Tanger Hike

 

Day 1: The Gateway to Africa

5.4 kms, Jan 27, 2008

Morocco is sometimes often called the “Gateway to Africa”. It is here where many people experience Africa for the first time. Some do it merely as a day trip, taking the ferry across the Straits of Gibraltar and back again. And while Morocco is very different from its fellow African countries to the south—it is also very different from Europe to the north. So, as the Traveler reaches Tanger, where most people make that crossing between the continents, he decides to imagine what it would be like to experience Morocco for the first time, come from that direction.

This is his experience.

The Straits of Gibraltar

Now the Traveler turns his attention to the very significant body of water in front of him.

Crossing from Europe to North Africa is a quick 30 minute ride on a comfortable, modern fast ferry across the Straits of Gibraltar. While you're on the boat, a tired looking immigration official looks up your passport number, and does a quick, sloppy stamp on your passport without asking any questions. That's it... you're in. Just crossing from France to the UK is more complicated than this.

But, as the Traveler will soon find out, this quick passage is really a crossing from one world to a very different world

Behind him is Calpe Mons, the northern Pillar of Hercules, on the European side. Ahead, is Abila Mons, the southern Pillar. According to legend, at one time Europe and Africa were joined. Then Hercules came along, while performing one of his 12 labors, instead of climbing over the mountains to the Atlantic, he just smashed through them, forever dividing the two continents.

But no one calls these two pillars by their Greek name anymore. Nowadays, the northern pillar is known as Gibraltar (Arabic: “the Mountain of Tariq”), the southern Jbel Mussa, (“The Mountain of Musa”). These are names steeped in historic significance, as there are named after two of the leading Muslim conquerors who crossed these straits in the year 711, planting the flag of Islam on almost the entire Iberian Peninsula. This peninsula remained under Muslim rule for centuries to come until, region by region Christian kingdoms took over, driving the Muslim kings out if this southwestern tip of Europe. For many provinces in Spain, the most iconic image of their history, is that of the Muslim ruler handing over the key of the city to the Christian king.

And yet, the name Jibel-Tariq, still remains, paying subtle homage to this ancient Muslim conqueror—even though many of the residence of “Gibraltar” probably aren't even aware of this.

Nowadays, it seems that conquest is the last thing on people's minds as they take this ferry ride across. Many of the passengers are European residents and citizens of Moroccan descent. They go to Europe to work, not to conquer. They seem very eager to get back to their land of origin as often as they can, often with vans full of goods to sell or to give to their families in Morocco.

Other people are a European tourists, heading by car, camper or motorcycle—heading to North Africa to discover, to relax... or maybe just to smoke cheap hash. Some tourists look respectable, others look downright sloppy. None of the female tourists seem to feel to need to dress any differently than they do in Europe. The Traveler even notices a very obviously gay couple.

Morocco, it seems, accepts everyone as they are.

The Traveler imagines heading out to the bow of the ship, watching the the mountains of North Africa get closer and closer. The slopes of Mt Musa are rugged, plunging steeply down to the Mediterranean waters. In the folds of the mountain, the Traveler imagines spotting a little village of homes tightly packed together. There's something mysterious about this place, and the Traveler's heart would beat a bit faster as he imagines exploring these villages.

Traveling and hiking across Western Europe would fun and satisfying. But he imagines it also could became quite predictable. The Traveler would pretty much knew what to expect in every town. What sorts of buildings there would be. What food and services would and wouldn't be available. How people would behave. He would know that, unless he actually went to up to someone and tried to start a conversation, for the most part he would be ignored. Sometimes he felt like he was a ghost, floating around completely unnoticed.

But Morocco is a world that seems very unpredictable and mysterious. He doesn't really know what is going to happen and how people are going to treat him. And this uncertainty is as welcoming as the cool breeze. That is the true magic of exploring: not knowing what you are going to find.

The Traveler head to the Old Medina. Here he makes his way up a steep, narrow street. There are stairs... tight turns and buildings squeezing you on both sides. This was clearly a city built long before the days of motorized transportation. This is a city built in a fascination ancient past. But this does not feel like the mountainside towns of Italy or Spain, which feel like museums preserved from another era. No, this place is alive. That "Other Era" is now. Some people are wearing clothing styles that go back hundreds of years. Old men in robes and turbans sit in crowded tea shops, ceremoniously pouring tea high above the tiny glass, creating a thick layer of foam. A man leading a donkey in the midst of the crowded marketplace... no, not as a tourist ride... it's simply a way of transporting goods... as has been done for the last 5,000 years.

The Traveler finds himself mesmerized by the sights, sounds, and smells. A whiff of exotic spices from the market... the smell of pastries straight out of the oven... the vendor yelling at the top of his voice, selling his wares... the colors... the movements... the gestures... the language... the human interaction as this mass of humanity jostles to the ancient rhythm of this place... a rhythm that it seems has been beating for thousands of years.

The word "history" suddenly takes on a whole new meaning. Wandering across Europe, "history" meant a well preserved cathedral or a town center with crisply preserved old buildings. But they were buildings, nothing more. The way people live, think and interact... the culture and rules of society... have little resemblance to history. Then was then. Now is now. Which is fortunate... because it's pretty clear that the past was a horrible time for the common man in Europe--despite all the beauty that was created back then. No one wants to live in the past.

But here, in this place... "History" is now. You don't get a feeling that "Then" really ended and "Now" began. It all just flows... and has been flowing for hundreds and hundreds of years.

Suddenly his thoughts are interrupted a bellowing, melodic voice, that echoes through the alleys... the market... every corner of this city. Soon joined by another... and another... "Allaaaaa....Akbar! Allaaaaaah Akbar!" He remembers that unforgettable feeling to hear that call to prayer for the first time, permeating the atmosphere all around.

"That exact call has been heard here at this same time every day here for over a thousand years..." the Traveler muses to himself... It feels like he has truly entered a dimension of timelessness, where one can experience the past, the present and the future, all at the same time.

This is Morocco. This is the place where the the Traveler feels more at “home” than anywhere else in the world.

The Feeling of “Home”

What is “home”? The Traveler muses, as he tries to sort out this feeling of warmth he has for this place. For many people “home” is the place you grew up... the place where there are people who share your DNA, cultural and religious identity. But for some people, the culture you grew up in was a terrible place. A place you'd never want to go back and life in again. That can't possibly be “home” for those people.

For others “home” is the land of your ethnic origins. A place you can go back to a say “these are my people”. But the Traveler's ethnic origins are scattered all about Northern Europe. The Netherlands... England... Germany... Sweden... He has gone back to those places and enjoyed the visit, but he never really felt at “home” in those countries. And even if he did, not of them offered him any welcome more than a 3 month tourist visa. A place can't really be “home” if you're only allowed to stay there for 3 months and can't even get a job there.

“Home” for the Traveler will come to mean something very different. It's more of a feeling. A feeling you can't understand until you've experienced it. It's a feeling that a lifelong wanderer feels when he reaches a place, and suddenly realizes “I could spend the rest of my life here, and be perfectly fulfilled and happy”. This is a feeling the Traveler gets arriving here in Morocco as a youth. And it's the same feeling that he gets when coming back again. And after years of being a wanderer... always thinking of when it's going to be time to move on... this is an amazing feeling to have.

The Traveler has immersed himself in this world... learned the language.. made real friends... wandered through the exotic market and winding village alleys...

Meeting the Locals

He reaches the top of a the hill of the Old City of Tanger. Here, finally there is an open plaza with a fountain in the center, and tea shops around the perimeter. Here, mothers in headscarves and long djellabas watch their children run around chasing pigeons. Men sit in the cafes sipping coffee or tea in tall glasses full of fresh mint leaves.

The Traveler sits down, trying to soak it all in. He feels overwhelmed by all that he has experienced in just the last 45 minutes.

He pulls out his guitar. Of course, I need to immortalize this moment in a song... he tells himself, just as he has done thousands of times in town plazas across Europe. But this is not Europe, where everyone just is caught up in their own little world. This is Morocco... Africa.

He doesn't even have the chance to strum his guitar when he realizes he has company. Three young men approach him, one of them speaks to him in English.

"Do you want to join us for some tea?" he asks pointing at cafe across the street.

The Traveler is taken aback by such a quick and direct invitation. In Europe he usually had to make a major effort if he wanted to engage someone in a conversation. Here, it seems, he doesn't have to do anything at all to meet people... except sit down and wait.

He accepts, and joins them at their table. They quickly start asking him questions--not in a hostile way, but in genuine curiosity. Where are you from? What brings you to Morocco? How do you like it here? Where have you been? He tells them about some of his experiences in other countries, and they eat up every word, fascinated by tales of the countries he's been to.

Then, it's their turn. Each of the young fellows has a life story filled with surprises, twist, turns, accomplishments and heartaches. One of them tells of how he went to Russia to study management... and now, back in his country is having a hard time finding work... another fellow emigrated illegally to France... things didn't go so well, so now he's back with a new plan: he's going to marry a girl from Chile and move there... A third fellow emigrated to Spain. Things went OK for him there, but he missed his homeland, so now he's move back and is hoping to set up a small business here...

The Traveler listens, fascinated. This is nothing like the encounters I had with young folks in Europe... what is so different about folks in this place?

This is a question that will take years to fully grapple with. A question that will lead him to re-think what the whole Human Experience is really about

A Life of Challenges vs. a Life of Ease

There is a core distinction between how an average Western European and an average Moroccan looks at the world. Modern Western European society has been built on the concept that "The System" will take care of you. "The System" will provide you will a free or nearly free education. "The System" will help you find a job--and while you're looking for one, "The System" will make sure you have food to eat and a roof over your head. If you get sick or are unable to work, "The System" will take care of you for the rest of your life... And in your old age, "The System" will provide you with enough money to live the rest of your days without ever worrying about going hungry or losing your home. So as a result, the average European youth grows up not expecting to really have to struggle through life. Sure, you can struggle and be a super-achiever if you want to. But you don't have to. You have the option of just having a run of the mill job--and still live comfortably... or you can even fail spectacularly--say, become an unemployed drug addict--and there still are structures in place to make sure your basic needs are cared for.

An average Moroccan, on the other hand, grows up knowing that nothing is going to be handed to him. "The System" here is designed to take care of those in power and their families. Everybody else is going to have to struggle. If they don't struggle, then they will either end up as losers living off of their parents, or worse... out alone in a very cold, cruel world. As a result, millions of young Moroccans are driven with this passion to succeed against the odds, coming up with thousands of different schemes to "make it" in life. Later I try to put this into lyrics in a verse in my song "Me and El Maghreb"

This is a country where things don’t come to you easily in El Maghreb

The earth is harsh the sky is fickle many barriers in between you and your dreams

But no matter the disappointments here people continue to believe they can achieve

For every locked door they’ll try a hundred different keys one will succeed

The three young men the Traveler met at the cafe in Tanger are just some of many inspiring--and sometimes heartbreaking encounters he has had with youth all over this country. He has met many who have succeeded in "making it" in life... an many who have failed... But he will always be inspired by their drive, creativity and faith in themselves that, yes, amazing unexpected things can happen in life.

This leads him to a paradox: It would seem that the Western European way is so much better. After all, isn't that the ideal, that government and society give all youth the chance to live comfortable, prosperous lives? But why does Morocco feel so refreshing?

Yes, what Western Europe has achieved since World War II in creating societies that care for all its citizens, might be looked back on as one of the greatest achievements in human civilization. Yes, it's a wonderful thing when governments and economies work primarily for the benefit of the common man. Yes, when there is enough wealth available, it only makes sense that everyone's basic needs should be taken care of and everyone should live free from fear or hunger.

And yet... it seems there are side-effects to creating such seemingly Utopian societies. And those side-effects become suddenly clear when I step outside of the quasi-utopia into another world.

One thing that is lost is a sense of solidarity. A Dutch young fellow later explains it to the Traveler. "In our country, if my own brother breaks a leg, I don't think 'Oh, I need to help him out'... instead I think 'oh, the System will take care of him...' and that's a sad thing..." Elsewhere the Traveler has heard similar stories.

Another thing that it seems is lose, is that sense of drive and ambition. In nature--including human nature--struggle is important. it keeps us strong and alert. When young people no longer see the need to struggle, this can have serious consequences... even leading to things like self-destructive addictions, depression--even suicide. This can be seen often in Western Europe.

