Day 12 - Chefchaouen - Tangier

17 July

For the first time in quite a few days, I woke with a regular dose of energy - no respiratory problems or stomach upsets and, with Phil, Nikki and Peta, enthusiastically embarked on a blue photo rampage. Chefchaouen is blue, you see. Everything is white-washed blue (or is that blue-washed?). Anyway, to achieve supreme tourist status, you must take as many iconic blue photos with cats in them as possible. This, I believed, would be quite easy as we seemed to be wading knee deep in cats all over town. I must surmise however, that the professional photographers get talent agency cats for their photos as Chefchaouen seems to have the least photogenic cats I have ever seen. Poor wee buggers.

Unfortunate feline of unphotogenic bent

Picturesque feline who would not stop washing its butt.

Eventually we did manage to get him to stop - what a difference it makes:

Presenting: Chefchaouen -

View of Chefchaouen from the top of the Kasbah

Kasbah

After a visit to the Kasbah and a chat with the doorman and ex-fisherman who took a liking to Phil‘s octopus t-shirt, we decided to go to one of the many internet cafes flanking the square. As our tour had only two more days to run, the decision on where to spend our last week in Morocco weighed heavily on our minds and we searched the internet for good places to stay, considering Chefchaouen too difficult to get to from Casablanca but thinking that sea-side Asilah or capital Rabat may offer good options.

Undecided, I tried to log in to briefly check my email (split infinitive but I like it that way). Instead of the usual gmail log in screen, Arabic writing and pictures of dead babies and bombing victims filled the screen. Thinking I must have typed something really strange, I tried again. The same thing happened but with the addition of writing in English. Words like, “Israel”, “cold-blooded killings” and “hasn’t apologised” splashed angrily across the screen. Trying to get to google produced the same results.

Later that afternoon we headed to Tangier and to a predictably cruddy hotel but with miraculously comfortable beds. Back on the coast and, for the first time since Essaouira, I felt cold. I sat outside in the large garden area at night, with our group drinking nice red wine until we’d all had more than enough and then tottled off to bed.