Morocco 23rd - 27th Oct

The following day Nick and I set sail for Smir in Morocco. The Blue Water Rally was also out sailing and we past close by to the newly restored Gypsy Moth IV, the little ketch that Francis Chichester made his record breaking solo circumnavigation in the 1960’s. . She looked lovely with headsails, main and mizzen all brimming with the steady westerly wind. It was a glorious sail, dry, fast and flat with heaps to look at. Smir marina is beautiful but unfortunately completely deserted as the Moroccan estates with their vast clandestine gardens surrounded by luxurious two story villas only open for two months in the summer every year. The beaches are golden and wide with blue clear water. Again, eerily deserted.

On Monday in Smir we went for a bike ride to the nearest town 8 km to the east. We took on some arduous back alleys that were so steep my back wheel was spinning in my lowest gear. The little Muslim kids getting quite exited by our mission. Next we rode out to the end of a steep cape, climbing to the summit and taking ultra steep forest single tracks down again. We came across a little band of young boys, all below 12 at a guess, clearing the path with child size hatchets. Nick engaged them in deciding when his back tire had enough air in it. They stood around chattering and arguing, leaning in to feel the tyre as Nick pumped. Little noisy cuties. By the time we had done a lap of the fish market and got back onto the highway home we were too weary to pay much attention to the camels and Moroccan architecture that so delighted us on the way out.

On Tuesday Nick got the kite surfer out and I sprinted up and down the beach under Nicks loud instructions trying to save the kite from crashing and getting tangled up in the thatched beach shelters. He got three runs in before deciding it was too light, but that’s enough about Tuesday if you get my drift.

Wednesday.
Nick, Bill, Fran and I piled into the blue Mercedes taxi and Mustafa, our driver for the day, shut the doors. Nick had talked Bill and Fran into the trip the day before after they had sailed into Smir in their Contessa 32, British Tiger. Fist we went to Tetuan, puling up outside the old city (medina) walls at one of the seven gates that lead into the maze of little alleys inside. Mohammad, the English speaking guide, joined us there and gave us a brief rundown on Morocco via great sprays of spit. There are 29 million people in Morocco, Casablanca is the largest city with 6 million. The majority of people are Muslim (mostly Sunni, not Shiite), then Jewish then Catholic: everyone lives happily together. In 1956 when the French and Spanish moved out, Rabat replaced Fez as the new capital. The Berber people who inhabit the mountains make exquisite carpets as they have for centuries. We were led through the market. It was a very local scene with no other tourists. Cloaked and weather beaten people rested against the walls with their goods in piles around all along the narrow alleys of the inner city. There were donkeys loaded with firewood being led by men in long hooded jalabas, vocal melodious cries from the mosque and the smell of wood-smoke from the bathhouse. The medina is cool in summer and warm in winter, because the two story whitewashed buildings are linked by archways and only separated with narrow crooked alleys.
Mohammad took us into the Arabian Bazaar which was a co-operative shop between many different families who make carpets, leather lamps, foot-cushions, glassware, silver wear and ceramics It was incredibly colourful, the art was so uniquely ….Moroccan!
We were shown the rooftop view before being seated in a cushioned cove, given mint tea and shown a wonderful assortment of carpets. Each one a masterpiece, all hand woven from goat, silk , cashmere or camel and coloured with natural dyes made from turmeric, henna, indigo etc. Fran purchased a beautiful silk tablecloth before we escaped to the Berber bazaar. Same thing again, except this time I could not avoid purchasing a gorgeous big carpet made from “the hairs from the neck of the goat”! I love it and for 150 Euros I think everyone probably did well.

Next we were driven high into the mountains to Chez Chuan, the amazing little medina at the foot of the Rift mountains, a trekking destination for the pierced, shaved and beaded backpacking set. We ate a traditional Moroccan meal, although the locals probably don’t have three courses by their looks, and mooched around this absolutely beautiful walled in city. The Berbers here paint their front alleys cornflour blue apparently to deter mosquitoes. Usually only the ground floor was painted and the upper story was either whitewashed or clay brick. Wrought iron balustrades and decorative lamps overhung the entrance archways to intriguing hotels and homes. Apparently the city has 1500 working hand looms churning out colourful, warm and functional garments, throws and carpets. We were limited in the time we could walk around because Mustafa, our driver was observing Ramadan, and like the rest of the local people had not eaten since 6 in the morning. Consequently he was ravenously hungry and did not want to be home later than 5.30 when he could eat again. Needless to say the race back down the mountain involved dodging kids, donkeys, old ladies wearing strange hats and overtaking ancient Citroens usually around blind corners – terrifying. Afterwards the four of us sat on PC, drank cold San Miguel beer and chatted till sundown sharing stories. Bill had some beauties but that’s another chapter altogether.