On the other hand, the advantage that young Europeans have is that they can be ambitious in other ways--it doesn't always have to be about trying to make money and earn a decent living. The most ambitious Europeans the Traveler has met are often people not doing things for money, but rather doing extraordinary things just because they want to do it... like the young French fellow who dropped out of college to walk across the continent--carrying no money with him... or the brilliant Spaniard who didn't like the apathy he found in his own country, so he went to work in Japan--just because it would be more challenging... Or the girl quitting her job to go volunteer in agricultural training in the jungles of Nicaragua...

A Finnish fellow explains it to the Traveler, "In Finland, since education is free, many people have two careers: he might be a banker and a poet... or a construction worker and an artist. People will have one job to pay for their bills, and then continue their studies to develop something they feel passionate about."

Quite frankly, the Traveler personally appreciates this sort of system. he thinks it's a wonderful thing when people can choose their own ambition.

He learns later that one thing that makes young Moroccans so ambitious is their geography. Morocco is at the crossroads between Africa, the Middle East and Europe--with important ties to the Americas and Eastern Asia. So young Moroccans do have many more possibilities for seeking a better life than, say, a young person in Malawi or Bangladesh. And because so many have traveled abroad and succeeded (and come back to their homeland in nice new cars, flaunting their success), it's a constant inspiration for the next generation to think "that could be me!"

Later he will learn that just struggle is not enough... he will go to places where people struggle to survive... and don't really have any realistic hope or aspiration for a better life. As he puts it in another verse in his song "Me and El Maghreb"

I’ve lived in places where everything comes to you easily the lethargy

If you can have everything without a struggle than success cannot be sweet, it’s all for free

But arriving in Morocco was like a sudden jolt of

Electricity waking from sleep

People striving, reaching, climbing, scheming, planning

I thought, so what about me? What are my dreams?

There are other countries where people have been crushed repeatedly, makes you weep

Beaten down so many times they’re just resigned to misery no longer dream

But here though the climb be rugged there are

Opportunities though the climb is steep

And surrounded by many determined climbers
I must find a mountain for me, go for the peak

In Morocco, there are obstacles--and there is hope. These two elements create a dynamic which is inspiring and energizing. It's here where he gets a grasp of what is a Full Human Experience. the Full Human Experience cannot be had if your life is always comfortable and all your needs are taken care of. To have a Full Human Experience, you need to feel deeply dissatisfied with your life... you need to believe your life can be much better... and strive to make that happen.

This is what the human journey is all about. Making a change. This is why, while it is a wonderful achievement to create societies where everybody's needs are taken care of, it might actually not be a good idea for a society to stay in that "Utopian state" for too long. It's just not natural. We need to struggle.

More Encounters in Tanger

Back to the Tanger experience...

As the Traveler chats with his three new friends, he notices a fellow at a nearby table with a thick mustache and dark glasses looking at him intently. Then, after he plays a couple of songs, the man seems to be a bit more relaxed, giving him a not of appreciation, then getting up to leave.

"That was a secret police agent" one of the fellows tells the Traveler. "The secret police are everywhere--listening to people's conversations. Even the shoe shine boys might be informants for the secret police."

Good to know... the Traveler mumbles to himself, feeling a bit flattered that he has managed to charm a stern secret police agent with his song...

Day 2: More Encounters in Tanger

kms 17.6 kms, Oct 6, 2009

And so begins his adventure in Tanger--which will include numerous friendly encounters, and some not so friendly. He finds that many young folks want to talk to him because they are genuinely interested in knowing about his life experiences... others are intrigued by his guitar... and there is often a subconscious element of the idea that interacting with a foreigner might open a door of opportunity in the future... Nothing wrong with that.

But then, there are the greedy types who want something out of you right now, and are going to pull all kinds of tricks to try to get it from you. Early one morning, while the streets are still empty, the Traveler heads out to explore the Old City a bit more, and a shifty looking fellow starts following him offering to be his "guide". The Traveler insists that he doesn't need a guide... but the shifty fellow refuses to be shaken off.

Suddenly he finds himself at a dead end as the alley reaches a drop off overlooking the sea far below. The man suddenly changes tactics, and holds what he says is a knife under his shirt, demanding that the Traveler give him some money.

The Traveler hesitates. He looks at the man and gets the sense that this guy has a conscience. The Traveler has learned enough about how religious teachings have been instilled in the Moroccan psyche, and most of them abide by a code--even those at the bottom of the social ladder.

This guy would really rather not rob me... the Traveler analyzes, he just wants money... He'd rather get it without soiling his conscience... but robbing is a last resort.

So the Traveler hatches a plan. He looks the fellow straight in the eye, "OK... I'll give you some money... but first, since you're my guide, could you show me the way out of the Old Medina? I'm kind of lost and need a way out" The man agrees, walking close beside him, threatening all the way.

Finally they reach the plaza where there are people about, and the Traveler stalls, trying to buy time and seeing how people react. The man starts to get aggressive again saying "I'll slash your face and then just run away!"

Nope, not giving money to this guy after all... He spots a cop nearby and calls for help. The cop comes over and chides the thief for his behavior and sends him on his way.

The Traveler wasn't sure if he just got lucky or if he pulled of a very clever trick... but it did teach him an important lesson about how a Moroccan thief thinks.

Days 3-4: Meeting a Musician

23.2 kms, March 27, April 8, 2010

Each day the Traveler heads out from the Old Medina, the heart of the city to explore a new area. One day he gets himself completely lost, meandering through the poorer neighborhoods late into the night... On another day he follows the main highway on to the edge of the city and beyond, where brand new apartment complexes are interspersed with open fields. Clearly this city is expecting an ongoing influx of people coming in search of jobs and a better life.

But not everyone. Some folks just see Tanger as a jumping off point to an even better life: The Traveler notices some desperate young me trying to climb underneath tractor trailers as they stop at a traffic light. The mission is obvious: hang on tight and don't get seen until the truck gets on the ferry and crosses to Spain, where they assume great opportunities await.

Their chance of success is slim. Their chance of getting caught and beaten up by the Moroccan guards is great. But it's still a safer option than trying to cross on flimsy boats.

Suddenly a car pulls up, distracting his thoughts. "Are you a musician?" a friendly voice calls out.

It's Wassim, the organist in a local fusion band, which combines modern Moroccan and Western rhythms. Wassim invites the Traveler over and he gladly agrees... eager to interact with a true Moroccan musician.

"Being a musician here in Morocco is tough" Wassim explains. Even if we are can draw a big crowd and our songs our popular, it's almost impossible make money. If we record an album, the songs will be quickly pirated and we won't see any profits."

"What about concerts?" The Traveler asks.

"Now that the government is sponsoring free festivals, nobody wants to pay for concerts any more. We can make a little money performing at sponsored concerts, but that's about it."

Later the Traveler learns that there are other even bigger obstacles hindering aspiring Moroccan artists. The first is social pressure. Whereas in Western cultures it's customary to encourage young people to play music and develop artistic skills, among Moroccan middle class, where education is every thing, parents don't want anything to distract their children from their studies. "Your just wasting your time!" a teenager will usually be told if he shows interest in playing a musical instrument.

And it's not just parents. One day the Traveler is gathered with a group of young guys. One of them is just starting to learn the guitar and brings it to show what he's learn. The other guys, instead of encouraging him, they just tease him. "You sound terrible!" "Just give up!" they taunt--quite different from other cultures where a struggling beginner is encouraged--just for trying. Perhaps this is because Moroccans are typically pressured to conform... to dress, talk, pray, and behave as those around... whereas in cultures like America, individuality and uniqueness are encouraged and admired.

With all these obstacles, it's all the more inspiring to come across a Moroccan musician or artists, who has managed to struggle against the odds to compose and create.

Day 5: Reaching the Corner of Africa

28 kms, March 26, 2010

Today the Traveler decides to head west... following the coast to the very northwestermost corner of Africa. He follows the city as it rises up one hill, then plunges down to the ocean level... only to rise up once again on the next hill. Large upscale walled homes suddenly give way to dirt road and semi-shanties that sprawl in the final neighborhoods. It looks really doubtful that this dirt road is going to take him anywhere, but the Traveler decides to follow it anyway. Even thought there clearly is a lot of poverty here, he doesn't feel threatened by any one who passes.

Finally the houses end, and the scrubby forest begins interrupted by an occasional farm. The road end, but the Traveler doesn't give up... he spots a road on the other side of a valley and decides to risk in, climbing over a fence and blazing his own trail down the valley and up the other side. On the way he half expects to hear a guard dog coming after him--or a farmer angry at this trespasser... but no... he makes it up to the other side and sighs in relief at finding another road that wanders through the mountains.

Here he encounters the his second town in Africa: Moraia is just a scattering of very simple country homes that feels worlds apart from the bustle of Tanger which is still visible below. Children look at him curiously, but no one bothers this strange outsider that is traipsing through their world...

Reaching the plains below, the Traveler sees a paved road that seems to lead to the coast. Here the simple country folk and the more well to do city folk out daytripping meet: the country folk sell bowls of raib or semi-fermented milk with couscous by the side of the road. The Traveler is tempted to partake in this rural-urban ritual, but seeing the raib sitting all day unrefrigerated... nah... too risky...

He does, however, join the city daytrippers at a pleasant little tourist trap: Grotte d'Hercule is a sea cave next to the shore. Here foreigners and locals take the steps down into the semi-cave where you get a view of the waves crashing in.... or you can dress in traditional Moroccan attire for a photo op... The he heads up the road to a village of beach houses for the well to do in Achkar Plage... and finally, Cap Spartel, where a little lighthouse overlooking the sea marks the northwesternmost point in the continent.

Here the Traveler gazes out to Europe on the other side, reminiscing his long pedestrian journey across the continent. In Europe there was a feeling of sameness... In most villages people didn't seem too rich or too poor... everybody had a decent place to live, but few people flaunted their wealth. In terms of how people lived their lives, there were few surprises as he hiked from village to village.

Here in Africa, however, there are surprises around every corner. In one day you can walk through a modern, industrialized city... then on through a mountain village that seems very disconnected from the modern world... then on to a beach town where the well to do flaunt their wealth. The Traveler is both intrigued and troubled by these contrasts. He knows that he has a lot to learn about this continents... and he is ready to set out to explore it... on foot.

Tomorrow he will start Hike through Africa in earnest.

Day 6: The Hike Along the Straits of Gibraltar

29.6 kms, May 1, 2013

Now after just walking randomly west and south of the city... and then turning around and coming back, the Traveler decides it's time to seriously start his Hike across Morocco. This time he looks at a map first. There is a route heading east on the Mediterranean coast that looks like it will take him to several intriguing destinations: the Spanish controlled enclave of Ceuta... Tanger's sister city, Tetouan... and then up the Rif Mountains to the mystical blue city of Chefchaouan. Seems like a good plan.

So today, he heads out early in the morning, to start his Hike into Africa.

He barely walks a hundred yards into the pre-dawn darkness when a young fellow comes running towards him... uh-oh... past him... another fellow hard on his heels... Quick, think quick... is it a robber chasing a victim? a victim chasing a robber? There are a couple of collective taxi drivers nearby who don't seem to concerned. he decides to continue on, feeling just a little more edgy about this hike.

He heads down towards the main boardwalk along the coast... Less than a kilometer later, a crazy drunk starts tailing him aggressively. Trav tries to quicken his pace to where he sees 2 respectable looking fellows who he assumes will help him shake this guy off. But as he approaches he realizes... oh sh-t... these are crazy drunk guys too!

It feels like a bad omen. Getting a bad feeling about this hike--and he hasn't even left Tanger yet. He wistfully remembers his hikes through the Swiss Alps or the Spanish coast where he could go for days and days without ever feeling the slightest bit threatened by anybody. Maybe the countryside will be better...

He presses on. As the sky turns red from the sunrise, he reaches the remains of an ancient fortress. He's struck by the fact that he's passed this spot a dozen times in a public transport and never even noticed these ruins. It does make a big difference when you're exploring on foot...

Further on there are more modern development popping up all along the way--occasionally built around an ancient tower or relic of a bygone era. Makes you wonder how much more history is buried beneath these new apartment buildings in this strategic area at the mouth of the Mediterranean Sea.

Finally he reaches the edge of the city--an immediately spots a building that kind of looks like a castle, although probably not too old. He stops next to it pulls, out his guitar, and dedicates a short concert to his first village after escaping Tanger: Talaa Craa (Bald Hill).

