatters on in Spanish, giving me keys and instructions and I got the gist of it. My tiny cheap room was clean, no view, no TV, bathroom down the hall. All was clean, but no A/C; fortunately, the weather was cool. I unloaded my bag, and set out to walk to Oasis Restaurant.
Another long walk, indeed, this time down and way up.
My first few hours in Ceuta were not very convincing, though the view was great from the Ermita de San Antonio, in spite of the rain clouds passing through-- I could barely see Gibraltar through the haze.
Oasis Restaurant was packed with locals enjoying Saturday lunch--the maitre d'hote was quite nice, but asked me to wait 20 minutes. I walked next door to the Ermita de San Antonio, beautiful windy lookout. The maitre d spoke Spanish or Arabic or French-- so we agreed on French. Beer, salad (iceberg lettuce, yikes! but still tasty), fresh bread and fish in a tajine, fantastic and overfull., and only $25; I rolled down the hill, along the corniche, finding prettier, more touristy parts of Ceuta; a cobblestone pedestrian street with shops and cafés and church squares and little lottery booths. This part of Ceuta is worth visiting again! Let's stay at Hotel Ulises, on the pedestrian street.
The Museo de Ceuta, the municipality's little museum, is open at odd hours, including the evening: Barbara would love the November exhibit of azulejos, wall tiles! It's worth timing our return just for that. Soon I found an unmarked restaurant, evidently the Military Club, open to the public, with a few veterans nursing their beers, and several young families at dinner, all quite civilized.
Then I found a DutyFree store along the shopping street, for some Sherry -- I do not quite understand the duryfree status of Ceuta -- evidently the whole place is duty free, or only charges 3%VAT ? Evidently that's one reason for lots of Spanish tourists to take the ferry over for a holiday weekend. At another store, I bought new walking shoes, belt, scarf for Barbara. I saw no other obvious nationalities except for Spanish and Moroccan. English was not spoken there.
Walking back up hill (thanks to google maps, and my google phone, as my Moroccan phone did not work there) to bed, all fine until later, when a few happy people decided to sit and talk loudly nearby...for a long time. But it finally ended, and I actually slept well.
I awoke about 8, packed up and departed before 9, with all my stuff (just small backpack and shopping bag). Leaving the hostel, I could see that the air had cleared, and the Gibraltar rocks were bright, almost glowing! But I walked down the hill, no longer had such a good view.
Back to the shopping street, where I stopped at a café for coffee and croissant. Then walking further downhill toward the old fort and the canal that splits the peninsula from the mainland, in glorious windy sunshine. Another café, and a torta (very basic omelette sandwich), then a visit to the Lidl grocery store for very cheap grocerias -- lots of Moroccan families were shopping there. I bought several room-temperature pork items and Spanish chocolate, but was conscious that I would have to lug everything that Long Walk back across the border.
I had read that the bus to the border stopped nearby, so I waited...bus #4 cost 0.85euros, took a long way to the border, through apartment blocks that looked quite typically Moroccan. Then the long walk -- again, Spain did not care about my passport. Fortunately I looked for the Moroccan passport office, because I believe they really care about the proper stamps, and I would be in trouble when I next leave the country if I do not have a proper entry stamp.
Walk and walk some more, ask for the share-taxi ("collective") to Tangier, the guy collects 50dhs and tells me to sit shotgun and wait for more passengers. I chat with the young lady also in the car, as she speaks French about as well as I do, so she helps translate later, when the car fills up and the driver asks me to move back so that a sick person can ride shotgun. okay, no problem. Again, this car is built for the passengers, and the seat belts work! and this driver goes fast--not crazy, but fast, and there a lots of curves up and over the mountains and along the very beautiful coast road.
Along the way I notice that some of the newer road signs around the huge TangerMed port are in Arabic and English (i.e. not French). hmmm, is that a sign of the future?
