The cab ride to 'Funky Fez' definitely opened our eyes and it was very clear we were no longer in Europe. Culture shock seemed to set in and as i told the girls a few basic rules in Morocco about men, covering up and culture differences they seemed petrified. The hostel was a pleasant surprise considering it was surrounded by dilapidated buildings and shabbily dressed people lingering in the streets. It was exactly what I imagined a traditional Moroccan riad to look like with a central courtyard and open aired roof covered partially by a marquee to stop rain. The walls were covered in Arab style tiles and sofa beds and cool furniture filled the reception area, I think we were all very relieved. After dumping our bags we dealt with the next issue, starvation. Alessia and I decided to share a chicken tajine and a Moroccan salad and despite waiting 40 minutes for it, after a week in Morocco this was probably the best meal I ate. I felt like a sweet treat and so did Em so we braved the streets at night (crossed the road) to visit the corner store and get some chocolate. The selection was limited and we were being heckled by a group of teenage boys so we bought the first two things we could see, Bounty and Kinder, and fled nervously back to the hostel.
I woke up hungry (typical me) and went to see what our free breakfast included. Of course, it was two bits of cake, a quarter of a crepe and bread with jam. Gluten everywhere! I had two slices of GF bread left which I saved for situations just like this one. I gave one slice to Em and piled it with jam to try and get some energy from somewhere. We set off for the medina and were warned to not trust anyone and stick together no matter what in the crowds. On hearing this advice the girls were questioning why we were even in this country, I was still optimistic but stuck tight to the girls as we approached the gate signifying the beginning of the medina. As I looked around I was confused, far from crowds, there was hardly anyone around. It seemed like a ghost town, doors were closed, and only a few locals were milling around completely minding their own business. I looked around and the girls seemed equally confused, maybe it opened later on? We kept wandering and found an area which seemed a little more lively eg. some shops were open, so I bought some nougat and the girls got Argan Oil, a speciality of Morocco ( I gave up on saving my hair a long time ago, it's the definition of dead) and Alessia had a look around for a backpack. We headed back to the hostel and asked the receptionist what time the medina opened and he confirmed our suspicions, it was closed on Fridays, the only day we were in Fes. Our Moroccan adventure wasn't off to the best start but we decided to go and sort out bus tickets for chefchauen the next day and then try a traditional hammam bath. The trip to the bus station was a disaster. Firstly we were hugely ripped off, charged 10 euro for a 20min taxi ride which is probably the equivalent of $100 in Australia. Secondly, alessia and I had left without the address or any idea of where our hostel was and we were one on the other side of town. After buying the tickets for the bus we hailed cab after cab and hopefully asked 'funky fes', they would either immediately drive off or ask for the address first which we couldn't give them. We had no phone to use so we were in big trouble. Thankfully, we came across a cab which already had a lady in it (sharing cabs is a big thing in morocco) and she could speak a little bit of English and fluent Arabic so we managed to come to some sort of understanding- we hoped- and we jumped in. We whooped and cheered when we arrived at the fountain in the square near out hostel and our driver was so happy we had reached our destination, we didn't have the heart to inform him actually this was the wrong square and the wrong fountain so we thanked him and got out. We started our mission again asking people if they knew funky fes but because we were much closer our success rate increased and soon with the aid of the local police we were in a cab and back to the safety of our hostel. After a big venting session we prepared ourselves for another interesting experience, hammam. From the word go I wasn't too keen for this experience, a scrub to get off your dead skin aka getting rid of my tan. My skepticism only grew as we arrived at our 'luxurious day spa' aka someone's house down the road. We walked into a communal room where an obese woman sat staring at us and were commanded to strip naked. Umm, sorry what?! This was not part of the deal I signed up for.. We refused to take off bottoms but all awkwardly took off our tops and walked into the room. Alessia described the centre she had a hammam at in Turkey and by the sounds of things it was pretty much a Turkish version of the hot springs back home. A massage table, hot bath, gentle exfoliation. But this, this was someone's basement, and as we were instructed to line up against the wall I couldn't help but picture the old history films from school and I was sure the firing squad were moments away coming to shoot us dead. Clearly a little over dramatic nothing of the sort happened, although my next vision was more of a rape dungeon as we were told to sit on the floor so we were all touching, before our cleaners themselves stripped and commenced their work.. Not its not what you think, they did just wash and scrub us but it wasn't exactly pleasant ad relaxing. Multitudes of buckets of hot water were prepared and then thrown at us at random intervals so many a time I was left spluttering after choosing to breathe at the wrong moment and then hastily and violentally spitting to avoid swallowing any water which might make me sick. Following the drowning we were scrubbed turn by turn, extremely hard, to the point where we were left with marks still in the evening. We were in Morocco so I probably shouldn't have expected better hygiene but after we were all scrubbed with the same exfoliating mit, the feeling of extreme cleanliness I had hoped for was quickly tainted. The nicest part was probably last when a grandma came in and brushed and washed our hair which was reasonably soothing. That was it. We dried off, redressed and after paying our 7 euro each were sent on our way, walking home with dripping hair. Our time in Morocco so far had been interesting, and frankly I was quite excited to leave Fes the next day for a change of scenery.. Hopefully a more pleasant one.