The Two Sides of the Mediterranean

The view is actually quite nice along this way, with lush grass covered hills (even though this should be the dry time of year) that suddenly drop steeply to the sea below, with Spain and Gibraltar clearly visible on the other side. He looks wistfully at the end of what will almost certainly be his longest uninterrupted hike... A trail of footprints that were never disrupted... across the entire continent.

Now, after a 14 kilometer gap of the Straits of Gibraltar, that Hike takes on a new life.

He starts thinking about the differences between the two sides... and is surprised by what he realizes. Both sides have similar terrain. However, on the Spanish side (at least from Tarifa to Algeciras) it's mostly overgrown by bushes. There are a lot of abandoned houses. Has the feeling of an area that has been given up on and forgotten by its inhabitants. On the Moroccan side, you've got well maintained open fields for grazing, houses popping up all over the place... both people who live off the land and folks who are building vacation homes here. There's poverty, but still feels here that this is a good place to live and invest in. In fact, if I were into real estate, I'd seriously think of buying land here, the Traveler thinks to himself--and I'd say it's 90% sure that the land value is going to go up.

So does this mean that Morocco is more prosperous than Spain? Certainly not. But it is a reminder that the stereotypes of prosperous Europe and the stereotypes of a poor, stagnant Africa/North Africa are far from absolute.

So, then he wonders, on which side of the Straits is life better? People say that a couple decades ago the standard of living was quite similar. Both in Spain and Morocco many people lived in poverty. Then Spain became a democracy, had an economic boom--thanks to massive investment from other European countries... wages and the standard of living shot through the roof. A new generation grew up with the idea that jobs are easy to be had, and the government will take care of you if you can't find a job. Then, suddenly the bubble burst and millions of jobs were lost.

Meanwhile, on this side of the Straits, life has always been hard for most people. Well paid jobs are rare and you don't expect to get much of anything from the government. The only way to go from poverty to middle class is by struggling very hard, being very clever and thinking outside of the box.

So who has it better off? I think we still need more time to really know. Spaniards obviously have many more options open to them being members of the EU Club. But will that Club last? What will happen to Spain if it doesn't? Maybe, in the long run, being used to difficulty and having to struggle hard to get anything might be better than being used to a the easy life. Maybe.

The Traveler remembers a Spaniard back in the 90s telling him, "yeah, what I do is work as a house painter for 6 months... then I collect unemployment for six months... then I go back to working for six months..." I'll bet things are little different for him now...

The Traveler ponders this as he comes across a cluster of houses and a sign that says "Oued Aliane", which is a scattering of homes across the green, flowery hills. The road then has some switchbacks up a hill, and he tries to find a shortcut through people's backyards and gardens to the road above, but without success...

Then, when following the road up over a ridge, he sees the road far, far below. This is too tempting to pass up. I'm going to blaze my own trail-shortcut straight down the mountainside.

Finally, after struggling through some bushes and muddy patches, He makes it down near to the Mediterranean shore. Here high tension wire come to what looks like an ordinary little substation. But no... this is where the wires go under the sea to connect with Spain on the other side.

It seems Morocco falls far short of producing all the electricity it needs (although there are plans to change this with some huge solar energy projects). So this inconspicuous little substation looks like Morocco's lifeline, a reminder that, yes, Morocco is connected to Europe, and has a lot of reasons to try to stay on good terms with its neighbor across the water... in spite of all the spats these two countries have had...

The Traveler knows he has to get down to the water at some point for a swim. Finally he finds a find a spot where he can climb down to the water. There are a couple of fishermen nearby, but it still feel comfortable leaving his valuables and jumping into the water. The water seems kind of dirty with a lot of trash around, so it's not one of his better swimming experiences in Morocco's Mediterranean. Afterwards I realizes that he picked the worst spot: as there's a fishing port being built right close by, the construction workers dump all their trash right in the sea here. Oh well. Hopefully I'll find a better swim spot further on on this hike.

The Past and the Future in Ksar Sghir

The idyllic emerald hills and wild shore abruptly comes to an end and the beginning of the Ksar Sghir projects begin--one of Morocco's most ambitious development projects in recent years. It starts out with a couple of small fishing ports built out into the sea. But it's just the beginning. The "real" port--now Africa's largest, is farther up ahead, a massive, very modern commercial port being built out into the sea right at the base of steep mountains.

But before that there is what looks like the ruins of an old castle that begs to be explored. And, unlike the other castles so far, this one is actually a protected tourist site, where you pay a small fee to go inside. So, after a enjoying one of hi favorite Moroccan specialties: a big dish of cow head, the Traveler heads over to explore.

Across the river, there's a cluster of scrappy houses, then a street, a plaza and a city hall being built. Clearly an attempt to turn Ksar Sghir into a "real" town rather than just a place Tangerians go to eat a meal and get out of the city. Then there's the entrance to the castle complex, where he finds a guard, fast asleep. Clearly there aren't a whole lot of people interested in visiting Ksar Sghir's castle. Trav wakes him up, gladly pay the 10 dirham (1 euro) entrance fee. He balks a bit when he's told that he needs a "guide"... but when the scrawny old guide shows up Trav feels sorry for the guy, realizing that he's probably the only customer he's had all week... Oh, why not. One guided tour isn't going to kill me.

The castle, although not all that impressive visually, is actually a site of great importance. Originally used by the Phoenicians, later the Romans, this was one of the launching off points of the Arab invasion into Spain. Later, in an odd twist in history, the Muslim Andalus kingdom tried to invade the Muslim Idrisid kingdom in Morocco.

Over the centuries, this continued to be a point of conflict. The Portuguese captured this spot and rebuilt the castle and mini-city here, giving it a Portuguese flair. When they left, they dumped sand and debris in the harbor, making it unusable for a long time. As a result Ksar Sghir lost its place as an important port... until today, with the largest port in Africa being built right next to it.

The Moriscos

Later on, doing a bit more research online, Wikipedia mentions that this was also a place where the Moriscos landed when they were driven out of Spain in the early 1600s. The Traveler is a bit puzzled, as he'd thought that the Muslims and Jews had been driven out of Spain long before that. So he googled "Moriscos", and learned something he didn't know about Spanish/Moorish history.

See, when Spain decided to drive out all the non-Christians from their country, many Muslims opted to convert to Christianity rather than be exiled from their homes. These people were called "Moriscos". They were the tradesmen and working class--playing an important part of the Spanish economy.

Then, some 150 years later, a Spanish king decided that these people were not "real" Christians and should be driven out. Some historians feel that this was just an excuse to plunder their lands and their goods, as Spain was having financial difficulty at that time. So, in a swift move, they were loaded onto ships only allowed to take what they could carry in their hands, and sent down to Ksar Sghir and other locations, to a land that was completely foreign to them.

According to some sources, the locals did not receive these refugees well, seeing them as competitors for land and resources. Eventually the Moriscos did get settled in here in northern Morocco... re-converted to Islam and... well, live here to this day. And many of them have all the physical traits of Spaniards, as they are in fact descendants of Iberians, not of Middle Eastern Arabs. This was not so much an "ethnic cleansing" that took place, rather they were targeted simply because they were an easy scapegoat for an over-zealous Christian Europe attempting to erase any traces of Islam in the continent.

To this day, there is a somewhat chilly relation with the Northern Moroccans and Central Moroccans, and you wonder if the reception they got 4 hundred years ago might have something to do with it.

Later the Traveler to talking with a couple of of Moroccan fellows in Fnideq a the next day about this. They all look like Spaniards, speak Spanish, have visited or worked in Spain--and love Spanish rumbas and flamenco.

"We know about all the injustices that were done to us... But we don't feel any resentment towards Spain or anyone else. Those things happened--but that's in the past. We want to focus on the present."

If only everyone in the world had that attitude.

Just over the last couple of years things have improved significantly on both sides of the Straits in this matter. On the Spanish side, they've finally acknowledged the injustice committed to the Moriscos--even considered to offer citizenship to their descendants (this proposal was dropped because it'd be to difficult to determine who is a Morisco and who isn't). On the Moroccan side, the country has invested heavily in this region--which had been previously largely ignored--turning it into a hotspot for tourism, commerce and industry.

But you still have to wonder if the concept of "homeland" and "national identity" for people in this region is still strongly affected by events that took place 400 years ago.

And so the Traveler's first day on the Open Road in Morocco comes to an end. But he still feels the energy and excitement of Tanger pulling him back. So instead of looking for a place to stay the night in Ksar Sghir, he hops on a collective taxi back to the city... promising himself that tomorrow he'll come right back here and pick up where he left off.

Day 7: The Largest Port in Africa

32.6 kms, May 2, 2013

Next morning Trav finds out, to his chagrin, that there are no collective taxis from the main station to Ksar Sghir. It seems the only choice is to pay for a seat all the way to Fnideq, 33 kilometers farther, and get off halfway. He hates overpaying for transportation, but he knows he absolutely has to get to Ksar Sghir to continue his hike across Morocco.

On past Ksar Sghir, is the massive port project which stretches for 9 kilometers. The port is already in use, although parts of it are still under construction. He thinks, I guess it should be an honor to walk past one of the biggest projects symbolizing Morocco's quest to be a serious player in the global economy. However, walking mile and mile past a dusty construction site with questionable folks milling isn't what he's really in the mood for today.

Finally, he spots a path going straight up the steep mountainside. He knows that the highway does a switchback and he figures he should eventually meet up with the highway to Fnideq if he climbs up the mountain, so up he goes...

Higher... higher... until he gets a nice panoramic view of the whole port project. The noise and bustle is far off in the distance, and now there are just quiet summer homes and farm houses. He notices that the houses here, although not luxurious are often nicely painted and fixed up. Normally this is a sign that someone made money elsewhere and built it as a retirement/summer home, but he notices that there are people living in them and the women wear traditional attire, suggesting that they are just local farmers who, well, are not just struggling to survive.

Then he reaches the top... and... no highway. The highway is far away and... darn, to get there he's got to go almost all the way down to sea level again!

Oh well... it is a nice view... not wanting to retrace his steps,he takes a winding mountain road that will be longer, but at least he can stay away from the port.

Then he comes on another surprise: there's a massive high dam that was built right above the port apparently to protect it from flooding. Don't know why Morocco chose this exact spot to build their mega-port... seems there'd plenty of places along the coast that would be a lot more convenient...

To get past the dam the Traveler has to go back down to the port once again, where for a while it looks like he's walking to a dead end with high fences on all sides. he follows a road with truck hauling rock down to the mountainside, hoping that he'll be able to get to the highway farther up the mountain--and not get robbed on the way. This area really doesn't feel safe at all. Wherever there a big construction sites, there are always scavengers skulking about the perimeters... and not to mention, this is an area where there are a lot of very desperate young men trying to get to Spain illegally... Drug trafficking... This is just not an area where it's a good idea to just be wandering off the beaten path.

But when he gets higher up the ridge, he gets a view that makes him forget all that: a beautiful snakelike reservoir, curving gracefully through the emerald hills.

Oh yeah. After a 10 kilometer construction site, this feels like paradise. He pulls out his guitar, and dedicated a concert to this moment.

Luckily he is able to reach the highway up above, and quite frankly, he's never felt so relieved to be walking along a busy highway Feels so... safe... ironic, I guess you could say.

Before long he come across what seems like a typical village with a freshly painted mosque, a little store where he can buy snacks and ask the name of this place. He feels even more at ease. All the people here are locals, rather than a mishmash of gnarly dudes that aren't really accountable to anybody.

He asks for water from the shop. "I don't have any--but there's a spring of clean water right up the road" he's told

That'll work.

Borderland Forest

Up around a bend the Traveler gets a great view of Mount Mussa (Moses Mountain). This is the "other pillar" of Hercules, the twin of Gibraltar. It would be a lot of fun--and of symbolic significance--to climb it... but after the detours he's taken today, he decides not to push his luck.... He will come back later, on a collective taxi to check out the beautiful village of Ben Younech, tucked away next to an inlet at the base of the mountain--one of the coolest off-the-beaten-track gems of Morocco.

But right now, the focus is to continue this Hike... which is about to face yet another challenge. Gendarme police are stopping the vehicles, and one of them asks Trav where he's going.

"To Fnideq"

"Oh, that's very far away... wait and I'll stop someone and have him take you there"

The Traveler tries to explain... "Thanks... but I actually want to walk." The gendarme doesn't seem to grasp the concept... why would somebody walk when he can get a ride for free? The Traveler explains that he's already walked 50 kilometers from Tanger--and fully enjoyed it. Finally the police let him go.

