Morocco – the name of this North African country conjures up images of ancient cities, bustling markets, mysterious men in djellabas disappearing down side streets in ancient medinas, convoys of camels trekking through the vast desert, and any other number of exotic clichés that also happen to be true.
My husband Dave and I were first inspired to visit Morocco after a trip to Spain in 2011 where we visited the Alcazar in Seville and the Alhambra in Granada, two very important and intriguing Moorish sites. Sometime in 2013 we found an amazing deal on flights to Lisbon, one of our favourite cities in the world. We knew that there were lots of short, direct flights to Morocco from Portugal, so we booked the flight without a second thought and set to planning for February 2014 to celebrate Dave’s 30th birthday. We are fairly seasoned travel planners, but we soon realized that planning a trip around Morocco, a country 22 times smaller than our own, was a little more challenging than expected. I’ve gathered up all of the information from our trip and am now sharing our 14-day Morocco itinerary with you, to hopefully make your planning and decision making process a little bit easier! I have linked to our detailed posts about each destination throughout.
It can be hard to write about a city when you only stayed there for 72 hours, and spent 36 of those hours bedridden in what started to feel like a jail cell, although it was in fact a palatial room in a gorgeous dar. Fes is a fascinating, sprawling ancient city that boasts one of the biggest urban car-free areas in the world. But unfortunately I walked away from Fes with a bit of a sour taste in my mouth.
Dave and I arrived at dusk by bus from Chefchaouen. We wound our way through the outer layers of the city, closer and closer to the central bus station, through a densely packed and dusty city in shades of beige. One brand new white Ferrari passed us by, extraordinarily out of place. Continue reading Celebrating and struggling in Fes→
As the bus wound back and forth through the Rif Mountains, ever so slowly getting closer to Chefchaouen, the sun had already gone down. I did not get the spectacular welcome view that I had been hoping for, but two days in the blue washed village would more than make up for it.
It was pitch dark by the time we arrived and it felt like the desolate bus station was in the middle of nowhere. After getting ripped off by the taxi driver to the laughable tune of $1.30, we met Carlos, one of the Spanish owners of Casa La Palma, and dove into the winding, twisting, up-and-down, and full-of-stairs town that is Chefchaouen. It was raining that night, and for most of our visit. The cobblestones were so slick I’m surprised I managed to keep myself upright.
I got my first glimpse of Africa as we began our final descent into Casablanca’s Mohammed V International Airport. I noticed the vibrant green land, the huge sky and the immensely tall clouds like I had never seen before.