Our provisioning for our trip seemed to take all day in Algeciras before we left. We were parked up for the night in the unglamorous location of the Leroy Martin hardware store, a big out of town shopping centre near the ports, amongst without exaggeration, 100 other motorhomes / overlanders spread across the several large car parks. We were headed back to the truck after a dog walk and came within 15ft of a head-on / t-bone collision between two cars in the carpark, both going way too fast and both completely totalled. The Mercedes C Class which was hit side on, span towards us but thankfully stopped short. Both drivers were shocked but ok, behind airbags etc. However, it was a rather shocking end to the day and a stark reminder of how quickly events can change the course of your life and you just have to make the most of what you have.
We were on the road before dawn for the short drive for our 8am ferry. We had very low expectations based on previous experience and other traveller’s tales of how smoothly this would go, being Spanish organised one end and Moroccan the other. Boarding was pretty slow with vague / conflicting hand signals, narrow lanes and only one police lane open for the whole ferry queue. Correspondingly, we were 40mins late boarding, at least ahead of the 2 hour delays we had read about. We also found out belatedly that the Spanish police did not stamp my passport out 😰😩 we think due to the confusion of my expired French visa in my passport. However, we were not allowed to return to the passport checkpoint, I was instead led to the Moroccan policeman onboard the ferry who confirmed he would stamp me into Morocco, which I knew and was not really my point, but that will have to do for now.
The Moroccan passport entry stamp process is all done onboard the 1.5 hr ferry journey, so everyone has to queue at a single police desk in the midst of a seating area, including whole family groups and babes in arms as everyone needs to show their own passport. You also have to fill in a immigration form and there is not a pen to be found onboard. Luckily, I remembered I’d forgotten a pen in my passport stamp angst and was able to get back down to the unlocked, unmanned car deck before we set sail to get one. It seemed a crazy system and took about 40mins of queuing, but was an amusing and characteristic start to our African adventures. Also, in case anyone is interested, the dogs came onboard on the ferry and at no point in the process of port entry was anyone interested in their entry to Morocco.
We arrived into Tangier Med after some lovely views of Spain and Morocco on the deck in the sunshine. The Temporary Vehicle Import Permit process (TIP) turned out to be quite slick in the end, when we eventually worked out where it was – just keep following the exit signs and you will eventually reach the police checkpoint. Once there at least three policemen will give you contradictory directions at the same time. However, a lovely smiling and funny police boss took ours and three other UK / France vehicles paperwork and came back quickly with our TIP.
I went to look for the insurance office, Kev was meanwhile directed to reverse out the space we were in and leave, then hastily told to stop going anywhere by someone else, then finally told to go back where we were. I arrived back to find we were just about to be searched by a police dog and its happy smiling young female police dog handler, except the dog did not like our metal steps (which our border terriers bound up several times daily) and refused to go up. This apparently meant we did not have to be searched after all 😁.
Finally, we bought Moroccan car insurance at a kiosk at the port with the other English travellers and we were free to go. We had a lovely drive to Chefchaouen, firstly down a minor road which was wide, scenic and lovely. Secondly, we went along a national road which was in very poor repair in places with 20ft holes by the side of the road, it was in the midst of road repair works. Hard to tell if this was damage due to the recent earthquake, though that was some distance away, there was a couple of collapsed houses but generally all the other houses / villas were well kept and looked after, probably more so than we expected.
The scenery was green, lush and mountainous with free ranging animals everywhere – donkeys, cows, sheep and goats. Lots of people walking roadside and also quite a bit of industry – brick factories, cement plants and others. Generally lots of people going about their business, often with a friendly wave to us. A really good first impression of Morocco, it felt friendly, different, fascinating and bustling and we are excited to go further after our first day.
The journey though was not over as we still had to negotiate entry to our first destination of Chefchaouen using the tricky direction of taking the “camping’ signposted exit off the “second to last roundabout”. If you miss this, you risk entering the tiny streets of the old town, definitely not large enough for us, in fact the medina area has only footpaths. Obviously needless to say, we did not see a camping sign and the plan to return back if we hit the last roundabout also did not go to plan. We pulled over at the side of the road, to investigate the map before we go in any deeper.
We were soon joined by a local willing to help us navigate for a tip and wanting to join us in the cab. We pointed out we did not have a seat for him, but he then offered to stand on the cab step and hold onto the wing mirror. By now we’d realised we were in a one way system and turning round was not an option, not least due to the surrounding traffic. Anyway, we negotiated accepting his help and for a reasonable tip he took us all the way to the campsite up some very steep roads and very tight turns, to be fair the route corresponded to re-route on the sat-nav but on our own we would certainly have been very hesitant to trust that. We passed a police car at one point who just waved at us and our unorthodox passenger. He was actually a lovely guy who spoke good English, another good travelling story for our memories.
The next day listening to the distant call to morning prayer at day break it was clear we were somewhere very new. We took the dogs for a morning walk and were able to get a lovely view over Chefchaouen, and its walled defences made from the deep red local soil. The town sits in the natural valley formed in a mountain, the Berber name for the town translates to “watch the horns” from the two peaks either side.
Later we took the same route through a gate in the city walls straight into the winding paths of the medina. The town is famous as the whole medina area is painted a beautiful blue, several theories abound as to why, many assume it is purely for tourism. However, Chefchaouen was an independent enclave for much of its history of Muslim and Jewish refuges from Spain, a place of pilgrimage holding the tomb of the patron saint of Jebali Riffian tribesmen. The blue colour is therefore also attributed to the Jewish inhabitants adding indigo to the whitewash as a contrast the traditional green of Islam. It remained independent until 1920, when the Spanish arrived and were shocked to find Jews speaking medieval Castilian, a language which had not been spoken in Iberia for 400 years.
The blue colour has certainly helped its tourism though and there were crowds of visitors from the Far East. However, it was very photogenic and intriguing location with its intricate web of pathways and staircases, where you very quickly get lost despite my cynicism that would happen to us, though that is definitely part of the fun. We saw communal ovens baking bread for the locals, which reminded me of the stamped charred loaves in Pompeii. This was my first visit to a medina and it did feel to me the closest I have seen to what I have read bout life in Ancient Rome. I also read “A House in Fez” in preparation to coming here about a couple who renovate a Riad, a type of building which behind the mysterious street door to the medina hides a courtyard garden, so reminiscent of Roman villas.
We eventually made our way down to the Kasbah, a mudbrick castle and the central square. Kev was only offered cannabis 4 times! Basically anytime I stepped away to take a photo etc, however they were happy to take his polite refusal and moved on. Cannabis is traditionally grown locally on the Rif mountains without issues, if you drive through there you are not hassled by the farmers, but the police try to prevent international exploitation of the trade.
We opted for a traditional mint tea instead complete with fresh mint leaves and heavy with sugar, as we thought we ought to try the authentic brew first. It was actually very refreshing, though I could not manage the syrupy last few sips. The town was bustling with locals and everyone seemed to have somewhere to go, it was nice atmosphere and we did not get the hassle that you hear of in more crowded tourist hotspots like Marrakesh.
The sun was shining and we decided to have lunch outdoors, taking the weather opportunity to use our outdoor kitchen for the first time. The afternoon was spent chatting to some of the other visitors arriving and doing tours of each others trucks, comparing plans and previous travels, sharing what we had found locally. Also finding it was not just us that missed the sign to the campsite!
In for a Penney 