It’s not always easy to know where to start when writing a new blog, but Morocco so far has provided a non-stop catalogue of events that, in the space of a few days, has made us feel as if we have been here a short lifetime.

Morocco is part of the Maghreb, a region also known as the Arab Maghreb that includes Algeria, Libya, Mauritania and Tunisia.  It is a country with a diverse and lively history that has seen a long succession of different ruling people including the Berbers, Arabs, Spanish and French.  The Berbers, or Amazigh as they prefer to be called, were the first inhabitants of Morocco and are considered its indigenous people making up nearly 40% of Morocco’s population.  The larger Arab population is a result of the inflow of Arab tribes from the Arabian Peninsula following the Muslim conquest of the Maghreb in the late 7th century and accounts for the extensive ethnic, genetic, cultural and linguistic Arabization of Morocco today.   Spain has held portions of northwest Africa since the 1500s and occupied northern Morocco in 1860 until the signing of the Treaty of Fez in 1912 when France established a protectorate over the entire country, a colonial period that came to an end in 1956 after a long struggle for independence. 

Arab culture is predominant across much of the country.  You cannot fail to notice the Mosques – there are over 41,000 of them – nor ignore the five times a day call to prayer.   Many women, both young and old, wear the hijab and the djellaba is often favoured by men in both rural and urban areas.  Spanish influence in easily noticeable in the north, with the language spoken in and around Tangier and Tetouan, which is not too surprising given the tiny Mediterranean coastal enclaves of Ceuta and Melilla are still part of Spain.  The French colonial rule of more than 40 years has resulted in highly developed systems of infrastructure, French-based laws and an extensive use of the language, although English is now being taught in the schools and there is an undeniable popularity and enthusiasm for English to become Morocco’s first foreign language.

Located in the far north-western corner of Africa with a northern coastline on the Mediterranean and a western coast on the Atlantic, Morocco is more than 75% desert, the rest largely mountainous with slopes that gradually transition into plateaus and valleys.  The Atlas mountains dominate the central part of the country while the Rif Mountains run along the northern edge parallel to the Mediterranean coast.

There are a number of crossings from mainland Spain over the Strait of Gibraltar, the most popular going from Tarifa to Tangier a distance of just 39km.  Whilst this was our intended route, at the last minute we decided to head over from Algeciras to Ceuta.  The 1-hour crossing was rough, but on arrival customs out of Spanish Ceuta was relatively quick and easy, although we were asked repeatedly about a rabies titre test for Leroy.  As we didn’t know what we were being asked for and, therefore, obviously didn’t have one, we just kept shaking our heads from side to side with repeated NO’s which seemed to suffice and we were waved through into no-man’s land.  It was whilst we were waiting to go through customs into Morocco that the penny dropped – we weren’t going to be able to get Leroy back into the EU without proof of rabies antibodies ie. the titre test, regardless of whether he had been vaccinated or not – which, like us, he has been.  A bit of quick research confirmed our fears and also informed us that the titre test had to be done 90 days prior to any travel.  Great, so although we were planning to stay for 90 days we needed to get his bloods taken asap in order to get a positive test certificate back from an EU lab so that we would all be able to leave Morocco. 

First though, we had to navigate Moroccan customs which meant having Bob thoroughly searched and answering various questions about our belongings, particularly whether or not we had a drone.   Importing or using drones in Morocco has been prohibited by law since 2015 and in a country with a high level of security, drones are one of the main objects that officials are looking for alongside guns and drugs.  We reluctantly handed over our drone which we were told would be returned to us on departure provided we leave from Ceuta and three hours after driving off the ferry we were finally on Moroccan soil. 

Initially, we drove east to Techouan, a large, wide-avenued city, where we thought we would be able to find a vet.  No chance, the local vet showing up on Google was closed and the next nearest vet was 60km away in Tangier, the direction we had just come from.  Turning around we headed to Tangier, a port city that we had wanted to avoid hence our arrival into the smaller city of Ceuta.  Albeit only a short visit, Tangier gave the impression of a confident, cosmopolitan city sat overlooking the Strait of Gibraltar, very aware of its important strategic location as Europe’s main gateway into Africa.  It’s melting pot of different nationalities and cultures was evident as we joined the chaotic traffic, doing our best to avoid the donkeys, rickshaw drivers and professional jay-walkers, whilst not giving too much ground to the pushy, brand new, Range Rovers and other prestige cars.  Of course the vets was right over the other site of the City and by the time we eventually arrived they were just about to close.  Fortunately, Dr Imad spoke good English and once the treats came out Leroy reluctantly gave up some blood- job done!  The vets – similar to many businesses in Morocco - operated on a cash only basis and it was fortunate that we had taken out some Dirhams in Techouan, but rather unfortunate that we had to hand every last bit of it over to settle the bill.

Making our way back out of Tangier in the dark, whilst trying to find an ATM that would accept our cards, was an exhausting end to a busy day and too tired to go much further we parked for the night just outside the town of Ghedir Eddefla.  20km from Tangier, the Park4Night spot we decided on was overlooking a large lake about 3 km down a relatively quiet access road and after struggling to unload our gear off Bob’s roof in a gale force wind, we popped the roof and went to bed.

