On the ferry - the boat behind us going elsewhere.

Travel Blog #3

Genoa to Tangiers

We decided long ago when planning our travels to limit the number of flights and to use other means of transport were possible, not to complicate our trip, but rather to increase the opportunities for adventure and romance. Well, the two-and-a-half-day sail across the Mediterranean from Genoa to Tangiers certainly provided adventure, and I defy anyone to say the sun setting on the Med is not romantic, anyway I’m getting ahead of myself.

Saturday 1 March 2025

Having arrived late the evening prior, we wanted to make the most of our morning in Genoa before boarding our ferry later in the day. As we were close to the terminal, it seemed sensible to check-in before heading into the city. Our adventures were only just beginning, we just didn’t know it.

After a nice walk, cornettos and coffees it was time to collect our bags and board our boat. Confidently we queued ahead of the first passport and security check, as expected my gimbal head (see photo) caused some excitement on the x-ray. However, I have been through the conversation a few times now, and this was no different. There was a chuckle between the security guide and me on how suspicious the gimbal looks; indeed, he was impressed with the engineering of the milled aluminium and overall design.

A walk of one and half kilometres to the ferry, with another passport check and the midpoint, we reached a set of stairs (oh, we love stairs with three bags of luggage each) and the bottom was finally the passport control. Like two innocent lambs, we walked up to the entrance to be met by a police officer who asked for our papers, handing over our passports we smiled, ominously he didn’t. “Non, non”, “your papers?” he said. Still smiling, we show him our tickets, “no, your papers, you cannot board without your papers”. No longer smiling, feeling like two country bumpkins, and no doubt looking clueless, we say we don’t have any papers apart from those shown. As the conversation progresses, we learn the ticket office should have given us some papers to complete, the only option was to return to the beginning to collect the “papers”.

So much for being prepared. The thought of dragging all our bags back to the ticket office, I leave Serena with the bags and I make my way back through passport check, security (who ask me where my car is?) and I join the queue at the ticket office. Our boat sails at 4pm and by now it is 2pm, it has taken an hour to get back here. Time starts moving fast, but the line doesn’t. Conversations ahead of me seem to take forever, with no one caring my wife is all alone by the boat with all our bags.

Eventually, my turn arrives. Politely, I explain our situation to the lady at the ticket window. Confused, she takes our tickets, looks at them, and to my horror she tears them up. Saying, “these are nasty tickets”, really? I quite liked them as they had worked so far. The lady continues, “I will print you nice new ones”, lovely, I only wanted the missing papers.

She hands me the new tickets and tells me “I should hurry as I am now late for boarding”, really, (I think – working hard to keep the sarcasm out of my voice), but “I still don’t have the papers, I was told we needed to board the ferry” I tell her. “Excuse me”, she says, “you are travelling by car?”.

I reply, “No, I’m not travelling by car, but I do have my wife at the ferry already with all our bags, unable to board because we don’t have pieces of paper, which you need to give us, please”. I admit to feeling a little desperate at this point.

Then, I could literally see the penny drop, she looks at me and asks, “are you going to Africa?”. I had to fight very hard to keep from saying “no, we just bought tickets to Tangiers for the hell of it”, instead I say, “yes, that’s right we are going to Tangiers”, followed by my best smile. “You will need to complete these forms first” she states, finally handing me my prize. I look at the papers. In my head I’m saying “are these what all the fuss has been about? I could have created these in Word in two minutes and made a better job”. I reality I’m walking quickly back towards security, and passport check number four.

They look at me suspiciously, my face seeming perhaps familiar to them somehow. Forgetting that I had been there just an hour ago with a dodgy looking gimbal head for my prime lens. Strangely, I am asked once again “where is your car?”. I decide the answer Matamata New Zealand, is not going to help me (my paranoia rising I make a mental note to check with my Brother-in-law that our car is ok). I reply, “I am a foot passenger, and I needed to collect these forms” (proudly displaying my rather sad looking prize). They wave me through, and I run/walk 1.5 kilometres to where Serena has been waiting for me. There is relief on her face, it is clear neither of us has enjoyed being apart, and for the first time since leaving Auckland, we both felt vulnerable. However, back together again, we become the invincible team we always are and clear the final passport check easily and board our ferry.

