When my parents flew into Morocco for a ten-day visit, I simply could not help myself. I had to take them to Chefchaouen. The “Blue City”, with its winding allies, its relaxed atmosphere, and the Moroccan grandmother who, in my opinion, makes the best ghoriba cookies in Morocco, called to me. We spent two days there wandering (**Warning** excessive wandering occurs in this particular post) its cerulean streets and sampling almost every Moroccan cookie ever made. The best discovery we made during our short stay in the city was a hidden path from the waterfall – which doubles as a local laundry spot – to the abandoned mosque overlooking the city. The mosque offered breathtaking views of the city and expansive valley.
With our driver, Ahmed, we made our way to another 15th century. (If you need a driver in Morocco, he is reliable and very kind.) Founded by Muslim and Jewish refugees fleeing Christian Andalusia, Tetouan sprawls throughout valley 45 minutes from Chefchaouen. Its imposing, white, Spanish-colonial architecture contrasts with the comparatively-diminutive homes in Chefchaouen. Exemplified through the plethora of imposing government building, the atmosphere in Tetouan feels more harried and stressful. I was out of my usual element, as very few people spoke French and their darija (Moroccan Arabic) was an entirely different dialect than the one I had been learning. Needless to say, we left after an hour to journey on to “the Santorini of Morocco”, Asilah.
Asilah, tucked away on Morocco’s Atlantic coast, provides a view of the setting sun. It’s white-washed walls gleamed in the burnished light of an autumn sun. Every August Asilah hosts a festival called the International Cultural Moussem of Asilah. Dozens of artists cover the walls of the city with murals. Those murals continue to grace the walls of the sleepy seaside town for the rest of the year. We spent our day in Asilah wandering its flower-lined streets and meandering into jewelry shops and luminescent (inviting) lamp stores. In our exhaustive search for our first-choice restaurant spot, Casa Garcia, I enlisted the support of a passing local, who not only gave us directions but also walked us there himself. As it was 7 pm and far too early for Moroccan restaurants to be serving or Moroccans to be eating dinner, we settled instead on a local spot known for its fish platters (… I ate chicken).
Rabat, two to three hours along Morocco’s Atlantic coast, was our last stop. We ducked down side streets in the Old Medina and (at least I) stuffed ourselves with Syrian food. If you want the best muhammara (red-pepper walnut dip from Aleppo) in Morocco, go to Yamal Asham. Be prepared to wait in line for a bit – something unheard of in Morocco – but the delicious food that awaits you is well-worth the wait.
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