Many a visitor has gotten lost in the alleyways of Tangier. The city’s rabbit-warren design, a delicate mix of charm and confusion, has drawn a diverse coterie of sojourners for millennia. This includes many famous literary types, including Morocco’s own acclaimed novelist Mohamed Choukri, along with international guests including Paul Bowles, William Burroughs, and Jack Kerouac, to name just a few. The city’s musical heritage has similarly inspired generations of jazz, folk, and traditional Gnawa performers, such as Abdellah El Gourd, Marcel Botbol, and the Master Musicians of Jajouka (a favorite of Rolling Stones co-founder Brian Jones), as well as Ornette Coleman, Archie Shepp, and the revered folk singer-songwriter Nick Drake, who drew on the intricate polyphonal sounds of this place in developing his signature style. All these figures, and countless more, sought refuge and refreshment at one time or another in the city’s many resplendent coffee shops, peering into the void for inspiration. There was a lot to draw from.
For nostalgia-hunters, many of the old haunts still stand. Cafes immortalized in books and magazines have aged gracefully, trapping the sentimentality for those willing to indulge. I too have retraced the steps of my favorite beat writers and musicians, threading my way through the souks, wondering if Paul Bowles once stood in this exact spot.
The stories of these greats still linger in archways and alleys, culminating with after hours chatter at Tangerinn (a bar William Burroughs frequented). A few relics of that bygone era can sometimes be seen at Cafe Metropole or Bab Al Fahs, recounting tales that the locals have heard for decades. There is a ritual in honoring the greats, and any visit to Tangier should involve laying figurative flowers on these hallowed floors. For lovers of literature, music, art, culture, and of course cafes, the historic coffee bars of Tangier offer an unrivaled connection to the past.
Cafe Metropole
“After that, when I went somewhere else I immediately longed to be back in Tangier.” – Paul Bowles
Boulevard Pasteur runs from Sour Meêgazine, down to Librairie des Colonnes, a street that turns ghost-like after sunset. Slap bang in the middle is Cafe Metropole. Fanning the ground-level of an otherwise disused building, the red awnings have welcomed writers, locals, musicians and travelers for decades. Waiters dressed in immaculate black trousers, waistcoats, and powder white shirts maneuver the room with age-old rotations, collecting empty cups, taking orders, and serving drinks. Their muscle memory thrusts them through the crowded tables without a bump.
The room itself is a stained beige lung. Decades of cigarette smoke have colored the walls, and the parade of hot tea glasses mark the tables with halos. A sign above the door reads “Salon du The,” Cafe Metropole is known for its mint tea. A large Rancilio espresso machine sits atop the counter, serving what’s known locally as “The American”—a tongue-in-cheek Americano.
Previously a meeting place for consular staff, diplomats and local writers, Metropole is a cafe teeming with history. Rumor has it this is where Paul Bowles tirelessly transcribed Mohamed Mrabet‘s dictations onto paper. This is a profoundly valuable stop on your Tangier itinerary.
Cafe Tingis
The Petit Socco is the true heart of Tangier. Think of it as an intersection between the Grand Socco, the Kasbah, and the seafront. Along three sides are cafes: Grand Cafe Central, Cafe Al Manara, and the urban heart, Tingis. Its narrow seating area provides the perfect vantage point for people watching. Cast your gaze and you can see down beyond Bistro de Socco, to worshippers returning from the Grande Mosque, to the left the path leads into the Kasbah, and to the right the hill rises up towards Cinema Rif.
These chairs have been inhabited by a myriad of writers. From the famous Bowles and Burroughs, to the newer journalist crop who commute between Tangier and the British enclave of Gibraltar during Ramadan. Chances are, you will be rubbing shoulders with people who have lived in Tangier for decades and know a story or two. Inside is a large tiled room where the locals watch soccer, smoking furiously. The waiters adopt black waistcoats and pressed trousers, adding a formal twist to a very casual cafe. For the newly arrived, there can be no greater initiation into Tangiers life, than to order a “Café au lait” and sit outside watching life revolve around you.
