Railroad to Morocco
It all began with those intrepid travellers Jim and Fiona announcing that they had booked a rail holiday to Morocco, and would anyone else like to come too? After a careful scrutiny of the brochure, consulting of calendars and maps, shaking of piggy banks, etc. the 'anyone else' soon coalesced into no less than six others willing to forsake a little British springtime for the Mediterranean variety. A big attraction of the tour, apart from the modest price (and the illustrious company) was the use of trains to get all the way from London to Marrakesh. The only concession to other forms of travel was use of a ship to get from Spain to Morocco. One could have hoped for a train ferry, but perhaps that was asking too much.
To get the trip off to a timely start Richard, Marilyn, Tony and Derek went down to London the day before. Departure from Liverpool was in the normal first-class style to which we are gradually becoming accustomed to. However we did cast curious, if not envious, glances across the platform, where carriages from the Northern Bell Pullman were drawn up. Had we been upgraded without our knowledge? Unfortunately not, but at least Virgin Trains ensured we travelled with reasonable comfort and punctuality. Jim and Fiona were already in the capital, visiting their daughter. We all met up for dinner at a Nepalese restaurant near Euston station, and then retired for the night at the adjacent Premier Inn.
Next day we had some time to kill so a little culture was absorbed at the nearby British Library and/or Museum. Early afternoon saw us at the Eurostar terminal at Waterloo, where we met up with Euan and Phyllis, thirty or so other tour members and our Rumanian-born, Yorkshire-residing, multi-lingual tour manager. As we progressed eastwards the weather got colder and snowier, with the French countryside looking distinctly wintry. Later we heard that the Eurostar had been disrupted the following day by the wrong type of ice on the catenary, so we had a narrow escape. Paris was also cold and grey, and only briefly viewed from the comparative warmth of a coach taking us from one station to another. Apart from Fiona’s woolly parka it seemed the only object with colour was a Parisian fire appliance, complete with blue flashing lights.
Train no.2 was a Spanish sleeper, taking us overnight over the border to Madrid. Compared to its British cousins, its wider gauge gave more room for sleeping, eating and general socialising, all three of which we did with some enthusiasm. At the national boundary there was no nonsense about customs or passport checks, just a smooth gauge-change operation and we were on our way again. We progressed equally smoothly through green sunlit countryside and by mid-morning we were in the Spanish capital, also a little cool but promising warmer climes ahead.
After check-in at a city-centre hotel we had the obligatory coach tour of the town, which turned out to be both instructive and interesting. The Hapsburg architects had clearly been given a brief to impress with the municipal buildings, no nonsense about economy with the public purse. Gardens and sculptures also looked to have been high on the procurement list. Some of the more modern skyscrapers looked impressive too.
Next day was a freebie, and we decided to broaden our cultural experience with a trip to Toledo, famous for its cathedral, its association with Don Quixote and the production of bladed weapons. It was accessible by high-speed rail, with the 40-odd miles covered within half an hour. To while away a couple of hours before departure we elected to visit the Reina Sofia museum, home of the Picasso’s Guernica painting, as well as numerous other more cheerful works. We were unsuccessful in negotiating discounts on the admission fees due to being old, foreign or students, but the museum was probably worth the full charge anyway. Back at the impressive central station, complete with its tropical garden, we were shepherded through an elaborate security system, complete with luggage X-ray equipment, and onto a train that clearly had not served as a role model when determining the space-to-passenger ratio for Pendolinos and Voyagers.
Toledo station was also impressive, what it lacked in greenery it more than made up for with naves, stained-glass windows and ornate decoration. In the Neo-Mudejar style, apparently. We walked up to the central square, passing the chance to commute by a rather toy-like road-train, and then split into two groups to better assimilate the architecture and culture. After lunch in a small restaurante-pension we wandered downhill again to the station for the train back to Madrid, this time with some less rigorous security.
After our day off we were back on the road again, or more accurately back to the same station again to take the early train to Algeciras, on the southern coast of Spain and our departure point for a new continent. The journey took six hours, which passed in a fair degree of comfort through a variety of scenery that suggested the summers were a touch warmer and drier than the average Merseyside offering. At the station we transferred to a coach for the half-hour drive around the coast to Tarifa, the southernmost point of Spain. There we had the best part of three hours spare, most of which we spent in a small downtown cafe, to the amusement of the locals and the profit of the proprietor. The rest of the time we strolled around a town less scruffy than ports tend to be, with palm trees and a gentle sea breeze many degrees milder than currently being experienced back home.
The ferry was a fairly modern vessel with catamaran tendencies, driven by a captain who clearly had done the trip a fair few times before. We boldly headed due south before veering west to navigate the approaches to Tangier, a different port in a different country, our third in four days. This was only a brief overnight stop and we saw only a little of the town through the windows of another coach, before arriving at a hotel which had clearly seen better days. However its current days were still of interest, with the cons if not particular mod at least adequate, and with a staff who seemed glad to see us in a season which was probably not Tangier’s peak.
After a comfortable night and a decent breakfast we embarked on another train journey, this time to Rabat, to quote the brochure ‘a French-inspired town with tree-lined boulevards, cafes and bistros.’ Also the capital of Morocco. The electric train was surprisingly modern, clean and efficient, evidence of significant investment by the state-owned ONCF. The main stations were also remarkably new-looking. The town itself was a mixture of old architecture (including the Hassan Tower and the mausoleum of Mohammed V) and new offices, shopping centres and hotels. Our hotel was both fairly central and fairly modern, with better facilities and food than the one in Madrid, but less characterful than the one in Tangier. The other modern facility was the tram system, and after the initial city tour we determined to travel at least a short distance on a tram. And so we did, in two trams in fact, one out and one back. Very civilised.
Next day was a coach trip to Casablanca. it sounded exotic and colourful, in reality large parts of the town were industrial and scruffy, ameliorated to some extent by smarter suburban areas. The cafe on the seafront wasn’t bad either. Rick’s Bar existed but only as a modern substitute for the real thing. We contented ourselves with an external photo. We toured the Hassan II mosque, a large, modern and impressive building, constructed by public subscription. Its features included the world’s tallest minaret, space for 25,000 inside and a retractable roof. The highlight of the trip was a guided walk around the medina, the old quarter full of narrow passageways, decorated buildings and a central square with orange trees.
To be continued, eventually...