Melilla
Spanish Morocco
I never heard back from the Christians working in Morocco from Melilla. I used most of Sunday to travel from Fez to Nador via train. From there I caught a shared taxi to Beni Ansar, the Moroccan town on the Melilla boundary. The train trip took five and a half hours. The taxi ride wasn’t all that far, but had some minor adventures. I was able to walk from the border to my hostel in Melilla.
My minor issues taking the shared taxi from Nador to Beni Ansar came from Moroccans making racial assumptions. As I always do when taking a taxi that was not arranged via a ride sharing app, I asked the driver how much it would cost for one person to take a seat in the shared taxi to the border. With some minor difficulty, and some help from another driver and one Moroccan passenger who spoke Spanish, I was told that it would cost “85 centime” for each seat. The driver wanted to know if I wanted one seat or two. I was a bit confused. The shared taxi in Nador was just a four door sedan. There were four women smashed across the back three seats already, and there were just two bucket seats in the front. I told him I wanted to pay for one. So he proceeded to wait for another passenger.
I thought he was asking if there were two in my party or one. By and by, the Spanish speaking lady explained to me – as far as I could understand – that the driver was looking for one more passenger, but if I wanted to pay the “85 centime” times two, we could all just go on our way. It was true that grand taxis in Morocco always waited to have six seats sold before departing, but all of the other shared taxis I had seen were minivans. I had no idea where he would put the sixth passenger. I asked the Spanish speaking Moroccan. She told me they would have to ride like my “novita.” Upon clarifying that the second seat would only cost 85 centime, I figured I ought to just shell that out. Moroccan dirhams have centime. That sounded like it would just cost a fraction of a dirham for each seat – about nine cents to be exact.
For clarification, I asked in Spanish, “The extra seat is less than one dirham?” The driver and the ladies in the back nodded vigorously. I reached into my pocket and grabbed two dirhams. The driver shook his head no, and grabbed the appropriate Moroccan coins – sixteen dirhams. Because I was a white guy who didn’t speak Arabic, they just assumed I would have and use Euro currency. They all meant .85 Euros, even though I was paying in dirhams, and clearly asked the price in dirhams. In the end, the extra seat cost me less than a dollar. I suppose it was worth that not to have someone sit in my lap to Beni Anser.
(Continued)
My hostel in Melilla was a bit more expensive that hostels usually are, but I did have a private room. The bathroom was shared. It was nevertheless pleasant to be able to close the door and sleep in private quarters. I explored the area around the hostel, and strolled around looking for something to eat. Most businesses were closed on Sunday. Many others didn’t open until 8:30 for supper. I ended up having to wait for that time. The first couple of restaurants I walked to were closed, even though the hours said they were open. I defaulted to a Chinese place near my room. It wasn’t that great. It was too far to walk to a major grocery store, so I grabbed an ice cream bar from a local shop and called it a night.
Melilla is actually part of Spain. It was conquered around the same time the Spanish drove the Moors from Granada on the Iberian Peninsula. The Spanish still control both Ceuta and Melilla on the North African coast. Because Spain’s presence there dates back to the fifteenth century, there is an old walled city that was once the heart of Melilla. I figured that would be interesting to see. The more modern part of Melilla has a lot of art deco buildings. That didn’t seem all that interesting.
I left my pack in the hostel to go explore the old walled city. It was a striking fortification. There were a couple of small museum areas, but they were closed Mondays. I don’t think they would have told me much about Melilla I didn’t already know, so I wasn’t that disappointed at having missed them. The only unfortunate thing was that I would be back to the hostel a little earlier than the 12:00 check out with some time to kill. I figured I could pass a couple of chain groceries on the way to see which one would have the best options. I would stop off at a grocery on the walk back down to the ferry so as not to have to carry my purchases as far.
On the way to the grocery store, I saw a sign pointing to a “Plaza de Toros.” It was just a couple of hundred meters out of the way. I had to go see what was there. Surely it would be a stately old photogenic stadium of some kind. I had time to at least walk a circuit around it. As I walked around the third side of the building, I noticed an open gate. Maybe I would be able to peek in and see the floor. I walked into the promenade, looking one way and another. A young lady met me there. I thought she was security, there to shoo me out. It turns out, she was a free tour guide. She worked there.
I asked her when the next tour started, wondering if I had time for one. She said she was there to start tours whenever I wanted one. I notified her I would have to leave in about half an hour. She promised to aim the tour for that amount of time.
(Continued)
Nawal had the perfect personality to be a tour guide. She was cheerful and enthusiastic about explaining the function of the bull ring. She didn’t speak much English, so I had her give me the tour in Spanish. She was patient enough to wait for me to reword things into other Spanish words I understood if I had an idea what she meant, but wasn’t certain. Nawal was born in Melilla, but had spent some time working in Germany. She was almost exactly one year older than Kirsten. She explained to me that her name was Arabic, and her family Berber. Nawal means “gift.” She took some photos of me in prominent places around the stadium, and was a genuinely fun person to chat with.
The big festival for the year in Melilla happens on the weekend we Americans celebrate Labor Day. There are lots of activities then, including three days of actual bull fighting, where they really do kill a bull. Bull fighting is becoming more politically sensitive in other parts of Spain, but it seems alive and well in Melilla – at least the first weekend in September. Nawal mentioned to me that it is much cheaper to watch a bull fight in Melilla than other places in Spain.
We saw an “opera box” set aside for distinguished spectators. We went to the arena floor. We saw where the bulls await their corrida. Bulls must be brought in from Sevilla or Granada. She showed me where they enter. There was a special shrine to the Virgen de la Victoria where bull fighters pray for luck and safety. This is the patron saint of Melilla. We saw the mechanisms for allowing the irritated bull safely into the arena. There is even an infirmary for injured bull fighters with hospital equipment right there on site.
This whole tour was a delightful surprise. It was so cool that I tried to offer a gratuity at the end, even though Nawal clearly told me it was part of her job to give the tours. She insisted that the tour was meant to be free, and preferred I just sign something nice in the guest book. I gave her a wholehearted endorsement and left my mark from Texas.
By the time we finished, I had just enough time to go collect my bag before the mandatory hostel checkout. I strolled back to the grocery store for some afternoon snacks, then passed a couple more closed restaurants that were supposed to be open. Finally, I sat down at the first place I found some outside chairs. I had some less than impressive Arroz a la Cubana. This can be a very tasty dish, but at this cafe, it was just white rice with ketchup served with two plain hot dogs and a fried egg on the side. I paid my bill and proceeded to the ferry with time to spare.
