Roderick Phillips's Blog, page 10

Hassan II mosque, Casablanca, Day 257

Whereas Rabat is the administrative and political capital of Morocco, Casablanca is undeniably the country’s cultural and economic heartbeat. Having said that, Casablanca is not a tourist hotspot and until relatively recently it lacked an iconic landmark. Perhaps this is what inspired the late king, Hassan II, to build the gargantuan Hassan II mosque between 1980 and 1993. The mosque is located on a rocky promontory of reclaimed land overlooking the ocean northwest of the downtown area, echoing (according to the Lonely Planet) a verse from the Quran that states that God’s throne was built upon the water  The statistics are just mind-boggling: the mosque can accommodate 25,000 worshippers inside and a further 80,000 in the surrounding courtyards and squares; the minaret reaches a staggering 210m in height, making it the tallest building  in Morocco and the tallest minaret in the world.  The Hassan II mosque is the third largest mosque in the world and dominates the skyline over the surrounding low-rise shantytowns. Again, according to our LP guide, the prayer hall is large enough to house Paris’ Notre Dame cathedral or Rome’s St. Peter’s basilica.

Naturally a building this size and one that is decorated with such exquisite tile work, wood carvings, and stucco moulding didn’t come cheap. The Hassan II mosque cost as much as US$800 million to build, raised largely from public subscription although the subscription was not voluntary. Critics argue that if the Moroccan people were forced to contribute so much money, then perhaps it should have been spent on the slums surrounding the mosque and the people who live there under desperate conditions. The criticism is more of a whisper than fully fledged anger as most Moroccans appear pleased with the mighty edifice, although maintaining such a magnificent building in the teeth of the Atlantic is an expensive business. This might explain why the Hassan II mosque is one of only two in the country that allows non-Muslims to visit – for a price. And it ain’t cheap: 120D (US$15) per person. Christi and I pass on the opportunity to explore within, although apparently the interior is the equal of the exterior. Part of the mosque’s floor is made of glass so worshippers can kneel directly over the sea. Unfortunately, this wonderful feature is mainly for royal use and is off-limits to visitors. Also an automated sliding roof opens to the heavens on special occasions. Thus the faithful of Casablanca can indeed contemplate God’s sky and ocean in accordance with king Hassan’s wishes.

We contemplate the meaning of all this at a nearby McDonald’s. Once Christi had seen the Golden Arches there was no stopping her. Clearly she has been brainwashed by this strange cult led by an enigmatic figure known only as Ronald. And on that note it’s time to leave Casablanca and Morocco. Tomorrow is a new day and there will be a new country to explore.

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.

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Rick’s Cafe, Casablanca, Day 265

Despite the variable weather, Chefchaouen has been a great place to visit. Indeed, as we come to the end of our adventures in Morocco I can safely say this country provided Christi and I (her health issues aside) with some incredible experiences. And much like Argentina in South America, there is a reason we allocated so much time to countries like these. In fact there is so much to see and do in Morocco and Argentina that we could always come back for another visit.  I have to admit, though, that these are not the actual thoughts passing through my mind at 6.30 am as we taxi to the Chefchaouen bus station amid yet another massive rainstorm. An 8-hour journey to the largest city in Morocco and perhaps its most famous, Casablanca, looms, but my thought are more mundane: I wish I was tucked up in a warm bed rather than sitting in a cold bus station; where will we be staying in Casablanca; and even though Christi is weirdly craving American fast food again I have no intention of eating at McDonald’s. As the bus rolls out of the station, I think I may have a solution to the burger predicament: Rick’s Cafe. Themed after the classic Hollywood movie, Casablanca, the restaurant was the creation of ex-American diplomat, Kathy Kriger. More details a bit later, but the important thing is that hamburgers are on the menu!

