moroccan zombie cab drivers
Jen and I arrived in Tangier by ferry (a trip I don’t recommend making while hung over). We’d missed an important announcement about passport control, and so by the time that was sorted out and we’d been properly dressed down by Men with Authority and the Badges to Prove It, the area had cleared of all other passengers. In the dark, we walked down the gangplank, pulling our head scarves down tightly over our hair.
What greeted us at the ferry terminal has never been described better than when Jen said, “It’s like being in Sean of the Dead.”
We were immediately surrounded by cab drivers, all beckoning, persuading us to let them take us to the train station. We’d been warned about what kind of riffraff we’d run into at the ferry, so already we were on guard; more to the point, we were nervous and trying very hard not to show it. Okay, not nervous. Really scared. It was then, amid the swarms of men all trying to take advantage of us (fiscally, naturally), fighting for some control over our surroundings that Jen did something I have never seen her do in all the years we have been friends. She lost her cool.
Now, I don’t mind being in charge; I’m pretty good at it. But ordinarily, when we travel, Jen takes that role. She’s the powerhouse of information and confidence. But the Tangier Zombies had unnerved her and suddenly, I was in charge.
I don’t remember what I said, only that my tone was decidedly motherish and probably a little harsh. Jen was plowing through the Zombies, headed for a non-existent ATM (we had very little Dirham on us) and I ordered her to a stop, put us into a cab driven by the least threatening Zombie of the bunch, and in very shaky French, asked to be taken to the train station.
At the train station, I breathed a sigh of relief. Jen and I would buy our tickets for the overnight train, and then sit down to collect ourselves. But of course, as it turned out, the station didn’t accept credit cards, didn’t have working ATMs, and the station manager, the seediest man on the planet, offered to find us a cabbie who would take us to the nearest ATM for a very reasonable fee.
Left with no choice, we climbed in and our adventures with fear and intimidation began again. The rest of the night is a blur - winding through a dark, foreign city, in a stranger’s car. I cannot tell you how relieved we were to wake up in Marrakesh, restored to our natural order: Jen in charge and me getting food poisoning. You know, the way things were meant to be.
Ever been intimidated abroad? I wanna hear about it.
I’ve not been intimidated while abroad, but I would like to take a moment to call out the guide books that strike such fear into the hearts of visitors to Morocco.
I spent this past Christmas in Spain with family, and we decided to make the crossing to Tangier on Christmas Day. In anticipation for the trip, I had read the guide books and had ben duly warned (and warned, and warned again) about the seedy gentlemen who lay in wait in the harbor to take advantage of unsuspecting tourists. When I was approached, I firmly rejected all offers of assistance, even crossing the line into rude a couple of times.
Finally, though, I was convinced by the government identification that these guys were, in fact, tour guides licensed by the Moroccan government to take tourists around the city. Still wary, I acquiesced, and thank goodness I did. The guide was fantastic. He took us all around the Medina and the Kasbah. Far from conning us out of our money, when we were short on cash, he loaned it to us. We would have had a good time regardless (we always do), but we experienced so much more in the time we had thanks to this guy convincing me to take a chance.
None of this is to say that bad stuff doesn’t go down, but I don’t think it’s any where near as prevalent as the guide books suggest, and, if you buy into it too much, traveler’s paranoia can really ruin a trip.
Major cities in Russia can have their fair share of skinheads, and I was walking with a friend through Red Square with a friend when we were accosted by a pair. Now, we’re both blonde and white, so they clearly just overheard us speaking English and decided to mess with us (apparently, there aren’t enough minorities in Moscow to keep them busy– or something).
They started up a conversation in English, but it had a distinctly menacing tone. My Russian is pretty decent, but the friend I was with was nearly fluent, and when she started speaking Russian to them, they got pretty pissed. We were walking past GUM (the enormous mall in Red Square) and just ducked in to get away from them. They started yelling after us, but we don’t think they actually pursued us. Not sure entirely what they wanted, but it was still enough to freak us out.
I visited Ghana in West Africa for a month in 2001 with about 12 other people. On our first night in Accra, the capital city, another girl, two guys, and I crammed into the back of a cab and told the driver to take us to a bar. We couldn’t sleep, we were in AFRICA, and the night air was so warm. The driver dropped us off in an area with a bunch of neon signs promoting beers we had never heard of. There were some people milling around, having a good time in the outdoor patios. I stepped out of the cab and stood there for a minute, taking in my surroundings, and all of a sudden, I was surrounded by 10 guys. They were all smiling and staring at Kate and I. The guys we came with got sort of pushed off on the sidelines. And then I felt arms linking with mine. Both of my hands were being held by two different guys, and I was getting a lot of pats on the back. And more and more guys kept coming. I got at least 5 proposals for marriage. Finally my friend and I just sort of grabbed each other and shoved our way into a deserted bar and hoped our guy friends would find us. They did and we weren’t bothered inside the bar. On our way back to the hotel later, our cab driver had to stop had a military checkpoint that wasn’t there on our way in. A man with an assault rifle leaned down to talk to the driver and did a double take when he saw us passengers. He yelled something to the other guards standing around and they came over to check us out as well. Finally the driver and the guards came to some sort of agreement and the driver slipped the guard some money and we were on our way again. Both of those things, the being surrounded by people and the bribing of checkpoint guards happened almost everywhere we went for the rest of the trip. It was scary that first night, but you got used to it. I imagine that’s what it’s like to be a celebrity! I think my favorite picture of that trip is one in which I am standing in a group of 15 boys who are grinning hugely while someone is holding my hand and someone has linked arms with me.
In Thailand if you go to see the palace and are walking from the koh san road area, you are accosted by some rough looking characters who try to force you to buy grain to feed the many pigeons. If you try to get away they grab your hand and pour grain into it. Then they threaten you to get you to pay for the grain you “used”. Although it is possible to get away it can be quite scary while they are yelling in your face.
Other than that the worst I ever felt was in the Phillipines by the old wall. I sat down to read my guide book and was surrounded by security guards, who in fairness were probably just trying to be friendly but the rather large gun they were waving enthusastically in the air made me very very uncomfortable. Far too many obvious guns in that country for my liking!
I studied abroad in Madrid for a semester in college. Now I love Madrid and am biased in saying its one of the best cities in Europe. But I also had my fair share of peeping Toms in the park and men masturbating late at night in the streets. None of this bothered me too much until we found ourselves unable to find the Metro in an unfamiliar neighborhood. Because it was a commercial more than residential area, there were not many people on the streets this late at night. As one of my roommates and I walked along, we noticed three men following us.
Trying to stay calm we went towards what we thought was the nearest main via. Instead the men came around from the opposite direction and we coming towards us. I, with my level head, started to completely freak out. My friend on the other hand, guided me towards the other side of the street very calmly. One then rushed forward and grabbed her purse! She told him to F-off in Spanish and proceeded to hold onto it with all her might. I think her Spanish surprised them because the men immediately backed off and we hurried toward the nearest cafe. It was a real eye opener for us on being more aware of our surroundings.
I posted this before, but it must have not gone through - FYI, most people at the port in Tangier offering their services as guides are NOT licensed through the tourist office - they laminate their own badges! this doesn’t mean they aren’t good guides, a lot of them know the city better than some of the “official” guides, but please do not use these “official” badges as a deciding factor, because you could end up with a bad guide, or one who takes you to his friends stores where prices are automatically raised so that they include his cut!