Campsite Christmas

We returned to Spain to friendly family run Camping Paloma, just north of Tarifa.


It was lovely just to chill out for a while and enjoy walks on the beach


and watch the surfers



and in the evening sit by the welcoming log fire in the bar. Christmas, which we had intended to avoid altogether in Morocco, was very close and there was a crib scene in the bar. After a couple of days, however, the rain and wind started and the forecast was very bad. We also needed to stock up with food so decided to move on.

We had a brief look at the Costa del Sol (the concrete coast) where the sort of English Christmas we wanted to avoid was in full swing at a busy campsite at Marbella Playa. We decided to spend Christmas at Guejar Sierra in the Sierra Nevada although we knew it would be cold. We rented a bungalow for a week to sit out the rain which was sweeping over the whole of Spain and which turned to heavy snowfalls north of Granada.


Christmas morning was a brief fine interlude and we were able to go for a walk before enjoying a meal by a log fire at the excellent campsite restaurant (normal menu, no need to book) surrounded by Spanish families (some 20 to a table, some couples).

We left on a lovely sunny cold day and after coffee on the terrace with fine views of the snowy mountain peaks


we headed for Almeria where the weather looked warmer and slightly dryer.

Chefchaouen

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The journey from Tetouan to Chefchaouen was very stressful but fascinating. The winding mountain road had very little verge and a big drop on one side. It was very busy with lots of lorries including some huge ones overloaded with recently harvested straw - and quite a few mad drivers overtaking on the bends.

The landscape was crowded – with dwellings, small villages, little herds of animals and people. (What a contrast to the quiet depopulated disused but fertile slopes of the Sierra Nevada). There were many people on the road. Some walking; some selling vegetables or terracotta pots by the roadside; some men just standing. We saw women collecting water in large plastic containers; older women carrying huge bundles wrapped in old bedspreads; men and women carrying huge bundles of sticks or
prunings on their backs; donkeys loaded with bags; young boys selling red berries from buckets. Some of these boys and other young men made the universal mime for smoking as we passed, hoping we would stop. We didn't need drugs – it was all too surreal: we saw two cows with tall brimmed purple hats on in a hillside field! Their owner was sitting next to them eating his lunch.

Little stony fields had been carved out of the steep slopes. There were one or two tractors in evidence but mostly the ploughing was done with wooden ploughs and donkeys or horses.

Chefchauen sits on a steep hillside and the campsite is high above the town. There are lovely views of the mountains, the air is clear and the facilities are surprisingly good with a bar/restaurant which sells a few basic items and clean sit down toilets. But there is only one hot shower for which you have to pay 10Dh (more than £1). Unfortunately there was a power cut for almost the whole of one day.

We walked down a steep path through the cemetery

into the 'blue' town – everywhere in the medina the lower parts of the white buildings had been painted with an attractive pale blue wash with a lilac tinge.

Even the mosque was painted with the same blue colour.

The effect was clean and cool – a bit like a theatrical ice stage setting for the Snow Queen.

The steep narrow streets were open to the sunlight and much brighter than the Tetuan medina.

We explored the well-restored Kasbah

and viewed the town from the tower

including some roof top solar panels

On every trip to the town from the campsite we were frequently approached by young men offering hashish; a “trip up the mountain” or a viewing of carpets. This became very wearing. A general sense of unease and an inability to relax and enjoy the country made us cut short our visit and return to comforts of Spain. Maybe we will return another day, possibly with an organised group.

Tetouan

Our first morning in Morocco we decided to take a grand taxi to Tetuan. The first taxi (a big clapped out blue Mercedes) we saw had three passengers in already but the driver told us to get in the front passenger seat. This being Morocco, we both squeezed in and clung on to each other whilst the driver negotiated the mad traffic. Every now and then someone got out of the back and someone else got in. For quite a lot of the journey there were 4 passengers in the back including 2 women. We passed many uniformed traffic police but they were totally unconcerned. The 20 minute journey seemed to last forever - I kept wondering what would happen if the passenger door flew open. We were charged 10Dh (1euro) for the trip for both of us.

A bit shaken by the ride, we made for Tourist Information. It was a lovely warm sunny day. Following the Rough Guide map we walked up some steps towards a market. The smell of dead animals was overpowering so we turned back and found another route. Tourist Information is in a grand 18th century government building and it was open. The security guard in front of the massive doorway showed us into an enormous room with a long table down one side and one large desk in a corner behind which sat the Tourism Officer. He gave us a photocopied map (too dark to be of use) and told us to visit the medina. Martin asked if there were official guides and Mohammed appeared as if by magic. Mohammed was probably about our age and spoke English. He wore a brown jellabah with a woollen scarf around his neck. He wouldn't be pinned down to a charge but as newcomers to the country he was our best hope.

Here he is:


We said we would like a coffee first and he took us to his favourite haunt – the Cafe National where he seemed to know everyone. We talked about our trip and he gave us some advice about where we should go. He said he had worked as a guide for about 40 years – most of the time working for big travel companies but he had got fed up with being told where he must take people and now worked independently for less hours but more job satisfaction. He had been president of the Association of Tourism Guides for several years. Several of his acquaintances assured us we had found the very best guide. After coffee Mohammed took us to see the outside of the King's Palace and a couple of the gateways (Bab) to the medina (there are 8 altogether). The 15th century medina had been built by the Andalucians – the Moors and Jews who had been kicked out of Granada.

Then we entered the medina through Bab Er Rouah.



It was like going into a completely different world – a medieval warren of narrow streets - all shaded from the sun and some quite dark.


Some of the streets were reasonably quiet and mainly residential.


Mostly there were people selling different things in different areas.


