I'm not really sure how Stephanie and I settled on Morocco as a honeymoon destination.
Our only real requirements were some place neither of us had been to with decent weather in late November. Monsoon season in the Pacific and the pain of getting to someplace like Bali made it unappealing, and neither or us was too hot on South America. We also wanted to be far away and with limited contact.
Morocco really fit the bill. We left the day after the wedding, via Madrid, arriving in Tangier.
We had 17 days and the idea was to travel Morocco north to south. From the taxi ride in to town, I knew I'd like Tangier. It had that perfect juxtaposition of modernity and tradition ... headscarves and bluejeans, calls to prayer and pop music blasted from cell phones, and incredible old city with rusty satellite dishes littering the skyline. Old meet new.
I tell people now, we spent three days in Tangier and were rarely if ever not lost. I've never seen a city that was such a literal maze, forget street signs there were not even landmarks. I think it took us two days to get find our hotel without paying a kid. We were lost, the good kind of lost, in an interesting city just past the reaches of the cruise ship day trippers.
Somehow I'd forgotten a razor.
It occurred to me I could stop by one of the countless barber shops and get an old fashioned shave, they had signs up advertising the service in window paint. After sloshing through the blood stained floor of the meat market, a missed but ominous sign, we dropped in on a local barber.
I chewed the fat with the 20-something barbers in French for a few minutes before I sat down in the chair and Stephanie buried her face in a magazine.
What I assumed would be an actual straight razor (and was going to demand had been properly cleaned), was to my surprise just a holder for two disposable blades. To me, they looked like what you'd buy at a Home Depot for household or construction use. My man pulled the blades out of their paper packaging and slapped them in.
On-y-va.
I had a little of the hot towel treatment, and a lot of cool cream, before he started. It was pretty uncomfortable, normal for not having a shave in a few days. Not too long in I knew I was getting nicked but didn't think too much of it. It hurt but he didn't hit a jugular or anything. He went on and on, eventually grabbing a towel or something wipe me off. Just when I thought I was in the clear, I noticed him grabbing a bottle of greenish liquid which he proceeded to slap on my face.
I was officially on fire.
Not wanting to look like a total wuss but pretty much writhing in pain, I paid up and we quickly fled. In the light of the street, Stephanie laughed that I was bleeding pretty good. I found a darkened window to look myself over in and sure enough I had a dozen or so little but productive bleeders.
Of course we had to walk up a massive hill, and then in circles for half an hour trying to figure out the way to the riad we were staying at. Upon arrival, I was finally able to wash the alcohol off and tend to my small but painful wounds.
Stephanie and I still joke about us meandering through the medina while I bled from a million tiny cuts.
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