Leaving Tangier

Tangier’s medina slowly turned into a market, crisscrossed by winding alleys and then quickly gave way into poverty.

A 20 minute drive lead from the city to an industrial mining zone and then to an agrarian one that hasn't changed for a thousand years. An eagle soared above the atlas, as our grand taxi made its way up the snaking road followed by sounds of afternoon prayer.

A little boy dragged a lone donkey by the road, an old farmer sat near by, selling vegetables. It could have been Russia if not for the Arabic signs and the hijabs. Kids no older than 10 sold berries. Teenagers loitered by a mosque.

Fog covered the stony peaks above the tree line. The car kept climbing. Unfinished houses with exposed foundations proclaimed, "I'll finish when I can afford it". Occasional police check points made me put down my phone and reach for my passport. I couldn’t explain the instinct, or may be I didn’t want to. The optimist was embarrassed by the realist.

Real traveling starts outside of the major cities, in these hollowed out moments where nobody speaks your language and all you really have to go on is your patience and enthusiasm.