Some posts I don’t know where to begin. This one I most certainly do. To get to Chefchaouen we had to take a bus, and I can safely say this was the worst bus trip of my life. First off we were told the bus wouldn’t stop the entire three hour journey, and there was of course no toilet on board. So Mum and I sensibly went off to find one, which we did, and it was also the worst toilet we have ever used. Bushes would have been better. It was a hole in the ground with a jagged edged wooden door that had to be held shut, with what for my own sake I’m going to describe as dirt covering the floor and walls. There was a bit of a queue as well, but we still had five minutes before the bus was due to leave.
When we got back to the bus we found it had already backed out of the space, and my Dad was frantic. He had been yelling at the people in charge that they were missing two passengers in a mixture of French and English, resulting in the phrase “Arrêt for fuck’s sake!” Other passengers had been trying to help him, although to no avail. It was only luck that we made it back before it left. The rest of the trip was also unpleasant, and felt more like 3 days than 3 hours. The bus was full to the brim with people, it was hot, stuffy and Dad was still traumatised from earlier.
Arriving in Chefchaouen was altogether not the relief we thought it would be. We were overcharged for the taxi, which then could not take us the full way due to narrow alleys, and then these men grabbed our bags, which we could do nothing about as we had no idea where our hotel was. They took us there at least, although dragging our bags up stairs and along the ground the entire way. They then of course wanted a generous tip for damaging our property. Once finally in our room we found it was not what we had expected, and had no kitchen. This meant we had to eat out the entire week.
The first night we ventured into the main square, then ate at a restaurant called “The Sofia” nearby. We had a very pleasant meal; I ate stuffed zucchini which turned out to be quite spicy, and Dad made a new friend, of the feline variety. It turns out there are many cats roaming the streets of Chefchaouen. Dad wanted to feed the cat, but Mum was very insistent that he shouldn’t. Of course a few days later when Mum and I were at a restaurant a kitten came up to our table and she fed it. Best not to mention that to Dad we decided.
Next day my parents bought a kettle. They couldn’t go a week without a cup of tea. I was quite annoyed, because of course they intended to put the kettle in my bag. Seemed quite reasonable they thought. My bag was quickly becoming their junk drawer, and I must point out they were against me bringing such a large bag. They seemed quite happy about it now. My upper arm muscles were certainly getting quite defined from all the kettles, coffee makers, speakers, textbooks and God knows what else they had snuck into my bag.
Not long into our stay Mum and Dad went out for a walk one morning while I slept in, and Dad injured his back. To put this in context, he had injured his back some years before by stepping into a hole, then had to have spinal surgery and now lives with intermittent pain. When he now re-injured his back and couldn’t walk, we were getting quite concerned that some sort of medical intervention might be required, and here we were stuck in the mountains of Morocco. Since there was nothing we could do, we thought it best to just put it out of our minds. We did however book a private car to get us to our next set of accommodations, since the bus certainly was not going to work, and we had found out it was 5 hours no stops to Fez.
So for the rest of our stay Mum and I would go out alone, something I was a little hesitant to do after our experience in Marrakech. Luckily we didn’t have any problems this time, and although Chefchaouen is quite touristy towards the main square, the vibe is much more relaxed. Having no kitchen made things quite difficult, so Mum and I would have to go out to a restaurant without Dad, then ask if the restaurant could make up a meal for us to take away.
This worked fairly well, and since Dad was only lying down all day he didn’t need much food. He was quite jealous that we were able to explore without him, so we made sure to take lots of pictures and tell him all about our experiences.
As I mentioned earlier, Chefchaouen is called the blue city. We have noticed before that Moroccans like to paint walls blue, but never had we seen it on such a large scale. Every wall and building in this entire city is a shade of blue. This is one of the reasons so many tourists flock to see the beautiful city, despite it being quite difficult to get to and out of the way. Most do it with a tour group, and only spend a few hours looking around. We had a whole week, so we did some exploring and strayed from the touristy parts.
We went to a market on the other side of town, and it was here I think you go the best sense of what things were like before the tourist boom. It reminded me much of the streets of Asilah, a little rugged and unkempt, not as pristine as the main square. It was here I saw one of the major differences between Morocco and home. While we try to forget that the meat we are eating was once living, the Moroccans don’t seem so squeemish. I saw trachea strung up on metal hooks, and gizzards in the front display. There is also not the same laws about storing livestock, which is not entirely surprising. The chickens were in the back of the shop, so many in one pen that they couldn’t even move. Certainly fresh though.
There are two main attractions in Chefchaouen. The first of which is the Kasbah, located in the main square. It is the old fortress. It wasn’t hugely exciting for Mum and I since we’ve seen quite a few of them now and they all tend to be a bit similar, but was still very pretty and had a nice view of the square and some interesting elements. This one had a large garden in the centre, Moroccan style so sparse trees and bare dirt, and a prison in the basement, shackles and all.
The second attraction is the Spanish Mosque, which we could see from the terrace on top of our building. We had been looking at it all week up on the hill, and on one of our last days we decided to walk up the big hill to get to it. It was slow going up the dirt path, mainly because I kept stopping every few meters to take pictures of the gorgeous view, and there were some goats to walk past. Once finally at the top it really was breathtaking. It has to be one of the best views in the world. Although I knew the city was all blue it’s only from up there that you really get a sense of it. It’s like something out a painting, it really is the Blue City.
This brought our week to a close, and we had to leave the pretty mountain in the hills. I also had to say good bye to some feline friends of mine, one of which I would especially miss; a cute little black kitten that lived in a wood pile in the souks, which had one day sat atop my boot and played with my shoe laces. We were also hesitant to leave as this meant we had to move Dad, who winced in pain when making even the smallest of movements. But it couldn’t be helped, to Fez we must go.
Anna Fay On Holiday 