Chefchaouen Picture Post, part one

I took approximately 1239489357874539 photos during my weekend in Chefchaouen (Shef-Show as in rhyming with cow-en), which is a picturesque little town in the Rif Mountains. It's on the verge of beginning to become touristy, so I feel privileged to have seen in its natural glory. And you know, make the touristy problem worst by being a tourist there. If you can't be part of the solution, enjoy being part of the problem.

We spent part of the day in the Spanish enclave of Ceuta (pictures forthcoming) so we were all tired by the time we got to our hotel. My photos start the next day during our tour of the medina.

It was a foggy, drizzly sort of morning, just this side of cool, which is my absolute favorite type of weather. It really added to the ambiance. Chefchaouen feels as remote as it is when you're watching the mist roll off the mountain tops.

The entire medina is blue and white like this and so is most of the rest of the town.  The law actually requires it to be this way in order to preserve Chefchaouen’s historical integrity. They’re also banning, or at least making it difficult, for foreigners to buy property in here so that Chaouen stays Moroccan.

Moroccan children are approximately 68.2% cuter than your average child. They are hiding because the know that I want to take them home with me. I swear this country’s going to turn me into a kidnapper.

Souks, houses and slantyness. It’s not a great photo, sorry.

The Group from behind.

A souk selling leather goods. Those pointy-toed mules you see are called beboushes (Latin alphabet spelling by Claire) and like djellabas, they’re unique to Morocco and they’re everywhere. I hear they’re quite comfortable too, but I’m too clumsy to walk in shoes that could fall off of my feet. Or even regular shoes, honestly.

I got a good ninja shot of a small weaver’s shop. Chefchaouen is known for its textiles, wool in particular. The looms in this photo are used for weaving rugs, futon covers and those hoodie things you see on the right that were popular in the US’s hippie demographic a few years back. I love watching Moroccan craftspeople work; it really reinforces the artistry of what they’re doing and assures us tourists that our prized souvenirs didn’t come from a factory in China. I wish I’d gotten a photo of the woodworkers.

A baker. Morocco, like most places, takes its starch very seriously. Nearly all of the bread I’ve seen here is of the traditional round variety, although there are French baguettes here and there. It’s difficult to find bagged, sliced and preservative-laden bread like what we have at home, and after eating fresh out of this guy’s oven, I can see why it wouldn’t appeal.

A peak at the countryside, and another Moroccan kid on his way to school.

This is a plaza. We had a fantastic view of the town, the river and the mountains from here, which you’ll see in my next post. The guy in the hat was our guide. He had to be over sixty, but he was in great shape and walked faster than some people run. Lucky for us, he seemed to be friends with every single person in Chaouen, so we had time to catch up while he was saying hello and introducing us.