I awoke at 3pm in the morning when Leroy let out a massive bark.  Looking out of the side mesh I could immediately see that our bikes had gone.  Waking Ian, we got up to find that our large bag full of camping gear along with a small backpack full of Ian’s clothes and an ipad had also gone and the thieves had not only been through the glove box but, would you believe, the fridge - all whilst we were sleeping in the car!!

Packing up what was left of our belongings, we drove up and down the access road to the lake and did manage to find 4 pairs of Ian’s socks which obviously weren’t the right size for their new owners (Ian has rather large feet!!), but other than that there was no sign of our stuff.  You can surely imagine our relief to find our passports and credit cards hadn’t been taken, just some Euros missing from Ian’s wallet and whilst Leroy hadn’t made his presence known as they were taking our chocolate out of the fridge he had definitely disrupted proceedings before the thieves had chance to help themselves to the rest of our electrical devices and possibly even more of our gear.    

Whilst we were driving around looking for more socks, we came upon the police at one of their ubiquitous checkpoints and notified them as to what had happened.  We expected to file a report and then leave but the police were keen that we followed them to the station and then hung around whilst they took exhaustive notes, copies of documents, dusted Bob down for fingerprints and then asked us to return to the scene of the crime accompanied by four squad cars supposedly looking for evidence.  15 hours later we were still in the area, now parked at a local gas station where the police had asked us to wait, albeit with an open tab for any food or drink that we cared to order.  Over the course of the day the police had managed to find camera footage of a vehicle that had parked just downwind of our camping site and also lifted a couple of fingerprints off Bob that belonged to the culprits.  Unfortunately, the camera footage was too blurry to show much and I’m guessing that the trail had gone cold by the time the police finally allowed us to leave the following day.  What a crazy start to a new country.

There is no doubt that we have had it too good for too long and our attitude towards security has been lacking to say the least.  This was a huge wake-up call for both of us and we were lucky that none of our stuff that was taken really impacted on us too much.  Although useful to have, we hadn’t used the camping gear since hiking in the UK and despite there being nothing wrong with it most of the gear was at least 10 years old.  Having the bikes taken was an inconvenience and it was a bit galling to purchase a couple of cheap bikes that will probably fall apart before we leave Morocco.  The worst aspect of the experience was the feeling of having our personal space invaded and the sheer injustice of someone helping themselves to our things, particularly when it is difficult to imagine what they could possibly be wanting with Ozzie standard charging plugs, yoga props and a bikini.

After an experience such as this, there is a bit of mind stuff that goes on and a choice to be made as to how long do you dwell on what has happened, what lessons are there to be learnt and how do you rationalise it so that you are able to move forward without it impacting on future experiences.  Obviously, we do need to be more security conscious and it is perhaps a little unfortunate that the nights have been so cold that Leroy has been sleeping inside the car and not outside on guard – a topic that is currently under review.  However, prior to embarking on this adventure of a lifetime, a driving factor was the desire for adventure and to be as present as possible within said adventure.  There is nothing more guaranteed to focus the mind than an incident such as this.  Accepting that we won’t always get to choose what comes our way is a large aspect of our new lifestyle and after some disgruntled moaning we continued on our way determined not to dwell on our misfortune but to focus on the upside – Bob is now running significantly lighter which will hopefully result in a few more km to the gallon!

Our plan had always been to explore parts of northern Morocco, particularly the small blue city of Chefchaouen nestled at the base of the Rif mountains and once the police were happy for us to leave we drove east parallel to the Mediterranean coast before heading inland.  Like many places, I suspect that Chefchaouen would have been a delight to visit about 20 years ago, before the coach loads of tourists from Tangier were dropped into the main square prior to heading into the Medina for those all-important instagrammable shots.  But, the charming medina with its steep, narrow alleys and the brilliant shades of blue displayed on the houses, doors, stairs and passages justify the nickname of the Blue Pearl of Morocco.  There are different theories as to why the city is blue, the one most touted by the local guides is the strong belief of the early settling Jews in the area that the colour blue represents the sky, which in turn reminds people of Heaven and God.  There are not many Jews left in Morocco nowadays but the residents of Chefchaouen seem more than happy to keep their city blue as they pocket €1 for each picture taken.

The charm of the city is not the only allure for visitors to this region though.  The Rif area is home to probably the largest growing area of cannabis in the world and is estimated to be the source of nearly half of all global hashish production.  Traditionally populated by notoriously tough and resistant Berber tribes and one of the poorest areas in the country, illegal drug trafficking has provided an essential economic base for the people that live in the area.  Despite an entrenched tolerance by the Arab-led central government, cannabis cultivation is not legal in Morocco although recent laws have been passed regulating the plant’s production for medical, cosmetic and industrial purposes.  But, given the high capital costs required to produce pharmaceutical grade product and the lack of trust between farmers in this historically marginalised region and the government, one can’t imagine that change will come quickly.  In the meantime, aside from huge illegal exports there is a constant influx of travellers looking for what is supposed to be the best hashish in the world. 

