Asilah, Morocco: A Not-So-Quiet Escape

 Well, it finally happened. That’s right, this guy left Tangier and ventured out into the big world of Morocco. Did I go south to Marrakesh? No way, I would be way overstimulated, and I didn’t venture to the mountains of Fez. No, it was far easier to escape to the magic of Asilah.

Wait, you haven’t heard of Asilah? Neither had I, but my coworkers raved about the place and how beautiful it was, a much quieter place of refuge from the busyness of Tangier. We had a holiday in between in-service, and I took the plunge and agreed to the overnight trip.


​Getting There

Let me tell you a few tips for those traveling to this city. To get to Asilah, you can do a couple of things: take the train, or get a taxi, unless you plan to drive it yourself. It’s about forty-five minutes away, whichever route you take.

In our case, we had train tickets. We even went to the train station and got through the crack ticket checkers who waved us on to our train. Lo and behold, we got on that monster, not as lovely as the Al Boraq and that’s when the fun started.

Train Troubles

We waited for what felt like an hour for this old timer to get her bags in order. After building a sandcastle out of bags, she pushed into me as an exclamatory mark, because it was far easier to do that than to motion for me to take a step back, unaware I was standing in front of her seat. Who cares if there was a line in both directions? I digress . . .

We continued to walk to our seats, and I spotted the seat numbers like any responsible passenger. ​ A young family was sitting in our seats. Calmly, we showed them our tickets to prove that we would be riding in that very spot.

​Do you know what happened? Yes, a major traveling blunder. Honestly, it happens to the best of us. We booked the wrong week for the train tickets.

Retreating as fast as we could, we departed the train. We could have hopped on and just played stupid and dealt with a conductor mid-route, but honestly, it wasn’t worth the effort. Truly, I wasn’t even miffed about the mix-up; I was annoyed that the security detail waved us through after looking at our tickets. Shouldn’t you know what the date is? :)

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Taxi Tango

Then the decision had to be made: do we wait for the next train, which was three hours later, or find another means to get there? As savvy travelers, the following line item was taxis. Now, let me share that I have no issue using the Grand Taxi. In fact, I go out of my way to use them in the city. I don’t mind paying the price because they are licensed. You getting my drift here?

But you know we want to be like the locals and use those Uber-like apps that aren’t Uber or Bolt. Oh, what I would do for either one of those here in Morocco. Anyway, I digress. Instead, Careem and inDrive are ride-sharing services that are a legal entity, yet not fully, considering that they are often criticized by city taxi drivers when they are spotted on their routes. How many times did I have to pay my driver at the turn to the airport as opposed to getting out of the car at the airport? Every single trip last year when I used their services.

Case in point, our alternative driver didn’t want to pick us up in front of the train station. That would be too obvious and blatant. We decided to go across the street towards the McDonald’s. I spotted him five minutes later when he slowed down and then continued driving because a taxi driver was behind him. Again, you can’t be “caught” picking up people or something of the sort.

We had to walk another few minutes down the road and wait for our driver to do a magical loop until he felt safe to pick us up. Now, because this isn’t really Uber or Bolt, you are supposed to sit in the front passenger seat with your new buddy. Sometimes, you actually introduce yourself to the driver to get his name and vice versa. This isn’t for pleasantries; it's so that if you get pulled over by the police, you know this is your friend, not your driver. It’s all ridiculous if you ask me. Honestly, it's also not worth the headache for the potential price savings, which isn’t that dramatic for tourists or expats.

Back to the trip to Asilah ― I was car sick within minutes. Our driver decided he knew the back roads, or he simply wanted to avoid certain entities, and took us on a convoluted route through the back side of the city, over every pothole and speed bump that Tangier had to offer. Let’s not forget the section where the road was in good shape, and it was time to race up a hill to pass a tractor-trailer. My stomach gets queasy thinking about this route just to come out near the airport and swing a left onto the main road.

We could have taken the more scenic route at the circle, which I recommend if you have a choice. Seeing the ocean and the hues of the water is really worth the detour, and perhaps a more direct route (I would opt for the latter), but our driver took us on the highway for that unique experience.

Hey, at least I saw a few camels roaming the fields and a couple of horses. The drive was certainly more user-friendly than the train, even if I felt like I was going to throw up by the end. I say that because the train doesn’t take you to the center of Asilah. You still are going to have a good fifteen minute walk, maybe twenty, depending on your speed, on a road that has some seriously overgrown bushes, some questionable drivers, and a short adventure across what used to be a pedestrian bridge but now has barriers in place for you to navigate on your way towards the boardwalk. Let's hear three cheers for Google Maps and this amazing route. No really, what a way to walk.

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First Impressions

Regarding the personal driver experience, we were dropped off directly in front of their kasbah, which was very convenient. You are immediately thrown into the thick of things, including the many random or not-so-random men who are standing roadside waving keys in your direction.

I know, I know, I thought the same thing. What are you doing with those keys? No, I’m not interested. But slow down, ignorant travelers, these entrepreneurs are simply showing you they have rooms for the night, and that special room is yours for a price. I don’t know anyone who has taken up the offer, but you can’t miss these gentlemen coming in off the toll road down to the city center.

