The Blue City

CHAPTER 13

Turns out we weren’t very good at leaving Tangier. Our first attempt, by rail to Asilah, saw us back in Tangier within 48 hours. Our second attempt was even worse: we took the afternoon bus to Tetouan, a few hours east- only to find that the King of Morocco happened to be in town. Apparently, where the King goes, the Moroccans go- the people love him so much. Tetouan wasn’t quite up to the task of hosting such an influx of hot bodies, and us, definitely being the Johnny- come-latelies, were turned away at every hotel door we knocked on. With the growing reality that we would very likely be sleeping on a park bench that night, we swallowed our pride and did the French thing- we retreated back to Tangier, back to the very hotel we had already checked out of twice. The whole adventure was so depressing, I didn’t take one photo of the entire day- which is saying something. Tangier 2, us 0.

Our third attempt was destined for ruin as well. Though we had originally intended to traverse Morocco by bus and train until reaching Marrakech, where we would hopefully meet up with Jake and Jackie, and then rent a car to take us on the wild back roads to Taylor’s placement city, Rich- after our sound trouncing by the King in Tetouan, I thought perhaps we should just bite the bullet and rent the car now. The promise of the open road has always been strongly weighted in my decision making paradigm, and it didn’t take much arm twisting to get Kacey and Taylor on board with the new plan. The problem was that it is not quite as easy to rent a car in Morocco as it is in Europe or the States. From the city center or train station, I don’t think so. Our next try was the airport, which did have a few cars available. I explained what I was after to the clerk: a five seater with room for luggage and preferably as cheap as possible. Papers signed, credit card run, we headed out to the lot and were given the keys to a shiny blue….. clown car. Granted it did have five seats, but three of the seats would have been hard pressed to contain my three toddler children, let alone three adults. And unless we were carrying around Zoolander sized luggage, it would’ve had to go on a roof rack, which this tiny vehicle did not have. And it wasn’t all that cheap either!

Our initial shock turned to dismay, and then downright incredulity. A quick tetris calculation of the car’s volume vs ours, a quick summation of our trip budget, and a few quick cold glares from the Admiral silently saying “I am NOT driving around Morocco with five people in THAT!”, and it was quickly decided to ask for an upgrade, regardless of cost. And what an upgrade it was! To all of our pleasant surprise we scored a copper-toned 4-door SUV beauty called a Dacia Duster, or Dusty as we affectionately came to know him.

And for Dusty’s part, he successfully got us out of Tangier for good! Third time’s a charm. We headed east again, skipping Tetouan assuming the king’s million man entourage was likely still there, and continued down the road to a small mountain town called Chefchaouen. Chefchaouen is charming in many respects, from the winding alleys, to the artisan stalls, but it is known for being one thing above all else: The Blue City. Imagine the white washed facades of the most idyllic Greek seaside village, and then change all the white to an artist’s pallet of blues, and plop it all down in a mountain bowl of the Northern Atlas, and that’s basically what you’ve got. I was smitten, and could have spent a long time there exploring the azure streets with my camera. But alas, there is only so much blue one can take, and when combined with a hearty case of the trots, the city begins to lose its allure. Thus we left Chefchaouen, in all its chromatic glory, in our wake, headed south, for parts unknown.