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Published: June 24th 2019
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It was quite an early morning, as we had many miles to go before we would sleep again. We grabbed our sack breakfasts and loaded the bus under a still-dark sky. Most of our group, along with our Texas and Arizona fellow travelers, went right back to sleep. But a few stayed awake to catch the creamy orange sunrise surrounding the Rock of Gibraltar.
Once we reached the port an hour later, we took the ferry into Morocco, receiving a passport stamp in Arabic while still on board the boat. Joe taught us some important words to get us by during our time here: La=No (useful in the Medina to turn away salesmen), shukraun=thank you, salam=hello. The crossing of the Strait of Gibraltar was choppy and blue, passing through veils of mist, and arriving on the other side in the hazy sun. Things got briefly exciting at security, when two members of our group had to have their souvenir Toledo daggers confiscated. But then the guard called them back and returned the little swords to them, apparently realizing their futility as weapons. "Only once!" she said. "Only once" would they be allowed to get away with this!
The buildings
of Tangiers were blocky and bright white; an occasional minaret of a mosque reached skyward. We met Mohammed, our local tour guide who would be with us for our time in Morocco. His wide smile was warm and inviting and we liked him immediately. Mohammed guided us on a short walk through Tangiers, up to an overlook of the Mediterranean. How amazing to stand in Africa and look back at Europe, whereas yesterday we had stood in Spain looking across to Morocco.
And then, we drove. And drove. And drove. We stopped briefly (20 minutes?) at Chefchaouen. Situated high in the Rif Mountains, this village is painted a bright blue the color of Smurfs! Apparently Jews initially painted it blue to ward off the evil eye, but the color has the added benefit of keeping residents cool. We did a whirlwind walk up the steps, between the buildings, past the children splish-splashing in the gathered irrigation water, and past women selling fresh-squeezed orange juice. A tiny canal no wider than your hand had been constructed to provide water among the houses. In some places, people plunked their oranges in for rinsing and keeping cool, so bright against all the
blue. We weaved past blue doors, blue alcoves, blue alleys, and blue streets, and even the shadows seemed blue.
And then we drove even more, an additional 5 hours till Fes. In that time, we descended from the mountains and wondered about the many unfinished buildings, skeletons of what must have been their imagined selves. What happened to the plans or the money to prevent them from being completed? We stopped for a bathroom break and a cold drink at a cafe that overlooked a milky teal reservoir. Mohammed explained how the recent building of dams in the area has been helping supply water to the rural areas. We paid our couple of dirhams to use the toilet, and continued on. We rolled by blonde fields dotted with sheep and their shepherds, skinny cattle, and many white herons. Sunset came and went, and we arrived in the sprawling city of Fes by nightfall.
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