Tetouan, Morocco and more carpets than you can shake a stick at!

The pilot book suggests a day visit to Tetouan is feasible from Ceuta and our new friends, Steve and Marian had warned us of the never-ending pressure to buy carpets and souvenirs or be ‘guided’ when they had made the same trip.  Although Hanna and Jochen had told us all about their amazing ten-day adventure in Morocco, visiting Marakesh and Fez, experiencing camel rides in the desert and taxi journeys through the Atlas mountains, we could not manage such a trip with Giblet.  Our “Moroccan experience” would consist of a day trip to Tetouan.

The day began with a bus journey from the centre of Ceuta to the border, La Frontera!  As we boarded the bus a Moroccan advised us as to the price of our fare and began asking us where we were going, and, could he be our guide? The pressure was on and we hadn’t even left Ceuta!  We politely declined, several times, and he got off at the next stop, presumably to go back to the centre to try again on the next bus.  I’ll give him ten out of ten for trying to beat the rest by getting in early! 

We arrived at the border and followed the flow of Moroccans carrying their contraband down a meandering path.  They carried the weirdest collection of things; disposable nappies, blankets, tyres, shoes, tins of food, electrical goods.  Thankfully a policeman spotted us among the throng and told us to go a different way and report to Booth 4.  We filled in a form and our passports were checked and stamped.  As we waited “Loverly Jubbly” greeted us!  He was an “official guide” determined to take us under his wing to Tetouan and to earn his keep by dragging us into all the tourist traps and taking his commission!  Chris was very good at saying ‘no thank you’ while remaining calm but the pressure was really intense.  We headed for the largest gathering of old Mercedes taxis we have ever seen, and found  it to be well organised.  Chris arranged a price for the two of us to be taken the 28km to Tetouan, 100 Dirham about £6.90, and we were ushered into a taxi, only to find the “official loverly jubbly guide” getting into the front seat!  The taxi rank officials ousted him and we were finally on our way.  Our driver didn’t speak any English so he played some Moroccan music on the dodgy cassette player and we enjoyed the new sights of Morocco.

The road took us along the coast and we saw several large and luxurious hotel and leisure complexes.  Several marinas have also been developed but apparently are more expensive than the Spanish Puertos.  Our taxi driver mimed that they were for those in the money by rubbing his thumb and forefinger together!  I was keen, however, for him to keep his eye on the road because the overtaking manoeuvres going on around us were pretty hair-raising at times.  The countryside was quite spectacular, rolling hills and a mountainous backdrop.  As we neared MDiq, we saw some building work in progress. The scaffolding consisted of tree branches acting as temporary props, a system which seemed odd to our eyes but clearly worked!

The new area of Tetouan was much like any modern town, cybercafes alongside fashionable boutiques and car showrooms.  We stopped at a set of traffic lights and a motorbike pulled alongside.  The rider and his passenger leaned through the driver’s window and with huge smiles welcomed us to Morocco.  “Fish ‘n’ Chips” was their favourite English phrase, makes a change from “Luverly Jubberly”.  After a brief conversation with our taxi driver the rider explained “We are brothers and I am a student of English.  I will show you round Tetouan!”  You may not know, but it seems to be a fact that everyone in Morocco is a “brother”!  The traffic lights changed and as we moved on the motorbike followed.  The driver offered to collect us and we arranged to meet in two hours using sign language to overcome the language difficulties, which Chris and I thought would be enough time to explore the medina.  The motorbike duly arrived and after some discussion Chris made a deal with the “student-brother”, Abdullah, that we would pay him to show us around the meandering streets of the old walled town in return for not taking us into any shops to be forced into buying something!  He seemed content with the deal, and so the best-dressed mature student we have ever met, began the tour.

We found ourselves in a large palm tree lined square with a Royal Palace of sorts the centre piece.  Abdullah explained that the Medina has seven gates. We went in through into the Jewish Quarter where stalls selling all sorts of things were set up.  The alleyways were narrow and as we wandered deeper into the Medina I began to wonder whether we would find our way out again.  It became clear that Abdullah knew his way round and was greeted by many people as we passed through.  More evidence that he was not an English student!

The Medina is organised into areas, in each of which particular crafts or goods are sold.  Each shop or stall is very small, say some two or three yards wide and frequently you could see the owner at work at his particular craft.  One of the first areas was filled with shops selling the elegant and often intricately hand made and decorated over dresses (I think they were called Jelabahs) worn by most of the Moroccan women.  A few sold rougher versions, which we saw some men wearing and they tended to have a stiff pointed hood!  Also around here were many jewellery shops selling gold filigree bracelets, earrings and necklaces as well as the ornate belts worn at weddings.

