Living in Morocco has its own unique benefits. These include endless sunshine, great food and quick flights to Europe and home. Sadly socialising and cheap alcohol are not amongst the benefits. Last week we took a much anticipated trip to Spain on an alcohol and pork run. As I have mentioned before, much to the Moroccans dismay and our delight, Spain has managed to hang on to two small enclaves on the Mediterranean coast of Morocco. Although they could do with being a little closer than 450 km away, we appreciate them nonetheless. After our last stressful seven hour drive to Ceuta, for this trip we decided to visit the slightly closer town of Melilla.
Melilla is a 12 kilometre squared piece of land and port which has been part of Spain for over 500 years and is highly contested by most Moroccans. Similar to the other enclaves and all the small islands close to Morocco that are considered to be Spanish, Melilla is somewhat of a sore point with the Moroccan government who believe the areas should be under Moroccan rule and the Spanish should leave. The Spanish are sticking to their guns and are not going anywhere. This decision seems somewhat hypocritical considering their contention over the British rule of Gibraltar.
The drive from Fes to Melilla is relatively easy by Moroccan standards. It is 450 kilometres in sunshine so strong that when experienced in a car without air-con makes you feel like you are being baked in a tin, even in March. However, half of the way you are on a highway that is empty and runs through land resembling the Lake District, and the other half is along a pot-holey but reasonably straight road that is good for overtaking on. Frustratingly, we made it 450 kilometres in four hours and then five kilometres in an hour when it came to crossing the border. It seems that we were not the only people who wanted to go to Spain on a Saturday lunch to do shopping. Surely the cheap shopping isn't cheap enough to warrant an hour border crossing each way? Yes we drove 450 kilometres in search of a Lidl, but we were on a long distance beer and pig mission. The fact that Melilla is one of the most popular places for illegal immigrants to enter the EU added to our queuing time. However, the thorough car checks and six metre barbed wire fences with watch towers seem pointless when people appear to be able to wander through without being stopped.
There are few borders that I have crossed in my travels that give you that feeling of literally entering another world. Obviously you always have that few kilometres or grubbiness and chaos, that seem to occur no matter how wealthy the country you are entering, but usually what's beyond that is reasonably similar to what you have left. Leaving Africa and entering Europe in the space of five kilometres is quite an experience, one that is probably only matched by crossing from Mexico into America. Not only are the streets, buildings and cars smarter, it is almost like the air is cleaner as well. We are perfectly content with life in Morocco, but immediately upon entering Spain you feel you are in a whole other level of civilisation and order. There are road markings, litter bins, long tree lined streets, fountains, parks and ornate buildings, all of them gleaming. You turn a corner in search of a secure underground car park and there one is just where you need it. Amongst all this pristine order stroll stylish families off to meet up with equally stylish friends and spend the entire day sitting at café tables enjoying tapas, wine and beer all the while looking very....well....stylish.
Now I am sure most European countries have there own version of this, but Spain seem to have this one down to a fine art. Long lazy sunny weekend days enjoying small chilled-cheap beers, great table wine and a never ending stream of amazing nibbles that are heavy on the pork. The extent of our longing for pork was such that as a plate of mystery tapas was put down later that day Nick exclaimed with glee “Yay! There's pig under there!” For our first round of tapas we settled in as close as we dared to all the stylish people in a restaurant overlooking a square. Here we were subjected to being taken advantage of as naïve tourists. The waiter, when kindly taking the time to explain the confusing menu to us took our nods not as confirmation of our understanding of product, but instead as confirmation of us wanting to order everything he listed. Unlike the tables around us who were presented with a restrained nibble or two at a time, we were made to look like immense pigs as six large portions of food were brought to our table all at once. While this was all very enjoyable, we hadn't quite been prepared for what was to be the most expensive lunch we have ever had.
After lunch we went for a short walk before admitting defeat to a full stomach and going for a lie down. In most places going to bed late afternoon is a recipe for disaster, or a missed night at least. In Spain it seems that yet again they have planned for this eventuality. Enjoy your long, lazy and stylish lunch, sleep it off and make your way out refreshed and ready to start your night just about the times pubs in the UK are closing.
We made it out at around 9.00pm and headed for what was advertised as the 'most happening bar area'. To our disappointment we found lifeless empty bars with only the occasional child or strangely dressed teenager for company. Wandering back towards the hotel at around 10.00pm we stopped in a tiny bar for one last ditch attempt at finding a place with atmosphere. There were only two other taken tables in there, the rest was as yet empty standing places around barrel tables. By 11.00pm it was so busy people had spilled out into the street and you couldn't get the waiter's attention to get a drink. This soon proved not to be a problem as when you would least expect it he turned up with samples of drinks we hadn't ordered. He went as far as to pour white wine over my hand when I covered my glass in an effort to switch to red. As well as free drinks we were given four free plates of mystery tapas each. When we asked for the bill we were brought fresh glasses and honey run instead. With each repeated bill request we were given more drinks. At the point he brought a gin bottle and two tonics we resigned ourselves to getting truly hammered on what was supposed to be a quiet night out. We also realised that maybe it would be wise to go to the bar and pay. We stumbled out with hugs from the middle aged men on the table next to us who had plied us with peanuts. It was just one of those nights.
I would like to say that the Melilla experience was all positive, but sadly we left an a bad note. After being so impressed at the apparent civilisation of the place, we returned to our dirty and battered Lidl stocked car in the secure car park, a car park that was filled with lots of expensive new cars, and found to our dismay that our two MP3 players had been stolen out of the glove box without any sign of forced entry. So much for civilisation, I guess scallies frequent even stylish places. This theft caused us all the more annoyance for having to make the long return journey without a working radio. Instead we had to resort to the rather surreal experience listening to a selection of old cassettes that a colleague had given us. 15-20 year old tapes on a 15 year old player. We had Bob Marley, Bruce Springsteen and as a last resort Phil Collins, all sounding like they were being played from the bottom of a pool while we sweated off our honey rum hangovers.
Apart from the annoying and slightly unbelievable theft (our car looked so uninviting that until we got home I was convinced I must have misplaced them in a bag), Melilla was an all round success. Not only did we get a very thorough day of socialising but we returned to Ifrane with 12 slabs of beer, 6 bottles of spirits, a case of Cava and 27 litres of red wine. We now need to drink this quickly so we have an excuse to go back.
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