The road in and out of Chefchaouen is a twisting windy affair – nausea inducing, in fact the way the bus drivers speed along. So this time Christi and I dip into her pharmaceutical bag of tricks to chomp on some Dramamine. While we certainly didn’t have any issues with nausea on this particular trip, we also didn’t see much of anything either as we snored through most of the journey. We think this was the most mundane of all our bus rides in Morocco , noteworthy only for the driver’s incessant honking, which kept waking us up. Perhaps the honking was effective, though, because we arrive in Casablanca 90 minutes ahead of schedule. We stumble off the bus, gather our bags and taxi to the nearby hotel Guynemer (a Lonely Planet best pick).  This place looks rather posh with its art-deco architecture, marbled reception, and tiled floors, while the room rate of 370D (US$45) is an absolute bargain. I pay quickly before the management can change their mind. Rooms come with wi-fi, plasma screen TVs, and even monographed dressing gowns.

We taken the opportunity to relax and freshen up. Rick’s Cafe has a dress code, so we dig out our least disgusting clothes and smarten ourselves up as much as a backpacker can. Unlike the movie which dates to 1942, this café has only been in business since 2004. It’s actually surprising that no one embraced the opportunity sooner. Set in an old courtyard-style mansion built against the walls of the Old Medina of Casablanca, Rick’s cafe is filled with architectural and decorative details reminiscent of the film: curved arches, a sculpted bar, balconies, balustrades as well as dramatic beaded and stenciled brass lighting and plants that cast luminous shadows on white walls. Four fireplaces give the place an intimate feel, while a pianist creates a 1940′s mood. There is even a gaming room that constantly replays the movie (muted), so we never hear Humphrey Bogart‘s immortal line, ‘Here’s looking at you kid’.

We do, however, look at the menu, which has a quite delicious fine dining selection. At this point all thoughts of a burger are forgotten and Christi orders a goat cheese and fig salad followed by lamb chops, while I tuck into roast duck with chutney and cheesecake.  This together with a little too much alcohol comes to a whopping 533D (US$65), but Christi pronounces the meal de-licious. And the good news is I can use my credit card, so I don’t have to resort to any dodgy black market activities (like selling Christi into white slavery) to pay the bill.

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart –  a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.

The post Rick’s Cafe, Casablanca, Day 265 appeared first on Roderick Phillips.

Rick’s Cafe, Casablanca, Day 256

Despite the variable weather, Chefchaouen has been a great place to visit. Indeed, as we come to the end of our adventures in Morocco I can safely say this country provided Christi and I (her health issues aside) with some incredible experiences. And much like Argentina in South America, there is a reason we allocated so much time to countries like these. In fact there is so much to see and do in Morocco and Argentina that we could always come back for another visit.  I have to admit, though, that these are not the actual thoughts passing through my mind at 6.30 am as we taxi to the Chefchaouen bus station amid yet another massive rainstorm. An 8-hour journey to the largest city in Morocco and perhaps its most famous, Casablanca, looms, but my thought are more mundane: I wish I was tucked up in a warm bed rather than sitting in a cold bus station; where will we be staying in Casablanca; and even though Christi is weirdly craving American fast food again I have no intention of eating at McDonald’s. As the bus rolls out of the station, I think I may have a solution to the burger predicament: Rick’s Cafe. Themed after the classic Hollywood movie, Casablanca, the restaurant was the creation of ex-American diplomat, Kathy Kriger. More details a bit later, but the important thing is that hamburgers are on the menu!

The road in and out of Chefchaouen is a twisting windy affair – nausea inducing, in fact the way the bus drivers speed along. So this time Christi and I dip into her pharmaceutical bag of tricks to chomp on some Dramamine. While we certainly didn’t have any issues with nausea on this particular trip, we also didn’t see much of anything either as we snored through most of the journey. We think this was the most mundane of all our bus rides in Morocco , noteworthy only for the driver’s incessant honking, which kept waking us up. Perhaps the honking was effective, though, because we arrive in Casablanca 90 minutes ahead of schedule. We stumble off the bus, gather our bags and taxi to the nearby hotel Guynemer (a Lonely Planet best pick).  This place looks rather posh with its art-deco architecture, marbled reception, and tiled floors, while the room rate of 370D (US$45) is an absolute bargain. I pay quickly before the management can change their mind. Rooms come with wi-fi, plasma screen TVs, and even monographed dressing gowns.

