Chefchaouen – It Blue my Mind
With the whole day free in the town of Chefchaouen, we were unleashed to go running up hills, climbing on forts and getting lost in a maze. And that's exactly what we did despite the pouring rain.
Chefchaouen, or the Blue Pearl, was founded in 1471 as a fortress to fight the Portuguese invasion of Morocco. The Spanish seized the city in 1920 and it was returned to Morocco in 1956.
Our first destination was the Spanish Mosque up on the hill across a river valley from Chefchaouen. We had a hell of a time trying to find the allegedly easy path up to the mosque, so we ended up scrambling up the hillside. Although a more difficult route, it afforded better views than the main path. Which was easy and fairly obvious but way less fun and adventuresome.
At the mosque, a local offered to take us to his brother's farm for "the very best, very fresh cannabis". The area around Chefchaouen is notorious for growing cannabis and the town for selling it to tourists. Despite the town having a reputation with young backpackers and old tokers alike, marijuana is illegal in Morocco. Beyond the usual legal consequences, I read about a scam in which you are offered weed and as soon as you pay, you're arrested by the brother/in-law of the dealer. The dealer gets his money, and the relative increases their arrest numbers. Really no point in going to Moroccan prison when cannabis is legal back home.
Zipping down the hill on the proper path, we came to Ras El Ma - a small waterfall with stone laundry basins with scrubbing surfaces for people to do their washing.
Up the valley slope, we spotted a set of stairs winding up to the fortress walls guarding the city. Up we went, working on our glutes.
Despite fair warning from yours truly, Ang decided she wanted to try a cactus fruit, which I believe is called prickly pear. She plucked a prickly pear from a plant and proceeded to peel and partake of the pulp. And got a bascrilliondy little prickles in her face and fingers. That pear was surprisingly... prickly!
Moving on up, we reached the top of the fortress hill. Here we attempted a scramble to the top, but it was scree on top of slippery mud. Not easy going and not advisable. I decided it was time to descend. Have fun, don't die.
From the top of the town, we meandered through the maze of blue houses and alleys. Every corner I peeked around and every street I gazed down was an ombré wash of blue from turquoise to cerulean to sky. It blue me away.
The homes, hotels and shops in the old part of the city are painted blue, hence the Blue Pearl. We were told the Blue helps dissuade the mosquito population. Another theory offered is the blue represents the sky and heaven, reminding people to live a spiritual life. The women of the town repaint the walls every 2-3 years.
There's a great scene near the end of Indiana Jones: The Last Crusade. Indie, the blonde German doctor and the English Nazi sympathizer have reached the inner sanctum where the holy grail is guarded by an ancient knight. The doctor chooses a cup for the Englishman to drink from, which he believes is the holy grail. After the Englishman takes a long drink, the knight says "He chose... poorly" as the Englishman dies a horrible death. Indiana chooses a modest cup, drinks and hears the knight cheekily say "You have chosen... wisely." This scene plays in my head every time I choose a restaurant or order a dish.
Soaked through, we paused our wandering long enough for lunch. We wanted a place we could get warm out of the rain and look out over the main square, we chose a cozy looking terrace restaurant called Aladdin. We chose... poorly.
The place was full the whole five floors up with multiple busloads of Chinese tourists. There were easily 200 people eating set menus industriously pumped out by the kitchen. We got a little lost in and overwhelmed by the turmoil, put at a corner table for four by the window with the rain and cold wind blowing through. We placed our orders as soon as we could get the attention of the overwhelmed staff but were clearly at the end of a long line of (mostly uneaten and abandoned on the tables) orders. Our quick lunch turned into an hour's long affair.
After escaping the crowded restaurant, it was time for a visit to a rug shop where we learned about traditional Berber weaving and Moroccan styles. There were plain sheep's wool rugs, hand knotted, followed by lamb wool then camel hair rugs which are hand woven and embroidered. Depending on the size of the piece, it can take between 6 months and three years for a woman to finish. They use natural materials to dye the wool: mint to make green, henna for orange, indigo for blue, saffron for red. After pulling out pillowy piles of rugs, they tried hard to sell but with a price tag starting around $1200 CDN, it was time to make a graceful albeit abrupt exit.
With a break in the weather, I was desperate to head back out to the old medina to explore more of the Blue Pearl. We wound our way through many alleys and side streets in no particular direction.
Our aimless wandering had to eventually come to an end as we had one last activity in mind. Our hotel had a deal on henna from a reputable artist, so we decided to get adorned at the end of the day. She deftly drew complicated designs using a syringe. Then we tried to keep the wet, brown paste from smudging as it dried. I had the advantage of having one hand free. Ang got both done. Sucker.
A tip from a tour mate was to cover the drying henna with a lemon and sugar paste and sleep with your hand in a plastic bag. I gave it a whirl and what parts of my arm kept in contact with the lemon did turn out to stain darker and deeper. Sleeping with a bag tied to my arm was weird...
On to Volubilis and Fes tomorrow!
P.S. The night before, we had dinner by the fort and a light snack of snails from a cart.
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