Month: May 2023 (Page 1 of 3)

We finally had another decent weather window, and it was 65 miles to Cartagena, so it was time to move on. Of course we were motoring to start (the wind wouldn’t kick in till afternoon), and of course I jinxed us when I asked Trip about a friend’s situation with crud in their fuel tanks. Our engine sputtered and died an hour later, most likely from all the huge swell we had passed through that probably stirred up crud on the bottom of the tank. Luckily Trip was able to clear the sludge out of the bowl, change the element, and I was able maintain a few knots under jib.

We knew we wouldn’t get to Cartagena till dark, so we found another anchorage for the evening by studying the charts. This time we picked Cala Salitrona, just north of Cabo Tinoso in the La Azohia region. We didn’t drop anchor till the last bits of daylight were fading, and we were the only boat in the anchorage, but we could tell it was amazing.

We woke up in the morning surrounded by mountains, and fortress after fortress in the hills. If we had had more time, we would have stayed a day or two and hiked, but it was time to move on.

It took three hours to clear out of Morocco, despite the fact that we had notified the office and customs the day before. Three hours of sitting around, but at least we were prepared, as the tide would not turn in our favor till early afternoon. We had no orcas, (perhaps the little orca friend Barb Voss made for us gave us just the right amount of luck in avoiding them), but we had lots of dolphins. More exciting, we had a right whale swimming right along side of us for several minutes smack dab in the middle of the Strait of Gibraltar! (Luckily there were no big ships around at the time). Then he dove, showing us his tail! For several hours we had a huge amount of swell, and rain, but the current was pushing us in the right direction, so we carried on, with a healthy puke or two over the side every few hours from Trip. The winds finally turned favorable, and we decided on an overnight sail. The wind didn’t last long, and we were on to motor sailing, but we slogged along.

We decided on two days of overnights when the winds turned favorable for sailing again. A few minutes of consultation, we killed the engine and ran wing on wing for another overnight and a new destination. The winds died again around 3 AM (actually died around 1:30, but I was happy enough to drift along at 1.5 knots to let Trip sleep), and we motored again.

We needed an anchorage that would protect us from the Levante, the east- northeast wind that blows periodically – in this case two days. Cala de San Pedro looked like a good spot, and we arrived mid-day to find ourselves as the only boat and we dropped the hook.

The first thing I noticed was that all the locals came down to swim and sunbathe, totally nude, mid afternoon. We had read that it was a community of hippies. What we learned from two young men, Ayssa and Jonas, who swam over to the boat to say hello, was that the harbor is inaccessible, other than by boat or a 90 minute cliff walk to the nearest village. There is a stream that provides running fresh water, but people otherwise live in caves (the young men were cave-sitting for a friend), in ancient ruins, or in tarps or tents.

When we went ashore wet met a few of the locals who were so proud to tell us the history of the island (a pirate hide out), complete with castle ruins. The area had fallen into a very bad state with drug paraphernalia everywhere, but slowly a small group of hippies cleaned it up and reclaimed the area. Fixing up caves and ruins with driftwood, stuff hauled in, & solar panels, it is home to ~20 people year round, with another ~20 that come to camp for the season. They describe themselves as castaways from society, choosing to live in this small isolated community.

We climbed a bit to explore, and then headed to the bar, because of course there was a bar. For 10€, we had two beers apiece, and a bag of potato chips. We were also offered our choice of kittens and a young pup, new additions to the bar. A goat had chewed free of its tether, we could have probably taken that too.

Unfortunately we only had that one day ashore. The next two days brought some pretty strong wings from the northeast, so we were stuck on board. A few other boats came in to anchor for protection. One boat actually dinghied ashore, and then almost couldn’t get back. The swell was so bad it took them quite a while (with a small child!) to get aboard. Their boat was rolling badly where they were, so they upped anchor and moved behind us for a better position, only to find that their dinghy had flipped (with the electric outboard still attached), yikes!

Chefchouaen is what I refer to as the mic-drop of charming Moroccan villages – it doesn’t get any more picturesque than this place. Worth the loooooooong bus ride to this, nicknamed, Blue City.

