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Chefchaouen, The Blue Pearl Of Morocco
It’s funny how habits change when alcohol is taken out of the equation. With no bars to explore or beers to imbibe, our evenings come to an earlier end, and, as a consequence of bedtime creeping forward, morning comes round more quickly too. I wake around 5:15 on our second morning in Chefchaouen, darkness still edging its battle with dawn. A distant call to prayer drifts up from the town below, within minutes joined by many others, muezzins at different tones, discordant yet haunting, mournful yet evocative, echoing off walls and off the mountains themselves, growing in number until it’s impossible to work out whether I am listening to five…
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Into Africa: Sometimes Things Don’t Go To Plan
Very often there is something special about a port town, a feeling of frontier, of moving on, of adventure. Despite the fact that a large percentage of those passing through spend at most a single night in the town, there is a certain excitement about such places and we’ve regularly found them to be lively, vibrant towns with an air unique to their situation. And then there’s Algeciras. Gateway in and out of Europe it might be, but make no mistake, Algeciras is as scruffy and ugly as it gets. No wonder everyone passes through quickly; I am reminded of Bill Bryson’s comments about Dover. A quick ride on Seville’s…
