Chefchaouen, Morocco – April 12th

I had three ports to write about on my to do list – Cartegena, Ceuta and Madeira – but left this one, an excursion to Chefchaouen from Ceuta, for last.  I have very mixed feelings about it and you’ll see why in a few minutes. 

Back in December when I started booking our excursions, aside from Petra, Jordan, the excursion from Ceuta, Spain, to Chefchaouen, Morocco was at the top of my “must sees.” 

First of all, because we opted for an excursion, I don’t have anything to say about Ceuta, Spain other than it is actually part of Africa. 

Our tour order form, however, for the “Best of Chefchaouen” promised the following:

“There’s something for everyone in this excursion to the magical, blue-washed city of Chefchaouen from history buffs to photographers, nature lovers and culture mavens.  This inland haven was settled by refugees of the Spanish Reconquista and it has stood for centuries, only gaining in its burnished beauty.  You’ll find something new around every corner from brilliantly tiled mosques to the trickling sound of water seeping between old rocks.  You’ll be right in the midst of the action as you bargain for souvenirs at the exotic Arab bazaar in Uta Al Hamman square.  Souks brim with flowing colorful robes, slippers and hats and surrounding the palm-lined plaza are the ancient walls of the Alcazaba and the turreted towers of the Kasbah.  Save your appetite for a full lunch of Moroccan specialties and feast your eyes on a colorful folkloric show before returning to your ship in Ceuta.”

Well, there you have it.  This is what we ordered and this is what we expected. 

Even though we don’t like long excursions, we were willing to take a 2-hour drive each way to, first, go to another continent, Africa, and, second, to see this amazing “blue city.”  We got on our bus in the morning for the long drive.  It was necessary for us to bring our passports because we would be leaving Spain and entering Morocco and it was also necessary for us to fill out a departing card and an arrival card – again, countries like Spain and Morocco require all these forms from a busload of gray-haired old people while our own country can’t seem to control its own borders. 

In a vehicle, the border crossing was much like a toll booth and we passed through the one leaving Spain and stopped at the entry one for Morocco where our guide, Jamal, turned in our forms and passports.  Hopefully, we would get them on the way back. 

Unlike all the other excursions we’ve taken, Jamal provided us with very little commentary other than pointing out Mercedes Benz taxis calling them “German camels.”  I take copious notes for this travel blog and where most of our tours have given me at least ten pages of notes, Jamal’s information filled up just about one page.  I can tell you that the population of Morocco is made up of 35% Berbers and 65% Arabs and freedom of worship is guaranteed by the Moroccan constitution.  That’s about it. 

Although the landscape immediately after we entered the country looked very bleak, there was a lovely countryside, and there is, of course, the Sahara, mountains and beaches.  We stopped around an hour into our journey at the LaPaloma Hotel for a quick break and on we went to Chefchaouen. 

When we arrived at the “blue city,” we were met by Ahmed Achtot, our “guide” through the city, who seemed to be a local character, but hard to describe otherwise.  By this time, although Jamal said he would be at the back of the group, was nowhere to be seen.  Ahmed, who stood about 5’ tall and was very proud of the fact that he had a FB page, provided no real information as we meandered through the streets, other than to repeatedly call out, “hello, America.”  He liked having his picture taken and shuffled us along, as we aimlessly wandered around, apparently waiting for a phone call from the restaurant because they weren’t ready for us.  (Another bus from Princess had already arrived at the restaurant and I guess they wanted to feed them first and then accommodate us afterwards.) 

Yes, the “blue city” was amazingly blue.  We really didn’t get any information regarding the reasons why the city was painted a beautiful, soft blue, other than the color kept the mosquitos away.  Why this was the case, I haven’t a clue.  But the maze that we walked through, zigzagging from left to right, up and down stairs, and in and out here and there, was really a feast for our eyes.  We came across a public bakery where local people could bring their dough every day and bake their bread.  Ahmed bought a loaf of bread from the shopkeeper for probably a few cents and shared it with the group.  It was very good. 

We passed dozens of shops selling cloth, robes, slippers, household goods, woolens, caps, seeds, pastel-colored paints, magnets, etc.  I kept wondering why we weren’t able to stop and look at anything but Ahmed continued our aimless walking until it was around 1 o’clock and said, “we go to the restaurant now.” 

Michael and I were one of the last ones into the restaurant and were, thankfully, seated at a 2-person table and served first.  Jamal made an appearance and told us where the restrooms were in the restaurant – directing the women to the right and the men to the left.  The rooms were identical and everyone used whichever one they were closest to. 

