Finally, there is a break in the weather and we have blue skies to go with the blue-white medina of Chefchaouen. Christi and I take this opportunity for a quick trip out of town. We amble up a snaking trail in the Rif mountains to the ruins of a nearby mosque. From our hotel room, the building actually resembles a church rather than a mosque. It was built by the Spanish but abandoned during the Rif War (fought between the Spanish and the Moroccan Berbers of the Rif region during the 1920’s). initially the Berbers were very successful, but ultimately lost the war when France joined in the conflict on the side of Spain. It was a hard-fought victory for the Franco-Spanish forces, which lost 60,000 men. The Rifian Berbers lost 10,000. Of course it is much calmer here now in the Rif, apart from a few excited dogs who scamper along beside us for a while before dashing off amid a flurry of barking. We also pass traditionally dressed Berbers on their way down to market in Chefchaouen, plus a herd of goats (Note, the correct terminology for a herd of goats is actually a tribe of goats, although I wonder who gets to make that decision? Bizarre!). What is not bizarre, but truly sublime are the beautiful cityscape views of Chefchaouen that can be seen from the trail. To the east is the medina with a preponderance of blue-rinsed buildings, while to the west is modern Chefchaouen. There’s not much to see at the mosque itself, but the rolling hills and isolated hamlets that stretch out to the horizon give the area a tranquil feel.
On our return to town we cross a small river called Ras el-Maa. The river attracts a lot of people on weekends who come to swim, sunbathe, and play any number of ball games, but during the week (i.e., now) some of the water is diverted into an open-air wash houses, enabling the locals to go about the tedious chore of laundering clothes in a little more comfort than simply slamming the items against rocks.
Although Christi is feeling a lot better after vomiting regularly for the last three weeks, she is having a tough time with Moroccan food and continues to crave Western fast food (God forbid a McDonald’s should ever open here). She also tires easily and returns to the hotel for a nap after forcing down some couscous.
I spend the rest of the day running chores – staggering might be more accurate (these roads are not getting any less steep), most notably securing 2 bus tickets to Casablanca for 2 days hence (8-hrs; 115D each). In four days our Moroccan adventure will be over.
Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.
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