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Published: November 3rd 2023
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Fnideq
Running from Ceuta to Fnideq I left Ceuta running, and continued down the road until Fnideq, on the other side of the border. There I ran out of steam, and slowed down a bit. After sorting the travellers needs of this day and age, the almighty local sim-card and an ATM for some Moroccan cash, I got myself a 'grand taxi' to Tetouan. The taxi is not grand, in the grandiose sense, but simply refers to a shared taxi, as opposed to the petite taxi, which is a city cab. So far, for my lessons on the types of Moroccan taxis. I didn't stay in Tetouan, I just changed to a bus there, to get to Chefchaouen, my first port of call in Morocco. Chefchaouen is Smurf city, it's as blue as it can get. Chefchaouen also means City of Smurfs in Berber. Okay, that's a lie, it means, 'See the two horns', referring to the two mountain tops that stand guard over the town. I had a lovely room, in a lovely riad, which is an old courtyard house turned into homestay, and can be found in most medina's of Morocco. They are atmospheric places to stay, and can be had for amazingly little money.
You get palatial rooms for almost nothing.
Anyhow, Chefchaouen is a good way to start a tour of Morocco. It is small, friendly, and beautiful. Here I finally slowed down. I trotted around town in a leisurely pace, going this way and that way, having a mint tea here, and a coffee there, sitting on benches looking at life go by, and resting my weary feet from all the running through Spain. After having had my fill of blue, I left for Tangier, the port city with a rough past. Once the home of pirates and ruffians, drug dealers and prostitutes, spies and agents during WWII, and abode of famous artists and writers, like Jack Kerouac, Truman Capote, the Stones, and Paul Bowles. I stayed at the Petite Socco, the most infamous corner in infamous Tangier, full of worn and faded hotels that once housed all those spies and agents, but are now cheap digs, because they haven't been renovated since they opened in the 20's of the last century. Mine was in hotel Fuentes, with a tiny balcony overlooking the square, perfect for doing some spying of my own. All sorts of interesting folks passed by below me,
Chefchaouen
View from my window mostly tourists these days. In the time-worn cafés, the local clientele, drink their café noir, or café au lait, served my waiters in suits that haven't changed for the past hundred years (literally, I suspect the suits were still the same ones worn a hundred years ago, judging by their threadbare appearance) . Both the clients and the waiters are from a bygone time, and fit perfectly in their surroundings.
Tangier is no longer a rough port city, it's been spruced up, the medina is busy, but charming. I didn't feel a sense of danger anywhere, no shifty looking figures lurking in dark corners. Alas, those days are over. There are a few left over hippies here and there, stragglers from another time, like the clientele around the Petite Socco, except this time from the 60's. I sat and sipped tea, overlooking the Straight of Gibraltar, towards Spain, where things were so fast paced for me. A life time ago. A world away.
I went fast one last time, but this time by locomotive. I took the high speed train to Rabat, the capital. More importantly, the town into which Jenni was flying in. I picked her up
Chefchaouen
Outside my riad from the airport, and we checked into another riad. The next day we explored the medina, and the kasbah (the citadel) of the city, and the medina of the neighbouring city of Salé, Rabat's older sibling. It's one city now, but two flavours. Rabat is sort of serious and perhaps genteel, Salé more rough around the edges, less spruced up. Both are surrounded by walls, as were all the places I had visited so far. It was great having Jenni with me. Our first trip together... outside of Europe. This is how we envisioned ourselves when we first got together. But then Covid came and aside from Italy, and many smaller stints in Germany and Holland, nothing came of our plans. But I never despaired, I knew that the day would arrive when we would make that first big trip together, and voilà, here we are.
From Rabat it was of to ancient Fes, with its huge winding medina, where people get lost never to be found again. The narrow alleys twist this way and that way, overhung by tall houses, and arches, covered souqs, hidden squares, a thousand mosques and medrassas, merchant houses, all with intricately carved doors
Chefchaouen
Rooftop breakfast and entrance gates, tilled floors and wooden ceilings, traders, artisans, master carvers, smiths, weavers, tanners, dyers and whatnot. And scoundrels too of course. But its reputation is worse than its bite. Except for the ubiquitous, 'this road is closed, let me guide you the right way', which is never true, and is simply a means to try and get some money from you, after guiding you in the so called right direction (by simply taking you via a different route to the same spot), there isn't much to fear in Fes. The fake 'guides' can easily be ignored and aren't persistent, unless you fall for their 'road is closed lie' they won't bother you. In fact, they will wish you a pleasant stay, if you say that you know the way.
Fes is an incredibly interesting place, the tanneries while smelly are visual pieces of art, and a look into the past when such work was also done in Europe and elsewhere. And this is the case for all those craftsmen and women that work in Fes, it's old school, like really old school, say pre-industrial age old school. You can wander around this place for weeks and still
Chefchaouen
What you looking at? get lost, but also still discover something new and beautiful. We stayed in another incredible riad, our room was palatial in its decoration, and believe me, it was dirt cheap. Including breakfast. I don't know how it's possible. We stayed in Fes for 4 days. One of those days was used for a day trip to Meknes and Volubilis.
Meknes is another former royal capital, a calmer, tourist and hassle free version of Fes, much smaller, and not as chaotic or confusing. It's more romantic than Fes, with its ochre and soft pink walls. Volubilis, on the other hand, isn't a city anymore, but the ruins of one. It was once the capital of the Roman province that encompased this part of Morocco. A lot of its columns and stones were used to build the palace of Meknes, in an early version of recycling.
And here my story comes to an end, I leave you in the old alleyway of Fes, listening to the copper-smiths banging on their pots, while the muezzin sings from his minaret calling the faithful to pray.
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John Maxwell
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Hotels
Hi. I'm planning a similar trip and wondered if you could let me know the names of the hotels/riads you stayed in as they all sound pretty atmospheric. Thanks