Whew. That was a close one. Now thinking of it, there are plenty of reasons why the police might not want to allow him to walk this stretch. It's very close to the border with the Spanish enclave of Ceuta with a lot of drugs and contraband going back and forth--not a place you want a foreigner snooping around. There's military activity going on... and they might have legitimate concerns for my safety, with illegal Subsaharan immigrants living in the forests waiting for a chance to cross to Spain. Luckily (?) this policeman didn't think of any of these things, and the Traveler is allowed to continue his quest.

When he comes across a military operation further down the road, rounding up a camp of Subsaharan Africans, he walks on and pretends he doesn't see anything. But it does cut at his heart seeing those fellows (one of them barely able to walk) who have suffered so much to go seek for a better life, and have it all end so bitterly.

There will be a time to delve deeper into the relationship between Morocco and its neighbors to the south... and to understand better the plight of African seeking to immigrate illegally to Europe... but today will not be that day.

The road winds high up along a ridge with almost untouched forest on both sides. he feels safer now, knowing that there are police and military around. To his right he can see beautiful Tamuda Bay... in front he gets his first glimpse of Ceuta... and behind, one last glimpse of Gibraltar fading off into the distance...

A place where you feel connected to everywhere... and yet so alone...

Day 8: A Hidden Gem

3.3 kms, June 4, 2009

Right up the road is a road that says “Ben Younech” to the right. This gets the Traveler curious—as it seems that there is nothing but mountains and sea that way. So he hops in a collective taxi to check this out.

The potholed road zigzags down a beautiful rugged valley, with the sea visible far below. And suddenly he sees it: this hidden gem: a small bay squeezed between Mt Musa and the Spanish enclave of Ceuta. A village tucked away perched over a cliff with a small, cozy beach at the bottom. It's a perfect little getaway to enjoy the natural beauty, a quiet beach—and to contemplate on the historical, political and mythological independence of this place: Hercules's southern pillar... Gibraltar across the Straits, and Ceuta, Spain holdout “colony” in Africa, with a\ big fence around it.

The Traveler would like to linger here longer... maybe even try to climb to the top of Mt Musa as he climbed Gibraltar on the other side.

But the road is calling him. It's time to continue on with the hike.

Reaching Fnideq

Finally, you can see a high fence around Spanish Ceuta a stones throw away. And then the Traveler reaches the outskirts of Fnideq, his stopping point for the day.

He heaves a sigh of relief. Now, after all the twist and turns and uncertainties of the day, he can just take some time to just relax, stroll around... play some music on the boardwalk. It's here where I meet three middle aged fellows and we have the discussion about the history of the Moriscos, and they take turns playing some Spanish music. They also talk about how times have changed here in Fnideq.

"Things used to be very different here. Women stayed at home. Nobody went out in the evenings--just stayed in the house with the family. Now the government built this boardwalk and you see women out and about at night... Outsiders (Moroccans from other regions) coming to spend their vacation here with different values. Some people have a hard time adjusting to change... Who knows what will happen here in the future."

And with that, the Traveler looks around a bit more to find a decent supper... heads back to his hotel room... and calls it a night.

Day 9: Visiting Spain in Africa

37.4 kms, June 3, 2009

Today the Traveler is going to do the seemingly impossible: He's going to walk from Morocco to Spain and back in one day.

No, he's not going to walk on water... he's going to visit Ceuta, the tiny Spanish controlled enclave on a rocky peninsula jutting out into the Mediterranean. It's a hotly contested piece of real estate which Morocco claims is a relic of colonialism, and Spain claims it's more Spanish than Moroccan, since it's been under Spanish rule for some 600 years.

What is the fuss really all about? Why is Ceuta so important to both countries? Maybe today we'll find some answers.

Early in the morning, even before he reaches the border, the Traveler gets a glimpse of the economic impact of Ceuta on Morocco. There's a market with shops bursting with goods from Spain. But no, it's not fine wines or high end wares... it's things like soap... blankets... detergent... toilet paper... packaged cookies...

As the Traveler heads towards the border, he sees a sad, and rather odd sight: a parade of very poor people--mostly women, trudging several miles from Ceuta to Fnideq, bent over with big loads of laundry soap or paper towels on their back.

Why? Well, it seems that Morocco has some peculiar rules for importing products from Ceuta. It seems, bringing in these products in a vehicle isn't allowed, but if people carry them out, the border guards won't bother them. I guess it's to protect Moroccan companies selling similar products (but of poorer quality).

The Traveler watches, wondering how much money these poor women are making for their hard working of trudging back and forth with these heavy loads...

Then, when they reach Fnideq, things get even weirder. What women will do, is wear an oversized djellaba robe, and wrap blankets and whatever they can, and travel to Casablanca by bus or train with this "contraband" attached" to their body. It's quite comical to see: a woman with a thin face, but a massive midsection, like she's wearing an obviously mismatched fatsuit. The idea, it seems, is that the Moroccan police won't dare ask an older woman to raise up her djellaba--even though it's obvious that she's hiding a lot of stuff underneath it!

There are exceptions, though. Sometimes, when the police are raiding a bus, if a woman gets too pushy, they will raise her djellaba, grab the contraband blanket wrapped around her body and spin her like a top!

The Traveler can't help but feel sympathy for these women, who are obviously in a dire straits to need to go to such extremes to try to earn a little money. And considering the fact that they things they are "importing" are just normal stuff people need in their day to day lives, he feels they really should be cut some slack.

Finally he reaches the border proper, which is crammed with poor folks heading into Ceuta for another load of goods to haul down. As long as they have an ID card showing they live near the Spanish enclave, they are allowed in--but only to visit, not to work. Clearly all this irregular "exporting" is a boon for Ceuta's economy.

Finally the Traveler makes it through, and enters Spanish Africa. Doesn't feel a whole lot different though. As he climbs a hill into the first neighborhoods, he feels like he's in a run down Moroccan derb. Most folks are Moroccan, there are mosques, and typical Moroccan tea shops. In fact, he learns, almost half of the inhabitants of Ceuta identify themselves as Moroccan or Berber.

But then, as he approaches the heart of town, things change abruptly. Quiet, clean, leafy plazas... typical Spanish architecture... pedestrian streets lined with bars, lottery kiosks and clothing shops... Yep, this feels like Spain.

He sees schoolgirls of Moroccan and Spanish descent walking together, chatting... He suddenly really likes this place. He pauses, sitting down to soak it all in. It's reassuring to see the man sweeping the streets, knowing that he's getting a fair wage, a retirement and free medical care. It's nice to see a woman pass in high heels and a short skirt, knowing that she can walk without fear of harassment or being followed--and she's free to enjoy all the freedoms and opportunities that men do... It's good to see the policeman or the city bureaucrat and know that he or she is content with his modest salary, and doesn't feel he has to extort bribes from people... it's good to see young people talking together, knowing that they are free to question authority, religion... social norms...

And the Traveler wonders... "if the Ceuta residents of Moroccan descent could have the choice between what they have now and being under Moroccan rule... what would they choose?"

He still feels drawn back to the magic, the mystery and the timelessness of Morocco... but he knows it's because he's a traveler. He can observe and enjoy what he sees with a sense of detachment. He knows he will never have to live under the Moroccan system. "If I had the choice of living under the Moroccan or the European system... that would be a no-brainer," he muses.

It's not long at all and he's explored the castle, walked through the shopping district and reached a bit hill at the tip of the peninsula. It looks like there's a road around it, so he figures he should get the full Ceuta experience... There, on the side, neatly tucked away and seemingly forgotten, is a memorial to Spain's former (and much hated) dictator, Franco. The Traveler wonders, did people just forget to tear down this monument--or are there folks who still actually want this monument here?..

The road follows the steep cliff until it reaches a typical Spanish cubby-hole cemetery on the other side... then loops around. Still not much going around out here, except a military base at the peak--and an intriguing "Spanish redneck" home out in the middle of nowhere--complete with a couple of rusted cars parked outside!

Day 10: Going for a Swim

0 kms, July 1, 2011

Finally the road reaches Ceuta proper again, where the Traveler can follow a long strip of beach. Here, with Muslim Morocco just a stones throw away, women can sunbathe topless without worrying about being jeered--or being classified as unmarriageable "bad girls" by their family and neighbors....

Here the Traveler pauses for a swim in the clear blue Mediterranean... and then heads back to "real" Africa once again...

So why is Ceuta so important to Spain? Still not sure. By the looks of it, it doesn't seem to be generating a lot of wealth (other than the "contraband" smuggled under women's djellabas to Morocco). Most likely this place is a money pit being propped up by money from the mainland.

But it seems it's a matter of pride: Spain already had to give up almost all of its overseas territory--perhaps holding onto Ceuta and nearby Melilla reminds Spain of its golden era...

Or maybe it's because Spain doesn't have any pressing reason to give Ceuta to Morocco. Since Spain is Morocco's gateway to Europe, Morocco needs Spain more than the other way around. Morocco would be in a world of hurt if Spain decided to close its sea border with Morocco--and both countries know this.

Anyway, rightly or wrongly, Ceuta will remain in Spanish hands for the indefinite future. And from the Traveler's perspective, he can't say he's sorry... It is nice to know, if he decides to stay in Morocco for a long time, but suddenly feels the urge to get out and experience some thing different for a little while... Ceuta is just a short walk away.

Day 11: Tamuda Bay

35.1 kms, June 4, 2013

The next morning the Traveler is greeted by a stunning sight. He goes over a ridge and is greeted by a perfectly calm turquoise bay, with a wooded hill jutting out into it at the far end. Along the shore is a a boardwalk--or rather three boardwalks running side by side, with archways and benches all along the way. A couple of djellaba wearing women are doing their morning walk. Its a sight to rival the luxuries shores on the other side of the Mediterranean.

Once again, Africa manages to surprise the Traveler with its contrasts. A hundred meters north of Fnideq you see weary impoverished local women with backs bent, carrying contraband boxes of detergent from Europe. A hundred meters to the south, you see local ladies strolling along a luxurious beach with a million dollar view. A reality that is both jarring and inspiring.

The Traveler walks along, soaking it all in. It's hard to imagine that just a couple of year ago this was one of the scrappiest most underdeveloped parts of the country, with nothing more than a few run down villages. Now it has two highways running through it past endless luxury resorts and

apartments. He knows this hike will not be complete without a swim in the tranquil turquoise waters of Tamuda Bay, surrounded with beautiful mountains to the north and the south.

The king of Morocco has taken a special interest in this region, having a new palace built right on the shores of Tamuda Bay. It seems more investing followed. Now this bay actually looks more luxurious and beautiful than the Spain's famous Costa del Sol on the other side of the Mediterranean.

In Smir Restinga, the Traveler takes a little detour to the marina where million dollar yachts are docked and their owners relax in classy restaurants. It feels like he's entered a mini-world completely disconnect from the hardship and gritty reality he has seen in the surrounding mountains over the last couple days of walking.

Further along, next to a new water park, a group of well dressed young fellows hang out by the highway. "We're studying at the tourism institute" they tell the Traveler. They seem to be hopeful and optimistic about their future in Morocco's expanding tourism industry.

Election Time

Finally the Traveler reaches M'diq, and the unpretentious, genuine Morocco appears once again. It's election time, and the Morocco's many political parties are out campaigning in force. Each party has a symbol... and young men shout out chants of each respective party--and and throw leaflets of in the air, blanketing the streets with litter.

"I wonder which party the street sweepers will be voting for" the Traveler muses in amusement... "perhaps the party that litters the least?"

He takes a look a some of the leaflets. There's a bird party... an open book party... a lamp party--whose supporters seem the more religious type, gathered in a circle calmly chanting.... But it seems that the tractor party is away ahead, with the candidate on an actual chapter, with a whole crowd chanting behind him.

To the casual observer, democracy is truly at work here in Morocco--albeit a bit noisy and messy.

But the Traveler wants to inquire more. Later he has the opportunity to talk with people about how these elections actually work, and he encounters many a cynical response. "All those people shouting and throwing leaflets? they're just paid to do that... people don't really support these candidates" he's told. "we know that, first of all, it's the king that has the power in this country, not the parliament. Secondly, we know that the people who run for office aren't doing it because they intend to actually make a difference or fulfill any of their promises. They are simply businessmen who know that by getting into politics it will make running their businesses much easier and more lucrative. Their just doing it for their own self interest."

