June 22: Not Feeling Blue Here
What a breathtaking and unexpectedly thrilling day! When I headed off from Tanger Med, Africa this morning towards Oued- Laou and then Chechaouene, I knew I would be treated to beautiful views of the Strait of Gibraltar and Alboran Sea and end up in a city known for its preponderance of beautiful blue buildings. What I didn’t realize was how very hair-raising the ride itself would be.
Heading east from Tanger Med, chugging up one mountain pass and down another, I took in the stark contrast between the rather arid land surrounding me and the bright blue ocean beyond. The dark brown and honey colored dry dirt sprinkled with sage brush, grass, and small shrubbery somehow seemed more desolate when compared to the sparkling blue sea waters. Yellow, orange, and grey stucco homes stacked along the sides of the foothills perfectly complemented the desert-like surroundings.
Although the posted speed limit was typically quite low, it became rather obvious almost immediately that driving conditions in Africa were going to be unlike any I had experienced so far. Despite the fact police with radar guns were spotted frequently and I passed through numerous security checkpoints, I had more close calls with other vehicles in one day than I might normally have in a year.
A particularly harrowing encounter occurred near Tetouan when a large blue tour bus coming the opposite direction swerved directly in front of me, making a left turn and crossing to the other side of the street with no turn lane, right of way, or even a horn beep of a warning. As the hulking metal vehicle came within inches of permanently flattening me and my bike to the streets of Africa, my ABS shuddered, and I gasped out loud. I’m not exactly sure how long it took me to breathe normally again, but I could see that I needed to be as alert as possible if I intended to reach my destination for the night.
When I turned up the narrow mountain road from Oued-Laou towards Chechaouene, I hoped that traffic might thin out. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Hundreds of cars heading in both directions on what seemed like a one-lane path jostled for space and treated the dividing line as a mere suggestion.
I had hoped that I might have a little more room given I was driving a motorcycle but found that often cars coming the other direction drove down the middle of the road, leaving just inches between me and them, making me to wonder where I was supposed to go with no shoulder in most places. I was not encouraged to note that many of the cars sported scratches and dents from what appeared to be prior collisions.
Despite all the driving drama, I was grateful I was able to appreciate so much of the local character. As I passed fields of wheat, I could see families in brightly colored clothes gathering stalks together with what appeared to be yarn or twine. Clay ovens appeared on both sides of the road, staffed by men and women in traditional garb selling the round – shaped bread produced in the wood-fired heat. Donkeys loaded down with supplies were tied to hitching posts in little towns and I could hear their braying as I passed by.
Arriving in Chechaouene, I parked my bike in the rubble-strewn parking lot of my hotel, and happily tipped a hotel employee to help me carry my bags up to my room, leaving me more time to take a refreshing shower before exploring the streets of blue.
What a treat it was to walk the markets and alleyways of this iconic city, noticing blue buildings, doorways, and arches festooned with colorful homemade blankets, dresses, and shirts. I picked a perfect dinner seat at a restaurant lining the central market, allowing me to watch all of the festivities while enjoying the rich and hearty Kefta Tajine dish with spiced meat and egg creamy and flavorful fava bean soup.