In the area selling food there were women sitting next to piles of lovely fresh vegetables; huge baskets filled to the brim with lentils and dried beans, almonds and dried fruit;
chickens crammed into cages; little shops or stalls selling bread and honey cakes (complete with bees). Very occasionally you would get a glimpse inside a small narrow dark room where men were sitting around smoking and drinking (mostly mint tea). On every street corner men were standing around, sometimes talking, sometimes just on their own.

Mohammed took us to the baker who was loading flat round loaves into a huge wood fired brick oven at ground level.

The loaves had been brought to him to bake by people who lived in the area. The baker was near the mosque and a water supply where people came to fill large containers. Bread, water and religion being the most important necessities of life, according to Mohammed. Here we saw children running past us and turning to shout “Hola” and give us the most beautiful smiles.

The extensive flea market was recycling all sorts of bits and bobs.

In the Jewish area there were a few jewelry shops. Mohammed explained that Friday was a quiet day – a day for prayers and eating couscous. In the artisan quarters there were very old thin grey bearded men working away at leather to make intricately patterned bags. They all spoke to Mohammed but they looked tired and drawn. There were also coloured blocks of lime for sale for limewashing walls. Mohammed showed us the Arts and Crafts school where traditional crafts like leatherwork and plasterwork were taught. However, he said they use plastic now instead of leather and the craftmanship is not the same.

We were then taken to two amazingly grand (if slightly shabby) 18th century houses which people hired for weddings.
These beautiful palacios came complete with gorgeous tiled floors and walls, chandeliers, carved wooden ceilings and furniture. They cost 2-3000 Dh to hire for 24 hours.

Our final stop before lunch was the pharmacy – quite a large room shelved all around. On the shelves were big glass jars with all sorts of herbs and spices.

The pharmacist (a friend of Mohammed of course) was a personable young man who spoke good English. He gave us a little talk about various cures and spices and we bought some curry powder and some cumin (cheaper in Toucan!).

Somehow we had agreed to be taken for lunch and we found ourselves in another very beautiful building with exquisite tiling and woodwork and chandeliers. We had a traditional meal of harira soup followed by kebabs (for Martin) and tasty lightly spiced couscous with pieces of chicken, carrots, cabbage, onion, courgettes. To finish, there was fruit and little almond cakes and mint tea. The restaurant was quite busy as it was couscous day. The meal did not take long and then suddenly Mohammed announced that we must pay and go and see three more markets in the medina.

One of these was, unfortunately, the carpet shop. Here, Mohammed abandoned us to the persuasive charms and patter of Mustafa who sat us down and plied us with more mint tea whilst his well trained young assistant mesmerisingly unfolded gloriously coloured carpet after carpet in front of us. Very soon in the process, Martin went up to Mustafa and explained that we were not going to buy anything. But the train had been set in motion and could not be stopped. “We keep smiling” smiled Mustafa and got his assistant to unfold some blankets for us.

We finally managed to extricate ourselves honourably on Mohammed's return, saying we might return later in the holiday.....

Our next visit was the tannery – an outside area full of pools for dying and cleaning the hides which were drying draped over the walls.

We were then shown the metalwork quarter where all sorts of pots, pans, ironwork was displayed.


The medina was full of stuff – mostly useful stuff but we didn't see much buying and selling going on – nor were we hassled. Maybe because it was Friday and we were with Mohammed.
He would have shown us more but our heads were reeling – the unusual sights, sounds, smells were overwhelming so we finally said goodbye to Mohammed and paid him (using the Rough Guide to help us as he didn't offer a figure) and got a rather more grand grand taxi just for the two of us (50Dh) back to the campsite. The smells stayed with us for a long time – a mixture of animals (mostly chickens), hides, human bodies, spices and cooking and occasional bad drains – the smells of lives lived in close contact with others.

This was the most expensive day of our trip so far.........but we will never forget it.

Welcome to Morocco

A smart modern ferry carried us from Algeciras in Southern Spain to Ceuta (Spanish territoryi in Northern Morocco). Nothing we had read or heard really prepared us for the chaos and frustration of the border. It wasn't the length of time it took (a mere hour and a half – we had heard tales of 6 hours) but the complete lack of organisation.

There were cars and people everywhere but no directions. We were just surrounded by dozens of men clamouring to offer their services to “help” us through. The uniformed police were in evidence but mainly standing around looking important. We had completed the forms before the border to avoid having to ask for help but we needed to know who to present the forms to. Finally someone who had an official tourism badge turned up at the window and he pointed out to Martin the office where he should go with passports and forms. I stayed in the van in the queue of vehicles with the doors locked. When hooting and shouting started as others wanted to move, I pretended I couldn't drive (which was just about true!). Eventually the traffic was directed by an unoffical round a nearby building.

Martin returned after a long wait in a sort of queue surrounded by more unofficial helpers. It seemed to take forever for the police to scrutinise the immigration forms and passports but they didn't need to see me apparently. He then had to find the customs office to present the temporary import form (in triplicate) for the van. After a similar wait the customs man in a metal box of an office took one copy of the form. There were small signs on the offices but they were impossible to see as there were so many vehicles and people milling around.

Martin finally made it back to the van and we had to drive through the crowd and down an incredibly narrow lane between a parked car and a building, inching forward narrowly avoiding driving over people's belongings. We were stopped by the immaculately uniformed Customs officials and police three more times on our way through to check our vehicle import form. It was so chaotic no one would have known who had checked what.

So we were now in Morocco. We made our way to the nearest campsite on the coast at Martil. There was no one in reception so we found a space and had a look round. The facilities were fairly basic and a bit of a shock after our experience of really good campsites in Spain. There was only one sit down toilet in the disabled room of the ladies which was completely dark and the light didn't work. To flush the squat toilets you fill a bucket with water. There were plenty of showers but only 2 had shower heads. The one that worked best had no door. We set up camp.