Over and over again the Traveler hears the same story, and he wonders... how can educated Moroccans push for more democracy in their country when they have no faith in any of their elected officials? Who would they vote for? Do they thing honest, accountable candidates would just suddenly appear?

Later, there will be a period when many Moroccans will briefly regain faith in politics. A new constitution will be given which states that the winning party will choose the prime minister (although the king will retain his powers). Many will vote for a more conservative, religious party in hopes that religion will play a role in making these officials more honest and responsible...

Having seem what has happened when more conservative Muslim get into power in other countries, the Traveler is a bit concerned with this development. "Don't worry" a skeptical Moroccan reassures him "Let the conservative religious guys be in power... people will soon see that, once they have power, they become just as corrupt as anyone else"

Sure enough, within months of being put in power, the new prime minister changes his tone and priorities, quickly falling out of grace with the people.

"Morocco isn't ready for democracy" people say pessimistically "it's better that we have a king. At least things are stable that way. Otherwise we'd be in constant turmoil, like so many other Middle Eastern countries. Arabs need to have a strong guy in charge."

Having seen firsthand the troubles in other Arab countries, the Traveler is tempted to agree. But on his travels through the country, he will discover other things as well... pockets of the country where there are good leaders that are working for the people, and where people work together to create collective prosperity. He will learn that this chronic pessimism is not the whole story of Morocco.

But today, he will just climb up the steep, unfinished alleys of M'diq, to the top of a hill where he can gaze out to the beautiful Tamuda Bay on one side, and the overcrowded hills of M'diq the other way, looking more like a disorganized Brazilian favela...

Day 12: Moroccan Tourists

24.8 kms, July 12, 2012

Right down the coast is a more down to earth village of Martil, built along the beach. But there are no big resorts or expensive yachts docked here. Instead, there are regular houses and apartments catering to Moroccan tourists to rent or even buy as a summer vacation home.

Tourism for Moroccans is a fairly new concept, the Traveler learns. Traditionally Moroccans—whether living here or abroad—if they go on “vacation”, it's always to their village of origin, to connect with their roots. Whether it be high in the Atlas Mountains, way out in the desert or in the middle of the dreary, sun scorched plains, “vacation” is not a time to have fun or discover new places. It's a time to reconnect with the extended family—and maybe fix up the village home. This is one thing that keeps isolated Moroccan villages beautiful and alive: people keep going back to them, generation after generation.

But that is changing. More Moroccans are embracing the concept of a “fun” vacation: spending it on the beach... traveling around the country... even traveling outside the country. Turkey is now opening its doors to Moroccans who can go without needing a visa, and many Moroccans are taking advantage of this. Others are putting their money in places like Martil and Fnideq, buying vacation homes in places where they have no history or social connection.

With this be the beginning of the end of the sense of rootedness of Moroccan culture? Will new generations just stop caring about their tribe and village of origin, and just focus on living in the present like Americans and Europeans?

Only time will tell.

Day 13: The Spanish Footprint

14.5 kms, March 25, 2009

Walking along the Tamuda Bay, the Traveler doesn't only see new development, fancy boardwalks and new highways. He also sees ruins. Little train stations that are built in a style distinct of this region, green and white with the traditional Andalus entrances nearly circular on the top, and with decorative inverted triangle adornments on the wall. Clearly someone but a lot of effort into building these trains stations.

But now there are no train tracks—not even a village. Just storks nest on the corner towers, and clothes hanging out to dry, showing that someone is using this as a home—possibly a squatter. Clearly this area was flourishing for a time, then declined... and now is being reinvented.

What was going on here back in the day? The Traveler is surprised to read the names of the stations are in in Spanish, not Arabic. It seems this whole region was heavily developed by the Spanish at one time, when they turned the Mediterranean coast of Morocco into their colony. After nearly 800 years of Spain being “colonized” by North Africa, Spain decided to return the favor it seems.

Spain, the Traveler learns, turned to Africa long after its vast empire in the Americas fell apart. In the early 1900s, Spain was but a shadow of what it once had been, but it still wanted to partake in Europe's grand “scramble for Africa”, staking claims on a tiny piece of jungle dubbed Equatorial Guinea, a chunk of the thinly inhabited Sahara desert, and a section of the North African coast.

The Rif Berbers fought fiercely against Spanish colonization, the Traveler learns. Finally the Spanish gave up claims to the region—except the tiny enclaves of Ceuta and Melilla. But before they left, they they definitely left their footprint on this region. Moroccans still call the towns in this region by their Spanish names “Castellejo... Cabo Negro” etc more than by their new Arabic names. Spanish is peppered in their regional dialect and many still watch Spanish TV, thanks to their proximity to Spain.

But, looking at these mini-train stations, the Traveler notices that this architecture is really Moorish, clearly influenced by the centuries long rule of North Africans and Arabs in Spain. They look more like little mosques then European train stations. They clear line between Europe and North African culture isn't quite as defined as you might first think.

Off to the side the Traveler spots an area of ruins, and goes to check it out. Here he finds, not an ancient Berber castle, but an old Spanish hacienda with an imposing gate, and long sturdy bodegas that remind him of the wine cellars of Andalusia. Now what was once a prestigious plantation, sits abandoned.

Reaching Tetouan

Finally he reaches the outskirts of a large city. Tetouan, is the second biggest city in Morocco's Northwestern corner. But it has a very different feel from Tanger. The main boulevard entering town is clean, lined with shops and cafes. Drivers are polite and give pedestrians the right of way—something the Traveler will not see again for a very long time. People in this region are known to be and respectful—but are also known to be a bit standoff-ish of Moroccans elsewhere. In fact, through his travels in this country he will learn that Morocco is a country of very distinctive regions and cultures. Many feel that, if it were not for the strong rule of Morocco's king, this country would fragment and experience the same troubles and heartaches that plague regions like Central Asia, Mesopotamia or the Balkans.

The Traveler reaches the old city and is greeted by a beautiful sight: jagged coral-like cliffs with a city wall all along the top, taking advantage of nature to protect itself from invaders. But this is not a sterile, preserved-for-tourist castle wall like what you seen in Europe. This wall is alive. A mishmash of homes are crammed all along the wall, windows open, clothes hanging out to dry. People are still living in the “castle” just as the have for hundreds of years.

This is the magic of the Moroccan medina, or old city. It is vibrant and alive. The Traveler finally finds an entrance and heads inside to the world of mystery awaiting.

It is dark, as the Traveler climbs up a steep, grimy alleyway lined with mildewed buildings. Quite a contrast with the crisp, clean main boulevard outside. To the sides are alleyways you can just barely squeeze through. Down one of these alleys he spots a sign that says “Hotel” and figures he should go ahead a check in for the night.

Night in the Medina

Inside, begins one of his more bizarre hotel stays in a while—compounding the feeling of mystery to this place. He knocks... and a 10 year old girl answers.

“Uh… is this a hotel?” the Traveler asks, confused. She says it is and calls her father, a grave looking gentleman with a beard… and blind. He extends his hand to greet the Traveler, welcoming him to this home-hotel.

The blind owner is trying to figure out who the Traveler is. “Mneen nta? (where are you from?)” asks.

“Ana amerikani”

An American who speaks Arabic? “Subhan Allah!” he exclaims, as if this were a miracle. Meanwhile his 10 year old daughter takes the money and fills out the paperwork.

Despite being down a squeeze through alley, inside this home has a palatial European feel—or at least it once did. Now it feels more like a haunted house, with its spiral staircase and rooms with super tall windows and vaulted ceilings. Once upon a time this must've houses a noble Spanish family. Now, some of the guests have piles of shabby boxes stacked in their rooms. Most likely contraband brought over from Ceuta being stashed away before it gets transported around the country.

And to top it off... through the night, the Traveler is awakened to wild screams. It seems that the blind owner's other daughter is mentally ill and having an episode.

It's quite an unforgettable night here in the Tetouan medina.

Day 14: Tetouan in Daytime

4.7 kms, March 2, 2010

Next morning, in daylight, the Tetouan medina has a much cheerier feel. The Traveler enjoys wandering through it's crowded, twisted alleys, trying to not lose his sense of direction. It almost seems as if Moroccan medinas were deliberately designed to be disorienting... to confuse an invading army perhaps? You think you are going in a fairly straight line... only to find you've gone in a complete circle.

Here in the medina, life for the most part goes on as it has for many centuries. Craftsmen, tailors, carpenters, shoemakers and metalworkers still toil away in their tiny shops. While on the nearby Tamuda Bay, you see a very modern Morocco that feels like a European resort, here you see the Morocco of centuries past. A Morocco that is still very much alive.

Having traveled through the Middle East the Traveler appreciates this so much more. In countries with histories much more ancient than Morocco, you don't ancient cities nearly as well preserved and fun as Moroccan medinas. The “old cities” of Egypt or Central Asia are often just drab cinder block buildings for the most part with little of that “frozen in time” feel that you get in Morocco.

Later he learns how the medinas of Morocco really dodged a bullet during the time it was colonized by France. Previously, during its long rule in neighboring Algeria, France developers would demolish the old cities and replace them with modern, sterile looking cities. They didn't see the history there as something worth preserving. When it came Morocco's turn to be colonized, its French rulers took a liking to Morocco's medinas, and opted to leave them as-is and built modern cities next to them.

Nowadays, some of these medinas—like this one here in Tetouan—are actually UNESCO World Heritage Sites.

On the west side of the medina is an open square (although it is not square—Moroccan medinas do not stick to distinct geometric shapes). This is not a square you can stroll around and relax in though. It is cordoned off with metal barriers with people squeezing around it on the perimeters. And you can clearly see the reason why: right next to the medina's gateway is another, much more beautiful and adorned gate. The gate to the king's Tetouan palace. The king, the Traveler learns, has a palace in every major city of Morocco—sometimes two.

At first the Traveler assumes the king must be in town today, so this barrier is to keep the masses away from his front door. But no... he later learns that things are set up this way even when he isn't around.

On the other side is a nice European style pedestrian street... straight and predictable. It is quite nice to be able to enjoy the best of both world's here in Morocco. Exploring the medina is a lot of fun, but it is tiring and can get you feeling claustrophobic after a while. The you can just step out to the alternate city center designed by Europeans for Europeans.

Nowadays the baroque facades are fading—and some being replaced by dull modern buildings. But this pedestrian street is still has it's European flair, where you can sit at a classy cafe and choose between a coffee or a tall glass of Moroccan mint tea, with actual mint leaves stuffed into it (a distinctly northern Moroccan specialty, the Traveler later learns).

At the end of this street is a traffic circle with another plaza in the middle. This one is not barricaded off and you can sit and relax... or if you have kids, you can rent a tricycle or toy car for them to ride around in. Overlooking the square is a church, another relic from Spanish colonial days. According to the Moroccan government, the only Christians in this country nowadays are foreigners. Officially, Moroccan Christians do not exist. The reality, the Traveler will learn, is quite different.

The History of Tetouan

The Traveler continues exploring the west side of Tetouan. The Old Medina and city center are sort of built on a step, with steep mountains above and and a sudden drop below, with some more modern neighborhoods, a stream and another impressive range of mountains on the other side. Quite an impressive panorama to gaze out on.

There is a wall that continues for a bit between the city and the mountain, a relic of another era, when Tetouan was a strategic citadel, guarding this valley from invaders coming in from the sea.

There are no historical markers to tell of the history or reason for this wall and the tower at the end of it, but later the Traveler does learn more about the history of this city.

Tetouan has not always been as peaceful as it is today. It was first built as a city around the year 1300s under the Marinid dynasty. The Marinid dynasty was a Muslim Berber dynasty which lasted for over 200 years. This are had already been a place for trade between Berbers, Phoenicians, and Romans for over a thousand years. But it later became a base for something else: piracy.

In 1431, the city was destroyed by Castilian Spaniards in retaliation for activities of pirates in this area and raided by Portuguese as well, based in nearby Ceuta.

Ironically the Spaniards had an indirect role in the rebuilding and revival of this city and region. In 1492, when all Muslims and Jews were forced to leave Spain, many came to this area, living in the ruins of this city and slowly rebuilding it. Some called this city “Granada's Daughter”... Jews called it “Little Jerusalem” as this was their new promised land.