We had made a quick visit to Carrefour the day before so we were armed with rice cakes, cheese and avocado for breakfast before packing up and heading off to the bus station for our trip to Chefchauen. The bus was 8 euro which seemed cheap for a 7 hour bus ride, but as soon as we boarded it seemed clear that this was the expensive posh option and the bus was fitted out with air conditioning and looked just like any other bus I'd take in Europe. The only difference to my European bus trips would have to be the lunch stop. In the middle of nowhere we pulled over to a small shack like building. Aside from the building itself, my first vision was three dead animals hanging from the terrace which on closer inspection seemed to have been killed very recently, as wet blood drops were still visible on the ground below. And those poor animals (lambs I think?) were our lunch. You went over to the butcher, asked for meatballs or some chops that we hacked up in front of you and took it over to the barbecue where they were cooked for you. Once you got over the whole process, it was a good experience and for 4 meatballs and 3 chops (small ones but still) the price was 4 euro. We boarded the bus with our meaty goods and devoured them like monsters because they were delicious! The bus ride dragged on and on but finally we pulled up in chefchauen, took a 1 euro taxi as close as we could to the hostel an then continue up the 200 steps to the entrance struggling with our packs. The hostel was really cool and offered beds on the rooftop for 3 euro a night however these were unfortunately booked out, so instead we paid a very steep 5 euro a night for a private 4 bed room also on the rooftop. Going back to Europe prices was definitely a painful experience! Once we had settled in we strolled around town and already I liked this place a thousand times more than Fes. It was much smaller and homely and was missing the creepy men vibe so for the first time so far in Morocco I felt 100% safe. It was only a pedestrian zone as we were within the medina walls so we could walk all through the winding lanes and relax at the many cafes and restaurants in the enormous main square area. We sat down for a late light lunch (so many l's!) and had our first encounter with the local dealers who offered 'happy cigarettes' for dirt cheap in public all the time, we were once even offered at breakfast. The laws in Morocco were very lax considering 40% of the worlds hashish is grown there (apparently), but in chefchauen the discretion I had seen in Fes was non existent. Instead of trying this Moroccan fare, I stuck with my usual treat of a block of Crunch, my new favourite chocolate, while we hung out on the rooftop. The girls were hungry again after the sunset so we went back down to the square and set up camp at the cafe from that afternoon. I wasn't hungry so instead accepted the offer of a free mint tea! The tea was not exactly like my usual peppermint at home and instead had about 15 teaspoons of sugar in it but was a nice one off treat. The girls ate a tagine each which smelled incredible and I promised myself I'd be back there to try one before we left.
