My visits to the cities I’ve described over the past few weeks have been short two- or three-day jaunts, usually tacked onto the end of a business trip. Rarely have I gotten to know a city, although I’ve squeezed as much as I could into very little time in each place. My most compact experience of a city was in Tangier, Morocco: little more than 5 hours from when we disembarked until we re-embarked the ferry.

The full trip—a true odyssey—began with an 8:30 a.m. train from Madrid to Algeciras/Gibraltar, on the edge of the Mediterranean Sea. From the train window, Spanish cityscape quickly turned to Spanish countryside: mountains, orchards, farms, and old crumbling buildings long abandoned. Arriving on time in Algeciras, we dropped our bags at the hotel and headed to the docks for the ferry, which departed nearly two hours late, forcing us to rethink our plans…little sunlight would be left on arrival.

The hour-long ferry ride across the Mediterranean was visually beautiful: the Rock of Gibraltar to the north, Jebel Musa to the south, and the moon was up…adding to the mystique as my two traveling companions and I approached Africa for the first time. We arrived at the docks of Tangier-Med, to realize that we were about 30 miles from the city. Through the border offices, we negotiated a taxi fare into the city and climbed into an old Mercedes cab: no carpets and lots of squeaking parts. The driver navigated the N16—a coast road that wound past new hotels and condos that enjoyed beautiful views of the Mediterranean, the mountains of Spain, and the setting Sun. More abundant were dilapidated houses, ramshackle garages and warehouses, and lines of people carrying loads by the edge of the road. We tried not to be terrified— the driver paid no heed to pedestrians, traffic, signs, nor double yellow lines.

Having abandoned our plans to visit the Medina—it would be closed or closing, we went directly to the Hotel El Minzah, tucked into a busy neighborhood a block from the Medina. The Hotel El Minzah is perfectly Moroccan, the front desk clerks were fawning, the décor exotic and distant, all with a feeling of colonial France overlaid on Moroccan/Berber/Moorish elements. The lobby opens from Moorish arched doorways, and is laid with oriental carpets over marble floors.

We were directed down into the central Andalusian patio—the heart of the hotel—and the Wine Bar, where we waited until the restaurant opened. A very talkative and enthusiastic sommelier opened a bottle of Moroccan wine that we were surprised to enjoy…similar to a merlot, but not so good as the Spanish and French wines that he had steered us away from.

Soon our dinner reservation was ready and we were sprawled at table on low couches, attended by servers in traditional Moroccan uniforms, complete with fezzes. We were entertained by a four-piece Moroccan band and treated to a belly dance: maybe it was no more than their version of Disney-does-Morocco, but the food was good and plentiful, the music was good, and the dancer had a certain Old-World charm.

The return taxi ride to the ferry was more civilized and less dramatic. The driver took us through the edges of the Medina, most of which was closed, except some fruit vendors who, the cab driver explained, stayed open longest to sell their perishable goods. We were satisfied that we’d seen something Moroccan, even though we’d missed the Medina. We’d met and talked with several Moroccans who were proud to tell about their country and city, happy to befriend us tourists. The ferry back to Algeciras was again an hour late, but a moonlit cruise across a misty Mediterranean completed our exotic adventure.