Chefchaouen

the original basket bag 

I'm back in London, much to my despair, so I can finally round up all the photos I took and produce blog posts out of them. If I put it all into one big post, it would take forever therefore I'm splitting it into a few so it's a little more digestible. Without further ado, here is the first instalment from the day I visited Chefchaouen, the 'blue pearl' of Morocco. Like many others, I no longer want to take the superficial route of uploading a few pictures, wacking a few lines about how it was so "pretty" and "instagrammable" but actually share a story/stories of how the trip went down. So here goes.

We got there after the strangest taxi journey ever, winding down narrow roads on mountains and watching stray goats and donkeys leisurely strolling along the motorway. The journey was pretty amazing though, watching the mountains, foliage (so. much. green.) and massive turquoise lakes as you speed past at 100mph with the windows down is definitely something else.


I want to get straight into talking about how brilliantly blue everything was and how the lanes with huge spider plants were simply breathtaking because everything in my life totally goes to plan but as soon as we got there it was basically a mad toilet hunt. Because when your two choices are to either forcibly down 2 litres of water or face the risk of heatstroke, sometime you have to make rational decisions. Only bad thing was every single toilet we came across was the traditional Moroccan one which is impossible to use if you haven't been brought up there. Thankfully this old guy who owned a school for orphans let us use the facility. I took down his email for future work experience reference :)

Walk straight down this one and you find the place I more or less got forced into buying a pair of knock-off Rayban's which are basically a fifth limb now. It did only cost £2.30 so I am slightly glad the shop owner did continuously scream "these will suit your face" "they'll look wonderful, just like American celebrities" "I shipped these specially from Spain" whilst I walked past the stall- you have now unknowingly kick started a sunglasses obsession I never knew I could hone.

As a new found cat lover, spending over a month in Morocco truly let me catch up on all those years I could've wasted invested time cooing over them. Like right near this fabric shop in which I unwillingly caused slight damage through a medium (the cat.) Long story short, it tried to jump into my arms *cute* but somehow forgot to retract its claws (do cats even retract them) and pulled multiple threads loose. Quickly picked up the cat and walked-jogged away before I would be met by the wrath of the shop keeper who could've used that rug to scam eager European tourists. ah that reminds me...more on that later.

So here we have a mountain where gallons of ice cold water run down and fill up this strange open space in which you have to climb down rocks to get to. It sounds hard. it was. Picture this: slippery rocks, holding your shoes and socks in one hand, your phone in the other and a steep decline. Now picture me: lanky, unexperienced and lightheaded because of the heat. The result? Me climbing down a few rocks, gaining temporary confidence thinking I'm the next extreme sportswoman of the year and then being humbled within the next second with what could've been the dirtiest slip of all. I do love the universe. It was worth it in the end as the waterfall beneath was everything I could've imagined and there were peacocks casually wondering around and fresh orange juice stalls slightly submerged in the water whilst the actual oranges were floating in the lake to keep them cold. Moroccan innovation at its finest.

Back to the scam story I had alluded to a few photos up. oh yeah, that's a donkey in the middle of the street- it's Morocco. Here we met the loveliest woman from New York who told us all about how she had spent thousands of dirhams on rugs and blankets earlier that month whilst she was in Rabat and then complimented us on our English when we helped to form a linguistic buffer between her and the shop keeper. Whilst the shop keeper refused to sell her the rug for 300 dirhams, my mum and I would jokingly tell the owner to just let her whilst he sweated it out thinking about the potential loss of profit.

I'm not even going to pretend this piece of art work has any significance to this post at all. I just thought the composition of the photo was cool. Sometimes be simplistic.

So this could've been my favourite photo of the day if those that kid and his dad weren't in it but I couldn't wait until they left otherwise the two ladies in the amazing niqab's would've passed by then. There's something so interesting about the contrast between the light, airy blue steps and the sharp blackness of their religious dress. They look so badass. I wish I spoke to them.

I present the place where I almost had a break down because *behold the most first world problem you'll ever hear* no one could take a proper picture of me for instagram. yeah. No matter how educated and composed I may come across on my blog, at the end of the day I'm still a teenager living in the age of  pathetic but perfectly-preened-yet-candid social media expectations.



I have nothing to say about the photos above other than the fact that I now want to buy some of that powdered blue paint they were selling on the street and paint all my belongings with it in the hope that it'll brighten up my dreary surroundings here in London. House plants would also be a good addition.


To me, these two photos represent Morocco pretty well. We're an artistic country with a great, rich history and it reflected in our craft. Whether that be through masses of fabric, leather goods, embroidered slippers or carved metals. We can make things as basic as a tray look like an art piece.

I took the first photo and then realised the guy had more or less ruined the shot so, naturally, I retook it. The original is still my favourite though. Do you ever wonder how many photos you're in unintentionally? Living in London, I think about it all the time- especially when I'm in the tourist spots. So I started thinking whether this guy would give two shits or not. Zoomed in and boom, massive phlegm in a parabola in the air. conclusion: *whispers* I don't think he cares

I've been anticipating writing this post since I boarded the taxi back from Chefchaouen (which I think I can finally spell woo!) I loved this day- just walking around and exploring and drinking water from the fresh water taps distributed across the streets (it definitely helps that they're so prettily decorated) The plaques about almost every street and its history was such an interesting touch and I love how they were in the all 3 languages I am learning. it's the little things. I'll be back with the next post soon for more Morocco blues *see what I did there*

with love, Dalal