So, if you haven’t booked a room and want to do things authentically, with a bit of an adventurous side, this might be your lucky day.

We were more proactive and booked an apartment for the night in the middle of the medina, thinking the charm of the area would provide the respite we both so desperately needed. Two giant flags struck me within moments of our arrival outside the old kasbah gate. One, why is the Portuguese style so different? Truly, the tower has a distinct energy, and you can see that for yourself if you visit and compare it to similar gates and towers around Morocco. The other flag, a redder one of sorts, and not the Moroccan kind, was the fact that our host for the evening sent their daughter to meet us. There were multiple phone exchanges, but then, when the time came, we were led by this young woman to our home for the evening.

That seemed odd to me. The next part confirmed the oddity as we turned left into an inner courtyard, or more like a bloody tunnel, with an attached courtyard, where people were busy cooking and preparing a large meal. Our hostess was quick to point out that those people were getting ready for a wedding. Oh, there’s a bigger and brighter flag, if you ask me. I was prepared to reconsider where we were staying, but then again, this one-bedroom apartment with air conditioning was nestled right on this street directly in the center, offering a multitude of shops that provided charm and the ambiance many seek out when visiting Morocco.

The Wedding Crashers

My friend reassured me that this was a quiet area. Now let me tell you a few things, it was clear to me that the wedding preparations were suspect. Like, why were they preparing food right in that kitchen, outside our apartment door, and the bedroom window? Hmm, it doesn’t take a competent person to realize that was the bride’s family. Now our hostess and her mother reassured us, “No, the wedding isn’t here. It’s nearby, but not right here.” She even pointed at the apartment. With an innocent smile that only irked me more as the evening played out, she added a simple, “The party will be done by midnight.”

I don’t know why we didn’t just scream out loud, “That’s a bunch of bull.”

You can complete the word for posterity's sake. Honestly, when I moved here last year, nightly you would hear the wedding car line up at all hours of the early morning as they drove through Tangier in some glorified 1950s promenade drive, but with everyone hanging out the window and horns blaring incessantly with a blatant disregard for people who are trying to sleep. Then again, maybe it's just me and the fact I like sleeping in the early morning hours. I could be complaining about nothing. 

That’s the wedding model, the after party. Meanwhile, in the city streets, if they haven’t taken to their cars yet, they have bands, and this procession meanders and plays for hours on end, celebrating this pairing. This is the Moroccan reality. Some people love it, and well then there’s me. Let me stress there’s a reason I have an apartment with double-pane windows.

Before we took to the streets of the medina and later to the beach, another flag reared its ugly head. The bedroom window was not only open, even with the shutters closed, the slits were wide enough for not only a rat or two to visit us, but anyone from the corridor or from the wedding party could look in. The glorified drapes were sheer, which was nice for decoration's sake, but not enough for privacy.

We both noticed this before our afternoon excursion. Now, don’t get me wrong, Asilah is quite the charmer; you’ll see that in my vlog. However, let me tell you this: for a quiet city on the shoreline, the serenity we experienced lasted only for an hour or two after exploring the narrow streets and murals. What we planned to be a peaceful evening wasn’t anywhere close to that state.

If it hadn’t been for a House Hunters marathon, I wouldn’t have been able to overlook the initial line of people coming in and out of the place next to ours. Our tunnel seemed like a thoroughfare. Dare I tell you about the mariachi like band or whatever local monstrosity, I mean, wonderfully talented boisterous players who decided to warm up outside the apartment door? They showed up around 8 pm and serenaded the bride and us for far too long until they marched down the alley and two minutes away to where the tent had been placed.

I wasn’t prepared for that, let alone any of the music that showed up for the next few hours. At some point, bedtime beckoned, but it was for naught. The window became a peep show for the family of the bride to be, and any potential sleep that was on the table quickly disappeared from singing, screeching, and the return of the band because they wanted to make sure we were still up well past 12:30 in the morning.

I can’t even share clearly what happened next, save that I woke up with a hangover-type headache, and I didn’t even have anything to drink. Now I know what it’s like to have a band outside your window, and trust me, it’s far worse than any John Cusack scenes holding his boombox in the early morning hours with Peter Gabriel belting out his catchy ballad. I would take hours of that song over the boom of the drums, horns, and whatever that woman kept screaming from her lungs.

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Was It Worth It?

As for Asilah, I imagine it’s a great place to visit when you’re not caught up in this unique experience. Then again, the evening negated the entire adventure, and when we tried to catch our train to escape back to Tangier, the blasted locomotive was delayed for over an hour. Exhausted and beyond stimulated, we paid the thirty-five dollars for the Grand Taxi to take us back to our homes and be done with this holiday excursion.
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Maybe you’ll have better luck on your trip. If you do, let me know because I want to believe there is a quiet place in Morocco worth seeing, a proper seaside escape, but I haven’t found it yet. Then again, maybe Asilah is the cure for all travel woes. This was just an ugly wart. As long as I go back with noise-canceling headphones, get one of those rooms from the man on the street, and drink copious amounts of adult beverages, I should be good to go .  Onto the next trip, my fellow travelers . . .