Mapless Wanders: Finding the Kasbah

With a new lease on energy, I set out to explore the ancient medina and Kasbah of Tangier. Once a hub of writers, artists, and cultural exchange, the narrow streets form a maze climbing the hill, surrounded by centuries-old city walls. I started on what you might call a main street, but it’s hard to tell—tightly packed buildings block GPS, so the map is basically useless. This expedition is going off-map—just a wander with no plan but to take it all in.

All I know about this place is that it’s been around for a long time. Phoenicians, Romans, Arabs, Portuguese, and now Moroccan influences have all left their mark on this maze. It was built for trade and defense, the walls protecting a city that’s always been busy with life. Trading is still alive and well, though I’m not sure the *I ❤️ Tangier* t-shirts were flying off stalls in Roman times.

Touristy junk aside, there’s still some more authentic stuff for sale—rugs, bright-colored clothes, shops overflowing with fabrics and hand-painted ceramics. I was expecting more of a hard sell, but maybe I don’t look like a rug-and-silk buyer today. With no one hustling me, I take in the views, noticing how each side alley branches off into another, all of them tightly packed with goods and stories.

Perched at the top of the medina is the Kasbah—a historic fortified palace. I figured I’d aim for it, and with GPS still useless, my strategy was simple: go uphill at every turn. My stunning display of geographical intuition pays off, and soon I’m walking through what would once have been a locked gate and into the Kasbah.

It seems Tuesdays are a day of closures, but I do find a small gallery open inside the old fort walls. It leads out to a deck—not a lido deck, but home to a massive cannon still pointing out to sea, ready to defend the palace from imagined fleets. The sea breeze is refreshing and dries some of the sweat I’ve collected on the walk up. Did I mention it’s 80% humidity today?

Inside the gallery are some beautiful paintings housed in a small room above the deck. They stare out through timber-lined windows across the sea, like they’re still guarding the fort. Outside, there’s a horse sculpture that seems to come to life as I pass—maybe it’s making its escape with me too?

Having reached the top, I decide not to push my luck on energy levels and begin a leisurely descent back toward the hotel. That is, until I stumble on a café Lonely Planet recommended for its rooftop terrace and mint tea. Google Maps says it’s closed—but it isn’t. I find the entrance down a tiny alley, step through the kitchen, and climb a narrow staircase to a terrace above the city.

While the tagine the woman next to me ordered smells incredible, I instead opt for a virgin mojito and an orange blossom crêpe—a nod to the French influence in Morocco, where French and Arabic are both commonly spoken. Le Salon Bleu’s rooftop terrace looks out over the medina walls and across the sea. The breeze and the fresh mint in my mojito are perfect for a day like this. The local cats seem unimpressed by my crêpe and more interested in my neighbour’s chicken tagine. She tries gently to shoo them away with her book. I go for a more direct approach and pick one up to set it back on the ground.

Suitably refreshed and replenished, I continue downhill toward the hotel. The opposite of my uphill plan: at every intersection, I turn downhill. It mostly works, although occasionally I’m forced uphill again. I stop to photograph some rugs hanging above a window and am greeted by the maker’s son, who proudly tells me they’re handmade by his mum. A lovely moment, but a rug purchase isn’t in today’s plans. I can’t help but wonder how many rugs get sold—“Yes, I’ll take one family-sized rug to go, please.” Good luck fitting that into Ryanair’s cabin baggage limits.

As I make my own way out of the medina, two boys approach and start chatting in a blur of Arabic, French, and a bit of English. Each sentence is a mix of all three, so it’s hard to follow. They offer unsolicited directions—“Kasbah… no Kasbah”—and seem keen for me to follow them. I politely decline. One, because they’re taking me back the way I just came, and two, because following small children through side alleys makes me feel deeply uncomfortable.

A few more successful downhill turns and I’m finally through one of the medina’s old gates and back on the road that hugs the port and beach. Living here must come with an amazing sense of direction—it’s like a permanent life inside a maze. Compared to the Alcazaba in Málaga, this medina is on a whole different level. Any would-be invader would need a very clued-in guide to make it through. Pleased with myself for getting out and exploring today, I walk slowly along the waterfront and head back to the hotel, enjoying the cooling breeze from my open window.Lue lisää