Chefchaouan

From bus to Tetouan and beyond by grande taxi, I travelled into the Rif mountain range to Chefchouan. After many days conforming to the fast, the liberality of this tourist centre was a welcome convalescence. However, one is beseiged by many people trying to sell you kif (ie cannabis) which is readily available.

Room with a view IV.



















While straining my shirt in a communal sink my neighbours introduced themselves. They were Brigette and Tobias, mother and son from Denmark. They had been staying in Tangier in a hotel room which overlooked, on one side, the Mediterranean waters and, on the other, a back street where young boys sniffed glue. Brigette had spent much of her time in Tangier at the French Institution and in the company of Fransiscan friars. Tobias was an Arabic speaker. They had previously been staying in my room but had been moved to make way for the King, or rather a giant picture of his face on the ouside of the building to greet his visit.

Tobias was teaching Brigette the noble art of blogging in order that she might be able to chart her acticities in Morrocco, including for the benefit of her daughter Cactus. They were very civilized company, and seemed very pleased to spend thier time with me.