Morocco: No Uruguayans Allowed

Okay, obviously not the best photo of either of us. But, whatever. We're on the ferry, headed for Morocco. Oh, excitement!
Unfortunately, Bruno isn't allowed to leave the ship. He's resident alien, you see, and has a Uruguayan passport. Apparently, he needs a visa to enter Morocco, which he doesn't have, so I'm on my own. Bruno spends the day on the ferry. He's the only one on, and the crew asks him if he's okay. Yes, he says, he just isn't allowed to exit the boat. Fortunately, he gets a refund on his ferry ticket (70 Euro or so) because really, they should have told him that in Spain when they checked his passport.
So, I'm on my own. I catch a cab into the city, and immediately the driver says that for a mere 40 Euros, he'll give me a three hour tour of the city. No thanks. I want to walk around on my own, and not waste money. Naturally, he pushes. Naturally, I say no. Finally, he drops me off near the medina, but just as the cab stops, a guy comes up to it (one of the driver's cronies, no doubt) and offers to give me a walking tour of the medina, for a price, of course. NO! Goddamn you pushy people. I said no! In real life, I was polite, but that's what was going on in my head. Anyway, I take off on foot, and notice that the walking tour guy is following me. He approaches me again with the say offer. I say no again, and am very irritated. I continue walking. I notice he's still following me. This makes me VERY angry. I James Bond a bit, turning corners, doubling back, and finally lose him. But I just don't feel comfortable walking around by myself. All the interesting cafes, etc. are inhabited solely by men. I thought Morocco was colonized by the French. What is going on here?
Finally, I find a tour group, and in spite of not having the de riguer sticker on my shirt, pretend I'm one of them. It appears to be the only way to walk around without feeling strange and vaguely threatened. Normally, I am against tour groups, but desperate times call for desperate measures, right? No one blinks an eye.
So here's Morocco:






Public oven. I thought that was interesting.


Requisite snake charming for the tourists. My friend Alex says that Cobras aren't native to this particular location; if that's true then this is definitely a tourist trap.



Yep. The expression on my face is exactly right. I was kind of stressed.
















Finally, I head back to the port where I discover I have literally just missed the ferry. So I have two hours to wait for the next one, and end up befriending a Norwegian family. They were nice, I appreciated their chatter.
Waiting in line at the port to embark the ferry, I spy this hilariously-named truck, and, forgetting that photos at the port are verboten, snap a photo of it. I could have gotten in big trouble. Soldiers in fatigues armed with rifles walk around on the walls surrounding the port, looking out for trouble. Fortunately, no one noticed my photography endeavor.
Finally, I head back to Tarifa, Spain. Ah, Spain, how I love thee. I think I would have had a much better time in Morocco had Bruno been able to accompany me, you know, exploring without fear, but it was not meant to be. While it's nice to be able to say that I've been to Africa now, I think I might have had a better time if I had stayed in Spain with Bruno and gone to the beach. C'est la vie.