A fist full of Euros

12^th May 2011

Spent a pleasant day yesterday with the windows wound up and the doors locked. Bandit country in the eastern Riff Mountains is a 100Km stretch of the most appalling potholes and ‘rue deformer’ of anywhere in Morocco, lined with flash harry spiv types from the ages of 8 to 80 proffering bags of hashish. It became so ridiculous that every time we stopped at least 2 cars would screech to a halt and a clearly intoxicated Moroccan would instantly invite one to their farm…. which we thought very pleasant but politely declined. Wonder turned to surprise as the metaled road ran out at Bab Berreb and we arrived in a cloud-shrouded town full of the villainous looking men. We drove on as Curruthers wanted to visit Ketama, the heart of the Riff, due to some distant romantic seventies myth of it being a rather nice town…. but instead we found it to be a frontier bad land where even the children running from the school yard where waving hashish from their small grubby hands.

As the photos show, marijuana grows right up to the road and is in every field that the eye can see…. this is only one valley in a hundred in the Riff Mountains.

A non-stop 10-hour drive had us arriving at a beautiful lake 1 hour north of Fez just in time for the biggest electrical storm Carruthers and I have ever witnessed. We hunkered down in the Rolls drinking Rosé as ice cube size hailstones hammered down from the sky…. how convenient for the G&Ts! Carruthers was severely pelted as he protected the windscreen from any unsightly cracks.  We spent the following 2hours witnessing an all-encompassing 360 degree lightning extravaganza fill the sky. How perfect!

all the green you see in the distance is hashish......

Beni-Mellal

8^th May 2011

Work over, we have just ended a splendid week of camping, boating and cave exploration with Carruthers’ first born; Errol, aged 5. During which Carruthers, missing the hounds at the Hall, rescued a small but eminently faithful hound with potential… and many ticks. He has been named Beni Mellal after the nearby town where he was imprisoned. Rather fortunate for him, as since then we have passed by a town called Tit-Mellal. So far he appears grateful for deliverance and is guarding everything we own with great gusto.

Currently, we are fulfilling Carruthers’ desire for flesh of the swine, and are making a journey north to Tangier where we will briefly enship to Spain (sans Rolls & Beni… in essence a pork cruise). This excursion will also circumnavigate the minefield of Moroccan bureaucracy concerning visa extensions, and allow us longer time to enjoy this beautiful land.

While in the north of the country we will take in the sights of Chefchaouen, the famous blue town situated at the foothills of the Riff Mountains. It will be doubtful if Carruthers remembers much about this trip after he forays further into the Riff. Must sign off now, Carruthers’ is calling for his chota peg (G&T I believe).

Chefchouen - the famous blue town of the North