Don't read if you worry (now with text!!!)

There is no greater shock to the system then spending a day in Tangiers just off the ferry from Europe.

(forgive me if this is terse but I already wrote it once and it didn't get saved)

Immediately out of customs I was bombarded by three people before I could walk the twenty feet to the exit. Each of which pointing out large signs such as the CHANGE sign and telling me that I can get change there. They were easy to shake off. Outside is a host of hotel hustlers trying to get you into a taxi with them, but they left when I said I had reservations, which I didn't. After that is the taxi area where they cut you off and offer the cheapest ride to the bus station or train station a few miles outside of town. After refusing the offer you notice two hustlers have positioned themselves on both sides of the cab, allowing you to choose who you wih to deal with. These ones tend to hang on a bit longer and once you've turned down offers they ask personal questions. First where are you from, then either your name, if it's your first time, what are your plans. Although they dont realize the questions are a bit intrusive, the real reason is to give you a question that can't be answered no. Further declinations of help fall unheard and are followed with other pointless questions, but with a persistant vagueness and redeclaration of independence they leave you alone. By the time I reached the port entrance all the hustlers had gone back to try again. The port is guarded heavily by the police and is quite a comfortable place to be.

Shortly thereafter is an area with the serious huslters, poised just far enough away for you to let your guard down. I rudely dismissed one of them, explaining that I could help myself, had been here before, and if I needed help I knew where to find him. After about a minute of repeating this and refusing to answer any question even with a vague response he started to accuse me of being a jew. This was followed by a few english curses and a long string of arabic profanities, the only thing recognizable being the gestures of a big nose and the word Israel. A few dirty looks from passers-by had my heart pounding and my paranoia peeking. I scrambled for a less public area across the street near the beach. While crossing the street I was picked up by a hustler a few years younger than me. I politely said very little and never appeared at all interested in him or the city. I saw what I thought was the road to the hostel but I couldn't see any sign so I continued down the beach-side drag. That mistake would end of haunting me, but when I think back the street was extremely uninviting. I was sick of the hustler and my nerves shot so I went to go sit on the beach and cry. I told him I wanted to sit and read alone, but he claimed not to understand despite my reiteration in french and english. He eventually left, exchanging words with the next hustler to come by and join me. He was older and sat on the beach for a while with much fewer questions. I had given up on any thought of not paying off a hustler so I figured this one was easier to tolerate so I let him hang around, not that I had any choice. We headed to the hostel, which was closed and unmarked. The guide said it wouldn't be open for another three hours. The hustler decided to wait with me. I offered to pay him for his time but he declined and chose to wait. I figured to make the time useful I'd pay him to teach me some arabic. It took a while for him to understand my request, but after he acknowledged with understanding he didn't offer any lessons. A few more attempts to have him translate and he found one excuse after the next. Eventually we were kicked out of the hallway and I went to the next hotel and found a room - the hustler waited. He insisted on a tour and we negotiated one or two dollars, whatever I thought was fair. The itinerary was a tour and a shop to by native dress in the hopes to get rid of these damn pests. The tour was extremely lacking in information despite the guides claim to have been born there. The catholic church described as an ancient cathedral looked more 1950's than 1750's. He showed me very little and we entered a shop without any explanation. I was pushed into a side room and offered tea. Before I had any idea what was happening, the one-man shop suddenly had two assistants, not including the hustler, one of whom was blocking the only exit. At this point the merchant started a memorized patter and tossed a pile of rugs at my feet. Although no one was acting antagonistically, I was extremely nervous and used up the presentation to spy my surroundings. My location was not visible from the street, the exit was blocked by someone too big to knock out of the way, and the walls, thick with stacks of carpet could deafen any cries. I took a breath and figured I could buy my way out without any risk. After several demands I was finally shown some native clothes. The price was so outrageous and my attempts to actually purchase one at the outrageous price was subverted by confusing bonus offers. It was clear that the price of the clothes was not enough and I had to buy something else. After half an hour of bargaining we eventually settled on $120, although there were cheaper items he was in no mood to sell them. I paid the gross ticket out and left with a stupid package of manufactured silk and some native dress on. My dreams of a hustler-free existence were ruined when a teenager laughed at an all too typical occurrence, and I felt like more of a target than ever. The hustler practically ran back to the hotel and had the nerve to confirm that I was happy with what I got despite my clearly buldging veins on my forehead. At the hotel he demanded $40. I refused, pointing out he already made that much with his cut at the store. He continued to demand, and I didn't feel safe refusing given the vast network of friends I noticed along the way. I gave him twenty; he offered an escort to the train station; I shoved the money in his hand and told him I never wanted to see him again.

I went hungry that night because I couldn't face the thought of opening the locked door of my hotel room. I spent most of the night reliving the day and conceiving of all the possible permutations. I didn't sleep much.

On the bright side I made through unharmed if not untainted. Is it possible to get through okay, yeah, but experience is about the only weapon. All the reading and all the warnings really can't prepare you to deal with the hustlers once they've pushed you over the edge. I left early the next morning.