Yes, I've hit the motherload. Saved the best for last. Gone out with a bang. Chefchaouen is my last Moroccan city and it was love at first sight for me. The North of Morocco has a strong Spanish influence (just like the South of Spain -- Andalucia -- has a strong Moroccan influence). You can see it in the European-ish style buildings, the multi-toned blue walls, doors and windows, and the cobbled alleys of the town. Again, however, there's no mistaking that you're in Morocco. What an incredibly unique place to spend my last few days! I loved walking the streets. After a day, many citizens recognized us and greeted us warmly everywhere we went. A teeny tiny part of it might be that this area is the biggest marijuana-growing region of Morocco ; people were so chilled out and peaceful!
The beautiful Mikaela, showing off an adorably tiny Moroccan sweater (note that she's holding it as though it were a puppet... it was pretty tiny). Mikaela was coming in fresh from living in Zambia for two years ; she totally rocks the African headgear.
What quickly became my favorite restaurant in Chefchaouen -- La Lampe Magique. I suppose I'm a sucker for Aladdin-themed venues...
Sunset from our rooftop table.
Mikaela being her enigmatic, bubbly self and Chris being his grumpy self.
Chefchaouen looks gorgeous by night....
The hotel where I had my 2nd hammam pampering, this time with Mikaela. Check out the posh pool!
Hammam room, with 2 marble slabs on either side, where we got our first couple layers of skin scrubbed off.
On my way out of Morocco, before hitting the border to Spain, I pass through the lovely city of Tetouan.
Another month --and another country-- has gone by already.... It all flashed by so quickly! Morocco, like Greece and the Camino before it, brought out a slew of emotions and sensations in me..... The unwanted attention from the merchants and salesman became wearing, although a simple hello (salaam) would change most scowls into warm smiles. The shopkeepers' aggressive tactics, bargaining hard for a fair price, was often very frustrating, but once everything was said and prices agreed upon, they would warmly ask you to sit with them and sip sweet mint tea and talk about life. Some women were reluctant to speak to us, and others would bombard us with questions, wanting to hear all about our adventures. Modern young men would strut about in leather jackets and jeans, texting on their cells, while older men walked around in long, hooded jellabas. Children constantly ran up to us, sometimes to high-five the white tourists, sometimes to ask for money. Garbage was strewn everywhere (Athens was finger-lickin' clean in comparison), street signs are virtually non-existent, but the roads were all in fantastic condition. The taxi drivers had awesome stories and were some of the friendliest folk we met. Hospitality here was warm and could always be counted on, and it didn't take long for me to develop a soft spot for Morocco and the warmth of its people. I was sad to leave what I thought was a fantastic country.
I said goodbye to Chris (who is now backpacking across Cuba) and Mikaela (who is traveling with her mum in Barcelona) and boarded the ferry across the Straight of Gibraltar, which will bring me to the Southernmost province of Spain, Andalucia.... Shukran, Morocco!
