The Sun Also Rises in Spain: Morocco, my "lala"

Despite their proximity, Spain and Morocco are completely and one hundred percent different. Going to Morocco produced the same feelings in me that I had the first time I went to Madrid. Total shock and awe. Unbelief. It was is if everything smelt better, tasted better, and was far more beautiful. In situations like these, every tiny thing in sight becomes a candidate for the perfect photo. Which is why after only 2 nights, my memory card was fully loaded with 300 pictures. Más o menos.
We arrived in northern Morocco pretty late on Friday night and didn't sit down for dinner until 12am. Yikes! But the food was amazing and essentially the same couscous dish I had when I was Tarifa with my parents. This time it was served in a giant tagine!

After leaving our hotel in M'diq early to face a cloudy morning, we headed to Tetouan:

Weaver...is that a word? Guy who weaves? Weaverman?

Love me some root vegetables.

Moroccans make amazing textiles

Thinking about starting a bread-wagon business on the DU campus...thoughts?

Met a new Moroccan friend

After a tour around the city, our Moroccan guide took us to a spice and oil shop. We had no idea this was on the agenda so it came as quite a lovely surprise. Being a weirdo nerdy cook, I was lovin' every minute of it. We also got to smell some very potent ointments and natural medicines, one of which you cover in a cloth, close one nostril, and snort the extremely strong odor. Definitely helped clear up my sinuses...

Another surprised followed our trip to the spice room! We were led to some sort of Moroccan rug merchant with a Monopoly Man mustache, who, with the help of us speedy little rug roller man, talked to us about all the different kinds of rugs Morocco had to offer.

Lunch with an array of entertainers:

Stopped to snap some shots of a lovely view:

Went to a cave:

We ended the evening with a trip to the beach in Tangiers for some camel riding...wait...what?

Story time! So we're on our giant coach bus driving from town to town when one of our guides starts telling us that sometimes guys will chase after the buses, thinking they can hitch free rides into Spain. Interesting. Luckily I had chosen the most action-packed seat at the very back of the bus. So my friend and I turn around to find a 20-something Moroccan man hanging on to the back of the bus like it's the normal thing to do. Our guide races back with a look of concern, closes the curtains, and warns us not to look because we won't to see what happens if he fails to hang on. Shoot. This mass chaos continues as more and more guys, some of which were no more than 12 years old, start chasing after our bus and the bus behind us, leaping onto the sides and even sliding underneath. At certain stops, the Moroccan police would come up behind the buses and shoo away the uninvited hitch hikers but the second they bus started back up, they would jump right back on! Eventually they all gave up, except for one guy who made it all the way up to the mountain. He was, of course, disappointed to find out that no, he was not in Spain, and took a taxi home. Better luck next time.

After a night of mosquito-bitten sleep, we woke up early and drove to ChefChaouen, an incredibly peaceful town nestled in the mountains. It was hands down my favorite place we visited.
On the way to ChefChaouen: