Saturday evening in Tangier. We are safely back at the Hilton near the beach, adjacent to the train station.
I’m beat. Tonight makes six different beds in eight nights, including an overnight transatlantic crossing. My tummy was a bit of a mess this afternoon, but seems better now.
And no luggage, nor no word of luggage.
But I shall persevere.
The drive from Fès to Tangier was on the high-speed tollway. We drove west toward Rabat, and then north to Tangier. Agricultural foothills of the Mid-Atlas mountains gave way to the red clay hills of western Morocco, and green plants to scrappy shrubs and rare views of cattle, but still sheep. Those working the land in the west have a harder time of it. Rivers are really streams, but closer to the ocean, one can see the flood plains where waters do at times stretch and flow. The coastal temperature is much more moderate than that inland; 140 km makes a difference when the Atlantic is nearby!