We woke up and went for breakfast at the local and had 2 fried eggs, olives and so,e goats cheese which was a fairly substantial and varied breakfast in comparison to the past few days of rice cakes. Chloe had been the one to tell us about this place and we loved it, so we decided to follow her other piece of advice which was to catch a taxi to the waterfalls and hike to them. We organised a taxi and our driver was lovely, and we managed to have some basic conversation in Spanish which I then translated to the girls. They were so impressed and I was so proud of myself, although if they knew how basic our conversation level was, they might not have been calling me 'fluent'. He agreed to come and pick us up 4 hours later so we waved him away and got started on our walk. Locals were loitering at the foot of the drop off point ready to heckle and offer their services as a guide for 'very cheap' and only because it was Morocco we refused to pay 3 euro each for a guide there and back on a 4 hour hike. Instead we were determined to go it alone an after 5 mis starts a cocky potential guide stood with arms crossed across his chest pretty much saying, 'I told you you couldn't do it alone, now pay me and I'll show you you idiots'. Luckily a French trio who looked like they knew their stuff came along and saved us from giving into the guide. We followed them until the entrance of the trail and from there it was a clear path all the way to the falls. There were two waterfalls, a smaller which was closer and a larger one which was further. After reaching and passing the smaller falls, we found a cute creek with stepping stones meant for people to cross but we got creative and saw them as sunbeds so being lazy tourists we set up camp there rather than continuing to the larger waterfall. We walked back which thankfully was mostly downhill as the heat was unbearable and waited 20 minutes for our taxi driver to pick us up. There was a bit of a drama as our driver changed and although we were assured our new driver was his friend and would give him half of the money for the first leg of the journey, I handed over the entire sum apprehensively, sincerely hoping our much nicer driver received his cut. We reached chefchauen and were all STARVING after our meagre lunch of 3 rice cakes and jam so set off for dinner and decided to try somewhere different to our usual. This was a mistake. The sumptuous tagine the girls had eaten the previous night was a far cry from the watery vegetable slop that was presented to me. I was so angry and having wasted a meal, when I knew around the corner for the same price such a beautiful meal could have been enjoyed. The only possible way to improve my mood obviously was crunch, followed by a little retail therapy where I bought a lucky charm in an attempt to ward off any bad tagines in the future. We had a very early start ahead of us for our cross-country journey to Marrakech (we really didn't plan our week well at all) so we headed to bed.
The alarms were set for a painful 5.45am except clearly Morocco believed this simply wasn't early enough. The call to prayer woke us all at the delightful hour of 4.50 and its songs/wailing (however you choose to view it) carried on until our official alarms went off. I don't think you could have come across four more grumpy girls, and six hours later when we arrived in Casablanca, our moods took an even worse turn. We had been assured by our hostel manager in Chefchauen that there was no direct way to Marrakech. Without a doubt the best way was to take the bus to Casablanca, and from there, there were "thousands" of options. Not exactly thousands, in fact only two. There was one bus which left 8 hours after our arrival to Casablanca and would reach Marrakech after midnight, which obviously isn't ideal. Our only other option was a taxi which would cost us 50 euro each, which we quickly barter down to 40, and with a final haggle, 25 euros each which we begrudgingly accepted. For a 3.5 hour taxi journey in Australia I would have been more than happy to pay $45, in fact I would be incredulous at managing such a deal, but in Morocco, this should have been enough money for about 4 days of living, so needless to say, none of us were impressed. A quick pitstop at Maccas marginally improved everyone's moods, and the cab driver managed to find some English tunes on a USB in his pocket for us to bop along to. Our hostel in Marrakech was 5 euro a night and again, accommodation exceeded expectations. A huge riad with a beautiful mosaic floor and walls, and a private room with ensuite. We immediately the manager asked about doing a camel safari and his face said it all. He begun explaining that Eid, a religious festival was on in Morocco therefore nearly all of the companies were closed for business, including the one affiliated with the hostel. Desperately we begged, half of the reason we came to Morocco was for the desert experience and the cliched Instagram photo of riding a camel in the Sahara, sure to reel in the likes. My lucky charm paid off and we not only found another company but were escorted to their office by a kind worker at the hostel who helped to organise it so all we needed to do was hand over the cash. On leaving the office we realised we knew absolutely nothing about the tour we had just signed up for but I wasn't too worried, we said camel ride, sleep in the desert.. What could go wrong? Our next stop was the famous souks and main square of Marrakech. My first visions of the square were the snake charmers and obviously their snakes. Em clearly was just as scared of snakes as me and we panicked and tried to stay as far far away as possible from the beastly creatures even though they did seem to be oblivious to anything apart from their charmers. On entering the souk my mind flashbacked to the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, and knew we were not escaping without getting lost. I was right. After giving in and buying scarves for an exorbitant 6 euros, three dinner dates proposals and a fake converse retailer chasing Em half way around the souk once he had found white 7.5's we were hungry and lost. Alessia kept going on about this giant tent where everyone ate but the further in we got, food and people alike were becoming more scarce so we changed route and headed back to the main square. And alas when we finally navigated our way there, there was the giant tent we had been hunting for! We sat down at the first restaurant that didn't shove a menu in our face (they need marketing lessons, tourists don't like being hassled) and picked a few different options, Moroccan tapas style. The food was nice although not exactly authentic, and I walked back with a fully tummy, stockpiling for the day ahead in the desert where the prospect of food, let alone gluten free was dismal.
