Morocco: Sights Uncovered Travel With Tessa

By Tessa Ingel

Morocco- It simmers with exotic sounds, smells, flavors and spices. From its souks (markets) to the medinas (ancient walled cities) to the kasbahs (fortified villages/citadels) to the riads (homes built around a courtyard) and to its unique cuisine. The majesty of the snow- capped High Atlas Mountains; the Palmeraie- acre upon acre of stately date palms; and the pristine, virgin, undulating sands of the Sahara. Journey with me to this exotic land, where ancient medieval sights and traditions thrive and endure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tessa Ingel
• Release date: Apr 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370858248

Tessa Ingel

Welcome to Sights Uncovered. I hope that you will travel with me regularly to uncover wonderful sights around the world. When we travel every day is a new adventure; around every corner lies a new sight; every encounter with the local people enriches us; every meal is a delight, and sometimes a challenge to the palate and the digestive system. When traveling I feel so present, so in the moment, so alive. I look forward to sharing the magic of travel with each of you. Andiamo! Vamonos! Allons-y! Yalla! Laat ons loop! Lass uns gehen! Chalie Chalate Hain! Vamos! Yuko! Let's Go! Happy Travels. Tessa.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

MEDIEVAL MOROCCO

Ssalamū 'lekum (Welcome)

CHEFCHAOUEN

Of all the extraordinary places we have visited, Morocco is way up on top of the list of our favorites.

We flew from Spain to Tangiers, where we were met at the airport by our driver Hassan. A lumbering, middle aged, tall, thick set man, with a well aged Mercedes. Most of the drivers in Morocco drive vintage Mercedes, which have been cared for and kept in excellent working condition.

We set off through fields a color of green the likes of which we had not seen since our trip to Costa Rica, when Stan and I named that particular shade of bright rich green: ‘Costa Rica Green.’ After a half hour we turned off the toll road and started our ascent into the Rif Mountains. For the next hour-and-a-half we feasted our eyes on the gorgeous countryside. We passed shepherds young and old, male and female, herding sheep and goats. The Berber men reminded us of the Armenian monks in the old city of Jerusalem. They wear jellābas – long robes with pointed hoods, generally made from camel hair in shades of chocolate, cream or grey – that give them the appearance of having just stepped out of a medieval painting. In the fields, the Riffian women wear long white pants, covered by colorful red and white striped dresses, called ‘fouta,’ and cover their heads with large straw hats.

We passed roadside pottery stands, most of them selling planters and the traditional clay ‘tagines’ used in Moroccan cooking, which produce the melt in the mouth tender chicken, lamb, beef and vegetable dishes, for which Morocco is famous. Tiny plots of land were being ploughed in much the same way as they were in biblical times: Two mules pulling a wooden plough. Rocks were being crushed by men swinging heavy hammers to manually break them apart. Young men hauled bags of cement and rocks on their backs. Tall gnarled cactus seem to be used to demarcate plots of land.

When we reached an altitude of seventeen hundred meters above sea level (5577 feet), Hassan drew off to the side of the road and announced with obvious pride: There’s Chefchaouen, which he pronounced ‘Chifchaouen.’ There nestled in the distance against the Rif Mountains was our first view of the pale blue town.

On we went, winding along the narrowest of paths, Hassan wading patiently and unflustered past pedestrians pushing carts and construction that blocked his path, all the while raising his hand and nodding in greeting to friends and acquaintances, until he calmly drew up into the last available parking spot outside the medina (ancient walled town).

He led us on foot through the medina to our Dar (guest house). I will never forget the sheer exhilaration of entering that medina. It felt as though we had stepped back centuries in time and been transplanted into a biblical town. We crossed the plaza - Place Outa El-Hammam - dominated by an ochre colored 15th Century Kasbah. Walked past the outdoor cafés – filled with men in hooded jellābas drinking hot tea, while lazing in the warm winter sunshine – along narrow stone lanes, their limewashed blue walls covered in vibrant colored carpets, blankets, satchels, handbags and jellābas in every color, shape and size. Overhead, straw baskets were strung across the street in shades of burgundy, hot pink, lime green and turquoise. Burlap sacks filled to the brim with powder dyes in exquisite electric colors, were lined up on blue wooden crates. Color, Color everywhere!

Casa Hassan, is situated on Rue Targui – a narrow cobblestone street just a couple of minutes walk from Place Outa El-Hammam. Our bedroom on the upper floor had a fireplace decorated with Moroccan tile, colorful Berber floor rugs, lots of beautiful wrought iron work, those marvelous rustic earthy tadelakt walls (a technique used by Moroccan artisans since the eleventh century), thick Moroccan blankets (a godsend during the freezing cold winter nights), beautiful unusual old armoires, and much to our surprise, a shower with hot water (we had read that hot water in the small towns in Morocco can be sketchy) and a ceiling heater which worked like a charm.

The rooftop patio – painted in the traditional blue of Chefchaouen – was lined with inviting comfy couches, overstuffed pillows, wooden tables with iron frames, blue tiled floors, blue clay planters holding healthy green plants, and a wonderful view of the Rif Mountains towering above it. A soothing spot to curl up with a book and a cup of coffee in the caressing early morning winter sunshine, before embarking on the day’s adventures.

We heard several explanations as to how Chefchaouen came to be washed in blue, which imbues it with its unique and unforgettable charm. Some say the blue color wards off flies, mosquitoes and insects, while others say it was painted blue by Jews who came to Chefchaouen from Spain during the 15th Century. Perhaps both versions are correct.

On that first afternoon in Morocco, we stepped out into the cold crisp air and the gentle sunshine, to discover this intriguing little blue town as yet untarnished by traditional tourism. Twenty minutes into our walk we were sucked into a rug store. This, in spite of our ten minute polite protestations outside the store that we were not interested in buying any rugs, because we have nowhere to put another rug in our home, and no room to carry a rug in our luggage.

Before we knew it, tea was being served (as is customary in Morocco) and carpets were being rolled out before us. I could hear the voice of my Australian nephew saying: Even if you think you are not going to buy a carpet in Morocco, even if you don’t need a carpet, YOU WILL buy a carpet in Morocco. While we admired the truly lovely array of rugs made from natural fibers, each woven with its own unique design and palette of colors, we stuck to our guns. We were not in the market to buy. Eventually the young store owner said: Look, business is terrible, I have not sold a single rug today. He offered us a beauty which we had admired, for the equivalent of $75.00 USD. How could we refuse? He probably told the same story to everyone – but he was GOOD! A charming, masterful salesman, he knew how to close a deal. So out we walked with the rug rolled up under Stan’s arm. Of course when we brought it to its new home in Santa Monica, we found a perfect spot for it to rest, and it has lived happily ever after, basking in the compliments of friends and family.

Casa Hassan’s popular Tissemlal restaurant – where there was never a spare table to be had – was a fantastic introduction to true down to earth, home style, Moroccan cooking. At a fireside table propped up by puffy Moroccan tapestry pillows, we warmed ourselves on a hot hearty vegetable soup, followed by a chicken and vegetable Tagine, and a beef Tagine infused with spices, and slowly cooked with prunes,