Cafe Hafa
“Tangier is a city that seduces you slowly, then never lets you go.” – Mohamed Choukri
Few places are as picturesque, and culturally important, as the Cafe Hafa. Perched on a cliff outcrop, with blissful views of Andalucia, the chalk-white walls conceal history and intrigue within. Due to the stark change in atmosphere from the crowded medina, Cafe Hafa provided the tranquility needed for writers to bring a notepad and scribble the day away. William Burroughs wrote Naked Lunch whilst in Tangier, and frequented Cafe Hafa and Grand Cafe de Paris for inspiration.
Fall into step walking down the stone paths, navigate balconies and awnings, choose a table flush with Moroccan tile decor, order a coffee and Harira soup, leaf through your favorite Mohamed Choukri book (he often frequented Cafe Hafa), and settle in for a long morning. The stray cats hunt crumbs from busy tables, the wind speaks riddles, and the smiling staff recount stories they have heard handed down as the decades dissipate. This is true Tangier royalty, and must be visited on your sojourns.
Gran Cafe De Paris
The literary crossroads of Tangier, where Ira Cohen and William Burroughs labored in dark corners, frantically assembling text for GNAOUA magazine. A place for introducing local writers to visiting friends, diplomats, spies, and expats. Mylar chamber experiments were processed in real time. Curling around the Place de France roundabout like an architectural boomerang, crammed tables offer vantage points for people-watching. Inside, mirrored walls splinter off into rooms where privacy can be granted for clandestine soirees. The very altar of the Beat movement. Every eminent guest of the bent alumni paid their respects here.
Mint tea glasses thick and cloudy, coffee or pastry, inside or out, “Garçon! S’il vous plaît.” To sit in these chairs is to experience fragments of what inspired the world’s greatest novels. Scraping for words in the eternal ballroom, terraces shady and concealing innumerable secrets, hushed in unintelligible parlance. If walls could speak, then the mirrors of the Gran Cafe would crack.
Cafe Baba
Essaouira, the coastal town on Morocco’s southwestern shore, was made famous to the outside world first by Jimmy Hendrix and Janis Joplin. The murals still stand in honor of the old guard, the guests of an age gone by. Similarly, Tangier became a refuge for members of the Rolling Stones. Keith Richards hid here in the shadows of Kif smoke, propelled by the freedom and independence that Tangier’s status allowed. Brian Jones fled to the Rif mountains to record the Master Musicians of Jajouka. Photographs of The Rolling Stones still hang in this cafe, nailed to the wall in faded frames.
Kasbah rooftops are visible through the windows, where Turkish coffee and questionable herbs still permeate. The atmosphere has never dulled to a nostalgic themed cafe, it is still an everyday haunt for many Moroccans. Pass through the kasbah, climb the stairs, greet the kind owner, order tea or coffee, and sit by one of the tables at the front, open a window, and watch the rooftops for an afternoon.
Cinema Rif
A celluloid revolution. The meeting place of rebellious minds or alternative souls. Cinema Rif’s impact cannot be overstated: during the interzone wars, it acted as a refuge for expats, smugglers, local writers, and foreign dignitaries. Huddled amongst the pews, watching One, Two, Three by Billy Wilder, secret meetings could be had without prying eyes.
Today the cinema has been wonderfully restored, and the cafe is a bright, inviting space to congregate over a coffee. The walls still remind people of the past, with a giant poster of Monsieur Hulot acting as a totemic icon in place of a crucifix. This is a church of art, and Jacques Tati is a fitting priest. Run and curated by the Cinematheque de Tangier, the building keeps its place as a beating heart of underground culture, with a few upgrades to keep it from disrepair.
Bab Al Fahs
This tiny cafe tucked under the city walls is a veritable melee of local tea and coffee drinkers, smokers, and thinkers. The tired room exhales in repose. Should a tourist peer in, there is a noticeable pause—a check to see who it is—before the inevitable resuming of chatter.
One afternoon as I sat sipping mint tea, the neighboring table gestured. I moved my chair and became engrossed in the tales of a man who had (apparently) spent time with Keith Richards many decades ago. His age, proficiency at English, and acute detailed stories led me to believe him. We sat, sharing a table, deep in nostalgia, united by our love of an English rock and roll band, and suddenly the lights dimmed and the call for Maghrib (the sunset prayer) caused a shuffle of feet, and I was sat alone, hanging onto the words spoken by someone who truly lived it.
Benjamin Sand is a freelance journalist and the creator of The Mouth. Read more Benjamin Sand for Sprudge.
