Smurftown

One of the things I admire most about other countries is the way the people always (or at least more often than not) take care of their visitors. Yes, sometimes they expect to be reimbursed monetarily, but I'd say that at least half the time the people do it out of a sense of duty to welcome guests to their country.

Last weekend five of my friends and I went on an adventure north to Chefchaouen, "the blue city." There is no real direct route from Meknes, but we were confident that we'd be able to make our way there. We left early in the morning from the public bus station in Meknes. The bus ride was long, and we knew that we'd need to transfer when we got to a certain town. We rode patiently and watched the countryside roll past.

The bus often stopped to let off travellers and pick up new ones, and therefore the pace of the trip was rather slow. At one point the bus stopped in basically the middle of nowhere, and the man in charge of collecting tickets came back to tell us that this is where we got off. Of course we were confused, since this didn't look anything like a town, and we had been told by our directors that we'd go to a town and then hire a Grand Taxi to take us the rest of the way. The man insisted, and we, like good adventurers, went along with it. The man helped us off the bus and led us to another bus that we hadn't seen, he explained this bus would take us to Chaouen. He was under no obligation to find this bus transfer for us, but he did, despite our confusion and protests.

The bus to Chaouen was much more crowded, and the smell I've come to associate with public transportation in other countries (the smell of armpits that have never known deoderant) hung heavily in the air. The man that takes the tickets made sure that each of us had a seat-even making a Moroccan man move to the very front seat so that I would have a regular seat.

Chaouen was all it was cracked up to be and more. All of the medina was blue and white. . Even many of the streets were painted white. The colors instantly made one feel cool and tranquil, and the whole town was perched on the side of mountains, making the view breathtaking.

While looking for a hotel, we encountered a man who owned a carpet shop that spoke very good English. He ushered us inside, and promised the best prices-of course. As we were leaving, a blonde haired girl walked up to Raoul, the rug man. She was American and was very excited to meet other Americans. She was on her way to have tea with Raoul, and we ended up joining them. After tea, of course, discussions turned to business and we were shown carpet after carpet-wool, cactus fiber, camel fur... all colors and designs. One small rug was bought, and we left intending to return the following day.

The rest of the day was spent happily exploring the blue town and purusing the artisans' shops. We hiked up one of the mountains a ways to watch the sun set over the town, and we grabbed sandwiches for dinner. The night, for me, was spent in a far less pleasant fashion, and I was not really up for much exploring the next day. I loved Choauen, but after being so sick, I was very happy to return home. Majda fussed over me, giving me instructions on what to eat and what not to eat, and I crawled into bed that night very content. Even though Chaouen might be more beautiful than Meknes, Meknes has become home.