Woke up to a Mosque Rooster and a Skate Park at 2 AM in Tangier (Maybe Don’t Ask Why)
woke up to the sound of a rooster outside a mosque in tangier. not the one with the red domes everyone pictures. this one looked like it’d rather be a laundromat. taught me that islam isn’t about perfect domes-it’s about morning headaches. i checked the app thinking it’d be 12°C but all i got was this weird damp chill that clings to your clothes like you’re dancing in a soggy raincloud. i don’t even own a raincoat. just a hoodie that’s seen better days.
no agenda. just vibes. i skipped breakfast entirely because i spilled hash browns on my shoe at a sketchy skate park near port arnold. the hash browns were from a vendor who also sold expired energy drinks. that place doesn’t have a menu. they have a vibe. you walk in, they hand you a bag, and suddenly you’re either a hero or a fool. i chose hero. had the hash browns for lunch at a table that was technically outside but felt like inside because the wind was howling.
oh, and the neighbors? they’re weird. old man with a goat that mooed in traffic. another guy who microwaved cursilla in a plastic bag and sold it for 50 dirham. i heard someone yell, if you get bored, the medina is a 20-minute scoot to a place where people swear by mint tea that never leaves the table. i didn’t take that advice. i skated. bad. my board’s name is now a joke. i misspelled my own name on it.
someone told me that the ocean was closed for maintenance here. i thought they meant a pirate your bike protest. turned out, it’s truly closed. but then i saw a local with a surfboard in a garage like he was hiding from the apocalypse. didn’t ask questions. just took a photo with him. he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. which fair. tangier’s coast doesn’t care about tourists. it cares about secrets. probably.
i woke up at 6 to google reviews. 90% were trash. ‘drowning in tourists,’ ‘the police will fine you for hi-five,’ ‘get a vaccine passport.’ meanwhile, a drunk guy in a dive bar told me, you’ll regret this city if you don’t eat the fish head. i didn’t. but i did take a picture of that fish head at the seafood market. it looked like a handshake between the ocean and land. inhuman.
the weather? 10°C. humid. like you’re holding a wet towel. i checked again at noon. same thing. hope you like that kind of thing. i don’t. but the humidity made the skate park’s concrete feel like you’re walking on someone’s old bath mat. practical? no. but it cut through the boredom.
i linked to yelp for a cooking class because i’m clearly not doing this alone. then tripped on a cobblestone and found a café that sells espresso in recycled teacups. the owner claimed it was fair trade. i don’t know if that’s true. but the espresso hit hard. strong enough to wake up your taste buds. or your guilt.
the street artist I saw wasn’t drawing. they were throwing paint at a wall like they hated society. ended up with a wall that says ‘I ♥ TANGIER’ in crayon. which is… something. i left a euro in their cup. now their wall is money. or maybe it’s karma. who knows?
in brief, tangier’s vibe is ‘if you don’t overstay your welcome, you’ll be fine.’ i’m not sure if that’s a local saying or me being sleep-deprived. either way, the skates are summarized in heart palpitations and one very confused bird. if you need a map, here:
. just don’t tell anyone i mentioned the goat. it’s a sensitive topic.
p.s. it’s 1008 hPa of pressure right now. feel free to take that as a metaphor or a scientific fact. probably the latter. and if you’re into it, unsplash has a photo of a cell phone here:
probably not helpful. but maybe?
mirrors my mood. metallic but not shiny. confused. dirty-glory.
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