Chefchaouen has an interesting history. Seated in a valley in the Rif Mountains, it was founded in the 15th century to defend against Portuguese invasions in Morocco. Portuguese and Spanish Jews fled here during the Spanish Inquisition, and the city remained closed to all foreign influence until 1920. At that time, locals were found to be speaking Castilian Spanish dialects that were four hundred years old!

No one knows for sure, but the city is supposedly painted blue to reflect the sky and the water. Whatever the reason, the effect is absolutely stunning.

After a wonderful lunch of goat couscous (couscous Friday!), we spent our remaining time simply wandering all the alleyways of the city.

We visited a local weaving shop, where Trip got his first head wrap (which will make a lovely table runner at home), and I later bought one of the beautiful local red and white wool wrap skirts (also more likely to wind up on a table at home).

And of course, more cats….

We tried to drink ‘Moroccan whisky’ (mint tea), but were stymied by all the bees that swarmed to the sweet drink, and we gave up.

And we had a little excitement when the local ATM ate our debit card. Luckily the staff were able to retrieve it and we were able to get cash (how else were we going to buy those fabulous scarves and skirts!?).

The people we met from Fes are fiercely proud of their city, and horrified that we had less than 2 days to see it. We made the most of our time.

The medina (old city) is the largest in the world, and the only one older is in Damascus. It is simply overwhelming and you get lost very fast. I have a new appreciation for Google maps which actually got us everywhere we needed to go, (but it drained cell phone batteries quickly!).

Aside from the souks (markets), we had a chance to visit two of the madrasas, or Islamic holy schools, that are open to the public. We started at Bou Inania Madrasa and finished at Al Attarine Madrasa.

I have visited a lot of churches and cathedrals in my travels, but they pale in comparison (in my opinion) to these places. Actual imagery (people, animals, etc) is expressly forbidden in Islam, so the decorum is all Arabic writing, tile work, and other designs involving carvings and paintings. The result is breathtaking.

Aside from the schools, we also visited the leather tanneries, which are now a protected UNESCO world heritage site.

The hides of animals are softened in pigeon guano (the smell is un-nerving so you’re given sprigs of mint to hold to your nose), and then dyed in vats by hand or foot, dried in the sun, and then scraped to soften again. The jobs are highly paid and highly prized and usually handed down generation by generation.

While in Fes, we discovered Anou, a cooperative of Moroccan artisans aiming to reduce or eliminate the middle man in the rug and textile business. Most artisans are women in Morocco, yet they see only 4% of the final sale (which easily goes into the thousands of dollars for rugs).

The showroom is not on the Main Street of the Medina, and we found it by accident after lunch in an alleyway.

You can watch the women work, learn more about the process, take courses, and of course, shop.

I splurged on four skeins of Atlas Mountain hand-dyed wool, and a reed bag. We fell in love with a rug, which we may still buy later in the year (if it sells, we can custom order another). Each item has a QR code that you scan for details about the artisan who made your product. If you custom order something you will receive pictures or even video of the product underway. I have no regrets of my other purchases, but this is truly special.

You pass by hundreds of stores eying thousands of rugs till one catches your eye.

The owner notices you looking and invites you in. He ignores you when you ask how much a certain rug costs and starts pulling out rug after rug, laying them on the floor to better display their beauty.

Your eyes glaze over so he sets aside the rugs you’re interested in. Then the mint tea arrives and the fun begins.

He pulls out a notebook (or a calculator) and shows you the opening price. Your eyes nearly pop out of your skull and he hands you the notebook and pen, asking you for your price. You write a price down that’s half of his offer and he moans and falls to the ground insulted, then quickly pops up with a counter offer.

Trip waits patiently by the front door, making new friends with locals while this all goes on.

Later, after credit cards have been processed, shipping details obtained, we pause for a formal photograph, then head off to find a big drink to celebrate the purchases….

Trip’s niece Natalie (Madeleine’s sister) is game to visit us pretty much anywhere in the world, and has probably spent more time on the boat than anyone else. She brought friends Perry and Danielle to Morocco.

We took them on a whirlwind tour of both Tangier and Assilah before taking a train with them to Fes, making the most of our limited time with them.

And we bought rugs…..or they did, anyway, as Trip and I had indulged a few days earlier in Marrakech.

