From Rabat to Chefchaouen by bus.
Today I headed to Chefchaouen, a small city built into the Rif Mountains, about 155 mile northwest of Rabat, and a five hour bus ride. The bus was scheduled to leave at 3, and in hindsight (always 20-20), I’m sorry I didn’t book an earlier bus, but I wanted to make sure I had enough time to spend in Rabat. Still, it turns out I could have taken a 1 pm bus and still have had enough time to see the city. But, as I’ve said before, who knew?
I started my day by heading back to the Kasbah of the Udayas to explore a little more, named for the the Udaya, a group of Arab tribes that was settled here in the 17th century. I was surprised to find that the most direct route isn’t going through the Medina, as I did yesterday, making other stops along the way, but instead heading straight out of the Medina just moments after leaving the riad and then taking a five minute walk. I never would have guessed it was that close. The Medina, with its twists and turns and maze-like quality, can really turn you around. And five minutes to the kasbah means just eight or nine minutes to the beach, which is right in front of and below the kasbah.
But first I visited the Andalusian Gardens, which are within the grounds of the kasbah, near the entrance. Although they look medieval, and especially as they’re surrounded by walls that look like the walls of the kasbah, the gardens, and those walls, were actually built between 1915-1918, but of course in a Moroccan and Andalusian style designed to make the garden seem medieval. They’re small, but lovely, and offer many opportunities to just sit and take it in. A lovely spot.
Then back to the kasbah, but through the gardens, offering another way in and some different locations and views that I hadn’t seen yesterday. I wandered around for a while, taking side streets within the kasbah, where people live. That is, the kasbah isn’t simply a tourist attraction, but it also a residential neighborhood where people have homes. That must be something. A lovely place to live, but with visitors constantly in the streets, ogling the neighborhood.
After spending time wandering around the walled streets with the white washed homes, and enjoying the views overlooking the beach front and Atlantic, I walked from the kasbah directly into the beach area, which was in full swing, although far from crowded. There’s clearly a beach culture here, including a surfing culture, and that very culture is noticeable all along the beach promenade, with surf shops, wet suit and board rentals, and so on, as well as t-shirts loudly proclaiming Rabat’s beach and surfing culture. It’s nice to live in a town where you can hit the beach so easily. Kind of Southern Califiornia.
But by now I was sort of killing time, so I decided to go back to the riad and grab my backpack, which they were holding for me, and then figure out how to get a taxi to the bus station, which is a little under 6 miles out of town. That worked out well, and I made sure the driver reset the meter (I have a feeling he wasn’t going to had I not pointed to it), and 25 minutes later there we were. It’s a pretty new bus station, less than four years old, so it’s very modern and pretty big. And I I was there well ahead of time, as the departure time was still a couple of hours away.
First thing, I couldn’t see the bus to Chefchaouen anywhere on the scrolling departure board. That made me nervous, and no one was at the information desk to ask, so I figured I’d ask at the ticket counter instead. Good thing I did, and a good thing I was early.
The first thing I learned was that this was the right place for the bus. That was good. The second thing I learned was my ticket was for tomorrow. Instant set back. Now what?
As it happened, they were able to book me at no additional charge on today’s bus, with just one seat left. But how could I have made such an error, and had I screwed up my bus ticket for tomorrow, taking me from Chefchaouen to Fes?
Short answer, I hadn’t screwed up at all. My ticket for Fes tomorrow was correct, and so was my booking for Chefchaouen today. I have all the information on my phone, and I had indeed booked correctly for today, and had confirmation of the correct date. But the online ticket agency, which had sent an email confirming today’s date, had nevertheless sent my ticket with the wrong date, which I never thought to double check. I sent them an email, asking how they intended to-resolve this. I’m looking forward to their reply. Talk about a potentially disastrous screw up.
Still, the bus never showed on the departure board and I continued to worry that I’d somehow miss it, and then be screwed all over again. Few people could speak English, but I eventually managed to learn which gate it was leaving from. I was pretty nervous until the bus finally showed fifteen minutes late, and clearly said Chefchaouen on the front window. Many of the buses either showed no destination at all, or the destination was in Arabic script. I was very happy to actually take my seat on the bus, and settle in for the long journey, due to arrive in Chefchaouen at 8, or probably more like 8:15 at that point. One regret. I was wearing my customary tank top and shorts, but the bus was air conditioned, so it would have been nice to have worn at least a t-shirt. No big deal, and I survived the journey, and even slept a little.
