From Tarifa to Tangier

Driving 17 hours without break we reach the Gibraltar straight and Tarifa at 5 am at night. Tarifa is our first meeting point with the other participants of the PBC challenge, and we are excited to see the colorful cars of group 3 at the hotel. At 5 am the reception is closed and everyone is fast asleep. We decide to get out our sleeping bag and stay in the hallway of the hotel.

We wake up around 11 am and try to mingle with the other teams. Unfortunately everyone seems to be occupied with themselves, and there is no group feeling. We could be staying here at the hotel to celebrate the new year, but under these circumstances it sounds much more exciting to touch African soil in Tangier today.

Catching some sun outside a bodega in the harbour of Tarifa we plan the next days. We will cross to Tangier today and drive a few kilometers to the quaint town of Asilah to celebarte the new year small. Mario has a special handicap as he is not allowed to drink alcohol for the next seven days because of his yellow fever vaccination. He stays firm on the issue but I am sure he is suffering silently.

First glimpse of Africa

The PBC roadbook warned us of the chaotic circumstances that make up African life, and I knew to expect hustlers and touts at every street corner trying to rip off your valuable Euros. I read that customs transactions require lots of street savy, with hours of patient waiting and negotiations, where large and small bribes are handed over from time to time.

Sure enough we are thrown into this mess as soon as we get off the ferry in Tangier: A mean fixer tries to pass as an offical, and wants to "help" us through customs. Panic rises from my stomach as I realize that I have just accidentally handed over my passport to this criminal, a thing the road book warns never to do. As a stern customs officer starts demanding some green document that I have never heard of before, and I start panting in rhythm with the accelerated beat of my heart. All the tranquility the day before is suddenly gone and I am deeply stressed.

My panic is in stark contrast to Mario's naive calmness. I am sure he doesn't understand the danger we were in. I am wrong. Mario is an experienced traveller - he has been backpacking in places like India and Australia for six months at a time - and knows very well how to handle the situation. He politely tells the hustler that we will try to get through customs by ourselves, and we get my my passport back without a problem. Mario then asks the customs officer for help on how to get through customs. We get through in less than twenty minutes without bribing anyone. The customs officers are nice and helpful, and even the mean hustler politely backs off and wishes us a good journey. I guess my preception of Africa is a bit off.