We taken the opportunity to relax and freshen up. Rick’s Cafe has a dress code, so we dig out our least disgusting clothes and smarten ourselves up as much as a backpacker can. Unlike the movie which dates to 1942, this café has only been in business since 2004. It’s actually surprising that no one embraced the opportunity sooner. Set in an old courtyard-style mansion built against the walls of the Old Medina of Casablanca, Rick’s cafe is filled with architectural and decorative details reminiscent of the film: curved arches, a sculpted bar, balconies, balustrades as well as dramatic beaded and stenciled brass lighting and plants that cast luminous shadows on white walls. Four fireplaces give the place an intimate feel, while a pianist creates a 1940′s mood. There is even a gaming room that constantly replays the movie (muted), so we never hear Humphrey Bogart‘s immortal line, ‘Here’s looking at you kid’.

We do, however, look at the menu, which has a quite delicious fine dining selection. At this point all thoughts of a burger are forgotten and Christi orders a goat cheese and fig salad followed by lamb chops, while I tuck into roast duck with chutney and cheesecake.  This together with a little too much alcohol comes to a whopping 533D (US$65), but Christi pronounces the meal de-licious. And the good news is I can use my credit card, so I don’t have to resort to any dodgy black market activities (like selling Christi into white slavery) to pay the bill.

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart –  a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.

The post Rick’s Cafe, Casablanca, Day 256 appeared first on Roderick Phillips.

Kasbah, Chefchaouen, Day 264

After my long hike into the Rif mountains yesterday and equally long soak in the tub, I awake today with no aches or pains, which suggests that one way or another I must be getting fitter as I travel the world. Our first travel activity of the day is the rather less attractive chore of moving rooms. Apparently someone had pre-booked ours, so we have to move to noticeably less appealing room. As usual we eke out as much time as possible in the idyllic room and our inferior room is only for one night. Tomorrow we leave Chefchaouen for the famed city of Casablanca. For the moment, though, we have one last chance to explore the medina and today we focus on the red-hued Kasbah which overlooks the Plaza Uta el-Hamman. 

The Kasbah or fortress dates to the 18th century. It was built by that legendary ruler of Morocco Moulay Ismail, although it has been heavily restored over the years. The Kasbah includes an ethnographic museum and art gallery surrounded by gardens that offer a slice of peace and tranquility mere yards from the busy medina. The views from the ramparts over Chefchaouen and the Rif are delightful. 

Perhaps the most famous prisoner to be housed in the Kasbah was Abd el-Krim, a Riffian political and military leader, between 1916-1917. He led a large-scale revolt of the Berber tribes in the Rif mountains against the colonial powers of France and Spain, culminating in the establishment of the short-lived Rif Republic (this sounds like something out of Star Wars!). Apparently the guerilla tactics so successfully employed by Abd el-Krim later influenced Ho Chi Minh, Mao Zedong, Che Guevera, and Luke Skywalker in their fights against tyranny.

Christi is once again craving American fast food, but there is no McDonald’s in town. In fact we cannot find a burger joint of any description in Chefchaouen, so Christi resigns herself to more Moroccan fare in the medina. And once again the local cat population benefits greatly from Christi’s largesse. Tomorrow night we will be in Casablanca and according to the Lonely Planet, McDonald’s has invaded that iconic town. The cats may be salivating now, but it will be Christi’s turn tomorrow. I think we might need to buy another pregnancy test kit as well. Craving this much McDonald’s is just not normal.

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.

The post Kasbah, Chefchaouen, Day 264 appeared first on Roderick Phillips.

Kasbah, Chefchaouen, Day 255

After my long hike into the Rif mountains yesterday and equally long soak in the tub, I awake today with no aches or pains, which suggests that one way or another I must be getting fitter as I travel the world. Our first travel activity of the day is the rather less attractive chore of moving rooms. Apparently someone had pre-booked ours, so we have to move to noticeably less appealing room. As usual we eke out as much time as possible in the idyllic room and our inferior room is only for one night. Tomorrow we leave Chefchaouen for the famed city of Casablanca. For the moment, though, we have one last chance to explore the medina and today we focus on the red-hued Kasbah which overlooks the Plaza Uta el-Hamman. 

