"...in the Name of Her Majesty all those whom it may concern to allow the bearer to pass freely without let or hindrance..."
The first page of your passport is the most underrated yet the most important page. This weekend...and the rest of the year would have been difficult if the Queen hadn't requested that we be able to travel freely.
Only 6 days remained until our visa ran out so to ensure we could remain in Morocco (even though it would be nice to escape the cold weather) we had to renew our visa. This meant border hopping into one of the two Spanish colonies still present in Morocco. Our destination was Melilia...various spellings will ensue.
We boarded the 3am train and our bodies joined the hundreds of others asleep on seats, the top of the tables and on the floor. Un-phased by the 6am connecting train we arrived at the sleepy boarder town of Nador intact. En-route to the border gates we passed hundreds of cars, filled to the brim, waiting their turn to enter 'Europe'. Guards wandered around looking fairly casual yet there was an agitated air as Moroccans queued in their hundreds to pass through the gate.
Our British passports gave us a shorter queue and far less hassle. Travelling with our friends of Pakistani origin was an eye opener as one of them said 'it was the first time it was easy for him to be British'. The growing crowd in front of the gate to Melilia parted in two as we waved our purple booklets, and the guards didn't even bother to look at our stamps.Once through we just kept walking...and no-one stopped us.
In comparison with our Moroccan friends, who spend months applying for a simple tourist visa, holding a British Passport means one can travel the majority of the world, without hassle. I had completely taken that for granted.
Although Melilia is in Morocco, it is legitimately Spanish. The 200m walk over the border changed not just the language but the religion, food, currency, attitude and time!? Suddenly we were an hour ahead of the guard who had just let us in.
The most liberating change of the whole weekend was the attitude the locals had towards tourists, and particularly girls. Last week I was accosted hugely inappropriately by a young school boy so this change in outlook was very welcome. We took advantage of the more liberal Spanish culture. After a meal where Daisy was insulted and wooed by the same waiter, we went in search of chocolate and cocktails...naturally. Walking along the moonlit sea front at midnight, without cat calls or invisible eyes was wonderful. Even at the boarder the totes on our return into Morocco were more friendly. Unlike the previous morning...none of our passports were snatched out our hands.
Melilia is beautiful, even the weather improved. The old fort at the top of the town looks down onto isolated coves surrounded by Mediterranean water. Desperate to jump into the sea, we satisfied ourselves by staring pensively out onto the horizon for hours...interspersed by taking photos of ourselves being pensive...obviously.
The more I travel, the more attached to Britain I become. Every country I've been to has been wonderful and inspiring, but ultimately this could not have been possible if I did not carry my British passport.
Our British passports gave us a shorter queue and far less hassle. Travelling with our friends of Pakistani origin was an eye opener as one of them said 'it was the first time it was easy for him to be British'. The growing crowd in front of the gate to Melilia parted in two as we waved our purple booklets, and the guards didn't even bother to look at our stamps.Once through we just kept walking...and no-one stopped us.
In comparison with our Moroccan friends, who spend months applying for a simple tourist visa, holding a British Passport means one can travel the majority of the world, without hassle. I had completely taken that for granted.
Although Melilia is in Morocco, it is legitimately Spanish. The 200m walk over the border changed not just the language but the religion, food, currency, attitude and time!? Suddenly we were an hour ahead of the guard who had just let us in.
The most liberating change of the whole weekend was the attitude the locals had towards tourists, and particularly girls. Last week I was accosted hugely inappropriately by a young school boy so this change in outlook was very welcome. We took advantage of the more liberal Spanish culture. After a meal where Daisy was insulted and wooed by the same waiter, we went in search of chocolate and cocktails...naturally. Walking along the moonlit sea front at midnight, without cat calls or invisible eyes was wonderful. Even at the boarder the totes on our return into Morocco were more friendly. Unlike the previous morning...none of our passports were snatched out our hands.
Melilia is beautiful, even the weather improved. The old fort at the top of the town looks down onto isolated coves surrounded by Mediterranean water. Desperate to jump into the sea, we satisfied ourselves by staring pensively out onto the horizon for hours...interspersed by taking photos of ourselves being pensive...obviously.
The more I travel, the more attached to Britain I become. Every country I've been to has been wonderful and inspiring, but ultimately this could not have been possible if I did not carry my British passport.
الله يهنيك
Nay xxx