Our first course consisted of four or five salads of greens, celery and beans.  Some were good but the greens weren’t very tasty.  The chicken over cous cous with vegetables was very good and the chicken was tender and delicious.  At around 2 p.m., I started to get concerned knowing that some of our fellow passengers had not yet been served (we had already eaten our main course) and we would have to be back on the bus by 3:30 to make it back to the ship by 5:30.   The passengers in the other bus had left upon our arrival, and, presumably, shopping as promised.  Around 2:15 I went downstairs looking for Jamal and told him my husband and I wanted to leave the restaurant early so we could do some shopping.  He immediately told me that we can’t because we’re an organized group and must stay together.  I asked him when he expected us to shop and he looked me straight in the eye and said “I’ll give you more than 30 minutes.”  I wasn’t too happy about that but I said “okay.” 

I haven’t any idea why Michael and I just didn’t leave the restaurant and look around in the immediate vicinity but I believed and trusted our guide and went along… never again. 

We were given dessert – a small bowl of tasty diced fruit – and, eventually, everyone managed to get up and start walking down the stairs to the ground floor of the restaurant.  Immediately outside was a shop with dozens and dozens of great looking magnets, and, again, I have no idea why I just didn’t do my shopping right then and there while the rest of the passengers were exiting the restaurant.  I guess I still believed Jamal and expected “more than 30 minutes” of available shopping time. 

Once again, Ahmed led the way through the streets (we would never have found our way out of this labyrinth on our own) and I remained optimistic that, yes, we would be led to a section of the city to do our shopping even if it belonged to one of Jamal’s or Ahmed’s friends and from which they would get a cut of the purchases made (which has happened on other excursions). 

Well, I’m sure my gasp was heard half way around the world when we were led to our bus!  I was absolutely flabbergasted.  I was furious, as was Michael, and couldn’t believe Jamal out and out lied.  He was actually nowhere to be seen at this point around 3:15.  Michael said to me, “come on,” and we ran across the street to what we thought was a souvenir shop which turned out to be a newspaper shop; we crossed back and literally started running through the bazaar looking desperately for someone, anyone, who was selling magnets.  From shop to shop, nothing.  Looking at my watch and concerned about our time, Michael finally came upon some magnets and I have to say right now, that if instead of an “ugly Christmas ornament exchange” (and my family knows what I’m talking about) we actually had an “ugly magnet exchange,” we would win, hands down.  Michael bought three of the ugliest magnets I’ve ever seen (forget the lovely “blue city” magnets we saw all along the streets earlier in the day).  Michael gave the man 3€ for the three who probably made his day’s wages in that one purchase.  Our magnets were so pathetic that they didn’t even say the entire name of the city but merely “Chaouen” and looks as if it were painted by a 2-year old.  We again literally ran out of the bazaar, back to the bus, only to realize that a few other passengers did the same thing and managed to purchase a few postcards at the very last minute. 

To top all this, another one of Jamal’s cohorts who was taking photos of us with Ahmed while in the city wanted us to buy his photos on the bus.  I wouldn’t even look at them and told him “no.”  I was fuming the entire ride back to the ship and hadn’t realized, at that point, that my aggravation could get any greater or that my blood pressure could rise even further than during the ride back to Ceuta.

Unfortunately, when we arrived at the Moroccan/Spanish border, things took a turn for the worse.  Let me first mention that during the entire drive back, Jamal said nothing to us, but, instead, talked on his cell phone almost the entire time.   The chaos at the border was easily seen.  Our bus was directed to one lane only to be directed to make a u-turn, go back and then turn around again into another lane.  We were behind the other Princess bus that went to Chefchaouen and we were both stuck there.   We were again sternly warned NOT to take any photos of the border crossing because it was “international policy” and we did see armed guards on the top of the hillside beside the crossing. 

Along the side of the road, we saw dozens and dozens of people sitting patiently while waiting to cross the border.  Drivers in the other cars in line either didn’t want to waste gas or ran out of it so when they were able, pushed their cars forward inch by inch.  This apparently was quite funny to some of our fellow passengers and we were then aurally assaulted with constant, inane, stupid comments by our fellow passengers about everything from the incompetency of the border patrol people to unsupported speculation why we were delayed.  Know-it-alls started to opine about the sniffing dogs that were being used on the bus in front – whether they were sniffing out drugs, bombs or people and the one beside me assured us that dogs were never used to sniff out people.  How she knew this with 100% certainty, I have no idea. 

The chatter and laughter at this very serious situation continued for at least a half an hour.  Of course, one numbnut took several photographs and I found out later that Michael was actually concerned that we were all going to be removed from the bus because of this one inconsiderate passenger. 

