Not much to say about the last 24h in Tangier. Took a taxi to the airport at noon and for most of the 25 minute ride, the cabbie gave me a briefing on Moroccan politics. He also proudly pointed out that his Mercedes (good German car!) was almost as old as me (built 1984) and had run 1,313,900 km so far. The airport sees about 1-2 flights per hour and is fairly relaxed.

This town is getting up late. 10:00 in the morning and vendors are just starting to set up shop. Where Southeast Asia’s streets have been bustling for hours, activity just starts around here. It is somewhat descriptive of the whole city’s atmosphere. Everything is relaxed and even the touts are fairly non-persistent. Quite a few backpackers at the hostel have extended their stay more than once. The easy access to nature, cheap and good food and an abundance of high quality hashish make for a powerful combination.

Having a 14:00 flight tomorrow, I didn’t wanted to take any risks with a same-day bus connection and instead went for the safer option with one night in Tangier. I wasn’t overly keen to come back, as the laid-back Chefchaouen was much more my cup of tea. The first half of the day went by quickly with some work, lazily dozing on the rooftop terasse and nice conversation over a prolonged lunch.

Went for another hike up the mountains today but after an hour or so my legs made it very clear that yesterday’s adventure had taken a toll and some rest was in order. Plus hardly any shade up there.

I’m starting to warm up to Morocco. During the first couple of days I was still a bit under the weather from the Balkan travels. Adding to that a noisy city and a lot of annoying touts and the result is a rather cranky me. After three nights in the city I jumped onto a bus to Chefchaouen in the Rif mountains. The small town is famous for three things: Hiking, blue houses and hashish.

Time to lace the boots and get some dirt on them. Heading out of the old town I followed the familiar track up the hills, past the Spanish mosque and onwards into steeper terrain. Coming my way were a couple of older women, heading for the market in town to sell their goods. The path winded through the countryside and then opened up to a dirt road. About an hour total into the adventure, the road met a mountainside and the directions I received told me to head up a goat path.

The place I’m staying at is an old, rather tiny building with doors a head shorter than me. It’s narrow stairways and colourful interior seem oddly familiar but I can’t quite put my finger on where I’d have seen something similar before. A rooftop terrace is overlooking the neighbourhood maze and on a clear day one can see the coast of Spain at the horizon. Exploring the Medina (old city) is an interesting experience with lots of things to see.

The big and anonymous city hostel in Girona was a contrast to all the small, family run places I had stayed at on the Balkans. There I was welcomed, showed to my room and later on greeted by name. In Girona I was handed some bedsheets and given directions on where to find my bunk. Wasn’t too hard to leave this morning. From Girona to Barcelona there is an hourly train connection.