Friday 13 October 2017

As reported in the last blog, we had advised our travel agent as to our concerns about our guide and we were assured that we had been heard.  Indeed we had, for this morning, despite being met by Obi and the undertaker and ensconced in the van about to take off, everything changed.  That’s when the phone call came through reassigning Obi to another job.  So the hearse proceeded to the Rabat railway station where we dropped Mohammed off and so Jillali, Cherrie and I proceeded to Chefchaouen, the famous blue city in the Rif mountains right up north.

Jillali has never been tour guide before but his English is a good as Obi’s, his accent as strong, but he is a charming man with a great sense of humour.  He behaves as if a great weight has been lifted and we wonder if he also had difficulty with Obi.  He even asks if we would like music and when we say yes he puts on Hotel California and bops away on the steering wheel. It’s a lot of fun.  I make a mental note to carry my Travelcalm with me, as I get quite car sick climbing those mountains, hugging the bumper bar in front, with Jillali’s lead foot on the accelerator.  He is a safe driver – it’s just the Moroccan way!

At our fist stop Jillali removes his black suit coat.  This is progress surely.  He teaches us some Arabic, amongst many laughs.  We learn, or try to, “good morning”, “no problem”, “hi” and “thankyou”.

We drive through beautiful farming country with heaps of greenhouses, really just big plastic tents, full of bananas.ploughed fields, conifer forestry and olive groves.  And, eucalyptus trees everywhere.

When we arrive at Chefchaouen we have to park outside the Medina and our suitcases are transported by foot up steep, narrow paths and stone steps to the beautiful Ryad where we are to spend the next two nights.  Jillali supervises our check in procedures and then leaves us until tomorrow morning.  We are starving.  It’s 3.30pm and we are desperate for lunch.  We venture out into the busy Medina in search of tucker and confess to having trouble finding any which looks palatable

We eventually climb some steps to a cafe with 2 tables, a large TV screening the under 16 womens football finals, between North and South Korea (North won) and devour a beef tagine made by the young man who runs the place.  I think he said it was his mother’s recipe and if he didn’t then he is left wondering why I am so enthusiastic in my praise of his mother.

Saturday 14 October 

This morning we meet Jillali (now out of his tie too) in the foyer and he introduces us to our local guide for today.  Meet Abdu Salam.  A charming, funny and energitic man who is fluent in the extreme in English, French and Spanish, as well as Arabic.  He is a local and planning to stand for Mayor in 2020.  I’m sure he’ll get there. HIs charm meter is positively in overdrive and many of the local are clearly happy to see him.  We have a two hour walking tour with Abdu Salam, which is both fun and informative.

This place, Chefchaouen, the blue city was founded in the 15th Century and housed the Jews and Muslims from Spain.

They cohabited happily for centuries and there is still 1% of the population who are Jews.  No synagogue any more though but the blue comes from the Jewish tradition of painting their houses blue.  These days the houses are painted three times a year, and until recently have always been painted by the women (of course).  More recently the blue has tended to go higher and the men have to  now get involved up the ladder.  Otherwise it’s still girl power.

It is such a pretty place.  A thriving little town within the Medina which covers 4 1/2 acres and houses 18,000 people.  The primary industry these days is tourism and so the locals bear the hoardes as they point their cameras at their doors

into their streets, into their houses and into their lives.

We’ve had hot weather, hotter than ever we expected, since we left home and Abdu Salam tells us that his wife has invented a 13th month of the year, Augustober.  It’s August heat in October.  Tony, get over here and bring your budgie smugglers.

Our guide leaves us and we spend the rest of the day getting lost in the laneways and hills of this gorgeous place.  There are lots of water fountains which are fed by spring water, safe to drink. We did not test the theory but continue to carry water bottles with us.

The streets are narrow and care must be taken to avoid traffic

The colours of the fabrics and rugs are vibrant, and add to the beauty of the old town

We have noticed in Morocco that the tree trunks are painted, an insect and animal deterrent.  In Chefchaouen they are, of course, painted blue

Wait, is that Obe stalking us?  Or is he waiting for his tagine?

We are in an Islamic country, predominantly non alcoholic.   Our riad does not serve wine, indeed there is only one hotel in the whole town (and it’s outside of the Medina) which serves alcohol.  It’s been a few days now, and I’m starting to get the shakes. Maybe.  Mercifully, our wonderful travel agent had arranged for a bottle of Moroccan rose to be in our room in Rabat, which we carried with us. Tonight we prise it open, decant it into plastic water bottles (in what Cherrie tells me is boarding school style) and sit up on the gorgeous roof top terrace in the cool evening air, sipping pink water from plastic bottles.  We’re all class!

It’s a gorgeous view from up here, and we sip our ‘water’ contendely, listen to the call to prayer (five times a day) and look at the houses on the hillside

Then we go to dinner.  Such a difficult choice