We were picked up bright and early at 7am and taken on a tour of Marrakech by mini bus seemingly for no reason. We arrived at the office and preceded to faff around for nearly an hour so in the mean time, Em and I found a shop that cooked us a fried egg each and hoped that we could find more food soon. A Spanish guy from the Canary Islands jumped in our van without uttering a word so I was super excited about making lots of friends... We drove for 3 hours without break and then asked our fellow traveller if he knew more details, I wish we had never asked. Apparently the drive was ten hours, we stopped at towns all along the way and we didn't even ride camels until the next day. Without a doubt, Morocco had seen me at some of my grumpiest and angriest points but I was nothing on the other girls who were contemplating finding a van and heading back to Marrakech. We stopped three times for lunch, twice at random towns where the only sightseeing things cost money and we had all only brought a small amount of money for emergency food supplies and were too fearful to waste it now. So stop after stop hour after hour we were left with nothing to do, none of us brought iPads or iPods or any form of entertainment, the driver seemed to enjoy torturing us by listening to the crackling white noise of the radio at a loud volume for the entire time, and quite honestly I stared out the window at the bleak landscape cursing why I didn't ask more questions and why I always seemed destined to end up with the dodgy tour. FINALLY we arrived at our destination and my frown was instantly turned upside down at the sight of a pack of camels. There were local Berber guides in traditional dress who restyled our headscarves, helped us to board our camels and 2 minutes plus 100 photos later, my disastrous journey here was long forgotten. We joined two groups and our small pack grew to about 30 camels and everything seemed to be turning up. We plodded along through the Sahara and it was definitely the most snap happy I have been throughout my trip. Despite all our complaining and wishing for camel riding, I was stiff and sore after disembarking after only a half an hour ride. Maybe it was for the best, and I think if we knew what was coming and could have prepared it would have been an interesting day of seeing towns throughout Morocco. Lesson learnt, always ask questions- going in blind doesn't often work out in your favour, unless you bought ten lucky charms in Chefchauen.
Desert camp was so cool and much better than what I had pictured. First of all there were actual giant tents fit out with actual beds, bed linen and a little table for us to have dinner at. There was also mats where you could lay outside and stargaze at the perfectly clear night sky devoid of any pollution and scattered with glistening stars. We sat around on the mats while a campfire was built and got acquainted with a few of our fellow desert-goers before dinner was announced. I nervously sat down ate our little table and did silent prayers to myself 'Please no gluten, please no gluten'. Clearly my lucky charm was working now and first course was a traditional chickpea soup which was lovely, followed by the best tajine I had in all of Morocco. Chicken and vegetables, made my berbens, in a tent in the Sahara desert. If that's not Moroccan I don't know what is. I was clearly channelling my inner desperate poor African and after scraping clean the giant tajine after 3 plates full and everyone else had gracefully bowed out, I was full to the brim and slightly embarrassed at my greed. It was followed by another mint tea and this time I was prepared for the sugar hit and managed half of the glass. After a quick lie down to try and digest my food baby we were ushered to the campfire where the night begun. Happy cigarettes were passed around the circle, as were bongo drums and before I knew it a giant desert jamming session was in place. Music has never been my thing, and after one round of banging on the bongos, they were quickly passed along. Within moments the festivities escalated and dancing around the camp fire commenced, as did my calling. All my wild jungle tribal moves were unleashed and I felt as though I was part of a voodoo celebration or something strange and I danced and chanted around a campfire. It was so fun and soon everyone was up on their feet and learning traditional berben dances. We went to visit our little sleeping camels and after another 200 selfies with them and a toilet trip on the other side of the sand dune we nestled into our desert beds and got some shut eye before our 5am sunset camel ride.