The landscapes along the way for the first 90 minutes or so were pretty dreary, very flat and unvarying, sometimes green with crops and sometimes with crops that looked dead or at least distressed, and often just dry and arid brown earth stretching back in flat fields on either side of the road for miles. The buildings and small towns and villages along the way were equally depressing. Run down, abandoned, disheveled, dilapidated, damaged, and impoverished are some of the words that come to mind.
As we approached the third hour, the landscape had become more fertile and green, although still with dry soil when we were close enough to see it, but more cultivated farmlands and rolling hills dotted with trees and olive groves, and generally a much greener landscape, with donkeys grazing all over the place. All along the way. I saw carts being pulled by donkeys.
By the final hour or so, the landscape had changed dramatically, flat brown plains giving way to rolling cultivated farmland, and then to increasingly steep green and forested hills, deep valleys and rocky slopes dotted with small homes and sometimes small villages nested in the hills, and mountains rising beyond them and into the distance, with winding and twisty roads. Very dramatic and lovely landscapes as we headed into and traveled through the Rif mountains, eventually reaching Chefchaouen, at around 2,000 feet, a little before 8:30 pm.
By then, it was dark and I wanted to get to my hotel, and still not sure how. Usually, when you step outside an airport or bus or rail station the first thing that happens is you’re accosted by cab drivers, which I frankly was hoping for in this case. But no, even though there were lots of parked taxis, it wasn’t clear how you actually got one or if there was a system as a number of people were waiting for rides or for taxis. I couldn’t tell.
Eventually I got picked up by a petite taxi (a type of cab in each of the cities I’ve visited so far), sharing it with a couple of guys, with no idea what it was going to cost or whether I’d be getting dropped off at the right place. Still, I could see from Google Maps that we were heading in the right direction for the hotel, the Molina Gardens. Google Maps comes in very handy.
All went well, and the fare was about $2. Upon landing (so to speak), we were greeted by a young guy, who spoke good English, who told me the fare (although I understood the driver in this case), and proceeded to lead me to the hotel. Normally, I’d be saying no, but in this case I wanted to get to the hotel, and it was now about. 9 pm, and the hotel was in the medina, which is accessible only by foot (or motorcycle, of course), and I hadn’t yet had time to figure out just how to get there. I knew I’d have to tip him, of course, and when he asked for 50 dirham (about $5), which was more than twice the cab fare, I happily paid him as he dropped me off at the entrance to the Hotel Molina Gardens.
I wasn’t sure just what the hotel would be like (I never am), and was once again pleased that it was in a good location, right in the medina, and a small and compact but nice little place. I checked in, and up to my room on the third floor I went, a cute little room with nice views of the village from each of the two small windows. Happy to be here.
I got myself a little settled, and then decided to at least head into the local village area to check it out, even though by now it was around 10. I couldn’t find my way out as I went down the small staircase, and wound up in this very nice little restaurant with an outdoor garden eating area, El Cielo, and decided I’d have a late dinner. Lamb, and it was very, very delicious, and not just because I was hungry. A truly lovely meal in a lovely environment, overlooking a small bridge and babbling stream, with Sinatra style jazz in the background. Very nice, The meal, which was sumptuous and filling, and in a lovely environment, was $15.
Then I did manage to figure out out where the lobby to the small hotel was, and stepped outside to walk around the evening streets for about thirty minutes or so. Chefchaouen is called the Blue Pearl of Morocco, and for good reason as most of the buildings are washed in shades of blue and white, and the medina buildings are lit at night to accent those colors, which I’m sure need no accenting during the day. It’s a lovely place, with small winding and hilly streets, and corners and alleys everywhere, a labyrinth of small streets in which it would very easy to quickly get lost. The narrow streets very picturesque, with small shops, almost hole in the wall stores, along almost every street, selling clothing, art, artisan goods, and souvenirs, as well as many small convenience stores, with a lot of loud and lively interactions in some parts of the medina. Even now, as I write this past midnight, I can hear children and adults screaming and playing in the distance… is it because it’s a Saturday night, or is it always like this? But young kids still up this late at night?
Back to my room, finish writing this (I’ll add photos in the morning), and to bed. Another long and rewarding day. I will say just this though. My bus to Fes is tomorrow at 1. I’ve come a long way to get here, but I’m only here for just this one evening (and I didn’t actually get to my hotel until almost 9:15) and I only have until noon tomorrow, or maybe 12:30, before I head back to the bus station. I would like to have a full day here, at least, but it all comes from trying to pack so much into such little time, and I do like getting a “taste” of things, and the journey itself, as much as the destination.
On that note, good night.
