For me, the prospect of visiting a whole new country has always triggered the same emotions. The country may change, yet the feelings are replicated faultlessly – and each time with the same, burning intensity. Morocco would prove to be no exception.

With our ferry journey across the straits of gibraltar came the same fervid excitement; a combination of eagerness and anticipation laced with the same old first day nerves. Certainly common feelings for all but the most world weary among us, yet I hope they never abandon me. So important are these sensations, I hold them in equal high regard as those waking me, in the early hours, when in need of an ‘old man’s piss’, and those alerting me to the fact that, yet again, I happen to be harbouring a large chunk of banana pancake in my stubble. I say this because - and let’s be honest here - no-one likes a messy eater.

As we neared the coast of Africa I thought about all that may be in store during this next chapter of my life. I conjured up images of sweet mint tea and steaming tagines, of goats in trees and sacks of spices, I thought of opulent, Imperial Cities and formidable desert strongholds capable of repelling even the fiercest of marauders. But as we reached the dockside in the Port of Tangier I began to focus on more immediate issues, those of the present day marauding masses – of an impenetrable sea of pushy touts and crafty hustlers that patiently awaited our arrival in Tangier.

We disembarked, preparing as we did so to run the inevitable Gauntlet. I had hoped the fresh air would once again sharpen my senses somewhat dulled by some first class Andalusian beer imbibed on the trip across from Spain. Worryingly, Lauren hadn’t noticed that I was any more torpid or unimaginative than usual. So, how can one avoid hassle upon disembarkation in Tangier? Well, all you need do is time your arrival for around 4 pm on a Tuesday. It’s as simple as that.I can only assume that, at this particular time, all the touts are either having a late lunch of fried baby’s brains (or whatever it is that ravenous pack animals devour) or have knocked off early to give motivational speeches to attendees of the annual Tangier Estate Agent’s Conference. I say this as, to our delight, the late afternoon welcoming committee only consisted of around 3 to 4 guys. And, most pleasing of all, without exception they were friendly, laid back, and clearly just out to turn a coin or two from the passing trade.

Our aimless wandering soon drew their attention, it seems as though we had highlighted ourselves as foreigners in need. Almost instantaneously we had made 3 or 4 new friends. Throughout the transit to the port gates the perpetual, rolling attack from our newfound buddies continued. Our potential guides took it in turns attempting to work their magic on the move, as one peeled away, another would take up position beside us and deliver his patter. Each time a new proposition occurred – be it good hotel, good restaurant, or good whatever - we had to respectfully decline, as, for today, Tangier was but a waypoint and not our ultimate destination. With this established, the exchange began to take on the form of a game, but instead of a match with two fixed halves, or a bout of consecutive rounds, this encounter would only last as long as it took to advance to the edge of their playing field. No rules as such, just a finite distance to seal the deal or lose us forever.

Despite this string of exchanges being no more than a lively diversion for us, it was a living, a profession like any other, for these guys – and for that I accept their persistence. But soon enough, in fact as soon as we had begun to get into the swing of it, the game drew to a close. As we neared the port gates it seemed as though a switch had been flicked, and the last remaining guide turned and ventured back to the dockside, but not before wishing us luck, and blessing our stay in Morocco.

The nature of this first encounter had left us pleasantly bewildered and, thankfully, had dispelled many of our negative preconceptions borne from both first and second hand accounts. We had been astonished by just how few touts there were, and even more so by their amicable, relaxed approach. We could not have wished for a finer start to our Moroccan adventure.

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