The taxi drops some of us off at a busy circle near the new train station so we quickly get our bags from the back, and the taxi drives on to the old train station. As he pulls away I think "oh my raincoat!" , so I wait at the traffic circle, hoping he might drive by -- and thinking that my wallet is in the coat's breast pocket! But I have my passport and some extra cash, so it's not end of the world; but I should report it to the police. So I walk to the train station, and the young policeman at first is pretty clueless, but he chats -- then he goes back in to the office, and out comes the undercover cop from Central Casting in Paris, a huge judo guy with a great Parisian accent and sense of humor, says "come with me" and we get in the police van and drive over to the old train station taxi place, where he chats with the drivers who all clamor for his attention, telling him that the taxis from Ceuta don't actually wait here at all, they just drive on. So he then takes me to the "Permanence", the central police depot to file a report. Again, like in a movie, rundown office, cranky desk sergeant, tired guy taking the report while a policeman yells at a young ruffian and other characters walk through. By this point I just wanted to politely get away, so I did not ask for a copy of the report. Also, by this time I found my wallet tucked in a pocket of my backpack, so all I was missing was the raincoat itself. whew. PetitTaxi back to the train station, train to Sale (change at Kenitra) where I took the tram back to Tour Hassan, easy. (about same time as continuing on to RabatAgdal and taking a taxi from there, but slightly cheaper and no taxi needed). The local train to Salé was virtually empty, and no conductor checked tickets -- the local trains are old, just okay.
When I finally got home and opened all my bags, I found the raincoat, stuffed in the grocery bag! So my long worry and police ride was a "cultural experience".
I also decided to take different routes to and from, in order to check those as well.
I took the fast-train to Tangier (oh, first taking the tram to IbnSina, then walking a long way to Rabat Agdal station -- too long to walk if you have any bags...better to take the tram to AvenueDeFrance stop and catch a petit-taxi to RabatAgdal station from there)
I purchased a ticket to Tétouan: after the quick 100-minute train ride (second-class seats are perfectly fine), a nice bus waits on the side near the taxi stand (completely unmarked--you just "know").
The train ticket has reserved seating on both train and bus.
I asked the bus driver about getting a share-taxi from Tétouan to Sebta -- when we arrived at some unmarked location in Tétouan, he helped me get a taxi to the CTM station where the share-taxis wait.
Oh, and on the bus I sat next to Ahmed, who told me he was visiting Morocco from Dubai, where he works for Google. (He may contact me later)
The share-taxi at the CTM station in Tétouan worked very well-- only 17dhs, in a Fiat taxi built to carry 6 passengers, quite comfortable as the road is smooth and straight, and the ride was about 40 minutes to the roundabout near the border.
Then the trudge along the unkempt sidewalk with no markings or signage; just follow the others. Except at a few points some people stop at a little office while others just walk on.
I got my passport inspected carefully at the little office and exit-stamped Morocco, then walked on. And on. Past a couple of old drunks and young guys evidently regulars trying to wheedle their way past the unflinching Moroccan security guards. And walked and walked. The queue of cars is right next to the sidewalk (though with high secure fencing separating us), and that queue stretched a mile back -- don't plan a quick drive to Ceuta!
When I finally reached the Spanish frontier, a number of people were queuing up at some office, but when the guard saw my US passport, he just waved me on through. No stamp.
I never saw any horde of zombie migrants trying to crash through the fence; just a very long queue, with numerous Moroccan policemen along the way. Nothing fearful, no guns or dogs or cameras, and not even much barbed wire; just a long walk.
I picked a taxi right away (I had read that they simply use the taximeter, so I would not have to negotiate a fare and would not have to worry about getting ripped off) and gave the address of my Hostal Gutierrez. EUR5.85 later, he drops me off, at the bottom of a long flight of stairs. Ah well. I check in, and the lady chatters on in Spanish, giving me keys and instructions and I got the gist of it. My tiny cheap room was clean, no view, no TV, bathroom down the hall. All was clean, but no A/C; fortunately, the weather was cool. I unloaded my bag, and set out to walk to Oasis Restaurant.
Another long walk, indeed, this time down and way up.
My first few hours in Ceuta were not very convincing, though the view was great from the Ermita de San Antonio, in spite of the rain clouds passing through-- I could barely see Gibraltar through the haze.
Oasis Restaurant was packed with locals enjoying Saturday lunch--the maitre d'hote was quite nice, but asked me to wait 20 minutes. I walked next door to the Ermita de San Antonio, beautiful windy lookout. The maitre d spoke Spanish or Arabic or French-- so we agreed on French. Beer, salad (iceberg lettuce, yikes! but still tasty), fresh bread and fish in a tajine, fantastic and overfull., and only $25; I rolled down the hill, along the corniche, finding prettier, more touristy parts of Ceuta; a cobblestone pedestrian street with shops and cafés and church squares and little lottery booths. This part of Ceuta is worth visiting again! Let's stay at Hotel Ulises, on the pedestrian street.
