Day 164: Surviving Morocco (Chefchaouen)

I am alive. I survived my first few days in Morocco unscathed, except for my wallet. In my €5 hotel room, through the mesh walls of my tent I peered through the window, lazily watching the people of Chefchaouen stroll about. The morning air was crisp and delicious but I needed to hurry. I had a breakfast date. I was meeting with Ibrahim who was going to show me around town.

Chillin' in my djellaba on a hill near Chefchaouen.

Of course I was late, but only fashionably. We were outside at a café below the hotel. Sitting at the table, sipping our coffees, and people watching. As I watched I was fascinated with a few behaviors. I've noticed that most Moroccans are interdependent. Due to financial reasons or otherwise, they do not have the means of getting what they want so they rely on their friends to help them. This behavior is shown as people pass cigarettes, bum rides off friends, or pay later. Because of this, the feeling of community is rampant, like stray cats. Another musing came from watching people drink from a fountain across the street.

The roof of my hotel, right outside my room.

Arabic architecture is awesome.

While public drinking fountains can be found all over Europe, this one was different. To the right side of the fountain hung a metal cup on a chain. There wasn't a line but a steady stream of people frequented the water hole and each one used this same public cup to drink. Watching this set off sanitation alarms aplenty. It is impossible for me to imagine this same behavior in New York or even in Europe. Obviously it's no big deal here and watching these people drink gave me an odd sense of community. Unfortunately my creamy culture dream was interrupted by Ibrahim.

Chefchaouen's official bean counter.

Every vehicle in Morocco is decked out with stickers.

After a €0.45 breakfast, we began our tour of Chefchaouen. Ibrahim wasn't much older than me but he grew up in Chefchaouen so he knew a lot about it. Chefchaouen is known for its painted buildings. Nearly every building in the old town is painted this way, with a vibrant sky blue on the bottom and bleach white on top. Blueberry cream cheese. Ibrahim told me that the white is a natural mosquito repellant and the blue acts like air conditioning to keep the streets cool (If anyone knows how either of these work, please leave a comment). The term 'medina' refers to the old town and is the most active part of Chefchaouen.

Playing soccer in the medina.

Beautiful hand-made rugs. Buy one, buy five.

New school and old school.

The medina was a pile of people. The elderly strolled past fruit and vegetable stands while kids ran around playing. Narrow streets full of thin people. Buildings full of stores, stores full of everything. There was a lot of energy in the air, lively but relaxed. I felt right at home walking around in my djellaba, just like the old men – I totally blended in. Once Ibrahim finished showing me around the medina he took me to see his family's farm in the mountains.

I could also see myself being kidnapped in a van like this.

Yep, we could have fallen to our deaths....

...But the view was beautiful...

...Even though the road was narrow.

What a crazy ride. The old van bounced and made clicky-poppy noises as it labored up the mountain. The views out of the tasseled windows were as dazzling as they were frightening. Maybe some people would be freaked out by getting in a car with a bunch of strangers, but I was having a good time. After 20 minutes the van stopped. Getting out and looking around, I was surrounded by chickens, cows, and a handful of small houses. Ibrahim lead me to a nearby structure where we chilled as a knot of flies buzzed around in the middle of the room. His family grows greenery to sell at the markets. Unfortunately the crop was just sprouting. When I had snapped my fill of pictures, we piled back in the van and bounced back into town.

The view when we got out of the van.

Animals are EVERYWHERE in Morocco.

Looking back at where the van dropped us.

The view from Ibrahim's farm.

I wouldn't mind living here.

Did you know that Morocco his home to more cats than people?

The crop.

Hey kids, don't touch the van!

Whoa.

Ibrahim told me that he had stuff to do so I thanked him for his time and began to explore on my own. Resuming my classic state of aimless wandering, I found myself outside of the city headed up a hill. Chefchaouen is built into a mountain side and the scenery is breath taking. I walked until I had a full view of the city. As I returned to the city I saw a river where people were washing their clothes and playing in the water – it was rather hot so I decided to join them. It was pretty late by the time I got back to the hotel so I passed out, having survived another day in Morocco.

Chefchaouen.

Tre bon!

One of the main streets into the city.

After spending a few days in Morocco, I've become much more comfortable with my surroundings. When I arrived in Tangier I was maximally defensive because I didn't know what to expect or how to react. Thankfully, now that I've experienced a bit of the local flavor I feel more comfortable and can open myself more to the culture. Fear is the opponent of discovery.

Who knew washing clothes could be so fun?

Everyone was having a good time.

...Especially me!

Chefchaouen is an amazing place to visit. Its geography and culture is among my favorites from places I've seen on my trip. Tomorrow I would take the bus to Fes, Morocco's capital of industry. Get ready.

Salam!

Check out the rest of the photos!

