A tenderly first stroll through the lush northern tip of Morocco.
The Rif and its gem, Chefchaouen
Crossing the Rif Mountains. Africa, Africa. Everyone of us heard stories about this exotic unknown continent. We have a picture in our mind about what it looks like, how it smells, its misery and its people. Some of us might also have heard about the ‘African Fever’ that is not a deadly disease but rather to be understood as a concept. The concept of longing for those people, smells and likes. Touching ground in Africa you get quickly thought one rule: There is no such thing like Africa. Ryszard Kapuscinski found the perfect way to deconstruct the term Africa:
»The continent is too large to describe. It is a veritable ocean, a separate planet, a varied, immensely rich cosmos. Only with the greatest simplification, for the sake of convenience, can we say ‘Africa’. In reality, except as a geographical appellation, Africa does not exist.«
And that’s what we found.
Driving through the Rif Mountains we were blown away by its majestic peaks, rolling valleys and unspoiled corners. The experience of a single road trip heavily shook our preconception of Africa. Geographically we might be cruising through a place that’s commonly known as the continent
Africa. But we are rather in Morocco’s Rif Mountains. A particular place that can tell a thousand stories, experienced a thousand histories and offers a thousand wonders. A place that is more than just a geographical term to be pinpointed on a map.
In front of us lies the busy commercial port of Tanger. In the far back: The last glimpse of Europe for the next three months.
Mist creeping up the Mediterranean Sea. Felix hits the record button the first time.
Late in the afternoon we reach Chefchaouen, the Blue City.
The Spice King of Chaouen