The Museo de Ceuta, the municipality's little museum, is open at odd hours, including the evening: Barbara would love the November exhibit of azulejos, wall tiles! It's worth timing our return just for that. Soon I found an unmarked restaurant, evidently the Military Club, open to the public, with a few veterans nursing their beers, and several young families at dinner, all quite civilized.
Then I found a DutyFree store along the shopping street, for some Sherry -- I do not quite understand the duryfree status of Ceuta -- evidently the whole place is duty free, or only charges 3%VAT ? Evidently that's one reason for lots of Spanish tourists to take the ferry over for a holiday weekend. At another store, I bought new walking shoes, belt, scarf for Barbara. I saw no other obvious nationalities except for Spanish and Moroccan. English was not spoken there.
Walking back up hill (thanks to google maps, and my google phone, as my Moroccan phone did not work there) to bed, all fine until later, when a few happy people decided to sit and talk loudly nearby...for a long time. But it finally ended, and I actually slept well.
I awoke about 8, packed up and departed before 9, with all my stuff (just small backpack and shopping bag). Leaving the hostel, I could see that the air had cleared, and the Gibraltar rocks were bright, almost glowing! But I walked down the hill, no longer had such a good view.
Back to the shopping street, where I stopped at a café for coffee and croissant. Then walking further downhill toward the old fort and the canal that splits the peninsula from the mainland, in glorious windy sunshine. Another café, and a torta (very basic omelette sandwich), then a visit to the Lidl grocery store for very cheap grocerias -- lots of Moroccan families were shopping there. I bought several room-temperature pork items and Spanish chocolate, but was conscious that I would have to lug everything that Long Walk back across the border.
I had read that the bus to the border stopped nearby, so I waited...bus #4 cost 0.85euros, took a long way to the border, through apartment blocks that looked quite typically Moroccan. Then the long walk -- again, Spain did not care about my passport. Fortunately I looked for the Moroccan passport office, because I believe they really care about the proper stamps, and I would be in trouble when I next leave the country if I do not have a proper entry stamp.
Walk and walk some more, ask for the share-taxi ("collective") to Tangier, the guy collects 50dhs and tells me to sit shotgun and wait for more passengers. I chat with the young lady also in the car, as she speaks French about as well as I do, so she helps translate later, when the car fills up and the driver asks me to move back so that a sick person can ride shotgun. okay, no problem. Again, this car is built for the passengers, and the seat belts work! and this driver goes fast--not crazy, but fast, and there a lots of curves up and over the mountains and along the very beautiful coast road.
Along the way I notice that some of the newer road signs around the huge TangerMed port are in Arabic and English (i.e. not French). hmmm, is that a sign of the future?
The taxi drops some of us off at a busy circle near the new train station so we quickly get our bags from the back, and the taxi drives on to the old train station. As he pulls away I think "oh my raincoat!" , so I wait at the traffic circle, hoping he might drive by -- and thinking that my wallet is in the coat's breast pocket! But I have my passport and some extra cash, so it's not end of the world; but I should report it to the police. So I walk to the train station, and the young policeman at first is pretty clueless, but he chats -- then he goes back in to the office, and out comes the undercover cop from Central Casting in Paris, a huge judo guy with a great Parisian accent and sense of humor, says "come with me" and we get in the police van and drive over to the old train station taxi place, where he chats with the drivers who all clamor for his attention, telling him that the taxis from Ceuta don't actually wait here at all, they just drive on. So he then takes me to the "Permanence", the central police depot to file a report. Again, like in a movie, rundown office, cranky desk sergeant, tired guy taking the report while a policeman yells at a young ruffian and other characters walk through. By this point I just wanted to politely get away, so I did not ask for a copy of the report. Also, by this time I found my wallet tucked in a pocket of my backpack, so all I was missing was the raincoat itself. whew. PetitTaxi back to the train station, train to Sale (change at Kenitra) where I took the tram back to Tour Hassan, easy. (about same time as continuing on to RabatAgdal and taking a taxi from there, but slightly cheaper and no taxi needed). The local train to Salé was virtually empty, and no conductor checked tickets -- the local trains are old, just okay.
When I finally got home and opened all my bags, I found the raincoat, stuffed in the grocery bag! So my long worry and police ride was a "cultural experience".
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