The aggravation from being lied to earlier combined with the embarrassingly stupid behavior of my fellow passengers was so intense that I had to expend every ounce of my energy not to stand up in that bus and scream, “will you all just shut the f&*k up!” 

We’re all in a strange country, without our passports, and people are guffawing about a very intense situation.  So intense that, eventually, using long poles with mirrors in the areas where the dog reacted, border patrol and police discovered that someone had attached himself to the undercarriage of the bus in front and would not let go.   God only knows why, but, again, the people in our bus found this all very amusing. 

I’m not silent about my utter disapproval of immigrants who attempt to enter the United States illegally.  I have no tolerance for the behavior, but I also have a great deal of empathy and recognize the desperation of these people.  Although no one could be absolutely sure about all the circumstances of what happened at the border, our cruise director reported that it was, in fact, a child who was trying to get out of Africa to Europe.   The dangerousness of attaching oneself to the undercarriage of a vehicle in an attempt to cross a border only goes to show the utter desperation – and certainly no laughing matter.

We were finally allowed to go through, Jamal picked up our passports and distributed them to us.  Not trusting him, I almost asked that he distribute them while we were at the border crossing because if any were missing and we didn’t find out until a few miles down the road, I didn’t know how we would be able to backtrack and find them.  But, that part of the situation worked out and we all got back our passports.  With all the trouble we went through with turning them in, filling out two forms, you’d think the authorities would’ve at least stamped our passports showing our visit in Morocco, but they didn’t. 

Providing us with very little information up until that point, Jamal tried to ingratiate himself (we were approaching the ship and he, of course, was hoping for tips) with us and related a story of being in a coma for a period of time, close to death, awakening and then having the good fortune of having his youngest child thereafter.  Being the cynic that I am, and having been lied to once, I didn’t believe a word of it.  This was the FIRST time ever that Michael and I did not give a tip to our tour guide.  I think he knew exactly how I felt by the way I reacted to him when he returned my passport.   Seeing how upset I was, he simply said to me, “oh, c’mon, Madam” as I walked back to my seat ignoring him completely. 

We were expected to be back to the ship by 5:30 but didn’t arrive until 6 p.m.  I immediately wrote a 3-page report to our excursion desk and eventually found out the name of the tour company, Intercruises, about which I will file a review online when I get back home.   We received a phone call from our excursion manager who said my report would be forwarded to the corporate offices and also received a 30% refund of our tickets. 

I was absolutely horrified by the behavior of the people on the bus and practically in tears by the time we arrived in the dining room and I began to relate this story to my waiter and head waiter.  I was absolutely embarrassed to be an American at that very moment because of the behavior of those idiots on our bus that think other people’s misery is something to exploit for their own enjoyment.  Simply disgraceful. 

Aside from the disappointments of the day, the “blue city” was magical.  It would not have been a good idea to take a private excursion to another country because if you’re late, the ship will not wait.  If you’re on a Princess excursion, the ship will, of course, wait for your return.  We heard of a couple who did book a private trip to Chefchaouen, who got stuck at the border with an expected wait of three hours, who had to get out of the hired car, cross the border by foot, and then take a cab back to the ship.  Not a good situation at all. 

Michael’s Observations:   My observations will start in the blue city itself.  To say it is a maze of small streets and pathways is an understatement.  Truly you must go with a guide who knows the city.  Our guide, Ahmed, is definitely a local character and knows the city well.  Sadly, we passed wonderful shops but never had a chance to stop and really look at the goods because we were constantly winding around streets and alleys of this marvelous blue city.  I also noted that the merchants in this city were not very aggressive.  Some would ask where we were from and welcomed us but none seemed to say, “come into my shop and look around.”  Like Leona, I expected we would have an opportunity to go back and do some shopping.  Of course, that never happened.  I don’t know if the merchants in the blue city have a Chamber of Commerce organization but if they do, they should develop communication between tour groups and themselves and offer opportunities for tourists to do shopping in their marvelous city.  As a business man myself, I saw enormous opportunity for revenue evaporate as a busload of tourists, anxious to purchase souvenirs, were deprived of the opportunity to do so.  Luckily, as Leona described, I was able to pick up a couple of magnets that will remind me of this wonderful place. 

In reference to the border crossing, Leona’s observations were very accurate.  I would, however, point out that most of the passengers on the bus were quiet, but, like the old saying, “it sticks out like a sore thumb,” the morons who found the situation humorous were noisy and appalling.  As I’ve often observed, most people have never faced any hardship or danger greater than a hot cup of coffee.  So, in my future travels, I am looking for a magnet that says, “Cruising Would Be Wonderful Without Passengers.”