Tangier: walk along the beach

Thursday afternoon.  After a nap.

[And as I write at about 8.30 p.m., I’m in my hotel room, with the telly showing some football.  And the last call to prayer of the day interrupts the broadcast.  “Allah akhbar” streams into my room, urgently calling the faithful to worship the one true god.]

Pensive on the beach.

Women do not stroll alone, except for the occasional tourist who is obvious by hair, make-up, clothing, and gait.  (So am I, by the way, except for the haircut part.)  Women stroll in groups of two or more, but mainly two.  Likewise, men are generally in groups of two or more, but mostly two. So seeing this young man seated by himself, solo, was an unusual experience.

My guide tells me that only tourists eat alone, that no one in Morocco eats alone in public.  Meals are communal, and powerfully so.  I’ve witnessed the same.

Negotiating.

This would be me. Just staring at the water.

A small muscle beach found these two practicing what appeared to be capoeira.

The ferry from Spain is arriving.

What’s wrong with these palm trees?  Perfection?  They are cellular towers!

 

 

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