Morocco - Chefchaeoun

6th - 9th April 2015

We had spent our stopover night in Estepona 'Hotel Fuerte Estepona', purposely chosen for it’s location and comfort. Close to Algerciras where we were the next day to cross to Ceuta and then  on wards to Morocco. I took full advantage of a washer/dryer and high functioning bathroom. It was a shame that the weather had turned cold because the pools were beautiful and the hotel was located right on the coast.

Hotel Fuerte Estepona.

1. 2 h 57 min (99.4 km)
   via AP-7

Not the best of starts. We arrived  at the ferry in Algercirias (got a glance at the rock of Gibraltar on the way), to find our ferry cancelled. “No ferries today” was all I could decipher from the women at the car ferry check in barrier - now what?, no advice was forthcoming.

We drove off avoiding the man that had already flagged us down to offer us false advise in undecipherable Spanish for an optimistic price of twenty euro.

Luckily we tried our luck at the main ticket area were we were told it was just the fast ferries(very stormy day) that had been cancelled. So now I'm writing this on the next ferry feeling quite nervous about what awaits us - have read horror stories about trying to get the car import and car licence needed before we enter Morocco - we actually arrive into Ceuta which is Spanish (on the african continent). Heck it is so rough outside that the waves are hitting the windows(I'm pleased I took the seasick pill) - Jarvis has just grabbed for a seasick bag! Ollie is well impressed that he got to see someone on board handcuffed and police escorted.

 Later after arrival...

A very intimidating sight it was to approach the border by car from the hill above in Ceuta. We could see the border running alongside the sea and cliff, a completely manic looking space renowned for illegal importing of drugs.

Aware that we would need to find a local and pay them to help us we nervously approached.
Advised not to drive in Morocco at night time we knew we were two and a half hours behind schedule already(it was 4:30 pm) and we had a 2 hour trip after the border with a difficult navigation into Chefchaeoun ahead. We suffered from a strange mix of seasickness, self consciousness and nervous apprehension and the need for speed.

The first lot of people waved us down and we foolishly stopped. Well, we had read that we would need to pay local people to help us get through. These first people fleeced us out of some euros for a few bits of paper. Moving on we entered the border stretch and sat in a queue with no idea what was happening. Approached again we ignored offers for more bits of paper. Realising that we spoke English two English speaking men were ushered our way – our saviours, thank goodness!

I handed the  passport officer a stack of NZ passports which he stamped in his booth, not interested in observing who anyone was, the boys and Chris were sitting in the car further down the queue.

We then parked within the border and Mohamed, one of our English speaking saviours, took Chris off to try and get an import for the car. After about 30 mins when Chris still hadn’t returned, I knew something must have gone wrong. Since there was absolutely nothing I could do,  I sat and observed over the next hour. I watched an endless stream of men and women walking through the border laden down with mainly nappies and blankets. There seemed to be a real organised carnage going on, but it relied on people knowing what they were doing and we were neither this nor were we a simple case (foreigners with a car!). Observing the cars gave me a sense that we were about to enter somewhere very poor. Basically anything that could pass as a car was. People jump starting cars seemed to fit naturally into the chaos, car roofs heavy with a multitude of what we would deem ‘rubbish’ – bits of metal and wood. I felt rather embarrassed sitting within such a comfortable car with three boys in the back playing on electronic devices, but we were parked to the side away from gazes. Eventually Chris returned to take another bit of paper from our dashboard regarding ownership and to leave again with Mohamed reassuring me that we would be fine. And then he finally returned with a big smile of relief. What Chris divulged to me was that we did not have the correct ownership papers for our car and that we had been declined entry into Morocco. Mohamed and his calm and confident manner , persevered until nearly all the officials in the border had been approached and finally one stamped our import licence. On the other side we had only car insurance remaining, but out of the safety of the border I was soon swarmed with children begging for money. My goodness my head was spinning, I was so shocked by a boys appearance I handed him the only change I had on me a euro. He checked his imagine in my car wing mirror , I knew I had been fleeced again (his dreadful  appearance had been finely tuned). Still however, expecting the 1 euro to be insultingly little I was surprised by the boys reaction, obviously a lot – I had made another mistake and now witnessed an outbreak of children fighting and more begging. Mohamed and his friend came to my rescue and pushed the children away quite aggressively. Ollie, Jarvis and Lachlan in the back seats looked most stunned by the action. They boys can see many things and seem little affected but when they see children the same age as them it affects them a lot.

1. 1 h 57 min (103.4 km) 
   via ‫ط س 6‬‎/A6 and ‫ط و 13‬‎/‫ط و 2‬‎/N13

I think the impact of the border crossing muted the sights we then saw as we drove towards Chefchaouene , mainly poverty and filth, but also a whole different way of life.

With no idea of how to enter the Medina of Chefchaouene we parked our car in the only car parking building we could find and ventured in on foot.  A good idea as this proved to be the only solution. I must admit I was rather nervous about leaving our half-full car in a strange car park. At this stage of our trip I was unaware that the Moroccan people were so honest and that the country was so safe. What a beautiful and relieving site it was to walk upwards through the crooked hillside streets into this beautiful blue medina.