But it was not a warm reception they received from the local Berber tribes. When the refugees were attacked, they asked for the protection from the sultan. Instead he sent soldiers demanding that they pay tribute.

Some of the residents turned to piracy as well against the Spanish—some say it was retaliation for being cruelly expelled from Spain. And they had new friends now: the English and Dutch who also had a bone to pick with the Spanish, some of them setting up shop here in Tetouan. A huge underground prison has been found under the city where captured prisoners from these raid were kept, some of them to be sold into slavery.

The rough relationship with Spain continued over the centuries, with Spain invading Tetouan in 1862... Again, in 1913 moving in and making it the capital of their de facto colony in North Africa.

Nowadays things are looking a lot better, with Spaniards coming here for vacation and shopping, and Moroccans with Tetouan residency able to cross to Ceuta visa-free. Occasionally there are squabbles with flashbacks to more bellicose times, but overall it seems things are going OK.

The Western Neighborhoods

Lately, it seems, Tetouan has been experiencing a different sort of slow “invasion”. The Traveler goes through an entrance to a indoor market that works its way up the hillside, each section higher that the last. He exits the market to the west and follows the base of the mountain, encountering a series of rough looking neighborhoods build along the steep slope, favela-style. They are built haphazardly on the steep sloops, sometimes almost on top of each other.

Houses are still sturdy cinder block and brick—this is not a shanty slum like you might see in India or Latin America. But still, you get the feeling that life is a bit rough on this side, especially in contrast with the crisp, clean feel of the eastern side of town.

The Traveler figures people here must be folks who have been moving in from the villages and rural areas, looking for a better life here in the city. Whether they are finding that “better life”... that is another matter.

From some of the looks and shouts he gets from people, he gets the feeling that this might not be a good place for a foreigner to be wandering around carrying a guitar.

Still, he decides to follow one of the alleys all the way to the top, hoping it won't be a dead end. Things are looking promising as he passes the last hastily built home... and then... forest. It is nice to see that there are some limits as to how far this sprawl can go.

The forest does look inviting, but the Traveler is a bit uneasy as to the type of people he might encounter in this area. Already in Tanger he learned how vulnerable he is, wandering alone in rough neighborhoods in Morocco, and he doesn't feel like pushing his luck. So he goes up over the next ridge... and down into another favela beyond, practically walking onto people's roofs on his way down. From there he continues on to another large neighborhood which stretches far up a valley where finally the gritty urban dwellings start to get replaced by country homes. Beyond there are cliffs and hills with patches of forest on top.

This should be far enough. Not wanting to backtrack, he continues on east across some open fields to what looks like might be the very last Tetouan neighborhood. This one is partially built with streets laid out and large apartment projects and more middle class looking dwellings. Here he decides to turn around, heading down to the valley and following the main highway back to downtown.

Seeing how so much of the city lives in poverty and relative squalor has made him look at this city in a less cheery way. But he is glad to have this opportunity to get a more holistic view of the region. Now it's time to relax a bit... enjoy the Tetouan nightlife... and prepare to continue on with the Journey.

Day 15: Tetouan to the Sea

32.6 kms, July 14, 2012

To continue on his hike, the Traveler has several options: he could work his way back west towards the Atlantic... straight south along the main highway to Chefchaouan... or east to the Mediterranean coast.

The rugged Mediterranean seems the most enticing. So next morning, off he goes early, grabbing a couple croissants at the patisserie, and heading off to the edge of town.

It's a rather flat and boring stretch, with the sun beating down mercilessly—the first day of his hike here in Morocco that, quite frankly, he isn't enjoying much. Just empty fields and a few random industrial buildings. And, unlike, late afternoon hiking, when you hike in the morning you know it’s just going to get worse and worse, further dampening the spirits. It’s one thing to hike a boring stretch in the cool of the evening as he did from M’diq to Tetouan—which was actually quite soothing. It’s another thing to do it in the scorching sun.

He reaches a bend in the road, assuming he's nearing the town of Azla on the coast… but no… There are a scattering of houses here, so when he spots an eucalyptus grove he decides to go ahead and do my little concert and count Al Maassim as a “town”…

Finally he spots the Mediterranean up ahead, and enjoys a well deserved reward after this tiring hike. Down an embankment he finds a private beach where he can safely leave all he stuff for a refreshing swim out into the sea.

Nearby he hears a woman screaming. He goes to see what’s up, wondering what he'll find.

It's about the last thing he would have guessed. It's a fellow sporting a fundamentalist beard and tunic, splashing his wife playfully, who is covered from head to toe.

Yes, is it quite refreshing to see something that breaks the stereotypes...

The Traveler finds a seaside eatery where he rewards himself with a Moroccan style omelet and a tall glass of mint tea. Dull stretches of hiking aren't too bad—as long as they're followed by something more appealing. And hiking down the coast does look like fun.

Day 16: Following the Mediterranean Coast

27.7 kms, July 13, 2012

It's going to be another hot day today. But the good thing is the Traveler will be following the coast, with options to jump in the water for a swim along the way.

Azla is a more laid back little beach town, with no big hotels, just a couple of sleepy cafés along the road and houses—some of which could be summer houses for tourists and others for the locals. Above the town are some gentle hills covered with forests… pleasant but not spectacular.

The Ouad Lao road has recently had a makeover, giving it a wide shoulder and gouging deep into the cliffside to smooth out its curves a little bit. I guess you could say its messed up the view of the cliffs a bit—but these cliffs weren’t all that spectacular to begin with. The Traveler remembers the1 lane “highway” along the beautiful cliffs of the Amalfi Coast, and imagining what a disaster it would be if that road were to be widened. Here the Traveler doesn't complain. He is grateful to be able to walk safely on the shoulders of the road.

Around another bend, there’s a trash strewn mini-forest down below—but it looks like there might be a shortcut down to the next village, Amsa in a valley facing another little bay. A very vague resemblance to the Amalfi Coast with a village tucked away in every little bay-inlet. This one is much more spacious with a long, family friendly beach strip. The road takes a big loop around it, so the Traveler just follows the beach to the other side…

Stopping for a Swim

The sun is really scorching now, and there’s no shade along this route. Around another bend, there’s another beach village Tamernout far below, but the Traveler manages to find a way down where he finds a couple of shops catering to Moroccan beach tourists. In fact the Traveler has only seen Moroccan tourist along this coastline.

The Traveler orders a steaming hot fish tagine, the traditional Moroccan meal cooked and served in a pottery dish with a cone top, cooked over charcoal. He then asks if they can watch his belongings which he heads into the water for a refreshing swim. There’s a real family atmosphere, and it’s nice to see headscarf wearing ladies enjoying the water as well—fully clothed. Many times you see them just sitting under a beach umbrella while the rest of the family has fun.

The Traveler swims clear to the other side where the beach abruptly ends and the cliffs begin again. Refreshed he continues along the way, reaching Aouchtan, where the terrain finally flattens out around the bay. Good place to stop for a cold drink

The hike feels a lot more pleasant now that there’s shade from the cliffs. The Traveler finds a nice boulder to climb up for an inspiring concert, overlooking the sea. It's been a fun day—quite different from previous coastal hikes near Tanger and along Tamuda Bay. It seems that hiking through Morocco, every day is a very different experience.

Down below, a couple of adventurous fellows are looking for a way to climb up—I guess they’re camping or day hiking down below. It's great to see Moroccans relaxing, swimming and having adventures. A reminder that Morocco—and Africa, is not just a place where people struggle to survive. There are a lot of people who are enjoying their lives here as well.

Above the road there is on occasional country home cut into the steep hillside where a local family lives, perhaps herdsmen who tend to their sheep on the rugged hillsides. It’s a reminder that not everybody is here to enjoy an idyllic beach vacation… some people are just trying to live off of this harsh land. It's quite contrast to the secluded little beach house community with their own little private beach down below… people with no idea what “real life” in this region is actually like.

Skeptical Moroccans

Dusk is approaching as the Traveler nears Ouad Lao, the main town along this coastal stretch. There's a road that leads down the side of the mountain to the town below. But a sign says the road is closed—you have to go around to the other side to get to the town.

The Traveler hopes that means “closed—for cars” and continues down the mountainside. A car passes him... then a little while comes back.

A herdsman watching nearby, tending to his sheep along the side can’t contain his frustration. “Moroccans!” he snorts, “The sign reads ‘road closed’—but nobody wants to believe it… they’ve all got to try and find out for themselves! This country is never going to change!”

As the Traveler continues on, he muses on what this says about Moroccan culture. Over time he will notice this: Moroccans tend to be quite skeptical and suspicious. They question people's motives and are always worried that someone is trying to trick them. A lot of times, someone is.

So when they see a sign that says “road closed” their first thought might be… “hmmm… maybe the road isn’t closed… they just don’t want us to go that way…”

The Traveler continues on, and yes, there’s a big pile of rocks blocking the way. On the other side, there’s an endless parade of cars that ignored the sign on the other side, driving up the road in vain. The Traveler decides to do a little experiment to see how many people will stop if he gestures to them that the road is closed. One car after another goes and doesn’t stop… maybe 1 in 10 actually does. The ones that don’t stop, go, get stuck, turn around… and wave at the Traveler bashfully as they pass him again…

A Moroccan Vacation Town

Some Moroccans rave about Ouad Lao as if it were paradise on earth. It does have a pleasant boardwalk and a beach strip that gets narrower and narrower as you approach the cliff. There a bustling market and pedestrian alley lined with little soup and mnsimen, Moroccan flatbread shops. It certainly is not the most beautiful or glamorous beach town the the Traveler has seen.

But it does seem to cater to the more budget conscious Moroccan family wanting to enjoy a beach vacation. So, yes, for some this could be “paradise on earth”.

But not quite suitable for the Traveler as it lacks in cheap hotel accommodation. Moroccans typically like to rent houses when the go on vacation rather then hotels. This way they can cook for themselves. In towns like this, you will see simsars, or freelance “real estate agents” wandering around with a key in hand, offering an apartment to rent for a day or a week.

Day 17: An Abandoned Trail up the Gorge

35.1 kms June 11, 2012

Today, it's time to head inland and bid the Mediterranean coast goodbye. Several people have mentioned a magical place called “Akchour”, deep in the mountains, with waterfalls, crystal clean rushing rivers, and a natural bridge. And it looks like he could hike to Akchour in a day, straight south... and then continue on from there to the mystical blue city of Chefchaouan.

So, the next morning he is on his way, following a wide valley, past a dusty market town of Bni Said. Here the Traveler encounters a parade of young fellows heading the other way: to the beach of Ouad Laou Then the valley gradually narrows, as the road follows a winding lazy river heading towards the mountains.

Here there is a scattering of houses which the Traveler decides to count as another town, Chrouda. He comes across a little empty cafe and asks if there's anything to eat. The fellow offers to cook up some eggs for the Traveler. Good enough. It might be a while before he encounters another town. He also figures he should go ahead and enjoy a dip in the water.

Up ahead, the Traveler can see, the landscape is about the change drastically. Right past the little village of Ifertan, the river slices right through the middle of the mountains, with steep cliffs rising on both sides. The road veers away, apparently making a loop around the mountain. But it isn't long and the Traveler spots what looks like an old abandoned road, that looks like it will climb up and follow along the top of that gorge.

It looks very tempting. To choose between walking along a dreary highway... or following the top of a beautiful gorge in solitude, it seems like it's a no brainer...

Except there is no guarantee that this road actually will take him anywhere. Even if it did at one time, it might be impassable now, even on foot. The Traveler sees a couple of road workers nearby and decides to get their opinion.

“I don't know if it goes to the other side” one of them says “but I wouldn't risk it”.

The Traveler thinks for a minute and decides he will risk it. If the way is blocked, he reasons, I can just find a shortcut up over the mountain to the main road.

And so begins a very unexpected and unpredictable adventure up the Ouad Laou Gorge

There are a few scattered houses at first. No vacation homes here, just very basic homes—some of them actually built into the side of the cliff. He crosses a ridge, and gazes down to the amazing landscape below. The Laou River gently winds up the narrowing chasm. Way at the bottom is one last hamlet of little tin roof houses. Up the other side, high on a plateau, are patches of land where wheat is being grown. There a very “frontier” feeling here, a rugged, difficult life right at the limits of man's ability to live off the land.

And then... there is are more signs of human activity. Just a rugged gorge, and a lush green landscape. Nothing but the abandoned road he is on to remind him of human civilization.

