Tarifa and back to extend my visa. 28 hours.
Sleeper going.
Cheap class coming back.
A picture journey through the North of Morocco on a train (and a few from a ferry).
The train just about to leave Marrakech station at 9:0opm.
Waiting.
The sun has gone below the horizon now and clouds are turning a velvety shade of pink. There is a warmth in the air and the scent of cooling tarmac.
I realise, upon entering the loo, that I no longer need to use it.
The train rushes by at 100 kph. The cow doesn’t even notice. He just goes on doing what he always does. He’ll be doing the same tomorrow and the day after and next week and probably next year. The man that puts him in the field each morning will put him in the field again tomorrow and the day after and next week and probably next year. The train passes through time. One day becomes the next. The train rushes by at 100 kph. Just I won’t be there.
Where are they going? What are their names? Are they married? Do they have children? Stick insects. Now you see them, now you don’t.
The sun beats down turning everything to dust. Dry, torrid, fervid earth.
Rolling, rolling, rolling through a scene from another Hollywood film. Nearing Tangier now. On the edge of the Rif mountains.
Youll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
Youll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we walk in the fields of gold
So she took her love
For to gaze awhile
Upon the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down
Among the fields of gold
From Stings ‘Field of Gold’. What else could I say?
2:00am. Casablanca station. The ‘ticket master’.
Economy class seating at knee level.
‘The Marrakech Express’, by Crosby, Stills and Nash. 1969
Looking at the world
Trough the sunset in your eyes
Trying to make the train
To clear Moroccan skies
Bugs and pigs and chickens call
Animal carpet wall to wall
American man is five foot tall and you
Sweeping cobwebs from the edges of my mind
Had to get away to see what we could find
Hope the days that lie ahead
Bring us back to where they’ve led
Listen up to what’s been said to you
Would you know we’re riding
on the Marrakesh Express
Would you know we’re riding
on the Marrakesh Express
All on board that train
I’ve been saving all my money just to take you there
I smell the garden in your hair
Take a train to Casablanca going south
Blowing smoke rings from the corners of my m,m,m,m,mouth
Cold coffins hang in the square
Charming corporals in the square
Don’t you know we’re riding on the Marrakesh Express (X2)
They’re taking me to Marrakesh Express
Don’t you know we’re riding on the Marrakesh Express (X2)
They’re taking me to Marrakesh
All on board that train
The Straits of Gibralter.
Pretty plush on board the 35 minute hop along to Tarifa.
Should I tell her she’s got her dress up her bum?
Leaving Tarifa, back to Tangiers. I walked out of the sortie and straight back in the entrance. 10 minutes on Spanish soil and another 3 months stamp in my passport.
Coming and going all day long. People living and dying. Living by the clock.
If only we could pause the tick tock. For a moment. Just to sit and read the paper and look out the window. See the person passing by and ask them their name, ask how their family is. Wish them a good life. Go inside the building and see what is inside that window. Climb on the roof and have a look at the view. Run around the streets and shout out to everyone, enjoy your day, make it count. and then… get back on the train and start the clock again. Tick tock.