We had an address which proved yet again very difficult to locate, but great once we did. 'Riad Rifandalus ' was located right in the heart of the cobbled pedestrian Medina. We were shown to our room, two rooms an entrance with a fireplace and a bathroom with a flush toilet(much to my relief). Surprisingly there was a small kitchen which looked to be nonoperational, I shut the door on it quickly to prevent the gas leaking from it entering the rest of the rooms. Ignoring the kitchen, it was beautifully decorated, rugs hung on the walls, walls were heavily tiled fabrics were highly coloured. A riad is  traditional Moroccan house or palace with an interior garden or courtyard. Riad Rifandalus had a small interior courtyard with an nonoperational fountain. It also had  a terrace with a wonderful view over Chefchaouene, once again nonoperational which was a shame. Peering out the windows it was amazing to see how close the houses opposite were, separated only by a narrow cobbled lane of perhaps 1 metre. At night this realization set in with the sound of voices continuing until 2-3 in the morning.

Riad Rifandalus

Before the 'boys'.

After the 'boys'.

So what we experienced in Chefchaouene was really our gentle 'nice' introduction to Morocco. 

Tucked away in Africa’s northernmost mountain range, the Rif Mountains, Chefchaouene  founded in 1471 by Moulay Ali Ben Moussa Ben Rached El Alami. Chefchaouene served as a Moorish fortress for exiles from Spain. 

Lachlan and I did some early exploring the first morning. We passed one of the numerous smurf-like attired men. He looked upon us rather disapprovingly from his odd box-like stall, as Lachlan made a rather large amount of noise exploring the empty lanes. On returning past him again I expected another scorn  but was surprised to see a warm semi-toothless smile erupt from face as he offered up a lollie to Lachlan. A lesson for me to not judge so quickly.
There seemed to be a large number of men with no front teeth, I never quite figured out why? Chris on returning from a run had commented that there were many people just like him running uphill, the differences being that they were in lycra , had large mustaches and no front teeth.

Lachlan and I continued on following stray cats, photo opportunities and enticing lanes. We observed men repainting buildings blue. Chefchaouene's powder-blue buildings are part of a Jewish religious tradition and are regularly repainted.

Painting 'blue'.

By mid-morning things had opened up and you could explore the shops without being harrassed and choose where to eat without too much hassle. We had started to learn the art of haggling in Dubai but here is where we really put it into practice. The basic technique : 'Ask the vendor his price before making your offer, then swiftly halve his request.  Gently edge higher until you meet a compromise, and always end with a smile and a 'shukran' to thank them.' The quaint colourful streets where full of delights. Tortoises scrambling for lettuce leaves in  plastic baskets. Bags of colour pigments. Carpets and blankets hanging on the walls, silver jewellery, brass teapots, organised stacks of tagines  ...
The whole Medina was extremely well organised, washed down in the evenings it was spotlessly clean.

A pedestrianized Medina, but some people tried their luck.

Sacks of paint pigments

 

Young boys making wooden 'Chefchaoeune door' ornaments for sale.

The differences between adult and child observations and interests constantly surprised us. Chris took the boys around a corner to see a donkey laden with gas bottles in the lane. For him this was the picture from a 'childlike dream'. He was a little surprised to find the boys only interested in the stray cats.

 

Here too in Chefchaeoune we got our  first tastes of  Moroccan food in Morocco. The first evening we sampled our first tagines, served by a boy Jarvis's age (the boys were a little surprised).

Another night we had a lovely dinner at  'Aladdin's Cave' with a view overlooking the main square and its Kasbah.

Kefta (meatball) tagines were popular with Jarvis and chicken skewers with Lachlan. I was pretty keen on chicken pastella. Ollie enjoyed everything, the more flavour the better.

We had previously had a lunch in the square we overlooked and sadly witnessed our first stray dog (in the worst condition we would see anywhere), a very upsetting sight. Poor Jarvis, he found it very difficult to see, so did I.

On the food topic, breakfasts where quite strange. I think we were just early of the tourist season so rather than enjoying a lovely rooftop breakfast as advertised, we sat in an empty guest room inside and felt rather odd. The only other guests had bewildered looks on their faces too.
We did however get our first tastes of: 

Harcha - pan-fried semolina flatbreads .
Moroccan bread (khobz)  - flattish, round loaf which features lots of crust
Msemen - pan-fried pancakes, which we topped with runny honey.
Moroccan mint tea(always made slightly differently), Orange juice (the best you can imagine)
'The Laughing Cow' french processed cheese triangles - these were everywhere, Lachlan loved them.

Leaving Chefchaeoune after two nights.

All hands on deck to get the luggage back to the car. It was a short stay of only two nights, but we managed to explore a lot of this small Medina in this time. After our horrible border crossing experience, this was the lovely introduction to Morocco we needed.