COS Conference/Chefchaouen

Medical? Check.

Dental? Check.

Mostly pointless conference sessions? Check.

Seeing my fantastic staajmates? Double check.

Lasagna at La Mamma and five meals of falafel over the course of a seven-day period? Oh yeah.

Done. Onward...

Chefchaouen: A town of somewhat mythical status, the place up north I'd just never had a good opportunity to visit. In fact, I had already come to acceptance with the likelihood that I probably wasn't going to fit it in during my Peace Corps service, but was invited along for a short trip following COS conference.

Expecting to step off the bus into a teeming throng of European hippies, faux guides (pronounce: geeeeds) and hash peddlers, we were instead greeted with an empty parking lot, not a tourist in sight and no indication whatsoever that we had even arrived in the correct town, aside from the fact that the driver turned off the bus and disappeared into the night. Where were the enchanted blue alleyways? The cobblestone streets? The hanging lanterns? Turns out they were just up the road a bit. The town itself is spread across the long, slow slope of a mountainside, providing a perfect lookout across the valley. It is clean, vibrant, and according to my companions, has a very "European" feel. The majority of the city consists of modern, well-kept buildings and businesses with a backdrop of high rise condos, though the "old medina" section provides a more quaint, traditional feel, and yes, the beautiful blue and white-painted passageways. We woke early the morning after our arrival to explore them, getting lost amid their twists and turns, stairways, archways and canopies of grape vine overhead.

 

Perhaps it was the low season, or my expectations were simply skewed, but there seemed to be hardly any tourists. I suppose I am accustomed to Marrakech where the streets overflow with them, but in Chefchaouen their presence was shockingly minimal. I had also expected to be solicited hash constantly, as reported by other Volunteers and guidebooks-- the city is notorious for it-- but it only happened once, when a guy at the hotel flashed a tiny baggy and promised "good quality". We declined, though the other guests, hotel manager, restaurant waiter and every bleary-eyed shopkeeper we passed seemed otherwise. Also, due to the city's northern location and, therefore, prevalence of Spanish-speaking tourists, we were offered holas as opposed to the usual bonjours.

We took a taxi outside of town to an area called Akchor, at which you can hike to either some cascades or a natural arch called God's Bridge. After fighting off the multitude of faux guides lurking where the taxi dropped us off, all of whom insisted that we needed a "son of the countryside" to lead the way (which was most certainly arduous and fraught with peril), we opted for the clearly marked and worn path toward the Bridge. The day was perfect-- warm, blue-skied and sunny. Along the way were several neglected gardens, with squash growing plump and vines taking over the crumbling bamboo fences. I'm a total sucker for that kind of stuff. The hike was relatively short, and provided great views of the surrounding mountainside-- the forest, sheer gorge walls and the lagoon-blue water of the river below. The bridge itself was impressive, though considerably more so when standing at a distance, as when one is on it, it ceases to be visible. Right. We ate lunch on the rocks in the river below, shoes off and feet in the frigid water, the sun pouring down into the gorge above us. 

Two nights was just enough, I think, as there isn't really a whole lot to DO aside from shopping and simply walking around to take in the sights. It was nice to feel the slower place of a town that seemed content with itself and in no rush (insert hash joke here)-- a welcome change of pace from the weeklong rush of Rabat and familiar chaos of Marrakech, a great place to feel the chill of autumn setting in, and a perfect way to wrap up my Peace Corps travels. Unless you count the 5.5 hour bus ride, taxi, 4.5 hour train ride, taxi and hour bus ride fending off pickpockets on the way back to site the next day. Which I don't.