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.

Wednesday, January 30, 2008 | general