The Kasbah or fortress dates to the 18th century. It was built by that legendary ruler of Morocco Moulay Ismail, although it has been heavily restored over the years. The Kasbah includes an ethnographic museum and art gallery surrounded by gardens that offer a slice of peace and tranquility mere yards from the busy medina. The views from the ramparts over Chefchaouen and the Rif are delightful. 

Perhaps the most famous prisoner to be housed in the Kasbah was Abd el-Krim, a Riffian political and military leader, between 1916-1917. He led a large-scale revolt of the Berber tribes in the Rif mountains against the colonial powers of France and Spain, culminating in the establishment of the short-lived Rif Republic (this sounds like something out of Star Wars!). Apparently the guerilla tactics so successfully employed by Abd el-Krim later influenced Ho Chi Minh, Mao Zedong, Che Guevera, and Luke Skywalker in their fights against tyranny.

Christi is once again craving American fast food, but there is no McDonald’s in town. In fact we cannot find a burger joint of any description in Chefchaouen, so Christi resigns herself to more Moroccan fare in the medina. And once again the local cat population benefits greatly from Christi’s largesse. Tomorrow night we will be in Casablanca and according to the Lonely Planet, McDonald’s has invaded that iconic town. The cats may be salivating now, but it will be Christi’s turn tomorrow. I think we might need to buy another pregnancy test kit as well. Craving this much McDonald’s is just not normal.

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.

The post Kasbah, Chefchaouen, Day 255 appeared first on Roderick Phillips.

Rif mountains, Morocco, Day 263

Sometimes an interesting piece of information in a Lonely Planet guidebook can turn into a seriously misguided idea. Several years ago when I was in Sumatra, the Lonely Planet guide to South-East Asia positively raved about exploring Samosir Island on Lake Toba by motorcycle. Completing a loop of the island in a day was easy peasy lemon squeezy they said. Which just goes to show that travelers do the stupidest things out on the road that they would not normally do at home. For a start I didn’t even know how to ride a motorcycle, but do you think that stopped me? Not at all, but the day did not go well. I mention this as neat segue into the latest daft idea gleaned from the pages of my Lonely Planet guidebook. Perhaps I’m being a little harsh, but my attempts to summit of Jebel el-Kelaa (a 1616m peak in the Rif mountains) in a day ended in similarly frustrating circumstances…

From Chefchaouen, the trail head is  to the north of the medina, past the Azilane campsite. The trail is a 4WD track that is occasionally marked with yellow and white stripes.  The stony trail zig-zags up through the tree line and at 8:30am I am the only person hiking.  The only person I see on the trail is at a viewpoint overlooking Chefchaouen and he wants to sell me kif (hashish) – which I decline politely. The Rif mountains of Morocco are where most of the cannabis (marijuana) is grown and processed into hashish. Apparently, the locals have been enjoying kif in the Rif for centuries (long before the 4/20 cannabis cult). In fact, according to the Lonely Planet Guide the word ‘kif’ stems from the arabic word for ‘pleasure’. But the casual use by a goat herder has been overtaken by a multi-million dollar industry so it pays to be a little circumspect.  In any event I was more interested in the awesome views over Chefchaouen below me and the sculpted peaks of the Rif up above.

I continue hiking this pristine and tranquil wilderness of scrubby gorse, dwarf holly trees, and jagged rocks until I reach the tiny hamlet of  Ain Tissimlane, some 90 minutes from Chefchaouen. The hamlet is nothing more than a handful of buildings and judging by the number of times I am offered kif on the way through, cannabis is probably an important cash crop. So far so good. Above the hamlet the route becomes much steeper with tight switchbacks that gain elevation swiftly and painfully.  It is a hot day in the Rif and I only brought 1 liter of water with me. I will need to be very careful, otherwise another Mauritania-like case of heat stroke is a distinct possibility.  According to those good folks at the Lonely Planet an hour beyond Ain Tissimlane is a pass with a track leading off to the west.  Follow this track to a saddle between two peaks from which the summit of Jebel el-Kelaa rises above you.  Only there is no trail marked for Jebel el-Kelaa and the yellow and white trail markers continue to zig-zag ever upward, yet I can never escape the valley.  I do see a ridge-line, saddle, and mountain off to the west that I suppose is my goal but there is no trail and no way to get there.  The uneven rock-strewn trail is tough on the legs and the sun beats down all the more.  At noon I see a peak not far from the 4WD track and decide to bag it.

