Chefchaoen

---

---

We're in Chefchaoen in Morocco.

After Madrid we set off for a hippy colony in southern Spain where they're trying to live sustainably. All sorts of clever ideas - toilets that produce non-smelling manure, a bicycle-powered washing machine etc. Mostly people just out of university it seemed, there for a couple of weeks or a few months. A little way to go yet to self-sufficiency. But we were impressed by their open-air hemispherical cinema.

And then on to the ports. We stopped at an English-run hotel, the Atrium, in San Roque. Chatty brits at the bar all evening, lots of loud music, and yet full of antiques and books, mostly page-turning bestsellers. Then a day in Gibraltar - lots of monkeys, hanging around in case you left your crisps unguarded. It really is the most amazing natural fortress, a vast rock with a natural harbour behind it, I can see why we never let the Spanish have it back. It's a cramped little place, with streets named after the royal family and statues of Nelson. Odd to see all those English shops in European-style buildings.

We had a bit of a panic trying to get to the port of Algeciras in time for our ferry, and there was much running up and down and waiting at an empty taxi-stand, but we got there in good time in the end. It's a bit of a surprise how easy it is to see Africa from that whole area, a large and obvious rock just a mile or two away (is it?) that looks like you could swim there easily enough. Looks like it, except for the currents.

And, so after a short crossing, to a night in Ceuta, which is the bit of Morocco that Spain nicked from them about the same time that the English nicked Gibraltar. They aren't so keen about making sure Morocco has all the areas that make geographic sense, as they are about Spain. Apparently the Moroccans don't really care about that.

In Ceuta we went to a lovely fish restaurant, in some ways so upmarket (a wine-waiter; very dressed-up waitress) and in others not at all, like the polo shirts, cheap wine and stainless steel garden furniture. Food was good though. Ceuta was full of references to the Greeks - the Spanish were being Europeans in Africa rather than Spaniards perhaps. Our Hotel Ulysses was very good, with the most impressive of showers which could squirt water at you from all sorts of directions in all sorts of ways. We want one of those at home.

Getting over the border into Morocco was reasonably straight-forward if confusing. I like land-borders somehow. We squelched ourselves into a 'grand taxi', which is an ordinary car with seven people in it - two in the passenger seat and four across the back. Cosy. There's all sorts of etiquette it seems about who goes where.

It's strange, everyone is so helpful, apart from the odd person who's trying not to give you your change, or sell you something that's free, or even trying to get you to carry their hash for them. I'm deeply suspicious whereas Heather trusts everyone. Between us we're about right I think. The driving is fairly rash. I doubt it's kosher to audition the drivers before getting in their car sadly.

So taxis to Fnideq at the border and on to Tetouan. Someone was terribly helpful and found us a fish tagine lunch, to match Heather's diet. We couldn't work out why he was putting so much effort in. Did he get a cut of the lunch bill? Anyway he wanted a tip when we left, which we decided was reasonable for all that help - it all became much clearer what was in it for him at that point.

Then a bus to Chefchoaen, which seems to exist mostly for us tourists but it's a quaint little place nevertheless. I'm having a bout of hypercondria after getting bitten by a few things, (and drinking the tap-water in Ceuta, although it's not very clear whether it's okay). Apparently the local strain of malaria is not life-threatening and extremely rare so I should be okay. (This version has been censored by Heather of my true hypercondriac state ...)

Gavin.

---