Mountains on the journey from Tangir to Chefchaouen in Morocco
Africa,  Gibraltar,  Independent travel,  Morocco,  Transport,  Travel Blog

Into Africa: Sometimes Things Don’t Go To Plan

Very often there is something special about a port town, a feeling of frontier, of moving on, of adventure. Despite the fact that a large percentage of those passing through spend at most a single night in the town, there is a certain excitement about such places and we’ve regularly found them to be lively, vibrant towns with an air unique to their situation. And then there’s Algeciras.

Gateway in and out of Europe it might be, but make no mistake, Algeciras is as scruffy and ugly as it gets. No wonder everyone passes through quickly; I am reminded of Bill Bryson’s comments about Dover. A quick ride on Seville’s new tram network followed by three hours on the bus has moved us from the pristine majesty of Seville to a town where dogshit-dodging is par for the course and every palm tree smells like a public toilet. It’s Spain’s forgotten corner. Even here though, after rounding a few dodgy corners and avoiding eye contact with several undesirables, we find a decent tapas bar for one last dive into Spanish cuisine. We end our last night in Spain smiling again, good food and wine can always cheer things up.

Algeciras
A more attractive part of Algeciras
Algeciras
Main square Algeciras

And so the change of continent begins. This will be a significant shift of culture for such a short distance – for a start, we are not expecting to see any alcohol at all for the next three and a half weeks, but then, as Michaela said the other day, after all this time in Spain, our livers need to go on holiday now.

Leaving Algeciras port by ferry
Leaving Spain
Leaving Algeciras port by ferry
Busy container port, Algeciras

We leave Spain behind with dark storms over the mountains and the Rock of Gibraltar wearing a shawl of cloud drawn around her shoulders. Unusually for us we’ve put some tight time constraints on our journey from Algeciras to our first Moroccan base of Chefchaouen – we need everything to go like clockwork to ensure there’s no complications. It’s a morning ferry to Tanger Med, after which we will need to get a shuttle bus and train to Tangier and then pick up a rental car at Tangier Ville station at 1pm, then drive over two hours to Chefchaouen. It all needs to go right.

Gibraltar shrouded by cloud
Gibraltar in cloud

It soon starts to go wrong. On the bus from Seville to Algeciras, we receive a text informing us that our ferry is cancelled. We are offered an alternative which we have to accept, but it’s half an hour later. Time is getting tighter, but supposedly we have a 2-hour window in which to collect the car: we email them just in case, to tell them we may be late.

Next, the replacement ferry finally pulls out of Algeciras thirty minutes late, now we know for sure that there is no way we will make 1pm. Docking at Tanger Med, we are shepherded on to a shuttle bus to the train station: there is no train to Tangier for another hour. No chance. A few other people can’t wait that long either, so we team up with Andrea from Alicante and her obedient dog and share a taxi. We reach the appointed meeting place for the car at just after 2.30pm. Our instruction for rendezvous at Tangier Ville station is “meeting place TBA”, unfortunately there’s not been an A, and there’s no sign of an office.

I call the hire company. All lines are busy. After several attempts I get through, and the conversation goes something like this, all in Franglais…

Hi. Nous avons une reservation but cannot find you. Reservation where? Gare de Tangier Ville. Mister Philip? Oui, oui, oui. You are late. I know, I message you ce matin. Notre bateau was late. I get no message. I have no information. So what about the car? It’s gone. You are late. But I need a car. Ce n’est pas possible. I don’t have one now. Sorry. Goodbye.

Ah. OK. Time to take a breath, let go of the panic button, grab a coffee and work out how to get out of this little fix. Hello Starbucks, rarely have I been so pleased to see you. Chefchaouen is a 2-hour drive away. It’s about 3.30pm now. We basically have two choices – book a room in Tangier and try and get a hire car from tomorrow (pricey last minute hire plus pay two hotels for the same night) or swallow the cost of a 2-hour taxi (and get to Chefchaouen sans rental car). Michaela hits the internet for hotel prices and then we go find Monsieur Taxi Boss to discuss rates. The taxi is cheaper than a Tangier hotel, and Boss Man has a willing driver…

Journey from Tangir to Chefchaouen, Morocco
En route to Chefchaouen
Journey from Tangir to Chefchaouen, Morocco
En route to Chefchaouen

So we arrive in the mountain town of Chefchaouen just before 6pm, knowing that we’re now stuck here for five days without the car which was going to be our way of exploring the region. But at least nothing else can go wrong now, not with how good the reviews are on the little family guest house we’re staying in here.

“You can check in” says Mehdi, “but we have small problem with your room. The lock is broken”.

By “broken”, Mehdi means there’s a bloody great hole in the door where the lock is meant to be, and the door doesn’t even shut, let alone lock.

Welcome to Morocco, guys. Sometimes you just have to laugh.

“The man is coming”, says Mehdi, “coming to mend the door”. But he doesn’t come before mealtime, so we have to hide our important stuff in a room with no privacy and head down into Chefchaouen for a street-food style reacquaintance with Moroccan food. Eventually, and well after the muezzin’s last call to prayer, Mehdi and somebody who could well be his brother set to work and get the door, and the lock, repaired. We can now sleep without a barricade after all.

Cool mountain air fills the room, there are blankets on the bed. We won’t be needing AC here, it soon cools down after sundown. Chefchaouen looks odd in the dark, a huge shift in culture, a Muslim stronghold where tradition rules, so very different from evenings in Spain. 

View from Chefchaouen, Morocco at night
Chefchaouen and the Rif Mountains

We drift off to sleep as the occasional grinding lorry hauls itself up the steep road outside and mountain folk chatter in the darkness. The barking of dogs echoes from unseen walls. If I dare to move, my bed makes almost as much noise as one of those struggling trucks, groaning and creaking under the tiniest pressure. One subject dominates our thoughts: without a rental car we will need to get our planning heads on in the morning in order to fill our four remaining days here.

View from Chefchaouen, Morocco
Chefchaouen and the Rif Mountains

Mehdi and his family are so friendly and helpful, and so apologetic about the door. They also serve us a carb-packed breakfast which is so big that I doubt we even get half way through it before we have to admit defeat, after which we head out into the morning sunshine, rugged mountains looking down on the town, Chefchaouen going about its Saturday morning business.

Breakfast in Chefchaouen
Carb heavy breakfast

The claim to fame of this mountain town is its blue houses, Chefchaouen is known as “Morocco’s blue pearl”. Everything looks so much more appealing this morning, so quaint, so….blue. We amble through the streets of the medina, emerging into small squares beneath lofty minarets. If last night we had an attack of first night struggles with culture shock, they are banished within minutes as Chefchaouen’s charm preens itself in the morning sun. What yesterday appeared unfamiliar today feels like a warm welcome.

Our next post will no doubt show Chefchaouen in all its undoubted glory, but here’s a little taster of what will be included…..

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