Our cabin is on level seven (this will be important for disembarking), one of three accommodation decks on the boat. It is actually quite spacious (we are able to stow our bags without much issue) and the bed is comfortable. The toilet and shower area is functional but compact, and we realise we would have struggled big time, if we had hired a motorhome for the UK leg of the tour.

The ferry finally leaves at 18:15, 90 minutes late heading for Barcelona. After collecting our room key we purchase internet data and a meal voucher (allows you to buy €100 worth of food for €87.50 the cost of the voucher), we settle down with coffees in the communal area listening to the “Grand Tour” dubbed in Italian (kind of appropriate somehow) and chat the time away until heading to the restaurant for dinner. Understandably, the meal options on the boat are limited, we choose a bottle of wine, with us both selecting the burger with side of vegetables. Simple, eh, what could possibly go wrong?

The wine arrives, it tastes great, we are relaxing now and laughing about the boarding process. I should have known, “too soon, too soon”. The waiter appears at our table with a burger and plate of sliced courgette and aubergine (six pieces in total), he is looking confused, seemly unsure who gets the burger, and vegetables. I point to Serena, ladies first right. Serena, laughing points out the veggies are cold, even though they have been cooked at some point in the past, but encouragingly the burger is tasty. Great, I’m quite hungry, we haven’t eaten since breakfast, and we actually walked quite a distance today.

Eagerly I wait for the waiter to return with my meal, but he is taking food to other tables. Again, the waiter appears this time with a burger, yet again he takes it to someone else. I catch his eye, he comes over and asks, “is there a problem sir?”. Casually, I reply “I’m waiting for my food”, “your food, sir?”, “yes, I ordered a burger and vegetables.”, “let me check sir”. He disappears, coming back about five minutes later, confirming I did order a burger and vegetables – good news, I’m not going mad.

Serena, poor love, is feeling uncomfortable, she hates eating her food while I have nothing, and I reassure her to continue with her meal. Eventually, my dinner arrives sadly without the fanfare I believe it deserves at this point, having been delivered nearly 20 minutes later than Serena’s meal. We do have the last laugh though, when paying for our food on leaving the restaurant, they make the same mistake and charge for only one dinner. Sometimes you must take the slide to benefit on the roundabout.

The journey across the Med is beautiful and calm the morning’s break bright and warm the sea is cobalt blue we spend our time between walks around the ship, going outside to search for dolphins (we fail to see any, but that makes it more special when seeing them next) and games of Uno (modesty forbids me from sharing the score).

Our second evening on-board and we decide that dinner will be two Aperol Spritz’s accompanied with peanuts, paprika crisps (if you have not had these you really are missing out) and pistachios. We just couldn’t face another adventure in the restaurant.

Serena, being the sleuth she is had found an obscure reference to another document we need to complete before disembarking. There was information available on the boat, and the osmosis process might have been working, but only if you were fluent in Spanish, Italian, or Arabic. Unfortunately, being able to ask for coffees, say thank you, please, etc was not helping us here. We head to the information desk, to seek assistance, fortunately there was a member of staff who wanted to help us, as the first person we spoke looked at us as if we where from another planet (I know New Zealand is long way away, but it is still planet earth). Anyway, it turns out we have to go to the ‘theatre’ at 9pm with our documents and wait in line to speak to a police man. Arriving, a little early, we find a stack of forms, taking a couple each (just in case) we complete them deciding the “less is more” approach is best when completing official documents. We are then faced with two separate lines, which one to take the left, or right? The right line seems to be moving, so we join it keeping our fingers crossed we have chosen correctly. Around us are couples from Spain, Germany and France, comfortingly all looking as confused and lost as. Then the whispers, is this the line for foot passengers, or cars?

NO! Our selection was wrong, we are in the queue for cars and must join the back of the queue for foot passengers. Oh well, nothing to do but have a laugh, it is strange how when situations become ridiculous language barriers don’t matter, and we are all chuckling, wishing each other luck as it is our turn to see the Police man.

Serena, and I do our best to look innocent when it is our turn, smiling we hand over all the papers we have gathered since leaving Genoa, keeping our fingers crossed we haven’t missed something. Then the questions, I can’t tell you what we were asked, as to this day don’t know. I do know we said, New Zealand, Genoa, Tangier, no, and yes. I don’t know if we were lucky, he was just tired or simply couldn’t be bothered with the two smiling idiots from the other side of the world, but whatever it was he stamped our passports and told us we could go. Result!

