Leaving Morocco

It was nearing time to leave Morocco, this maddening, confusing, dusty, smelly, noisy, other world of a country. It had certainly been different and even though we had barely scratched the surface of understanding the recent history and political machinations it had almost without our knowing crept beneath our skin. Being back in Tangier we felt that we could negotiate most of the frustrations of everyday life and were getting quite comfortable with the contradictions. We are very conscious that we can only ever be visitors. The reality is that we will never fit and are only ever to be tolerated as income generators. So it goes. We can live with that.

Back in the marina we were not surprised to see a couple of O.C.C. Boats arrive, from America and the west coast of Australia. We enjoyed a superb evening of hospitality and conversation , not to mention a fair bit of drinking .Many thanks to the skippers and crews of Taipan and Sequoia.

So, leaving Morocco, what will I miss and what not?
There are many similarities between Spain ( Andalucia ) and Morocco, history tells us us why.
BUT, and its a big BUT, the differences go so deep as to need some serious thought. I had serious issues with the disparity of wealth. The monarchy has to all intents and purposes absolute power ( and wealth, far more than our own monarchy), this is also complicated by the king being the religious leader. Since the Arab spring the entire country is in a political religious and social leap forward. The present and previous kings are certainly bringing in reforms but certain bits go forward faster than others, female literacy being a case in point. The Muslim world is struggling to escape its medieval roots in the same way that the Christian church was forced to do. Morocco is a very tolerant and in many respects moderate example of a Muslim country. It also, particularly among the younger elements seemingly  embraces most of the more worrying aspects of western society like mobile phones, social media and most annoyingly Rap music. How things will develop is difficult to say there are so many built in contradictions, it remains however a fascinating and beautiful country, watch this space!
Having scared Lynne to death on the crossing six weeks ago I studied the forcasts and chose a day where winds and visibility were not such a problem . Although this was still a major shipping area we were just outside the TSS ( traffic seperation scheme ) the rumb line to Barbate would cross the approaches as close to 90° as would make no difference. We crossed the initial lane ( Left to right) without problems but 5 miles further on the left to right lane had an enormous bulk carrier that we radioed to make sure we had a safe closing distance. CPA ( closest point of approach ) was less than a half mile. As Africa vanished in the haze Spain emerged reluctantly, the coatline down towards Tarifa never became visible and apart from a couple of yachts we had a lovely gentle sail in the warm South Westerly winds.

Slowly the coastline of Barbate to Trafalgar came into view along with a Tuna factory ship at anchor, the Lady Tuna.

Here was our first clue as to the raison-detre of Barbate. The charts indicated the presence of several huge ( huge as in, miles long) tuna nets. These are present throughout the summer months. We hoisted the Spanish courtesy flag and the ‘ Q’ flag, just in case. I felt quietly confident that the almost perfect crossing would have restored my crews faith in her skippers judgement, turns out she was just glad to be back in Spain!

Without any hard information as to the state of play regarding the huge tuna nets we approached cautiously towards the Tuna factory ship ‘ Lady Tuna’ my thinking being that being at anchor her swinging circle should be free of hazards.
The nets are known as ‘Almadraba’  these are normally in place during May and June and for 3000 years or so people have been harvesting the blue fin tuna as they migrate from the Atlantic to the Mediteranean.

Passing close to the factory ship the smell was enough to persude us that fishing was still ongoing.

We were directed into the marina after having negotiated the buoyed channel approach. The marina it has to be said is not the most attractive being based on the concrete bomb shelter school of architecture.

However much like Morocco it has a great colony of feral cats......

Its a bit of a hike around the fish dock to get into town and on the way its possible to see the huge anchors used to secure the  ‘Almadraba ‘ nets.

Walking along the front the reverence for Tuna continues with every restaurant having Tuna on the menu ( Tuna tartare, anyone?) There is also this rather wonderful sculpture, or should I say mobile as it is in fact a windvane. Built by Pedro L Barberá Briones, its a 4 metre high bronze wonderment.....

The town of Barbate up until recently was known as Barbate de Franco as the dictator Franco used to holiday here ( apparently a keen fisherman), the name was changed in 1998 after the rise of the Junta of Andalucia.

The pilot is fairly dismissive of the marina and town describing them as ‘ souless’ this is unfair and just plain wrong. The marina is indeed a concrete bunker but any town which has been around since the phonecians deserves a bit more respect.

The town hall square and old town are typical Andalucian spaces and are quite charming. We also discovered a plethora of supermarkets Lidle Aldi etc. Lynne was just smiling all the time........so many goodies!

There was a sculpture in progress on the town hall plaza.......tuna obviously, its a bit of a theme.

Luckily for us there was a rather nice beach very close ( just to the west) of the marina and the bathing passed all Lynnes tests. Ok it was warm water.....

I hadnt realised, to my shame, how much more Lynne had been affected by Morocco. How much more oppressive in fact the restrictions had felt, and how much of a weight had been lifted by a simple change of position of 30 miles or so.....

I watched my wife floating in her favourite place with a big grin on her face and realised how lucky we were. 

The echoes of the VHF in the Gibraltar straights and Tarifa radio constantly warning of inflatable boats with 40 people on board, gave me a sudden shiver.......,

Spain has accepted over 16,000 refugees, or illegal migrants this year alone. To put this in  some kind of perspective, another 5000 and they will equal the population of Horwich where we used to live.

Meanwhile thousands die attempting the crossing to a better life, the official line is to offer no help but report the position of the immigrants to the authorities. Help would be seen as aiding and abbetting illegal immigration and we as mariners would be prosecuted for offering assistance. What kind of a world are we living in?

I state here and now, I will offer assistance to whoever needs it, anywhere. If I save a life I will go to jail a happy man.....,,,and more importantly with a clear conscience. I recently talked with some American citizens who said they would not pick up migrants for fear of getting shot. I think this says far more about Americans than migrants. We all inhabit this Earth, we are all entitled to live upon it, by right. You people who profess to believe in God, well if you are a Jew or a Muslim, or a Christian , its the same God you all believe in.

I don't believe, but I think that people should not have to die in an effort to make their situation better.....because they are people.

The Jewish Tzedakah, or possibly more  relevant Gemilut, is a charitable obligation, in Islam one of the Five pillars is zakãt, another obligation. I am sure there is a Christian obligation to charity, other than a brief mention in Leviticus but I dont know where to look for it.

Sorry for the rant but some things need saying......,,,

Chefchouen

There are many ways to spell Chefchouan. Add an 'e', or a combination of other letters, miss out the chef part altogether and just go with Choan, this is what the bus companys do. All part of the slightly confusing side of Morocco.

Along with constantly changing street names it makes dry land navigation a constant challenge. However once you are ensconsed on a comfortable bus you may just sit and watch the world go by. This is particularly interesting in the rural Rif Mountains.

We arrived at the bus station and as Chefchoan is on a fairly steep hill with the bus station at the bottom we elected to get a ' petit taxi'. He dropped us at a small dusty track leading into some trees and after overcharging us somewhat, only by about £2, but it was an introduction to the prevailing state of play at this very touristy place.

The Auberge however was delightful, and our room, tastefully decorated in a craft style had a fabulous view over the Blue medina.

The house was built as a villa by a rich man and has recently been converted to an hotel or Auberge. Lynnes new hobby of ' looking out of the window' was well served by this one!

The view showed the Casbah, the brown castle like building in the centre of the blue medina, nestling in the high valley between the two mountains or ' horns' from which Chefchoan gets its name. It also showed the terrace 

With swimming pool and the lovely gardens around the Auberge.

If anything the view improved at night when the town below was lit up.

With the addition of spectacular sunsets over the mountains. Well, what can I say...........

 In the morning we breakfasted al fresco and were introduced to some very cute irritations, a litter of kittens who provided a deal of distraction while brothers and sisters mounted raids on our breakfast table!

We had decided to walk into town which meant taking a rather rough and indistinct path down the valley and through the smallholdings and houses perched on the hill.

At times this could almost be described as a track, at others we were directed by gestures from friendly locals as to which direction to take. Very often this was a rubble filled path behind a house maybe three feet wide.

The distinct brown castle like Casbah provided a good aiming point as we walked around the hill, importantly avoiding "down", because that would have meant coming back up at some point. Inevitably later in the day that was exactly the mistake we made!

We did wish we had brought hiking boots. However this was not an occasional path this was the everyday access to peoples homes. Made us think......

Eventually we emerged onto a metalled road by a small graveyard and had a good view of the two 'horns' with the valley running down to the spring of Ras el Maa, now enclosed by a building but is still the location of baths and wash houses built into the steep sides.

There are also water mills built into the side of the valley. The underground stream was the main reason for siting the town here as well as its defensive position.

Of course the main reason for the towns existence in the present day became apparent as soon as we crossed the bridge to Bab Onsar, the northern entrance gate to the medina. A local on the bridge tried to charge me 5 dirhams to take a photo. As we wandered around the famous and undeniably attractive streets the hassle level was a fairly constant, " irritating". We had fallen into the " tourist trap"

It was virtually impossible to stop and look at anything without being dragged into a shop or charged to photograph a blue wall.

Some were very blue indeed. It was a great pity and we found ourselves rushing from quiet spot to quiet spot and hurrying past the shops and stalls in the Souk smiling and constantly saying " non merci".

As we emerged onto the main square by the Casbah again we were assaulted by voices saying " hello, how are you? Where are you from?" Which is the unofficial " guides" opening gambit.

We had about an hour before the museum in the Casbah closed but were disapointed yet again to discover that the entrance fee for " estrangers "  was five times what it was for a Moroccan citizen. In fact the family in front of us were let in for free as it was close to closing. We decided enough was enough, and we left the medina without visiting the Casbah.

The " new town "proved interesting enough in its own way. It had some street art and we only got propositioned every thirty minutes or so.

After walking down towards the bus station a bit,  we decided ( foolishly) to walk back to the Auberge. We used the Spanish mosque ( visible on the hill ) as a  landmark and stopped half way for a refreshing orange juice in a local cafe. But it was a punishing climb in the heat and were glad indeed to see the welcoming Auberge and couldn't wait to dive into the pool.

After experiencing what we consider to be " tourist hell" in the medina the poolside was a very attractive proposition.

We were getting a little tired anyway so did very little for the next two days but swim, read, write blogs! eat and play with the kittens.

, well watch them climb trees and wrestle mainly!

We needed some time to recharge our batteries before the long bus ride back to Tangiers.

That evening clouds rolled up the valley and although we missed it, rain fell briefly overnight......the first since June, maybe it was an omen? Maybe it was time to return to Spain?

Our bus to Tangiers was not until 3 oclock the following day so after breakfast on the terrace followed by a mornings packing and showering we waited on the shady terrace in front of the Auberge for a taxi booked for 2 pm.

A delightful spot and even the kittens failed to hassle us as they are feral and we didnt have any obvious food.

We sat and read our Kindles. I thought about our trip and considered the similaritys with the sea. We navigate from safe haven to safe haven attempting to avoid hazards and perils. In the month and a half we have spent in Morocco we have done much the same. Sometimes feeling like a fish out of water, for me it has been an invaluable education and a great experience even if at times I have felt a little out of my depth!

Tetouane

We had a few days in Tangier before we decided to try a new form of transport, namely a bus. We walked to the main bus station ( Gare Routier ) to enquire about tickets. We had a vaque idea of visiting Tetouan which has a World heritage Medina and then move on to Chefchouen in the Rif mountains which is known as the blue town. I had found an Auberge which was out on the outskirts  of Chefchouan and which importantly had a swimming pool. We booked accomadation and then bought bus tickets as far as Tetouan. Another transport option was to get a grand taxi and as we sat at the bus station we decided to retain that as an option, there is a kind of particular chaos at a Gare Routier. It consists of people, lots of them. Noise, lots of it. Smells, various. Shouting, a great deal of it, beggars, pickpockets, taxi touts, its really quite intimidating at first.

We had done a bit of research and discovered the best bus company was CTM. It had air conditioned buses, qualified and courteous drivers and was reliable. All of which is true.

Even so the cost of a ticket from Tangeir to Tetouan, an hour and a half journey was 20 dirhams ( about £1.60 ) it didnt seem worth the financial savings to risk a cheaper bus, some did look rather the worse for wear.

A couple of days later we turned up 15 minutes early to book in our luggage (5 dirhams) and we were soon in our allocated seats..

I didnt take any pictures at the bus station, sometimes its best to maintain a low profile. When almost everyone else has luggage its easy to blend in.

On the way out of Tangier on the bus we discovered the bullring. Now defunct, but a potent reminder of the closeness of Spain.

Our seats were numbers 1-2 so we were just behind the driver. Slowly the country unfolded as we left the suburbs of Tangier. Surprisingly green fields and roadside sellers of prickly pear gave way to more mountainous scenery reminicent of the foothills of the Alps and the roadside stalls were filled with onions, tagines and garlic. The ever present donkeys were either loaded to the gunwhales with produce or standing alone in a field of stubble. There is a fairly constant clash of old and new to assimilate.

The roads themselves were very good. The N2 is a major thouroughfare.

Pretty much on time we arrived at the bus station in Tetouane. This was not a Gare Routier but a dedicated CTM garage so was fairly quiet. Google maps took us on a bit of a roundabout hike but as our accomadation was in the old Medina it would have been tricky to get a taxi as no cars can use the narrow streets, also the tall buildings and tight passages were shadowing my phones gps so google maps was a bit confused and struggled for an accurate fix. We soon sorted it and knocked on the door of our Riad.

It was the traditional wooden door with iron furniture and as usual gave very little hint as to what lay within. We were quickly shown to our rooms.

A mint tea was very welcome. It seemed we had a small sitting room.

The decor was " Arabian nights".

Our bedroom was directly over one of the narrow streets in the medina. There was a constant noise of traders and bustle from below.

Lynne could spend hours just looking out of the window as the world passed by.

Its not immediately obvious but there are two dresss shops a barbers a jewellers and a seller of knick knacks along with an occasional food seller in this picture, the view from the window above.

The layout of most Riads in towns follows a pattern with rooms being off a central open area usually ( but not in this case) open to the sky.

This Riad had open skylight windows and birds would fly in and perch on a grill above.

Tetouan has a distinct Spanish influence. This dates from 1912-56 when it was Capital of the Spanish protectorate which encompassed much of northern Morocco. The Spanish influence extends to the language, you are much more likely to be understood speaking Spanish rather than French.

Outwith the Medina the architecture is distinctly Spanish colonial in the area known as the Ensanche. At one end there is the Royal Palace, (one of many) in Place Hassan II.

This huge square is largely cordonned off for " security" concerns. There are four minaret looking pillars at each corner, art nouveau light towers designed by Enrique Nieto a student of Gaudi.

The decorations on the walls opposite are abstract " Hands of Fatima" apparently they ward off the evil eye. They look pretty when lit up.

Tetouan is known as the white city. The reason is fairly obvious if you take a look around Hammadi square.

White is everywhere, except the Catholic church which is yellow. The iglesia de Bacturia built in 1926. We again never found the church open although it does apparently have regular services and is one of the only churches in Morocco to be allowed to ring the bell for services.

We spent an afternoon looking around the souks of the medina and again I am not too keen to photograph as it sometimes causes offence and it will mark you as a tourist and that can attract hassle, we are getting more used to the hustle and bustle but theres no getting away from the usual mad assault on the senses. Piles of goats heads in one doorway while outside an old man strips all the useful wiring from a computer case.  You need to leave logic outside and just surrender to the sights and sounds, western sensabilities also will need supressing at certain points.

Its certainly a contrast to the clean white architecture of the Ensanche ( literally extension ).

One place I did take a few photos was the tanning pits. They are hidden deep within the Medina and unusually not located on the edge of town. They are smaller than the famous ones in Fes but just as aromatic!

The leather and hides are tanned in large open air brick and mudstone vats.

Colour is added to suit and after tanning tbe hides are left to dry in the sun. The smell is pretty pungent as you can imagine.

Our "helper" who was showing us around offered to take a selfie.

.

Tetouan is nestled between the Rif mountains on one side and the mediteranean about 15 miles away on the other. 

We found a hotel with a rooftop terrace where we had a coffee and admired the view. It was quite stunning. The Rif mountains are bigger and steeper than I ever imagined.

You can just see the sea at Martil to the left of Lynne in the photo above. Its about 5 miles away.

We spent two days in Tetouane and enjoyed it but there are an increasing number of unofficial guides that make life uncomfortable if not a real hassle. We just want to be left alone and we dont like being rude. Came close a couple of times though I will admit.

The rather grand building looking rather like a castle below, is the old railway station. Trains now no longer visit and it has been converted into a lovely gallery of modern, and local art.

Tetouan is one of only two places in Morocco to have an art school, the other is Casablanca. There are many examples of M Bertouchi, one of the founders of the schools works in the groundfloor gallery.

This one above is a bedouin scene, a bench is thoughtfully provided while you study this large work

There is a good selection of sculpture and paintings in a fabulous setting. I am normally not " over fussed" with modern art but I enjoyed this collection of the Tatouan Fine Arts Preparatory School. There was a distinct lack of pointless art, the pieces all displayed skill and were grounded in real experience. They  also all seemed to have something to say about their subject and even I got it!

In short a fantastic, and free, exibition and exibition space.

Having enjoyed the Archeological Museum in Rabat we thought to look at the one in Tetouan. We were the only visitors and the staff, well one in particular, decided we needed to be escorted around the museum. Although he came in handy for switching lights on and off, it was otherwise quite intimidating. Luckily some of the more interesting exhibits are outside.

Where photography is allowed, thats your man checking I am not nicking anything.....

Outside is where a lot of the Roman mosaics are to be found.we were left largely in peace to view them, while being observed from a distance and amusingly hidden in bushes!

Some nice pieces but a shame that they seemed to be for the benefit of five security staff.

I must admit that in my ignorance before visiting Morocco I had not realised the extent and reach of the Roman empire in North Africa, let alone the cross fertilisation between Muslim and Andalucian culture that occurred later. Not forgetting of course the jews who had a large part to play in the history of Tetouan and Spain. The star of David was on a couple of the tombstones at the museum, and there is a remnant of the jewish quarter in the medina.

Soon it was time to leave and on our last day we sat in the charmingly named Lovers park opposite the CTM garage while we waited for the time of our bus to Chefchaouen.

We booked in our luggage ( taken off us airport style this time) and found our seats on the bus
Lynne suspected we were the oldest people on the bus as it was heading for the tourist hotspots of Chefchaouen and Fes. She was probably right! There was one irritation on the bus who was obviously a tour guide or minder for a group of young people. He was constantly up and down asking after their wellfare and studiously ignoring us!

However I didnt mind too much I was watching the Rif mountains pass us. Splendid.

Soon we would approach Chefchouen.