The views are spectacular. I’m alone in the Rif with unending peaks in every direction.  In a nearby valley white fluffy clouds are engulfing the land below and beginning to creep up and over the slopes of the mountains (I suppose it could also be 10,000 kif users all exhaling at the same time!). Either way the white fluffy things are ominous and after eating a quick lunch I skedaddle back down the way I came.

Near 1pm I see a faint trail off to the west that might lead to Jebel el-Kelaa and I go off to explore.  The trail peters out on the ridgeline, leaving me ensnared in feisty thickets staring down steep unstable slopes.  Below me there appears to be another trail and I scramble down to it.  Amazingly it has yellow and white markings, which I follow to the base of Jebel el-Kelaa. By now, though, I’m too tired to climb it and decide to retrace my route and see exactly where the trail hits the 4WD track.  Frustratingly, the yellow and white trail markers disappear again and I’m left following a rugged goat herder’s trail that requires a lot of dangerous rock scrambling before I regain the 4WD track.  It takes 3 more hours of tiring, thirsty, and painful hiking to get back to the hotel Guernika and the welcoming arms of Christi. While I clean up with a long shower, Christi dashes down to the plaza to buy food and lots of water. Sleep well tonight. Boy do I sleep well.

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes

The post Rif mountains, Morocco, Day 263 appeared first on Roderick Phillips.

Rif mountains, Morocco, Day 254

Sometimes an interesting piece of information in a Lonely Planet guidebook can turn into a seriously misguided idea. Several years ago when I was in Sumatra, the Lonely Planet guide to South-East Asia positively raved about exploring Samosir Island on Lake Toba by motorcycle. Completing a loop of the island in a day was easy peasy lemon squeezy they said. Which just goes to show that travelers do the stupidest things out on the road that they would not normally do at home. For a start I didn’t even know how to ride a motorcycle, but do you think that stopped me? Not at all, but the day did not go well. I mention this as neat segue into the latest daft idea gleaned from the pages of my Lonely Planet guidebook. Perhaps I’m being a little harsh, but my attempts to summit of Jebel el-Kelaa (a 1616m peak in the Rif mountains) in a day ended in similarly frustrating circumstances…

From Chefchaouen, the trail head is  to the north of the medina, past the Azilane campsite. The trail is a 4WD track that is occasionally marked with yellow and white stripes.  The stony trail zig-zags up through the tree line and at 8:30am I am the only person hiking.  The only person I see for the first couple of hours is at a viewpoint overlooking Chefchaouen and he wants to sell me kif (hashish) – which I decline politely. The Rif mountains of Morocco is where most of the cannabis (marijuana) is grown and processed into hashish. Apparently, the locals have been enjoying kif in the Rif for centuries (long before the 4/20 cannabis cult). In fact, according to the Lonely Planet Guide the word ‘kif’ stems from the arabic word for ‘pleasure’. But the casual use by a goat herder has been overtaken by a multi-million dollar industry so it pays to be a little circumspect.  In any event I was more interested in the awesome views over Chefchaouen below me and the sculpted peaks of the Rif up above.

I continue hiking this pristine and tranquil wilderness of scrubby gorse, dwarf holly trees, and jagged rocks until I reach the tiny hamlet of  Ain Tissimlane, some 90 minutes from Chefchaouen. The hamlet is nothing more than a handful of buildings and judging by the number of ties I am offered kif on the way through, cannabis is probably an important cash crop. So far so good. Above the hamlet the route becomes much steeper with tight switchbacks that gain elevation swiftly and painfully.  It is a hot day in the Rif and I only brought 1 liter of water with me. I will need to be very careful, otherwise another Mauritania-like case of heat stroke is a distinct possibility.  According to those good folks at Lonely Planet an hour beyond Ain Tissimlane is a pass with a track leading off to the west.  Follow this track to a saddle between two peaks from which the summit of Jebel el-Kelaa rises above you.  Only there is no trail marked for Jebel el-Kelaa and the yellow and white trail markers continue to zig-zag ever upward, yet I can never escape the valley.  I see a ridge-line, saddle, and mountain that I suppose is my goal but there is no trail.  The uneven rock-strewn trail is tough on the legs and the sun beats down all the more.  At noon I see a peak not far from the 4WD track and decide to bag it.

