Christi and I leave the riad Khouloud and Fes after 6 nights for the mysterious mountain town of Chefchaouen. Our feelings for Fes are mixed. I thoroughly enjoyed the city and our day trips to Meknes and Volubilis. Christi, perhaps understandably, less so. But she is perking up a little, so there may yet be time for her to embrace Morocco. Our bill for accommodation at the riad Khouloud comes to a whopping 3,000D (about US$375). Saleem, the manager, may not have been too thrilled when we initially negotiated the favorable room rate of 500D per night, but he’s sure smiling now when I hand over the large wad of cash.
Reluctantly, we have returned to the CTM bus service for our ride to Chefchaouen. Fortunately there are no prisoners being transported this time (unlike the run from Dahkla to Laayoune), but the driver still has to stop at one point as a blazing row erupts among some of the women. God knows what the problem is, but most of the locals became embroiled in the situation and eager to voice their opinion. Riding buses in Morocco is certainly not dull. And when the confrontation calms down again we continue our slow progress up the twisting roads and into the Rif mountains. The Rif are yet another mountain range that criss-cross Morocco. It’s spring time (which clearly has done nothing to ease the feistiness of Moroccan women), but it does mean the scenery is gorgeous from the wildlife to the traditional lifestyle of the locals. It’s not about getting ahead here, more enjoying what you have.
After 4 hours of some rather dubious driving, we eventually arrive in the pretty mountain town of Chefchaouen. The town was founded in 1471 by Moulay Ali Ben Moussa Ben Rached El Alami (doesn’t exactly trip off the tongue, does it?) and remained very isolated and xenophobic until as recently as 1920. In this year Spain captured the town as part of its ever-increasing zone of influence in Morocco and Christians were able to enter the town for the first time without fear of death. Now tourists of any faith are welcome as long as their wallets are bulging.
Chefchaouen lies at the base of 1616m Jebel el-Kelaa in the heart of the cool, drizzling Rif mountains. We had hoped to be accosted by fixers eager to help us find accommodation, but maybe the ongoing foul weather persuaded them all to stay at home. In the end we took a taxi up some seriously steep hills to the Hotel Guernika (which came highly recommended in the Lonely Planet guide-book). Aside from some ongoing renovations, the hotel is quite charming and our room is a steal at 200D per night (no doubt because of the renovations). As with our previous destinations in Morocco we plan to hang around for a while – in this case 5 nights.
We begin our exploration at the nearby medina and the quaint cobbled Plaza Uta el-Hamman. The plaza features the usual tourist stuff plus a handful of restaurants serving similar Moroccan food from beneath large awnings, which makes me think rain is not uncommon around here. Christi plumps for something a little fancier, though, in the shape of Cafe Aladin, which has quite wonderful views of central Chefchaouen. Sadly, Christi is officially off Moroccan food and continues to crave McDonald’s. She eats, but not enthusiastically, and the neighborhood cats get a rare treat.
Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.
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