Chefchaouen
We started our trek to Chefchaouen standing at the bus station in Tangiers confused and worried we missed our bus…until we were told the time change in going to Morocco was plus two hours, not one. Relieved, we waited around the bus stop and met a Canadian traveling to Chefchaouen named Gary. Gary has traveled around Morocco before, and was returning to just Chefchaouen this time as he said it was by far the best part of Morocco. He was nice enough to also share his handwritten map of the city with us, and let us follow him to a hotel just outside the medina.
The bus ride was extremely wet. The rainy season started about two weeks ago and I found myself in the window seat in the very back of the bus. The 90% sealed windows provided me with fresh water every time the bus would start going uphill; the gravity fed water droplets would trickle until they reached the last window and dropped down on me like a mini Chinese water torture device. Thankfully the scenery was amazing with views of rolling hills covered in olive trees and makeshift streams of eroded material from the influx of water. We arrived in Chefchaouen to emerging blue skies as the nearby craggy peaks tore away the clouds.
Chefchaouen was founded by one of the last groups of Jews and Muslims expelled from the Iberian Penisula and until a hundred years ago was shut off to the rest of the world. Nowadays, the city is undergoing massive construction capable of bringing in big tourist money. Thankfully for the time being this town seems to be off the beaten path enough to get away from the hustle of Morocco’s other larger cities.
Gary has been our unofficial guide and has suggested breakfast places, day hikes, and supplemented conversations with his French. The pace of life here is intoxicatingly slow and unmetered. You could easily run through this city in one day and move onto other cities, but once the daily influx of private tour bus crowds leaves for the day the clear night air is only filled with smells of tangine, couscous, and mint tea.
The main plaza is home to a dozen or so restaurants serving traditional three course meals for under 10 euro. However, watch out for the incessant hustling and begging of … the cats. Their faces are capable of duping you, but they are fearless and talented at swindling food off your plate if given the time of day. If you are feeling daring, as Chelsea and I were, then look out for the food stalls the locals crowd around. One in particular became a part of our daily routine, serving a bowl of snails in spiced broth fresh from Fes each day for fifty cents each.
If you can afford to not run through this city in a day, stay and take a deep breath.