This is a scene unlike any he will see in Morocco. While there are many rugged, isolated mountains gorges in this country, almost all of them are either naturally arid, or have had their trees stripped away by human activity. This—along with the tin roof village—makes this valley feel more like something you'd seen in the jungle mountains of Colombia.

The Traveler tries to immerse himself in this magical moment—while at the same time reminding himself that this path could lead to a dead end, and no, climbing up over the mountain is not an option. He needs to save some strength—and water—to be able to turn back if that becomes necessary. There are numerous landslides along the way... the Traveler knows he might reach one that is simply to unsafe to try to cross, especially in the middle of nowhere with no one knowing where he is.

There's a boulder that juts up, a magical perch to climb up and gaze down to the seemingly endless wildland stretching in every direction. This will be a moment to be remembered.

This hike only lasts a couple of hours. But during that time the Traveler manages to feel fully disconnected from the world... immersed in nature here in the wilds of the Rif Mountains of Morocco.

And then... he heaves a sigh of relief. He is going to reconnect with the real road up ahead. His Journey into the wild has come to an end. A world where he can purchase food, drinks... where there's transportation, lodging and people to help him if he's in need.

The Wild is a beautiful place. But he knows he's very unprepared to last there for very long alone.

The road makes it's way down to the bottom of the gorge, which is a bit wider now, with water rushing past below. Up ahead, two rivers join into one. One flowing from a mid-size valley, the other from a chasm of sheer cliffs on both sides. The Traveler feels drawn to get off the beaten track once again... but reason overrules. Let's not push our luck any further.

Reaching Civilization

Ahead it looks like there's a village squeezed in at the bottom. But, on closer look it's not. It’s actually housing for workers of what looks like an old hydroelectric plant, with a large pipe high up the cliffside channeling water from a stream to generate electricity. Not very many of these here in Morocco, a country with very few real rivers.

He continues on, up around a bend and is greeted by another beautiful site: a glorious butte, a sheer cliff rising high from the valley, a postcard perfect picture that looks like an image out of the American West. Truly this area is full of surprises.

The road zigzags up a steep slope, with ladies leading burdened donkeys up and down the mountainside. The Traveler soon figures out why: they are taking clothes to wash down in the river far below.

And some people complain about how tiring it is to put clothes in the washing machine!

Here the Traveler reaches the village of Rueda, which means “wheel” in Spanish, where he enjoys a well deserved snack and cold drink. Then he continues on to his destination: Akchour. He wonders if it will top what he's already experienced on this hike.

Magical Akchour

Akchour proper barely classifies as a village—just a couple of houses along the road—most of which the Traveler suspects are rented out to vacationers. There are some stores, a café or two, so finally he decides to count it as a town. What it does seem to lack is in “official” lodging. Here young people do something which isn't widely practiced in Morocco: camping. The Traveler decides to plunge in and explore this place and figure out lodging later.

A few hundreds yards up ahead is an overflowing parking area and a narrow gorge, with a little dam across it, and the famous Akchour park area on the other side. Here two rivers join meet, with crystal clean water and deep pools you can swim in, all around there are families enjoying a day by or in the river—it’s nice to see… there aren’t very many places in Morocco where you see people swimming in rivers, especially not entire families including older ladies in conservative attire! Others might complain that this place is too crowded, but for the Traveler it’s refreshing to see Moroccans out enjoying nature as a family.

He follows the river to the right, looking longingly down at the water. It’s not long before he finds a large, shady pool and a safe spot to leave his stuff and jump in for a refreshing swim—very soothing after a day of hiking in the scorching sun. The water is cold—but he still feels like he could just lie back and float for the rest of the day.

He decides to hike upstream a bit more—and within minutes another pool beckons to him… he jumps in the water again. Then gets out of the water… 40 meters later he's back in the water again, This time it’s a little waterfall that beckons, with a cozy pool sandwiched between two boulders. It looks like that waterfall might double as a water slide… he gives it a try… sure enough!

The Traveler feels like a 12 year old in Disneyland all over again.

He continues on upstream, as the gorge gets narrower and more exotic, until the path becomes a slippery toehold on the side of the cliff. He's told that the natural bridge is not far ahead… he really want to see it, but in the end decides that it’s not worth risking losing his camera and guitar… Then chances of falling in the water are just too great. He also notice that a lot of folks wear plastic shoe-sandals which give you a much better balance while fording the river than flip flops… So he reluctantly turns back…

It's getting late. Tomorrow, he'll come back and explore this amazing river the right way.

As he chills out in the village, he gets to chatting with a glassy eyed local consuming the crop the Rif mountains is most famous for: hash. “if this crop is so lucrative, why are people so poor here?” the Traveler asks.

“All the money goes to the big bosses—the farmers themselves get very little of it. But here we do enjoy the best quality, not the bad quality stuff sold down south. Here, because of the harsh weather, you have to consume it”

“And the ladies… do they ever consume it as well?”

“If a girl is ever caught consuming it, her own family will throw her off a cliff” he tells me matter of factly “it’s only for the men”

Whew… that’s harsh. Apparently, women just have to endure the cold weather. If they seek to enjoy the same “medicine” the men take, they will be killed.

It seems that there are many things about this country that are quite dark, once you dig a bit deeper.

Day 18: The Hike to the Waterfall

16.5 kms, July 10, 2012

Today the Traveler knows he needs to explore Akchour some more. He still hasn't seen the main attractions: the waterfalls or the natural bridge. And it would be a real guilty pleasure to leave his gear somewhere and just splash his way up the river without caring about falling in the water. Today it’s all going to be about nature. He's going to spend the entire day swimming and hiking all over my new Moroccan Favorite Nature Spot.

In the morning, he runs through his list of things to do: 1. hike to the waterfall. 2. Hike up to the top of the “Bridge of God” natural bridge. 3. leave his camera and guitar somewhere and do a “swimhike” up the river.

Soon he's off along the trail up the left valley towards where there’s supposed to be a waterfall. Fortunately this is a real trail, not just a toe hold on the side of the cliff, so it looks like his guitar and camera are not at risk. All along the way, tucked away under the trees are tents, with bleary eyed fellows slowly starting to wake up. It’s interesting to observe—as camping isn’t really a big thing here in Morocco. It looks though that they’re all just young guys… definitely families only come on day trips—or rent houses.

But that doesn’t mean they don’t bring some of the comforts of home. The Traveler sees campsites with low wooden tables, dishes, and, of course, teapots! I’ll bet their mothers’ are going to be furious when they find out where all their dishes disappeared to! He passes a couple of guys lugging tons of gear—gas tanks, pots, pans, blankets—it looks like some of them have to make many trips back and forth to bring all their stuff. And some of them are camped a two hour hike from the road! He sees a fellow trying to make bread in a fry pan over an open fire—with limited success.

It the only time the Traveler will see so many young fellows out camping here in Morocco. It’s nice to see fellows out their roughing it, cooking their own food, washing their own clothes—especially in a society where men do very little housework and are often dependent on their mothers until their wedding day. It’s also nice to see them out having an adventure without having to spend a lot of money. The Traveler is sure this is an experience they will treasure for all their lives—if they can remember it—as they do seem to be consuming an awful lot of the local crop!

The Traveler reaches a waterfall which plunges into a gorge below—nice, but he doubts that this is the waterfall. He remembers seeing a youtube video of a guy jumping over the edge of this one… Not sure if I have the balls for that... Maybe on the way back.

Here there are makeshift little restaurants along the way, which gradually fade, and and the Traveler continues on through a quiet peaceful stretch—even a large open valley with no sign of people anywhere… just majestic cliffs all around.

But soon the campers reappear—even entire communities of tents, now a long hike from civilization. Nobody seems to be worried about thievery—they leave their shoes and kitchenware outside their tents, easy money for any passing thief. The Traveler even spots a couple of guitars.

And then the gorge narrows with a dense forest at the bottom… and there… is The Waterfall

The Traveler was wondering if a 4 hour hike round trip to see a waterfall would feel like it was worth it… and the answer is a resounding YES. Luckily he didn’t see any clear photos of this waterfall before coming here and he's quite breathtaken by the sight. You have to look twice to convince yourself that this isn’t Hawaii or some tropical island paradise. Here, the two sides of the gorge meet each other with a sheer wall covered with vines, moss and cave like formations. Right in the center is a sheet of water that gets wider and wider as it slides down the smooth, steep cliffside then finally dropping off the edge into a beautiful blue pool, with lush growth behind it.

It’s a magical moment. Whenever he sees a picture of a beautiful tropical waterfall, he thinks “damn… I’ve got to go see that… but that’s so, so far away…” and now, he's discovered a tropical waterfall right here in arid Morocco. Yes, this is definitely his Favorite Nature Spot in Morocco. After soaking in the moment for a bit, he asks some trustworthy fellows to take a video clip of him once he wades out into the pool, with the waterfall behind. Yep, I'm glad I brought my camera for this. Then he hands them his guitar and swims out into the very chilly pool, underneath and behind the waterfall.. and gazes up at this shower coming down. Then he heads back and play some music, blending his voice with the sound of the falling water, in the company of group of nice chaps on vacation from Agadir.

This is a spot you could just relax and chill in all day and not get tired of it. But there's still a lot on his to do list for the day.

Hike to the Bridge of God

Finally reaching the place where the two rivers meet, The Traveler heads up the other gorge in search for the “Bridge of God” natural bridge. This time it looks like he won't have to retrace his steps, as a map by the trail says he can follow a trail on the far side of the gorge, up and over the bridge and back the other side.

And so he heads up the trail and soon start to wonder it this was really such a good idea. This trail goes up, up, WAY up the side of the mountain, zigzagging higher and higher with no way to escape the summer sun. This route looks like it’s going to take him to the very top of the mountain ridge. he walks… rests… walks… rests… Trying to coax himself by telling himself that the view is worth it… The view from here is impressive. You can gaze across to the other side of the gorge and see a plateau with a tiny village perched on the edge of the cliff. Down in the gorge you think you’re in the middle of nowhere, when actually there are people living high above you. For folks like them, a climb like this is a walk in the park. The Traveler also notices large patches of unnatural green on the steep slopes and wonders if that might be the crop the the Rif mountains is so famous for.

Finally The Traveler reaches a point where it looks like he can do a shortcut, scrambling through the brambles along the lip of the cliff, and over to the other side—a bit tricky and he wonders if he's gone out of the fry pan and into the fire… finally he makes it back to the main path, and can see the Bridge of God, far, far below…

He hurries down the trail, now getting his second wind, excited about this experience ever of walking across a natural bridge and… what the--?! There’s a flattened path and… guardrails?! Now that totally spoils the experience! As a matter of fact, crossing over it you can hardly even tell that it’s a natural bridge—the photo looks like it’s just an ordinary path along a ridge. From the side, looking at it from a distance you can see that it’s quite impressive… a rugged arch poised high above the canyon floor, but from the top it’s quite disappointing—especially after all he suffered to get here.

He continues on down the path, always turning around looking for a good shot of the bridge, but by the time it becomes visible, He's too far away again to really appreciate it. It looks like the only way to really enjoy it is to go underneath it… and unfortunately he's going to have to do that without my camera.

What is a Swimhike?

The Traveler hurries down the trail back to town, where he grabs a quick lunch and drops off my guitar, camera and wallet with the trustworthy looking restaurant owner. Then he heads out and rents some of those plastic shoes, and heads back up the river for a 4th time in 24 hours. But this time it’s going to be different. Now with no worries about getting anything wet, no gear to slow him down, and shoes that are ideal for walking in water, he's about to invent a new sport: the “Swim-hike”

So, what is it?

Well, the first question should be, where can you do it? For this you need a river that is deep enough in places that you can swim, with waterfalls and rapids to make it interesting—but a current that isn’t so strong that it overpowers you. Akchour is one of the few places in Morocco that is suitable for swimhiking—and that makes this a very special place. It’s true that in the USA and Europe there are numerous streams where you could do a swimhike, but the problem is that most of them are so cold that you can only really enjoy them for a couple of minutes. The water here in Akchour is just perfect… refreshingly cool, but pleasant enough that you could spend the whole day in the water.

So how does a swimhike work? Well, quite simply, you hike, climb, wade and swim up or down a river spending as much time in the water as possible. An optional rule is, you can't get out of the water.