Leaving Bob under the watchful eye of three parking attendants, it took less than a minute for us to be approached by a local seller.  Under the guise of acting as an unofficial tour guide, it was clear that his objective was to sell as much product as possible.  We were happy enough to follow him around Chefchaouen for an hour or so as he filled us in on some of the history but despite his best efforts to sell to every single ‘foreigner’ we came across, there were no sales to be made, perhaps an indication of  enormous supply in relation to local demand, a theory backed up as we parted company and he handed me a small cube of Morocco’s finest ‘on the house’.

Wanting to explore the Rif region a bit more, we left Chefchaouen and went first to Akchour, the starting point for the Grand Cascades waterfall hike and then into Talassemtane National Park.    Once away from Chefchaouen the tourists disappeared and as we drove further into the mountains the lack of people and infrastructure was in huge contrast to what we had seen since arriving in Morocco.  We followed narrow, winding, mountain roads through a rugged and untamed landscape of gorges and cedar forests, the only sign of life seen when passing through the occasional Berber village.  Ecotourism to the area is a relatively new income stream and whilst we didn’t have any issues finding an auberge just outside Akchour where we could park and camp for the night, the region did feel remote and just a little ‘off’.  Our uneasiness increased as we entered the National Park, particularly when the bitumen finished and we found ourselves on Route de Tisemlale, a washed-out gravel and rock track climbing high up towards Mount Lakraa.  Considering the appalling state of the road and the fact that we hadn’t seen too many vehicles (the people we had seen were mostly on the back of donkeys), we were more than a little surprised when a number of white Land Rovers started to appear.  They were all heading in the opposite direction which necessitated a bit of manoeuvring for us to squeeze past and although they hesitantly returned our waves it was obvious that they were not familiar with the rules of the universal Land Rover club which demands an ecstatic reaction from all parties should you be fortunate enough to cross paths.  All in all, it was odd - not the choice of vehicle as there was no doubt that the road demanded a 4x4 – but rather that these were the first road-worthy vehicles that we had seen in some time and they were all white Landy’s.  By the time we reached our trailhead, we were way up into the mountains, deep into the forest and back in the snow.  We found an old abandoned building where we left Bob before heading up towards the top of Mount Lakraa.  It could have been as a result of our recent run-in with the twokers or the appearance of all the Landy’s, which we had now decided belonged to the local cartel, but an hour into our hike we just felt too unsettled to continue and so turned back, collected Bob and low diff-locked it down to Bab Taza, which would have to be a strong contender for one of the most congested towns in the world.

Not before time, we eventually managed to extract ourselves from Bab Taza and continued south taking an inland route along the M13.  Our journey was relatively quiet until we reached the outskirts of Meknes, a former capital of Morocco thereby making it one of four Imperial cities along with Fez, Marrakesh and Rabat.  Meknes is quite a laid-back city despite its bustling commercial centre for the surrounding agricultural plateau region.  Close to the Middle Atlas Mountains, it would have been easy to mistake the surrounding green countryside for England with its vast plantings of vegetable crops and fruit trees and as we drove up to Ifrane, which boasts two of Morocco’s ski resorts, the scenery continued to surprise.  Ifran National Park is home to the largest cedar forest in the world, mountain lakes, volcanic plateaus and is one of only a few places where you might see the endangered Barbary macaques.  These apes are the only surviving primate in Africa north of the Sahara desert and their numbers are limited in isolated areas in Algeria and Morocco.  Logic would suggest that the chance of seeing an endangered species in their natural habitat might prove to be a wild goose chase, but not so with the macaques.  Bob had been parked for less than a minute before a curious couple climbed aboard and we watched in dismay as half a dozen others started to make their way over.  Recalling childhood trips to Knowsley Safari Park when the monkeys would compete to acquire an aerial or windscreen wiper we were relieved to note that these guys were much better mannered and just wanted to sit up top.  They were so chilled that you could walk right up to them and there were even a few wandering around with some of the local dogs.  Forest degradation and illegal trading have been the main causes for the decreasing populations of the macaques but the Born to be Wild project initiated in 2017 has not only stopped the decline in numbers within Ifran but recent surveys have shown an increase in population size.  The project is currently looking for volunteers for a period of at least 2 months, for more info https://en.aap.eu/born-to-be-wild/

Within just a few days Morocco had revealed itself to us as a most diverse country with unique landscapes, a variety of climates and a rich cultural identity.  The divide between the wealthy and the poor is strikingly apparent, never more so than when driving through what could easily be described as post-apocalyptic shanty towns only to turn a corner and be faced with a luxury mall surrounded by brand new Merc’s and Range Rovers all patrolled by uniformed security guards.  We have seen a strong police presence, mostly at the entrance and exit of towns, where cars are constantly being stopped and drivers asked to produce documents.  On average we have been through at least a dozen of these check-points a day but so far we have been waved through with friendly acknowledgement.  

Our misfortune on arrival has been quickly erased by the hospitality and friendliness that has been extended to us as we continue to explore this fascinating country.