The vibe was definitely different with three young women around. It’s obvious we’re foreigners, and there’s the usual comments ‘welcome to Morocco’ or ‘taxi’ or ‘I’ve got good hash’, but it got more intense with the girls around. We did our best to shake them and enjoy our time.

A riad is basically a guesthouse, or inn, with an open interior in Morocco. They’re nearly impossible to find sometimes, as they are walled compounds hidden in alley ways (in Fes someone met our cab with a cart and walked us to the riad inside the medina’s walls (cars are not permitted there). When you arrive, you sit down and enjoy a cup of mint tea while you check in.

The most noticeable part of a riad is the inner courtyard. It provides airflow throughout the building and cools the rooms (though we also had air conditioning, which is probably necessary when the brutal heat of summer arrives). It is often the setting for breakfast or dinner for guests.

The rooms we had were tiny but beautiful with tiled bathrooms and silk bed covers. Shockingly we were only paying $30-50 a night, including breakfast. The owners were all locals who were happy to provide a map and details about how to get around. One even arranged for wine and beer to end the evening.

Not all, but many riads have rooftop terraces. The two we stayed at had wonderful views of Marrakech and Fes. In Fes they even insisted that we breakfast there for the morning view (I feel so guilty about the number of stairs he climbed to set up and serve breakfast!).

It was time to explore inland a bit, so we hopped a train and headed for Marrakech. Getting off the train, we immediately noticed the DRY heat….it turns out it was 100 degrees and I didn’t even realize it without the humidity.

After lunch at a local restaurant, we headed to the riad (hotel around a garden) to drop our bags off, and begin to explore. Of course we found a rug store right away, and fell in love. (We managed to resist for another day and visit more rug stores, but we still came back to the first store, to the first rug, and bought it over mint tea).

Aside from shopping and wandering through the Medina (old town) and souks (markets) and gawking at more cute cats (really? In Morocco?), we explored the Saadian tombs, a historical royal necropolis built in the 1500’s. Mobbed by tourists, the architecture was amazing. You can’t take it with you, but they made an extraordinary attempt on their way out!

After the tombs we moved on to the Bahia Palace, which was built in the 19th century. Not nearly as ancient as the other places we’ve visited, it was still beautiful to tour and see how royalty lived and conducted matters of state. Sadly, when one of the last sultans died (early 20th century), the palace gates were locked, and those inside looted and absolutely trashed the place. Much restoration was done when the building was later turned over to the state.

For lunch we headed back into the Medina to Le Jardin Secret (the secret garden). It was once a riad owned by one of the wealthy of Marrakech, which meant it had access to water that had been piped down from the Atlas Mountains. Man-made ‘khettaras’, a network of underground tunnels, funneled the water through their homes and grounds.

For meals we tried both ends of eating…..one night we had dinner at the amazing Nomad which features modern interpretations of Moroccan cuisine (unfortunately you won’t see a single local dining there, only working). We also ate one night at one of the dozens of skewer grills (that’s what I’ll call it) in the main square of Jemma el-Fnaa. This square sees thousands of people flock to it every night; from tourists looking for snake charmers, to locals enjoying a social night after sunset, or those out to shop for spices or fresh juice (with alcohol severely limited in the country due to Islamic tradition, fresh juice is very, very popular, with stands everywhere you look).

Our final morning was spent in Gueliz (the modern part of town). The name comes from ‘les eglises’ (the churches) as this neighborhood was built by the French who brought their own religion to the country.

Le Jardin Marjorelle and the Yves Saint Laurent museum was a decadent way to spend our last day in Marrakech. The designer adored the country. He spent much of the year at his home there over the decades, absorbing inspiration for much of his work. He and his partner bought the garden property and completely transformed it into a thing of beauty. Part of the garden now houses a museum dedicated to the jewelry and costumes of the Berber tribes from the high Atlas Mountains (unfortunately photography not permitted).

If I have one complaint of Marrakech, it was the number of influencers and Instagramers that fill this city. Everywhere you turn there is a beautiful photo op, but it is sad to see the lack of interest in the people, their culture or their history by white people from Europe and North America. Ok, rant done. Leaving you with mint tea.

I have no idea why, but the train stations of Morocco are exquisite, absolute works of art, rivaling museums all over the world. They were beautiful to arrive in, and we looked forward to waiting for each train and just marveling at the architecture.