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Day 162: How to Survive Morocco (Tangier and Chefchaouen)

Squatting toilets, no toilet paper, djellabas – talk about culture shock. The past four days that I've been in Morocco have been indescribable. I constantly feel myself surrounded by dichotomies here – the culture may be drastically different from America but people's hearts are the same. My experiences here have been so rich that I almost feel that writing about them would be such an inaccurate portrayal that it is futile. From the second that I stepped out of the ferry from Tarifa it was clear that I was not in Europe any more.

The ferry to Morocco from Tarifa is well worth the €37 ticket.

People's responses to my statement "I'm going to Morocco," have run the gambit from "I love Morocco," to "Please don't." Though I try not listen to other people's opinions, the general advice was to be on my guard, be confident, and realize that you will pay for everything. Initially I was a bit nervous but now that I've experienced the hassling on the streets, squatting toilets, and dilapidated hotel rooms, I feel more comfortable.

No potatoes or flowers allowed.

The group of English hitch hikers I met up with.

The ferry also takes cars and campers.

Bye bye Tarifa!

Everyone warned me that the locals were going to try to get money out of us any way that they could. I expected to be swarmed by these types, and that's exactly what happened. I came prepared with an arsenal of "No, no, no, no, no, no's" but I wasn't prepared for their level of persistence. I met a group of students from England on the ferry and we decided to brave the onslaught together. Taxi drivers, tour guides, all types surrounded us when we got off the boat. We said no to everyone and kept walking but two of the men kept following us. One man told us he knew where we could change money, when the bus to Chefchaouen left, where we could store our bags, and some good places to eat. Hook, line, and sinker, we followed him.

There were a ton of seats.

The ship was really nice with two decks and lots of windows.

Leaving Spain.

View from the back.

Getting artsy with the sun.

Africa on the horizon.

Almost there!

"They will make it seem like they are your friends, but they only want your money," Daniel, my kite surfing instructor warned me before I left. His words have been ringing in my head as I travel through Morocco. I've been trying to decide if the people here are truly friendly or only motivated by money. My decision is that it's not so black and white. Most people in Morocco are rather poor and tourism is the country's main source of income. So these locals on the street trying to help me with this or that of course want money, but some are genuine. I've been shown around by three people now and they've all been friendly and eager to help. Even if money is their only motivation they are masters of making it seem like otherwise. Though I was skeptical at first, now I wish every country had people this helpful.

My second passport stamp.

Once we had gotten off the ferry, our money changed, luggage stored, and I bought a bus ticket to Chefchaouen our guides brought us into the town. I was highly suspicious of the guides, they had handsome dark skin with gruff facial hair giving them an authentic Moroccan look. One was dressed in a bright blue hat and yellow and brown checkered jacket. They were very friendly but slightly overly talkative and pushy. I wish their tour included more historic tidbits but the city was amazing. Another one of their talents was getting us to buy stuff. They took us to a lavish three course lunch for €10 followed by robe shopping (my djellaba was €55). I wasn't expecting to buy a djellaba but they were kind of awesome so I figured I needed one. I'll write more about how newfound robe lust later. After showing us around the streets a bit they brought us back to the bus station in time for my bus. I paid them €17 to split between them and hopped on the bus to Chefchaouen (€4) right as the sun was setting.

I wouldn't recommend going to Tangier but as my first experience in Morocco, I was amazed. It looked like a scene out of Aladdin with street vendors' sunken faces and bustling atmosphere. There were a ton of people everywhere and a giant handful of other cultural differences to absorb, but I had enough. Despite my tour guide's warnings that Chefchaouen is full of "thieves and junkies," I was happy to leave Tangier and get out of the big city.

We're here!

The bus to Chefchaouen was unexpectedly long but chill and comfortable. Our ride took so long because there are no highways to Chefchaouen. All of the roads max out at 60km/hr but I would guess our average speed was somewhere around 40. The beautiful silhouettes of mountains that dimly permeated the window made me wish for the sun – the ride would have been much nicer during the day. About two and a half hours later we arrived in Chefchaouen. I got off the bus hoping to find a spot to pitch my tent as it was nearly 12. I was surprised and not surprised when a young dude came up to me and asked if I needed a hotel. I said I was just looking for a place to camp but then he told me it was only 50DH so I agreed.

I didn't feel comfortable taking photos – sorry I don't have more.

Tangier at sunset before I left for Chefchaouen.

Once again, I was surprised and not surprised. This place made Motel 6 look like King Mohammad VI's grand palace. The only room available was on the roof and the bed was skeezy. Thankfully I found a creative solution. I passed out after a super long day.

If this bed could talk...

I didn't want to take any chances :p

From taking the ferry in the morning to arriving in a new country, exploring Tangier and taking the bus to Chefchaoen, I was wiped out. Morocco is a fantastic wonderland of sensory overload. I felt like I had been pulled in all directions. Although I was exhausted, I felt positive about my upcoming two weeks in Morocco. I am in a land of dualities – surrounded by a new environment where I am the only constant. Morocco is not an easy place to travel, but difficulty feeds personal growth. I look forward to surviving in Morocco.

Salam!