Days 9&10 - Rocking Gibraltar - THE GOOD

I think my first name should have been Persistent, actually anything except Mary.

I was determined to get to the Rock of Gibraltar this past weekend and I did it! After all of the wondrous experiences that happen traveling by yourself in Morocco without speaking the language unfolded, I spent a total of 16 hours on the ground there, 8 of which I slept. But still, was it worth it?

Abso-frigging -lutely!

Insallah is a commonly used term here. It means "God Willing" in Arabic. In other Arab-speaking countries it means one thing. Here in Morocco, it means "there is no way this is going to happen unless God himself intervenes on your Christian behalf."

A.K.A. "NFW", "not a happening thang" and "I wouldn't count on it if I were you".

I drove our company rental car from Mohammedia to Tangiers (pronounced "Tawn-Gee" by the Moroccan guy who helped me when I was hopelessly lost in Rabat, Morocco's capital. He didn't know where this place was when I asked for how to get onto the road to "Tan-Jeers" and HE spoke English!)

This part of the odyssey took me 5 hrs. Google map said 3 hrs, 11 min. Google map has obviously not been here. Google map also refers to highway numbers. Ha! Numbers are not used on the roadway signs. Insallah.

 So, the thing to do in the absence of any ferry timetables to get across the Straits of Gibraltar from the continent of Africa to the continent of Europe is to just show up and hope for the best. Insallah. This is exactly what I did on the outbound trip. I set my intention for an easy journey, breathed deeply through Rabat city center (remember those pretty lane markings on the road? In Rabat, even the center lines are purely decorative on a Saturday at noon) and I got very lucky. I arrived in time to get a one-way ticket on the 4:30PM (approx.) slow boat out of Tangier Med to the Port of Algesiras.

Not to the Port of Gibraltar, which was my destination. But close. Only 2 bus rides away.

Looking back at it, it was unfolding perfectly.

 Algesiras is in southern Spain in the area called Andalucia. Wouldn't Nan be proud?

And if I has been on the fast boat, I would not have been allowed to take those great, clear photos of the Rock as we sailed past. They were taken from outside on the boat's deck. There were so few people on board the slow boat that I was the only one in the restaurant and I could leave my "stuff" there unattended and take those photos. On the jet boat, you had to take your photos thru the dirty, salt-sprayed windows. And if you walk away from your stuff on the jet boat, well - you'll see in the chapter of this saga called "the ugly".

But you'll just have to wait for it. I'm done for the night.

Tues, Jan 18th. Happy belated birthday, Bee!