Morocco - Oued Laou and Chefchaouen

Autumn days here on the Moroccan Mediterranean coast are often blanketed in a fine white mist. An oily sea blends seamlessly into a pearly sky, and the Rif Mountains are faint silhouettes in the distance. We set off into the mists in Mohammed’s grand taxi, distinguished from the local petits taxis which are only licensed to carry three people; grands are typically old Mercedes, licensed to carry six, and with the internal door and window handles removed to make crowded rides more comfortable.

Our first stop was a beachfront restaurant near Tetouan, where we enjoyed some delicious fresh bread and mint tea, the preferred beverage throughout Morocco. Then on towards Oeud Laou, famous for its Saturday Berber market. The Berber people come down from the mountains each week to sell their fruit, vegetables, household goods, textiles, clothing and animals. Many of them still use mules to transport goods – understandable when you see how rugged much of this mountain terrain is – and dress in traditional clothing. For the men this means a coarse woven jilaba, often with a hood. For the women it seems to be layer upon layer of red and white woven cloth, and a straw hat with red, green and yellow pom-poms. A very popular fashion item appeared to be the brightly patterned bath-towel worn around the shoulders!

 

A nice intercultural moment:

Indecipherable Arabic voice over the PA system.

Mike: Is that the call to prayer?

Mohammed: No, it’s saying ‘Get your cheap pants here!’

 

Here is guest blogger Margaret Doust with her impressions of what was an overwhelming sensory experience: 

With a backdrop of rugged mountains and a dusty road the Mercedes was hemmed in by trucks, cars, loaded donkeys and a mixture of purposeful and some meandering people. On both sides of the road were piles of merchandise such as, clothes, shoes, cooking ware, tagines, electrical goods, televisions and satellites. It could have been any flea market. The traffic had ground to a halt. With horns tooting and people bartering we made our way dodging each hazard. We were fascinated by the small Berber women dressed in layers topped with red and white striped rectangles tied at the waist. Under their broad brimmed hats they had head scarfs and floral towels which draped over their shoulders. One woman bent double strode purposefully past with a load of reeds on her back. The men were dressed in a mixture of western clothes, jeans and t-shirts with some clad in full length brown cloaks with a pointed hood, resembling Gandalf the wizard. Mohammed found us and led us further into the markets. We passed an enclosure full of donkeys, a donkey car park. Canvas awnings covered stores full of fresh fruit. The yellow melons, green capsicums and red tomatoes caught our eye.  In some stalls piles of mysterious spices were being weighed on brass scales. We stopped and Terry selected an array of olives from large white ceramic bowls in the shade of eucalyptus trees. People pushed past us leading goats who opportunistically munched on herbs from the stalls. Cooking smells wafted by. Sardines were being cooked on charcoal grills. We saw a Moroccan boy with flat bread filled with chips and tomato sauce. We were intrigued to see live chooks, eggs and plucked chooks in the same stall. We watched men haggling over the price of long haired brown sheep. There were many goats being bought and sold amidst mules being shod. We then ambled through the clothing section marvelling at the embroidery on the brightly coloured kaftans. Two wizened old men were busy sewing a garment on an old treadle machine. We stopped briefly to admire the elaborate bracelets before making our way back to the old Mercedes.        

With our purchases – tomatoes, olives, some Berber cloths – we bundled back into the taxi and set off through the dramatic mountain landscape to the city of Chefchaouen.  A walk through the medina here is a surreal experience – all the walls of the narrow winding streets are painted with a beautiful chalky-blue tinted whitewash. In places it feels as if you are walking under water. We ate a very relaxed lunch (chicken tagines and cous-cous) at La Lampe Magique Alladin and then experienced the skilled and subtle salesmanship of the desert nomads at a carpet co-operative in the souk. By this time we were well and truly overwhelmed and exhausted by the day’s impressions, and remained fairly quiet on the long meandering drive home, as Mohammed regaled us with tales of the ineptitude of local drivers, the corruption of Moroccan business and various other topics all the way back to the marina.