A very slow start to a relaxed day. We got up late, my whole body ached, I couldn't bring myself to stretch before going to sleep, I just didn't have the energy to hold my body in any other position than as a puddle of exhaustion on the mattress. Djalma, being much fitter and exertion resistant than myself, had no problems moving about and while I creaked down the stairs he bounded down like a little kid only held back because of my painfully and painful slow pace, life is so unfair.
We spent the morning relaxing in the nice café in the square outside our hotel, drinking coffee and orange juice, eating a pancake from a stall near the small fruit and veg market. Eventually it was time to move and we gathered up our bags and moved in the general direction of the bus station. We took so long to get ready that we hadn't left ourselves enough time to walk, so we flagged down a petit taxi (only allowed to operate within the town compared to a grand taxi which can go between towns and cities usually for a fixed price). The driver was thicker than two short planks and had no idea what 'estación de bus' was or where it was, despite speaking Spanish with plenty of explanations. In the end and increasingly short of time we directed him to the bus station which he called 'agencia' what a plonker. As it turned out we had plenty of time because our bus, coming from another city, was late.
On the CTM (good bus company) bus which was air-conditioned, we had plenty of leg room and seats which moved back so we could relax. The pleasure of the luxurious ride was tempered by the foetid aroma drifting from the armpits of a fat man in the seat in front of ours. For the better part of the trip he rested his arm along the top of the seat next to him, allowing his scent to waft back and forth so much so that we almost asked him to put his arm down and keep it down, what a stinker.
Other than fatso's smelly pits the journey from Al Hoceima, on the Mediterranean Coast, to Chefchouen, in the Rif Mountains, was stunning. The Rif Mountains differ from the Atlas Mountains in many ways but are just as beautiful, majestic and awe inspiring. Where as the Atlas is raw and mostly untamed save for plantations of crops in and along the river bed, the slopes of the Rif are covered in fig and olive trees with large patches of ripening wheat. Because of this there isn't much exposed rock and so the variation of colours which were visible in the Atlas are not as present in the Rif, nevertheless there were steep areas of the mountain which were only rock and the most striking shades of deep orangey yellow to charcoal grey.
The road also followed the sides of the mountain and in one place we passed an accident, a small van had hit the face of the mountain, crumpling the bonnet like paper, in an attempt to avoid a collision with a small lorry which had gone over the side rolling to a stop about 10metres down the slope. All along the road people and cars had stopped to see the accident, and hopefully help, which slowed the passing traffic down – nearly everyone went to the left side of the bus to see what was going on, but we didn't stop. The emergency services were trying to come through and there wasn't enough room as it was.
 |
| From Al Hoceima, Mediterranean Coast, Morocco |
I'm surprised that we haven't seen more accidents of this kind, the roads are only just wide enough for two vehicles to pass, in most places there isn't any kind of barrier to stop a car from disappearing over the edge, and drivers, while not going at breakneck speeds do not slow down enough when taking corners which they do while straddling both “lanes”, madness.
 |
| From Chefchaouen, The Rif Mountains, Morocco |
Needless to say we made it in one piece and were dropped off at the bottom of Chefchouen, which translates as 'look at the peaks', it is between two mountains and is the most beautiful little town I've seen. It is also one of the steepest to climb, the roads winding up and down making the slog up to find a hotel long and sweaty. We were approached by a man selling weed who offered to take us to a cheap hotel for free, probably on the assumption that we would buy some 'kif' from him. We ended up in quite a nice hotel, agreed on the rate and dumped our bags, the hard sell for weed began. Now I'm not saying that we were closed to it; D was up for a little something and I wasn't against it – the area is famous for its marijuana and plenty of ex-pats have settled here not just because of the outstandingly beautiful location I'm sure. The lengthy hard sell got quite unpleasant and when we decided against buying anything from him, in most part due to mistrust, he put his hand out and demanded money for showing us the hotel. I was getting increasingly angry throughout the bargaining process and nearly blew up when he said we were wasting his time (what about ours?!) and that we should pay him for his services, which he had said were for free. He said that other people who hadn't bought anything from him had given him 150 dirham for his services outrageously implying that we should do the same.
 |
| From Chefchaouen, The Rif Mountains, Morocco |
I have struggled a lot with constant unwanted guides, unwanted help and unwanted attention, all of which is unwanted because it has brought us so much trouble. If everyone was upfront about the price their services entailed we would have avoided all the trouble and all the misunderstandings that arose from these 'friendly' offers. Instead people approach you, calling you 'my friend' and offering to help, lead the way or show you a cheap restaurant or hotel and only once the service has been rendered the friendly attitude is dropped and money is expected.
I'm not stupid, people struggle to make a living here, it's a developing nation and tourists are perceived to have much, but doing business in this way creates such bad feeling for both parties for us because these offers of help seem to stem from goodwill which isn't goodwill at all and for them because we are 'so rich' that we should spread a little or a lot their way. It makes me want to avoid anyone who approaches us in the street because so far the only it leads to are damn shops and hassle, not a good outlook when you want to interact with people.
The argument about payment got so heated that we paid him 20d just to go away and even then he couldn't resist a parting 'fuck you' before getting out of the hotel with his little friend after Djalma asked him to repeat what he said (and he couldn't).
The guy behind reception was little and lovely and told us that they were all talk 'blah blah blah' which made me laugh and that they wouldn't do anything. It was getting dark and I was feeling a bit nervous about going outside but he put our minds at ease and we left to go and get lost in the winding streets.
 |
| From Chefchaouen, The Rif Mountains, Morocco |
We found one of the few places which served beer and relaxed on the terrace next to the mountains, which were near invisible in the dark, looking out over some of the streets lit by street lamps. It was so peaceful and so relaxing and the beer, despite being very small (and very expensive) really hit the spot. It was cold out and so eventually we started back but not before being given some postcards and a small Moroccan salad by the kind waiter (before accepting these things we felt the need to confirm that these were gifts, which felt really rude but we didn't know if we would be charged for them later having accepted them).
We got lost on the way back and took the very long way back to our hotel, which we couldn't ask directions to because we couldn't remember the name, oops! Our bed was big but knackered and it was a job not to roll into the middle in a big heap but it didn't stop us from sleeping like babies. What a day.
No comments:
Post a Comment