Chefchaouen and the Rif Mountains

This past weekend I spent 3 days in Chefchaouen, a small mountain village in the heart of the Rif mountains in northern Morocco. It’s a popular traveler destination for its laid-back attitude and relatively no hassles. Built onto the mountainside with a beautiful medina splashed with a light purple whitewash, it’s one of the most beautiful towns in all of Morocco. 

Chefchaouen is the mountain counterpart to the relaxed coastal town of Essaouira. Both are small, have a strong hippy vibe, and are home to some of the nicest Moroccans you’ll ever meet. But Chefchaouen is a popular hippy destination for more than just the spectacular views and laid-back atmosphere. Chefchaouen is in the heart of the Rif Mountains, home to 42% of world’s cannabis production. In fact, the term “reefer” is derived from the name “Rif” Mountains. Although the king officially condemns cannabis production, it is one of Morocco’s most profitable exports and its prohibition is loosely enforced. While in Chefchaouen, I was offered hash dozens of times, in plain daylight and in the middle of main thoroughfares. Most of the local men in Chefchaouen smoke kif, a mixture of hashish and tobacco, which they smoke in long wooden kif pipes. These Moroccans smoke it casually like cigarettes. However, since they use very little hash they are rarely ever blazed.

But there’s a more remarkable aspect to Chefchaouen. There is no crime. Well, at least no petty crime. My first night there I walked around the town at 2am. As I passed the outdoor shops in the main plaza, I noticed that the owners had left all their goods lying out on the stands, tables and racks, completely unwatched and unguarded. The shops didn’t even have any doors to lock if they wanted to. The most security I saw was at the fruit stand where a blanket had been thrown over the produce. There was no one on guard and the streets were deserted…so I took everything I could carry. Okay, so I didn’t really take anything. There’s too much mutual respect to take anything. For example, the first night at the hotel, the owner didn’t even ask for any money up front. He just showed us the room and said to pay whenever we wanted.

My second day in Chefchaouen, I went to see the nearby cascades and Bridge of God, a natural rock formation that spans the river from hundreds of feet above. The falls and bridge were a 30 km grand taxi ride outside of Chefchaouen. We hiked about 45 minutes to the lower cascade, which was beautiful, tucked away in a small gorge. A few people went swimming in the ice cold and crystal clear water. 

While there, we met a cannabis grower who took us to his farm, about 10 minutes off the trail. It was about an acre or two in size and on a hilltop with a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains. He had already harvested his crop earlier in the season and all that was left in his field were dried stalks and a few leaves and buds on the ground. Afterwards, we ended our hike on a mountain peak, eating our afternoon lunch while surrounded by spectacular mountains and the Bridge of God in the distance.

Getting Squeaky Clean at a Hammam

Two weeks ago I had the opportunity of going to a Moroccan hammam, or bathhouse. It is remarkably similar to the Roman bathhouse of antiquity and remains an integral part of Moroccan life today. Most Moroccans go to the hammam a few times every month. It’s a cheap way to get clean and especially useful for families who don’t have showers or bathtubs. Most hammans have 3 rooms: the first is cold, the second is moderately warm, and the last is as hot and steamy as a sauna. First you strip to your underwear, then grab a bucket and proceed to the third and hottest room with your soap, shampoo, and washcloth in tow. Once there you fill your bucket with water from the spigots that surround the room and rinse yourself off. Next you lay down on the hot tile floor for about ten minutes, letting your pores open amidst the heat and steam. You are then scrubbed vigorously by one of the attendants. In my case, this was a hairy 40-something-year-old man in a swimsuit with a modest potbelly and a huge mustache. He indifferently scrubs you with a rough washcloth akin sandpaper. You bite you lip as you see layers of dead skin rolling off in grey clumps. Once you are all scrubbed, he rinses you off and lathers you up with soap. After he shampoos your hair and vigorously scrubs your head, he rinses you off again. The next bit they only do for men. I guess I would call it a mix between aggressive stretching, yoga and contortionism. He pulls and bends you every which way, sometimes in rather painful ways. For example, one stretch involved me laying face down while my hairy friend stood on both of my hamstrings. He then grabbed my arms and pulled me up off the ground while continuing to stand on my thighs. This is supposed to stretch and loosen you. After that, the attendant is done and you can proceed to the colder rooms to cool down and close your pores again. Although very rough and at times painful, you feel remarkably clean afterwards. Plus the vigorous scrubbing leaves your skin soft and smooth for days afterwards.

McDonalds in Morocco

Before leaving Marrakesh, I couldn’t resist eating at the McDonalds in the train station. Before you hate me, realize that in the States I avoid McDonalds at all costs and might eat there once a year if I’m unlucky enough. However, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see how an American corporation successfully integrates into a foreign culture. First of all, the McDonalds’ in Morocco are much nicer restaurants than those in the States. A meal with a burger, fries and coke is around 53 DH, which is the equivalent of about 7 USD. While that’s only a little bit more expensive than what you would pay for the same meal in the States, you must remember that Morocco is a much poorer country than the U.S. and that for 7 American dollars, you can eat at a nice sit-down restaurant. Those who eat at McDonalds are generally part of the emerging Moroccan middle class and they embrace western culture, wearing designer jeans and name brand sunglasses while talking on flashy new cell phones.

On the menu McDonalds has some similar items, such as happy meals, the Big Mac, and the Big Tasty. However they also have some new inventions such as the McArabia and the Gamba Burger, which has a shrimp patty.

In addition, their “large” meal is the size of what would be considered a “medium” in America. After a prolonged debate with myself, I decided to order the Gamba burger, whose patty is made with shrimp rather than beef. It was actually really good, and if they served it in America, I might eat at McDonalds more. Although McDonalds is called “fast food” it takes much longer to receive your order here than in the United States. But on the upside, the quality of the food is higher and better prepared. All the meat is killed according to Halal, the Islamic religious doctrine that outlines how food must be killed and prepared.

All in all, I think that the McDonalds’ in Morocco serve much higher quality food. The employees are better groomed and a little classier than the average McDonalds employee. I would imagine that workers here are paid relatively well, unlike in America, where working at McDonalds is at the bottom of the barrel as far as well-paying jobs go.