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MOROCCO BOUND A Solo Motorcycle Journey
to North Africa |
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(Chefchaouen,
my last night in Morocco)
After drifting back through the Kasbah and expending the last of my film trying to capture the life in Chefchaouen after dark, I found my way back to my lodging. Not willing to give in to my exhaustion, I climbed to the roof of the building and lit a cigar that I had been saving. I could see that lights of all of Chefchaouen spread out before me, with the moon illuminating the entire valley around. As I sat there quietly absorbing the moment, I heard the evening call to prayer from the main mosque. As if on cue, it was repeated down the valley in each small village, like a echo. I listened to the voices of children running and laughing in the alleys. Heard the meows of the cats in the streets, looking for food. I just sat there and took it all in, trying to create a mental snapshot that would stay with me forever. What an incredible memory of my last night in Morocco.
- The sweets shop that had a half a dozen types of baklava, all of which were dripping with the nectar of the gods and which made a perfect late evening snack.
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The shop that had dozens of different types of olives for sale
in bulk.
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The cats sitting like stone figures outside the butcher shop
near the kasbah
- - The two little girls, arms around each other, watching the candied nut man selling his wares, much like the cats at the butcher shop.
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- - The tiny alleys alive with the sound of children playing in the evening, their laughter and gaiety echoing among the canyon-like walls of the buildings.
This morning, entering Cueta was not as bad as I had imagined. This shouldn’t be a surprise since nothing in Morocco has been as I imagined! I rode the final 100 km from Chefchauoen on horrible roads that weren’t made any better by the torrential rains of the night before. Mud and all sorts of detritus was washed across the roads everywhere, which necessitated a great reduction in speed. I arrived at the border early enough, and simply charged into the seething mass of humanity packing into the Moroccan Customs. Cars were wedged 6 or 7 abreast, trying to get into the double lanes and the sidewalks were packed with pedestrians trying to force their way past the police and into Spain. I slowly worked my motorcycle in, around and between the cars and busses to the head of the line, only to be told that I had failed to obtain the necessary stamps on my passport to exit Morocco. Parking the bike next to the guards, I threw myself back into the masses packing around the Customs windows and eventually obtained the required clearances. Then had to do it all again at another window to “export” my motorcycle. Funny, there were no blue-smocked “helpers” here to assist people trying to get OUT of Morocco. All in all, it didn’t cost me a dime, only about 30 minutes of my time. With the necessary administrivia completed, I waved my US passport and Spanish Customs waved me through without batting an eye. Leaving through Cueta was far more exciting than entering in Tangier, and without any of the hassle. I will remember that in the future.
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All photos
and text are property of Jeff Munn.
Please do not use without my permission.