Day 1 – Part 3 – Casablanca to Chefchaouen

We landed fine, made it through customs okay, had a mildly anxious moment when our bags took a while to appear at the luggage carousel (long story for those who missed the 2009 trip). Slightly more anxious time when our driver wasn’t around to meet us as we were expecting. After 30 minute wait of inspecting every piece of paper being held up multiple times, Abdul arrived, having spent over 30 minutes waiting for us at the other terminal, probably getting just as impatient.

We loaded our bags into a minivan, probably larger than we’re likely to need but we don’t get to pick the vehicle. Then it was out onto the motorway. Chefchaouen is approximately 5-6 hours drive from Casablanca. Abdul started by telling us about Morocco, its ethnic groups, its flag, while pointing out groves of eucalyptus trees imported from Australia. We also spoke about olives and olive oil, and L impressed him with knowing some Arabic. As a city, Casablanca sprawls some along the Atlantic coast, and along the motorway there was fairly high-density living on the left, coastal side, and lighter density as well as sheep, cows, horses, mules and farming land on our right.

We stopped for a coffee and to stretch our legs after about an hour, while Abdul went to the local mosque for prayers. He seems quite charming, qualified as an electrical/chemical engineer, but there aren’t a great deal of jobs around at present in Morocco so he makes a living ferrying foreigners like us around his country. He seems to be a competent and courteous driver, a fine thing as the roads are a little chaotic, with indicators often merely a suggestion and a safe following distance is measured in centimetres.

At the stop I learnt something about Morocco. They drink coffee here. It probably sounds stupid too say it, but given the penchant for Moroccan mint tea, Moroccan tea glasses, tea pots and associated customs, I was under the distinct impression that coffee was no one’s beverage of choice. Or worse, that it would be made to English quality (I love England, and many, many things English, but whenever I step onto the soil of the motherland it is tea all the way). My first taste of Morocco was of a very good espresso, or Italian coffee as it was called. Abdul had a milk-coffee, so it proves that the locals drink it!

If the motorway was a little interesting, once we turned off onto the road to Chefchaouen at around dusk the excitement kicked in. We’d stopped talking to Abdul while he was driving, mostly because we were tired but also because of his habit of turning around to look at us while he explained things. Off the main road I was too scared to distract him, he had his hands full dodging pedestrians (some wearing bizarre lampshade party hats), scooters, ubiquitous white Mercedes Benz minivans (all seemed to be speed limited to something under the acceptable speed), donkey-drawn carts, small trucks loaded with passengers standing in the back, cyclists, and folks wishing to overtake trucks coming towards us on blind bends, while occasionally talking on his mobile phone. I had waves of adrenaline followed by waves of tiredness.

Randomly located along the route were Moroccan towns, quite different to the average Australian country town. People walked close to the roads, vendors sold all sorts of meats, some on a stick, some hanging in store windows. There was always a car mechanic workshop open late, and all seemed to be looking at the vehicles travelling through as some sort of interruption to their night out.

Finally tiredness won, and I slept the last 30 or so minutes of the drive, waking as we approached Chefchaouen. It’s located in the mountains, and the moon looked wonderful until the next turn hid it from view. Our riad is in the Medina, up some steep paths and steps. The room is up even more steep steps, but is lovely. Dinner was at the nearby Casa Hassan, where I had a lovely sheep cheese salad and kefta (yummy meat on a stick).