The bus line in Sebta goes right to the Moroccan Border / Frontiere on the banks of the Gilbratar Strait. I could only admire the scenic view for a moment, because I was concentrating on the next step of our journey: crossing the border.
When the bus stopped, we unloaded with our luggage and followed the crowd on foot towards the border. We walked with no problem through the Spanish side, and wove through the crowds of touts hanging around the border crossing. Passport control was a little slitted window in a trailer. Nervously, we fill out a basic form, and handed over our passports for inspection and stamping. Once cleared we followed a maze of paths marked by cinderblocks, with sketchy men atevery turn. Clutching our belongings -- and happy to be crossing the border in broad day light -- we went through one more passport control chec...and, at last, we were officially in Morocco!
(That is me in the corner of the picture with my green backpack)
A sea of rickety yellow taxis and men awaited us, each one very interested in driving four young foreign women. Negotiating for a taxi was difficult with our very basic French. Our Sudanese Arabic was not much help and they used quick speaking French, a Moroccan Arabic and local Berber tongues that we could not understand. But after some minor hassle we were safely in a taxi and on through the tall green mountains to Tangier, Morocco to catch the noon time train to Fez.
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