Tangier Turmoil: A Caffeinated Freakout
okay, so i dragged my ass into tangier that july morning, basically a zombie with a suitcase full of resentment. the flight had turbulence that felt like god playing pinball with my soul, and now i'm here, sweating through my shirt in this weird limbo between africa and europe. *tangier* smells like salt and regret, honestly. you can feel the history oozing from the walls like cheap cologne. my airbnb host mumbled something about 'strategic positioning' before handing me a key that looked like a fossil.
i just checked and it's currently feeling like 6.6 degrees, which is basically arctic for this region. locals keep side-eyeing my hoodie like i'm wearing a snowsuit. one grumpy cafe owner sneered 'you think this is cold?' while sweating through a tank top. the pressure's at 1027 hpa too, which apparently means the weather gods are holding their breath. whatever. at least my coffee won't get lukewarm instantly.
first thing i did? got lost in the medina. obviously. stumbled into some spice shop where the owner tried to sell me 'magic saffron' that probably tasted like chalk. when i politely declined, he called me a 'suspicious tourist.' whatever, dude. then i found this tiny alley with laundry lines strung between buildings like spiderwebs. someone told me that's where the real tangier lives - in the crevices where tourists don't shine their flashlights.
if you get bored, chefchaouen and tetouan are basically next door. heard they're pretty, but i spent three hours trying to find a decent espresso in tangier. i heard that the best coffee is at this hidden spot called 'le café des artistes,' but when i finally found it, it was closed for 'mysterious reasons.' probably a ghost thing.
someone told me the blue city chefchaouen will change your life. another local swore the cliffside cafe in asilah serves 'coffee that tastes like heaven's tears.' both places sound like Instagram traps. i'm over it. found a hole-in-the-wall where the guy made espresso with such reverence i thought he was performing a sacrament. tasted like burnt tires.
check out tripadvisor's tangier shenanigans if you're into that. or see what yelpers are complaining about now. the lonely planet tangier guide might help you avoid my mistakes. and if you're desperate, morocco forums have people arguing about whether tangier is 'authentic' or not.
the humidity's at 57%, which feels like breathing through a wet sock. i'm pretty sure the ground pressure is crushing my spirit. but hey, at least the sea's nearby for emotional dumping. tomorrow i'm probably just gonna stare at it until the coffee wears off and reality hits.
tangier's this weird mix of 'you'll never leave' and 'why are you still here?' and honestly? i'm vibing with the chaos.