Our last morning on board, we woke full of excitement for the day ahead a new country Morocco awaits us at the end of this sailing. We don’t know what to expect, but we are sure it will be good. The disembarkation process is unclear, but we have both been on ferries before, so we know what to expect right?

A beautiful morning, getting ready for our first day in Morocco

Wrong.

The ferry is due in port at 3pm, and we learn (by another visit to the information desk as the Tanoy announcements are unintelligible) our cabin must be vacated by 1pm. Taking our bags we make our way to the lifts on desk 7, there is no way we are descending all those stairs with our bags. By 1pm, a large crowd is already gathering outside the lifts, and we are content to keep away from the large mass of people. Less chance of a pickpocket or getting jostled. In fact, it gives us time to meet a lovely lady from Switzerland travelling with her dog Mailo (pronounced Milo). Mailo, takes a real shine to Serena, and lays next to where Serena is sitting. We share stories of our dear departed boys Ben & Jerry, shedding a few tears at their memory (they are never far away, we wanted them to come with us and Serena has their tags in her camera bag). Our special time with Mailo, is rudely disrupted by raised voices coming from one of the lifts.

The large crowd of confused passengers do not understand why they cannot start moving down to the lower decks, even though the boat is still moving. However, because the crew is not telling anyone what to do, when the lift doors open those closest to the lift decide to try and get on board. Suddenly raised voices, turn to shouting, moving quickly to screaming between passengers and crew. This shambolic scene continues for several minutes, before some passengers pull the antagonists apart, the lift doors close and calm descends for a while.

With the boat coming to a standstill as we reach the port of Tangiers Med, the anticipation of leaving starts to ripple through the crowd. Except, no one is allowed to leave, 10, 15, 20 minutes pass and still now word. Confusion is spreading and along with the voices increase in volume again. Then from nowhere, a member of crew starts to allow people down the stairs, but there are still a lot of people (too many) waiting for the lifts.

Predictably the lift doors open and there is a lot of pushing and shoving as passengers try to get in. I don’t know about you, but the prospect of being crushed in an elevator does not fill me with excitement so we continue to keep way back. Better to be last off, than hurt in the process. This though becomes a self-fully prophecy as a fight breaks out between some men already in the lift, and those trying to get in. It is horrible to witness, but also ridiculous as punches are not being thrown instead the participants are standing toe-to-toe, eyes closed and slapping each other like children in the playground. Then as quickly as the fighting starts it stops, whether sense prevails, or more likely embarrassment, because they do look very dumb, order is restored.

It takes us about 30 minutes from the fight to finally get into the lift, the funny thing we pass all the people involved in the pushing, shoving and fighting as we make our way out of the boat and through the final passport check. It really pays to wait as we have an almost empty transfer bus to take us to the terminal, and the security area is almost empty. This is great I think, but the travel adventure Gods have one last test for us.

Before the next part it is important to note drones are banned in Morocco, not an issue for Serena, or I as we do not own one. We are carrying a lot of photography equipment for us to capture the sights, and wildlife as we tour around. What I did not understand is Moroccan Security officials look upon any cameras and lenses with immense suspicion. Having scanned my camera back, it was clear they were very interested in its contents. Naively, I assumed they were interested in the batteries a typical area of concern, but no. They wanted to know why I had such lenses, and camera was it my profession? This is professional equipment in the hands of a non-professional their “spider senses” were tingling and unless I could convince them my use of the gear was innocent it would be confiscated from me never to be returned. Then fortune took pity on me, “do you have an Instagram account?” one of the Security team asked me. “Yes”, was my reply and I showed them the images on my page, and with that the mood lightened. “Ooh, they are lovely images” was the response, “thank you” I said, and then words I was longing to hear, “you may proceed”. I just couldn’t help myself, I just had to ask, “as you know my Instagram account, you could follow me, and my images can be purchased from my website”. He smiled, nodded, and then with a look that said get out now while the going is good, we headed into Morocco.

Adventures on the Med

Travel Blog #3

Rob Scotcher Photography