Fez to Chefchaouen

After another delicious breakfast on the rooftop of Dar Attajali, a fellow was called to push a trolley with our bags in it and guide us out of the medina to the northern gate where we initially entered. There we got a ‘petit taxi’ into the Ville Nouvelle (new city), our bags precariously sitting in a tray on the roof of the car, to the CTM bus station, and got tickets to Chefchaouen on the 11am bus. We’d arrived way ahead of time and waited about an hour and a half in the clan, modern station. The bus was also quite modern, our baggage checked in for a small extra fee (depending on weight, it seemed), and we boarded with no problem.

The four hours or so journey was mostly through quite a drab, brown landscape with more than a passing resemblance to country NSW. There was the inevitable stop at a dusty, desolate gas station where we had to sit around for half an hour (you could, if you desired, avail yourself of the grilled meat in a dry bun option). After a brief stop in the grotty-looking town of Ouezzane – which rally reminded me of many similar bus stops in India – we started to enter the Rif mountains and the driver inexplicably sped up, with the result that the back of the bus fish-tailed badly and we were both – especially Carol – feeling pretty dodgy by the time we got our first sight of Chefchaouen’s blue and white buildings blanketing the lower slopes of Jebel el-Kelaâ (1616m).

At the bus station we immediately booked return tickets for Sunday morning, then had to wait 15 minutes for a taxi to show up! Eventually a little blue petit taxi arrived, its front passenger seat occupied by what seemed to the driver’s wife and baby. He was a bit of a grumpy bastard and initially asked 20 Dh for the trip to the medina – we settled on 15.

Up steep streets to the gate, Mr Grumpy got his coins, and we were quickly waylaid by a kid who wanted to guide us. By this time we were hot, sweaty, and annoyed. He got us to the Dar Meziana, was paid (too much), and we collapsed into our room, which was quite small and pokey for the price, I thought (650 Dh).

This was our first “AARGH!” moment – one of those inevitable times while travelling when you’re sick of being treated like crap – but after a shower and a change, and walking out into the late afternoon and the beautiful blue and white whitewashed alleys of the medina, we soon began to relax again. The medina is just stunning, with a very Mediterranean feel. The stallholders don’t see to hassle, and so far only one guy has offered us marijuana (the area is known for ‘kif’ – a stoned guy at the bus station bothered us briefly). We sat at a cafe in the main square (Plaza Uta el-Hammam) and had delicious mint tea, packed with mint, though Carol’s was hijacked while I was taking a photograph, by a brat who needed a good slap. Brief annoyances aside, the evening was gorgeous, and the square full of people promenading to and fro past the red kasbah and the mosque, a full moon beaming down on it all.

At about 7.30pm we made our way to Casa Hassani, a restaurant where we got a meal as part of our accommodation price – which made it much more reasonable. Especially since the meal was excellent – I had Moroccan soup (slightly spicy tomato soup with chicken) and a meat tagine; Carol had a vegetable tagine. As always, fresh orange juice.

Our room may be small, but the bed was very firm and comfortable, and I had the best sleep yet of our trip.