October 2001. On the ferry from Algeciras, Spain approaching the port of Tangier. Hustlers awaited to pounce upon alighting naïfs. After a certain event in September, the stream of tourists had shrunk to a trickle. The jackels were hungry. Walking away from the port, I was intercepted by a few of them. They said there weren't any more buses today. Certainly none to Fez. On the contrary. There were a couple. One leaving in fifteen minutes. And I was on it.
