The Blue Pearl
Set against a wide valley nestled between two peaks in the breathtaking Rif Mountains, the colorful city of Chefchaouen is a true blend of Moroccan heritage and Andalusian influence. A kaleidoscope of bright colors, the medina is full of blue and whitewashed houses and narrow, cobbled streets offering something new to discover around each corner. Boutique shops are filled with artisanal, handmade crafts that are often displayed in the street, and the smell of Moroccan mint and amber lingers outside the bustling souks.
The city is perched on the side of a mountain overlooking luscious valleys full of tall, green trees. Hundreds of windmills lining large grassy fields can be spotted throughout the Rif Mountains during the peaceful 3-hour bus ride from Tangier. Eventually, we spot the city’s original blue door, which was moved out to the mountains and signals that you’re getting close to the Blue Pearl.
Upon our arrival to Chefchaouen, we’re greeted by Habibi, who has a big smile on his face and is eager to show us around his home. His personality lives up to his name: Habibi means "love" in Arabic.
We weave through the twisting streets and admire the incredibly ornate doors and colorful walls. Habibi tells us about the city’s history, even stopping at a little bakery to buy us a piece of fresh, warm, and crispy bread — possibly the best bread I've ever eaten.
Despite the city’s calming aura, there was plenty of activity from the locals. Cats meandered everywhere, often stopping on the steps of someone’s house for a quick nap. Little boys ran around, kicking soccer balls and throwing rocks to see who could throw the farthest. A street vendor prepared her fresh catch of fish, while a man rested against the wall for a few minutes to enjoy a break from chopping wood.
We wander until we reach the outskirts of the city and then hike up a steep step of stairs built into the side of the mountain. A stunning view point of the city is made even more beautiful by the bright, prickly cacti lining the sandy pathway to the main square.
At the center of the main square lies a little restaurant named Casa Aladin. We climb up to the third floor and step out onto the terrace overlooking the square, which is bustling with vendors and their street carts. The restaurant’s owners greet us and bring over a traditional Morrocan lunch with chicken and curry rice.
After our delicious lunch, we set out to find some souvenirs in the souks and try our hand at haggling. My heart races and I sweat a little as I bargain the cost of my souvenir — a small bronze lamp gilded with teal and red decorative paint — down to 18 euros. I peer into the different shops in the square and spot more souvenirs that more remind me of my time in Morocco. Armed with some confidence after my successful first haggle, I bargain with the locals for a hamsa pendant necklace and navy blue, beaded bracelet for 1 euro each.
It’s now mid-afternoon, and the sun is beating down strongly. We find some steps located in the shade to sit for a few minutes and rest. A woman approaches us and asks if we’d like a henna tattoo. The art of henna was something I had always wanted to experience, and Morocco felt like just the place to get it done. I haggle the price of 2 euros down to 1 euro and extend my left hand towards the woman, eager to watch her craft.
She dips her brush into a bowl of natural, brown henna and swirls it around. Its scent is a calming one of clove or eucalyptus. Her hand is still as she carefully draws an intricate and ornate flower on the outside of my hand. I watch as the flower begins to blossom outwards, extending all the way towards the tips of my fingers.
She explains that henna worn on the hands or feet is said to be protective and bring the wearer spiritual blessings — also known as Baraka — as well as good luck, good health, and wisdom. Rooted in Berber beliefs, henna tattoos are considered a symbol of beauty, art, and happiness. Designs often incorporate several elements such as “evil eyes”, the hamsa, or diamond shapes to guard against ill fortunes and represent a mark of identity in Moroccan culture.
As she finishes the final flourishes of her design, she says that the art of henna is also an important part of a woman’s life cycle in Morocco. Because henna artists are always women, the ancient tradition symbolizes female friendships and solidarity. I hold up my hand against the colorful backdrop of blue buildings to admire the beautiful tattoo, feeling a deep appreciation for the shared experience. Cherishing the moment and smiling, I thank her and hand over an additional euro — the euro I had saved from haggling with her earlier.
The sun begins to set, and we hop back onto the bus for Tangier. Our group was split between 2 buses, and the bus in front of us hit a car parked on the side of the road but stuck out slightly. It turned out to the car of a diplomat, who was currently out and about. The police came quickly and said the diplomat was in the wrong for not parking wonderfully, but that we’d have to wait for him to return to his car before continuing our journey.
An hour passes, and I wake up from dozing off to find out we still haven’t moved. Our bus starts to move, and the driver tells us that the other bus still can’t leave so we would start driving back to Tangier first. My new friends and roommates for the weekend were on the other bus, so I struck up a conversation with someone next to me. We turn around and lean back on the seats in front of us to face his friends in the row behind us and recount how we spent our day in Chefchaouen with each other, showing each other all the souvenirs we had collected.
Upon arriving the hotel, we continued to chat about our time in Morocco and share adventures from our time abroad. My new friends and roommates for the weekend had the keys to our room, so I waited for their return before heading downstairs to the hotel’s buffet dinner. After we met back up for dinner, we all enjoyed a sangria party that our guides threw to celebrate the end of our time together. We danced the night away and ran across the street to the beach underneath the full moon, laughing and screaming as the water crashed against our legs and splashed us.