The views are spectacular. I’m alone in the Rif with unending peaks in every direction.  In a nearby valley white fluffy clouds are engulfing the land below and beginning to creep up and over the slopes of the mountains (I suppose it could also be 10,000 kif users all exhaling at the same time!). Either way the white fluffy things are ominous and after eating a quick lunch I skedaddle back down the way I came.

Near 1pm I see a faint trail off to the west that might lead to Jebel el-Kelaa and I go off to explore.  The trail peters out on the ridgeline, leaving me ensnared in feisty thickets staring down steep unstable slopes.  Below me there appears to be another trail and I scramble down to it.  Amazingly it has yellow and white markings, which I follow to the base of Jebel el-Kelaa. By now, though, I’m too tired to climb it and decide to retrace my route and see exactly where the trail hits the 4WD track.  Frustratingly, the yellow and white trail markers disappear again and I’m left following a rugged goat herder’s trail that requires a lot of dangerous rock scrambling before I regain the 4WD track.  It takes 3 more hours of tiring, thirsty, and painful hiking to get back to the hotel Guernika and the welcoming arms of Christi. While I clean up with a long shower, Christi dashes down to the plaza to buy food and lots of water. Sleep well tonight. Boy do I sleep well.

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes

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Chefchaouen cityscape, Day 262

Finally, there is a break in the weather and we have blue skies to go with the blue-white medina of Chefchaouen. Christi and I take this opportunity for a quick trip out of town. We amble up a snaking trail in the Rif mountains to the ruins of a nearby mosque.  From our hotel room, the building actually resembles a church rather than a mosque. It was built by the Spanish but abandoned during the Rif War (fought between the Spanish and the Moroccan Berbers of the Rif region during the 1920′s). initially the Berbers were very successful, but ultimately lost the war when France joined in the conflict on the side of Spain. It was a hard-fought victory for the Franco-Spanish forces, which lost 60,000 men. The Rifian Berbers lost 10,000. Of course it is much calmer here now in the Rif, apart from a few excited dogs who scamper along beside us for a while before dashing off amid a flurry of barking. We also pass traditionally dressed Berbers on their way down to market in Chefchaouen, plus a herd of goats (Note, the correct terminology for a herd of goats is actually a tribe of goats, although I wonder who gets to make that decision? Bizarre!). What is not bizarre, but truly sublime are the beautiful cityscape views of Chefchaouen that can be seen from the trail. To the east is the medina with a preponderance of blue-rinsed buildings, while to the west is modern Chefchaouen. There’s not much to see at the mosque itself, but the rolling hills and isolated hamlets that stretch out to the horizon give the area a tranquil feel.

On our return to town we cross a small river called Ras el-Maa. The river attracts a lot of people on weekends who come to swim, sunbathe, and play any number of ball games, but during the week (i.e., now) some of the water is diverted into an open-air wash houses, enabling the locals to go about the tedious chore of laundering clothes in a little more comfort than simply slamming the items against rocks.

Although Christi is feeling a lot better after vomiting regularly for the last three weeks, she is having a tough time with Moroccan food and continues to crave Western fast food (God forbid a McDonald’s should ever open here). She also tires easily and returns to the hotel for a nap after forcing down some couscous.

I spend the rest of the day running chores – staggering might be more accurate (these roads are not getting any less steep), most notably securing 2 bus tickets to Casablanca for 2 days hence (8-hrs; 115D each). In four days our Moroccan adventure will be over.

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.

 

The post Chefchaouen cityscape, Day 262 appeared first on Roderick Phillips.