The colours and aromas particularly struck me as we walked into the food market area.  I have often thought that the polished waxy fruit and veg sold in Tesco or Sainsbury back in England looked rather false and not indicative of the flavour.  But here, laid out in the streets, were piles of scrumptious looking tomatoes and oranges, onions, eggs and potatoes, not a rotten one in sight.  Better still were the baskets of spices, pulses and herbs.  It was all so tempting.  The bakery was also something to behold, large stone bread ovens filling the width of the shop heated by a wood fire.  Occasionally we would have to step to one side as a man pulled a small trailer, laden with goods along the narrow street and then, somewhat anachronistically, you would hear a mobile phone ring and you’d remember you were in the 21^st Century!

From the grocery section we arrived in the meat and fish market.  I was glad to be wearing my boots and not open sandals as the stone street was awash with the water that was being used to clean the fish as they were gutted and sold!  I would have been wary buying fish here; little of it was on ice and it was a baking hot day (yes, in February :-).  That said the poultry would be sure to be fresh.  The chickens stood with their feet bound together, preventing escape, ready to be butchered.  Thankfully I didn’t witness any purchases.

Abdullah kept reassuring us that he would keep his word and not take us into the tourist trap shops.  He wanted us to see the Berber women, who come down to the town once a month to sell their handmade wraps and blankets in the market square.  It was around here that we bumped into his friend off the motorbike and they had quite a heated discussion.  We think his mate was unhappy that we were not buying anything and several times we got the impression that Abdullah was under pressure.  Once we passed a postcard and guidebook stall and the owner shouted at him as we moved on without entering.  He took us into an apothecary where the shopkeeper immediately broke into his spiel about all the different medicinal herbs but we just said thank you very much for showing us and walked out.  He too had a go at our guide! 

Eventually, he said he wanted to take us to a Berber House where we could go onto the rooftop to take photos but would not have to buy anything.  We made our way through the second-hand market which sold absolutely everything from bedsteads to hi-fis, Nike trainers to gas hobs!  We even saw a corner shop, which sold paint for interior walls, but not in tins, it was bags of colourful powder!  For the whitewash it seems you have to buy lumps of rock and make your own!  True DIY. 

The Berber House looked remarkably like a carpet shop to us, but since he had been so true to his word so far we followed him in.  We were welcomed and ushered up a tiled staircase to the rooftop where we could take photos of the Medina and the surrounding hills.  We were invited to have some Moroccan Whiskey, which is really mint tea, and after some deliberation accepted so as not to offend, but we were well aware that this would be a ploy to get us to look at the carpets!  Sure enough, sat on a comfy sofa, carpet after carpet was laid out before us and we were told to put those we liked to one side for “further information”.  Lucky for us it was a special half price sale day!  The salesman was astonished when we said we had not come to buy anything and at this point Abdullah was trying to hide his laughter because he knew we meant it.  The mint tea was still provided, however, and the salesman had a quick cigarette to get over the shock.   It says in our guidebook that “it is an achievement to return from Morocco empty handed” but we have been determined to stick to our rule of no souvenirs on the boat, there simply isn’t room!

There was still more to see and so we said thank you and headed off to the leather zone!  We had heard about the tanneries and the smell as we neared them was enough for us.  We did not go in.  It was interesting to see the shoemakers at work though and many leather goods such as handbags and wallets were being handmade right before our eyes.  Nearby lay the carpenters district and curled wood shavings lay in the street as door and window frames, among other things, took shape.  The Medina is not only about shops and crafts.  At one point three very small boys who appeared to be running away from school overtook us!  Sure enough, we passed a small doorway with mothers gathered round, which led into a classroom, complete with blackboard and paintings on the wall, and a stream of children heading home for lunch!  The Medina also houses some twenty Mosques, and on corners here and there Abdullah would point out an ornate doorway and explain it was another.  The ritual of washing of hands and feet before prayer ruins the prayer mats requiring the mats to be changed monthly.  At least one carpet shop we did not go into was never going to be out of business!

Our tour was nearly over and we had to get back to the street where we had arranged to meet our taxi.  Abdullah had expressed a preference to be paid in pesetas and we guessed he wanted us to be discrete in our payment.  By now his motorbike mate was also accompanying us and was still keen to try to get us to spend more money!  He even tried to get us to take a different taxi, probably his “brother’s”!  But Abdullah had shaken his head to Chris so we didn’t fall for it.  In shaking hands to say thank-you Chris parted with 2000 pts, the equivalent of £3.50 an hour, which we thought was fair, being roughly the minimum wage in Britain and probably a fortune out here!  He had tried hard to keep his word and had taken the pressure off us so that we enjoyed our exploration of the Medina.  As arranged our taxi pulled up and we climbed in.

More Moroccan music played as we watched the countryside slip away.  Further unusual sights lay ahead, a group of camels on the roadside and a donkey carrying its load on what Chris described as a roof rack type construction.  The large 4x4 Jeeps and new Mercedes cars, sharing the same roads as the beasts of burden and ships of the desert, will be a lasting memory of Morocco, a country that seems to live simultaneously in the past and present.