Yes, it has taken me a long time to update this travel blog! Yes, I am alive! Thanks for asking.
Things have been off to a rocky start--not bad exactly, just not going as planned. My flight was almost an hour late leaving LAX. I thought we would arrive in Madrid on time, but we were pretty late getting there already, and I had not given myself a great deal of times clearing customs and getting to the next terminal for the flight to Malaga. I felt like OJ Simpson running through the airport. OK, I mean the young OJ from the TV commercials when he was cool and trying to launch an acting career, not the old OJ who is still suspected of killing his wife and whose name conjours up images of bloody gloves and televised police chases. I'm definitely not that guy. It did occur to me that my bags might not be running with young OJ-esc speed.
Yes, I did get on the flight to Malaga. No, my bags didn't.
So, while my parents were biting their nails outside of security wondering if I was actually coming, I was standing in line listening to a whiny Brit lament that he had actually scheduled a flight with one connection and how his holiday was officially ruined. I know, and I tried to keep my mouth shut, but seriously, can you say British Melodrama? I kindly suggested that he consider this a minor set-back and not the end of life on this planet as we know it. He comment, "My, you are very philosophical about all of this." I'm not sure, but I think that's what passes for an insult in London these days.
When I exited security, my dad told me he knew I was a light packer, but did I really fit everything in my little green day-pack. OK, the humorous point of that was that their bags had also missed a connection and were an ocean away. Mine were merely in another city in the same country. You can imagine which of us ended up shopping for clean underware.
For the next 24 hours, we found ourselves running back and forth from our hotel overlooking the water in Malaga to the airport to get our bags . . . including a few miscues. I got my suitcase late on Sunday night. It was a little cranky, but no worse for the trip. Mom and dad's bags were delivered to our hotel in Tarifa (read, a long way from Malaga) today. So between all the airport runs, late night dinner, and sleeping in until . . . cringe . . . noon on Monday, we are not exactly on schedule. About as much as we managed on Sunday or Monday (beyond the before mentioned underware shopping) was to make the drive to the port city of Tarifa.
It was in Tarifa we awoke at 6 a.m. this morning and from Tarifa we sailed across the Strait of Gibraltar to Tangier. We decided to hire a guide. Our guide loves Morocco and loves to talk about Morocco. We had no gap to work in a question; we simply learned all we ever wanted to know about Tangier. (Funny how she always pointed out the "small" churches and made mention of the "huge" mosques. Oddly enough, they looked about the same size to me, but what do I know.
Everywhere we went people were trying to sell us something . . . as is evidenced by the picture of myself I am including. OK, for future reference, can I suggest that all of you who are hawking your wears find out if someone actually has an interest in what you are selling before you push them to name their best price. I'm just saying.
I definitely loved the time in Tangier. We caught an evening ferry out and found our way back to Spain. After some arroz mariscos and some flan, my parents are already sjoring. Guess I'd better wrap this up. The plan is to head to Gibraltar tomorrow. Blessings to you all.