Saturday 23rd - Karma

The ferry across the Strait was cool. We got a good view of the Rock of Gibraltar from the top deck and we met two more hitchers. At some point in the voyage, there must have been a barely audible announcement that we ignored, because just as our cheapened victory drew near, we weren't allowed off of the ferry since our passports hadn't been stamped during the journey across. We had to wait an hour and a half for the police officer to return to do twenty seconds of pointless bureaucracy, during which time we'd lost track of the other hitchers with whom we were planning to tag along.

Once we had arrived in Tangier, our luck seemingly changed when we bumped into a nice man who recognised our Hitch T-shirts and went on about how good a cause it is and invited us back to his home for dinner. Unable to subtly convince Aguet of how bad an idea it was as he led us into a rather sketchy looking housing estate, Nat and I prepared ourselves for a trap. Fortunately, a fight in an alley against muggers never came and we enjoyed some outstanding mint tea and lamb tagine. He'd spent a while showing us photos of other hitchers and travellers from all over, some keepsakes they had given him like white boards used as hitching signs and notes they had written and signed, thanking him.

We got onto talking about our plans and that we were heading to Casablanca to see the giant mosque. As politely as he could, he informed us that we would be treated like crap there, wearing western clothing, and would be much safer and more respected in more traditional, Moroccan robes. We had all been thinking of buying some as souvenirs for people back home and were a little shocked to hear they would cost us equivalent to £70. Fortunately, his wife knew someone that made them and could pick some up for us for half that price.

After dinner, his daughter came in to practice her henna tattoos on the girls. He kept us entertained with his impressions of various western celebrities and singing Arabic versions of western songs until the henna was finished. This was when the mood turned. Out of the blue, he tries to charge the girls £20 each for their henna, which we knew was a horrific rip off and made us edge toward the exit. After the goodbyes, we started to realise what had just happened. Back at the coach station, the girls tried out the robes we had bought and received nothing but laughter from the locals. We were informed they were men's clothing, but what's worse, with their weird pointy hoods, they also looked a lot like KKK outfits. I finally asked the guy behind the station desk how much he thought the robes were worth. Equivalent to £8. I think Aguet lost a lot of faith in humanity that night. I'm not sure Nat or I had much to begin with, so we weren't phased too hard.

Nat has come up with a way to save time and hostel money, by using night coaches between cities. Right now, we're on our way to Casablanca for the morning, though I'm not convinced of my ability to sleep on coaches after the one from Madrid.