Our alarm clock today was continuous banging on the tent wall, followed by our lovely Spanish friend shining an extremely bright flashlight into our eyes. Groggily I got dressed and wandered onto the sand to find a pile of bread for breakfast. I had saved a gluten free bread roll all the way from Salamanca (probably off by now) just in case of this so I gave Em the last few rice cakes and ate my roll before sitting on my camel. The first few minutes were especially painful as we were all rather sore from yesterday's ride but soon enough numbness set in and I sat back and watched an incredible sunrise on camel back in the Sahara desert- how many people can say they've done that! I dismounted my lovely camel datey and had more and more pictures. He was the most friendly camel out of the bunch so I could do selfies, pose him any way I wanted and hug him. The girls were all jealous and soon datey was attacked by paparazzi (us) because everyone wanted up close and personal camel shots. Already it was time to say goodbye to the camels and the desert and I still wish we spent another night in the desert. Now we had another 10 hour journey ahead which I really wasn't looking forward to. Luckily, as it was the first day of Eid our driver was clearly keen to return home and shaved four hours off the journey. Another repercussion of it being Eid was some very interesting views along the homeward journey. Personally I saw 2 sheep actually having their throats slit, about 6 being skinned, and probably 15 more who's dead and skinned bodies were left hanging in front of the houses or buildings. Confronting to say the least, but for Moroccans an annual reality their religion bides them to participate in. After the past 3 days of almost constant travelling the prospect of an overnight train, ferry, bus combination to get from Marrakech to Seville was seeming less and less appealing particularly as I would be alone. I decided to look up flights when we got back and found the only flight for the week, on the day I wanted, for only 70 euro. Karma was on my side! Another result of Eid was that Morocco practically shut down for the three days and there was nothing to do. After a few hours scrolling the Facebook news feed with few new stories I was bored and restless and rustled the girls into life and down to the square for a look around. As expected most things were closed but the food tents remained open so although none of us were particularly hungry we sat down at a really cheap restaurant offering tagine for only 3 euro. I really shouldn't have been fooled by this ridiculously cheap offer but I was sucked in and a few minutes later I sat eating a second terrible tagine, and this one was half the size. Luckily I wasn't hungry or I would have been really angry. We paid up and set off for an icecream shop we had passed earlier on which took the girls fancy. As an experienced icecream worker I could see the gelatinous syrupy surface which meant the icecream had melted and refrozen, which always ruined the flavour and decided to give it a miss. I did warn them, but they ignored me and in 200m all 3 cups were thrown in the bin.
Although it was the girls last day, and mine too really considering I was leaving at 6am the next day, there was nothing open and the girls weren't really in the mood to hunt for anything that was. We had a very lazy day which involved two trips to the supermarket, a wild hunt for a printer because our hostel DIDN'T HAVE ONE! and watched half of remember me before the girls headed off. When they left I skyped mum and pal, finished that movie, cried, watched perks of being a wallflower, cried, and to try and lift my mood, watched Grease and headed to bed happy and singing along to the old classics. The hostel worker felt bad because he owed me 10 dirham (1 euro) but couldn't get any change because of Eid. He managed instead to hook me up with a couple who were leaving at the airport at the same time and saved me 3 euro so I let him off. It was a very early start and after a gluten free pannacotta (way too early for dessert) I was on the plane and back to Spain!