So let’s test it out… as soon as he can, he jumps into the water, swimming up a long, peaceful pool. Then he clambers up through some rapids… then another long swim… then works his way around a waterfall… wades for a bit… Somebody shouts out to him “There’s a path over here!”

“Thanks” the Traveler responds, “but I want to hike in the water, it’s more refreshing!” It might take a little while for this sport to catch on. Up a little ways there’s a giant boulder that’s begging him to come jump off it into the deep water. The Traveler climbs and finds... aw crap! I'm too chicken! It takes him forever to muster up the will to jump into the water. It’s an odd moment. The Traveler thought he had mustered the skill of decisiveness: once he decides to do something, he just does it. But now he suddenly can’t seem to make himself do something that he wants to do. Finally, after seeing a little kid jump in, he knows he has to follow or forever live in shame...

He continues on upstream perfecting hi new sport. It becomes more delicious once the path gets treacherous and he casually swims past nervous hikers, gingerly clinging to the side of the cliff, terrified of falling in the water and ruining their expensive smartphones and cameras. Guys! Leave those trapping of modern civilization behind! Just jump in the water!

But when he finally does reach the Bridge of God, he does kind of wish he had his camera. This thing is amazing seen from below, unlike its disappointing top view. Underneath is a pool, and he floats underneath the bridge on his back gazing up as it feels like he's entering an enormous gateway to a new world. And yes, on the other side, with the trail long gone, and just sheer cliffs on both sides it feels like my swim-hike has taken him to another world, a world that can only be reached by water. He continue on for a ways until he comes to a small waterfall that plunges into a pool tucked between massive boulders, and declares: this my “spot”… my little discovery… swimhiking where no man has ever gone before…

Well… not quite. As the Traveler chills out in his own little natural jacuzzi, a fellow comes and peers down from the top of the waterfall. Yep, it looks like some people have swumhiked even farther upstream… That’s OK… I’m satisfied. This has been a crowning moment of an amazing day.

It's time to for an easier swimhike downstream... Bringing to an end an absolutely amazing day... One of the highlights of his Journey.

Day 19: Blazing a Trail Through the Rif

21 kms, July 9, 2012

Zooming in on Google Maps, t looks like there might be a footpath the Traveler can follow across the mountains to his next big destination, Chefchaouan. So the next morning the Traveler sets out, hoping this adventure will work out. It's not long up the road and he spots a path that zigzags up the steep mountainside, and he decides to take it, hoping it will take him up and over the other side.

The mountains in this area are remarkably bare. The Traveler knows from what he has seen already that it's not because of climate. This area gets plenty of rainfall and this slopes should be covered with trees. He knows this can only mean one thing: human deforestation.

There is one patch of pine forest high up on the slopes of this mountain, but as the Traveler approaches it, he hears disturbing sound of chainsaws. What the--!? Am I about to witness the last patch of forest on this mountain being cut down?!

He sees a couple of men cutting down one tree after another. If this is an illegal logging operation, they sure aren't being discreet about it. They just let the logs slid down the mountainside all the way to the road below.

The Traveler wants to believe that this is some sort of planned harvesting. But considering that the rest of the mountain is barren, this seems very unlikely. He gets the sinking feeling that people just don't care about what they're doing to the environment.

What he sees throughout his Journey in Morocco confirms this: all throughout the Atlas Mountains he will see barren, or nearly barren slopes. On some peaks there will be narrow rings of trees high up that people haven't gotten to.

He will also learn that the primary reason is not greedy foreigners pillaging the nation's wealth as you see in jungle logging in Liberia or the Amazon. No, outsiders are not usually to blame here in Morocco. It's the local people. The very people who live on this land, and depend on this land for their sustenance.

This is something the Traveler has a hard time wrapping his head around. These people who are so intent on passing on their belief, traditions and culture to the children and grandchildren... whose culture has been preserved for thousands of years...

But no trees? You don't want to leave any trees for your children? Shouldn't that be one of the Pillars of Islam? Shouldn't that be hardwritten into your code of ethics?

Of course, the Traveler knows that he is no one to judge. If he were a villager here in the mountains.. and he saw his children suffering from cold. If he had no other options for cooking food, would he do the easy thing, and go cut down a tree, or would he just watch his family suffer and maybe die just so “trees will still be there for future generations?” Would he do the right thing when others around are doing the wrong thing?

And of course, in the developed world, aren't we doing the same thing, just on a much grander scale? Are we not exhausting the world's resources in a way that is going cause hardship and misery to future generations?

The Traveler feels that what he is seeing here in the mountains of Morocco is a parable of modern civilization.

He reaches the ridge, and gazes down. Even without many trees, the view is still magnificent. The twin river gorges of Akchour... the giant butte on the other side of the village of Rueda that welcomed him to this valley. It is an amazing place.

Now it's time to continue on.

Up ahead, there is a smaller valley, and another ridge. But no visible trail any more. The Traveler decides to just try to blaze his own trail for a bit, heading south, hoping that eventually he will find that trail he saw that leads to Chefchoauan

Finally he spots a village up ahead, and heaves a sigh of relief. Village means that there has to be a road going somewhere from here. Aghermane is a poor village, but the houses are sturdy cinder block, with its trademark mosque in the center. People stare at him, and respond to his “salaam aaliekums!” with a smile. No one seems to be hostile or suspicious about this foreigner who appeared out of nowhere who is traipsing through their village.

The Sea of Green

After Aghermane, there is a clearly visible foot trail that seem to make a loop around a barren mountain peak. By the Traveler's calculations, Chefchaouan must be on the other side if this peak.

From here he gets a grand view of the ridges and slopes stretching on endlessly to to the west. Unlike the mountains to the north, these slopes are heavily cultivated... a sea of green interspersed with patches of yellow. The Traveler knows what the yellow is: wheatfields that are ready to be harvested. But the green?

Finally he sees one up close, and it hits him: its hash. A sea of green hash fields for as far as the eye can sea.

A whole range of thoughts go through his mind as he sees this. One is amazement. There is a lot of money in this... and yet. The village he passed looks very, very poor. The other is nervousness. dShould I be seeing this? Could I be confused for a foreign agent coming to spy on this illegal crop? He knows that in some parts of the world, accidentally discovering someone drug fields could mean you'll end up with a bullet in the back of your head.

The Traveler passes a rugged looking goatherder with his herd. They greet each other and go their separate ways as if nothing were out of the norm.

If the Traveler had come from the other direction, he would have noticed something else as well. In the valley of Chefchaouan, none of this is visible. From their, all you can see are forests, cliffs and legal crops being grown. You have to climb up the mountain to see this. One possible reason for this is that the king has a palace overlooking Chefchaouan Valley. Surely the king is aware of what is going on in the Rif Mountains... but it should not be done within view of his palace.

A couple local fellows come walking the other way. They greet the Traveler.

“Bghiti shee hazha?” (do you want something?). Apparently they don't see him as a threat, but as a potential customer... and a chance to cut out the middlemen. Suddenly the Traveler realizes that, if he were a hash smoker, he'd be in heaven. He can almost imagine Bob Marley himself skipping across the hills in this cannabis heaven.

He pauses to eat a sandwich he brought with him. The Traveler has never smoked cannabis in all his Journey, and really doesn't want to start now. But he does wonder... could these leaves be a salad? It would be good to add some greens to his diet... he sticks a leaf or to in his sandwich and give is a try... Nah... doesn't quite work...

The Harsh Life of the Rif

Surely there is wealth being generated in these mountains. Moroccan hash is in high demand in Europe—and around the world. But whatever wealth is being generated from this crop, it’s not visible here. Folks here are blonder, but just as rugged and weather beaten as elsewhere in Morocco. Here women wearing the typical straw hats lined with colorful fuzzy decoration toil in the fields, harvesting wheat by hand on the rocky hillsides. Just an hour or so walk from Chefchaouan and you'll feel like you're a long way from any of the comforts of the modern world.

Up ahead there are two little villages: on high up the mountainside, one downhill… The Traveler opts to explore the downhill one. Here in Kelaa there are walled in humble family plots on the hillside and a little store—even a shabby little café… and below an old tile roof mosque with a stone minaret leaning dangerously to one side. The Traveler asks a couple fellows the name of this village—they’re friendly but not overly curious about this odd stranger wandering through their village.

The only problem now is that it seems this is the end of the road. The Traveler finds himself heading up back alleys, and cutting through people’s yards—then looking for a way down a steep gorge… then cutting through someone’s fields on the other side. But nobody seems to mind this around here. The Traveler is a little nervous about taking photos, however, as that could easily be misinterpreted—and it’s hard to take a photo without getting some Rif crop in the shot. Finally he can’t resist taking a nice photo of Kelaa and the mountains in the background… and, yes, some Rif crop in the foreground.

Up ahead there’s another little cluster of houses and and a little caravan of very sunburned looking fellows following a trail that zigzags straight up the mountain. Here you see how being fair skinned isn’t such a great thing when you live in a hot country and you spend a lot of time outdoors—and can't afford sun lotion. The Traveler wonders if there’s a lot of skin cancer going on here…

Reaching Chefchaouan

Finally the Traveler finds the road that should take him to Chefchaouan and breathes a sigh of relief. Sure enough. The road does a quarter loop around the mountain... And suddenly the ground opens up before him, and he finds himself gazing down to an unforgettable site.

It's Chefchaoun, Morocco's "blue city" laid out on the side of the mountain. It is still a surreal sight to see a city drenched in this color. It's the first time the Traveler sees a Moroccan city that seems frozen in time... houses packed so tightly together on the hillside they almost seem to be on top of each other. No streets... just twisted alleyways barely visible from above.

Most old cities were either built at the bottom of a valley to be close to water and farmland, or at the top of a hill for protection. Chefchaouan is built on the slopes, with a rushing stream flowing right through the middle of it. It is the most beautiful sight the Traveler has seen in a long time.

He finds a stairway that takes him straight into the city, and soon finds himself immersed in its surreal blueness. In some places not just the walls, but the stairs and ground are blue making it feel like your are in a dreamworld. One narrow alley leads to another... then another. Many side alleys lead to dead ends, but the Traveler still feels the urge to explore them all. And such a beautiful place like this, surely the locals are not surprised to find tourist gawking at and photographing their houses.

As is typical of Moroccan medinas or old cities, there are no cars in the alleys. This makes it easier to soak in the timelessness and forget that you are in 2010, not 1610. The Traveler reaches an open plaza built next to a kasbah, a "castle within a castle". Here there are cafes and restaurants where yo u can just sit back and try to take it all in.

"I love this country." The Traveler whispers. He knows there will be many more discoveries up ahead. But Chefchaouan will always be one of his favorites.

Day 20: Chefchaouan in the Mist

25.7 kms, March 1, 2010

Chefchaouan is a fairly small town. But it can take a while to really feel you've experienced it all. And the next morning the Traveler has the opportunity to experience it in a completely different way: enshrouded in mist.

He gets up and walks out of the walls of the the Medina through the fog. Out here there is a more modern neighborhood and has a bit of a Spanish feel. The Spanish colonized this city as well, and left their mark on this town. Spaniard continue to come here, but as tourists, not as conquerors.

The Traveler follows the exterior of the wall until he reaches the stream. He gazes up at a stout, rugged minaret barely visible in the mist. He follows the stream up to where the water comes rushing down from the mountain and under a bridge leading to the city. The Traveler plunges inside, down the misty alleyways.

All is quiet as he walks through. Here, they go by Spanish time: open late, stay open late. No thieves or hustlers harassing him. Just an occasional local out sweeping in front of their house or running an errand. Walking along soaking in each detail... a blue stairway leading to an arched entrance... a side alley lined with hanging plants. A white and blue painted fountain in the middle of a little square. He feels like he could just stay in this place forever and be happy.

He wonders why this city was painted blue. He looks it up and reads several theories, none sound fully convincing. One says that the Jews who came here used blue because it represents the heavens, and others imitated them. Another says they do it to keep their homes cool.

What the Traveler does notice is that Moroccans like to imitate each other. It could've been that some people starting doing in and others followed... until finally much of the city were doing the same thing. He will notice this around the country, that certain Medinas--and entire regions will have a color theme: there are the blue cities...the earthy red cities... the yellow cities... It's one of the many things that make Morocco an amazing place to explore.

The Traveler doesn't want to rush through this day. He wanders some more... he takes a path that leads across the stream to a a shrine higher on the hillside and there, dedicates a concert to this amazing place as the sun sets in the horizon.

This will be a day he will never forget.