Chefchaouen cityscape, Day 253

Finally, there is a break in the weather and we have blue skies to go with the blue-white medina of Chefchaouen. Christi and I take this opportunity for a quick trip out of town. We amble up a snaking trail in the Rif mountains to the ruins of a nearby mosque.  From our hotel room, the building actually resembles a church rather than a mosque. It was built by the Spanish but abandoned during the Rif War (fought between the Spanish and the Moroccan Berbers of the Rif region during the 1920′s). initially the Berbers were very successful, but ultimately lost the war when France joined in the conflict on the side of Spain. It was a hard-fought victory for the Franco-Spanish forces, which lost 60,000 men. The Rifian Berbers lost 10,000. Of course it is much calmer here now in the Rif, apart from a few excited dogs who scamper along beside us for a while before dashing off amid a flurry of barking. We also pass traditionally dressed Berbers on their way down to market in Chefchaouen, plus a herd of goats (Note, the correct terminology for a herd of goats is actually a tribe of goats, although I wonder who gets to make that decision? Bizarre!). What is not bizarre, but truly sublime are the beautiful cityscape views of Chefchaouen that can be seen from the trail. To the east is the medina with a preponderance of blue-rinsed buildings, while to the west is modern Chefchaouen. There’s not much to see at the mosque itself, but the rolling hills and isolated hamlets that stretch out to the horizon give the area a tranquil feel.

On our return to town we cross a small river called Ras el-Maa. The river attracts a lot of people on weekends who come to swim, sunbathe, and play any number of ball games, but during the week (i.e., now) some of the water is diverted into an open-air wash houses, enabling the locals to go about the tedious chore of laundering clothes in a little more comfort than simply slamming the items against rocks.

Although Christi is feeling a lot better after vomiting regularly for the last three weeks, she is having a tough time with Moroccan food and continues to crave Western fast food (God forbid a McDonald’s should ever open here). She also tires easily and returns to the hotel for a nap after forcing down some couscous.

I spend the rest of the day running chores – staggering might be more accurate (these roads are not getting any less steep), most notably securing 2 bus tickets to Casablanca for 2 days hence (8-hrs; 115D each). In four days our Moroccan adventure will be over.

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.

 

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Medina, Chefchaouen, Day 252

 

It was a chilly night in the mountain town of Chefchaouen and both Christi and I grabbed extra blankets for our beds. Heavy rain during the night refuses to quit and we are in no rush to leave our chic, albeit bijou slice of heaven at the hotel Guernika. The views from our roof-top room (even in the rain) are sublime:  we look out across the medina to the ruins of a hilltop mosque and looming over everything is Jebal el-Klaa. I hope to climb this bad boy over the next few days and suggest that Christi accompanies me. She laughs and stares ever more intently at the novel she’s reading (The Shelters of Stone by Jean Auel).

Wearing boots, fleece, and rain coat (more reminiscent of Patagonia than Morocco) we finally venture out into the sodden day in search of lunch. Even on the 5-minute walk along the cobbled alleyways to plaza Uta el-Hamman we fall victim to a sudden downpour. In fact it’s a little disconcerting to sit at an outdoor restaurant and see the overhead awning sagging and straining because of the accumulated rain. We seek more permanent refuge in a nearby internet cafe. We seem to spend a lot of time in these places, so even though we took a year off from the real world to live a fantasy life I suppose we are news junkies at heart. And the news is not good (is it ever?). A volcanic eruption in Iceland is spewing ash over Western Europe. Much of West and North European airspace has been closed, canceling thousands of flights and stranding tens of thousands of passengers.  We are due to fly to Tunisia via Rome in 6 days.  Let’s hope the situation is resolved by then.  The good news is that Rome airport is still open at the moment.  

When we emerge back into daylight, the weather has brightened considerably and we poke around the many alleys of the medina. And boy does this place have some steep paths. The most visually striking aspect of the old town, however, are the blue and white houses, steps, and alleys.  Traditionally Muslims painted their doors and windows green, the color of Islam, but the Jewish refugees arriving in the 1930’s painted their buildings blue as a reminder of God in heaven. And the tradition continues to this day. In fact, Christi finds one old lady repainting the exterior of her house and decides to help out. That is bound to earn her a few brownie points with the man upstairs. Incidentally I can think of at least two alternative explanations for the blue color of Chefchaouen. First, blue reflects the color of my skin as it’s damn chilly in this town. Or it might allude to the fact that it rains a lot around here. Neither of which is quite as spiritually uplifting or as financially rewarding as the God connection, though.

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.

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