We got into Chefchaouen (and yes it took me our entire time there to learn how to pronounce it) around 7pm. The bus "station" is at the far end of the town and down the hill so it was quite a bit of a hike up to the medina (city center). We didn't have a place booked and it was raining so we hoped to locate lodging rather quickly. After a confusing climb through winding uphill streets we found the place we had heard of but they were tragically completo (fully booked). Walking back toward the center one of the locals swooped in offering to guide us around if we would consider buying hashish from him. Since we had no idea where to go I told him I would consider it.
He led us around to a number of places and finally we were able to find one, Hostel Andaluz, that had a nice room upstairs with our "own" terrace overlooking the city. Cost was 60 dirhams each per night (about 5.50 euro). Other than the cold at night, it was a delightful place to stay and the man owning it was incredibly kind.
Before we finished fully checking in, Mohammad our impromptu guide asked that I follow him. I informed him that I was really not interested in hashish but if he knew where we could score some beer/wine/vodka that would be fantastic. He led me on what turned out to be a 30 minute wild goose chase around the city trying to locate the one woman who apparently sells alcohol in Chefchaouen. I must say I felt a bit like Raoul Duke in Fear and Loathing running around town attempting to build a collection. Finally he took me back to the hostel (sans alcohol) and the girls and I set out for some hot food and the infamous mint tea (boiling sugar water steeped in mint, Pittsburghers think Tom Tucker without the carbonation).
In the morning it was raining (as usual) but we soldiered on and hiked to this abandoned mosque on the top of a hill where we could get a great view of Chefchaouen. As you may have already noticed, Chefchaouen is famous for its blue painted houses. Wandering through the streets after our hike provided some great shots including one I nabbed of some goats being herded up stairs.
As we were a bit hungry, we stopped into this restaurant which we came to discover was owned by a transplanted Italian man who called himself Gi-gi. He said he generally splits his time between India and Chefchaouen. His restaurant was decorated by dozens of paintings and drawings (including all of the menus) that he had made himself. He invited us to sit with him and have a smoke from his pipe which looked like a massive cigar.
After hanging with Gi-gi and chatting about various topics, the zeitgiest of which being the oppression of women in all major religions and "fucking bastards" in general, we made our way back to the hostel for a rest. An hour or so later the girls emerged declaring they had decided on a solution to pass the day: locating a place to drink. Well ladies, you've come to the right man. So we set out again, this time in search of booze, and happened upon a western-style hotel that had *gasp* a bar! The rest of the afternoon was spent drinking Special Flag beer or cheap (but not inexpensive) gin and playing the Yugoslav drinking game. For dinner we ate on the top floor of a restaurant where we were invited to share shisha with a group of Moroccan guys. The food was good, view was fantastic. An aside, I found it very ironic that there was a giant Johnnie Walker banner used as a tarp in a city where scoring alcohol is nearly impossible.
In the morning, the first of May, we awoke to a new sensation- sunlight and warmth! And as we emerged from our dreary April-evening hibernation, we were greeted to a cacophony of singing from the villagers high up on the hill. The songs of the festival drifted down, mingling with the lingering smell of smoke from fires long since burnt, lending a feeling of ritualistic emergence to the morning. Like a butterfly springing forth from a chrysalis, we were reborn from the days of cold and rain in the morning sun. The view, no, the atmosphere was fantastic. Indescribable unless you were one of us lucky three to witness it.
And with the sun comes of course the opportunity to absorb it and metabolize some vitamin D. Moroccan Mike bonus photo: tickets to the gun show ladies? It should be noted my hair was three days unwashed. Morocco, yes.
No comments:
Post a Comment