Three months around Europe

Border to Al Hoceima

As nothing was open at the border and I really did not want to hang around, I headed for Chefchaouen, about 100km in the Rif Mountains.

The single lane road was busy with smoky buses and trucks, potholed, being repaired and waiting for repair. As I climbed, the temperature dropped and the wind rose , but after about 90 minutes I had my first glance of the town.

Chefchaouen is the tourist face of the area that supplies around 40% of the world's hashish. Its blue washed houses cling to the Rif mountains and its walled medina is small but perfectly formed. Easy to get lost and easy to find your way out .

I found a hotel by the West gate and was unloading my bike when I was approached by two men – one older and smiling, one younger and scowling.

The older man begin the ritual to establish my language. I continued to unload muttering New Zealand hoping to confuse them

“ You are going to park here,” said the younger man with a touch of growl in his voice.

“ Yes while I unload.”

“ If you stay here you must pay the guardians. We are the guardians. Everyone who stays here must pay the guardians.”

I have been in Morocco about three hours and was having my second shakedown.

“OK no problem, just let me unload.”

I walked into the hotel and asked the lad on reception who spoke passable English “ What is it with these guardians”


He said nothing just looked at the floor, and I turned around to see the young guardian just behind me.

OK, pay the guardian.

“ Hello my name is Peter, “ I said to the guardian. “ What is the cost of your services for two nights and what do I get for the money.?”

“ You get the guardians looking after your bike. It will cost you 50 dirhams”

I hate paying bribes and protection, but as this was the only parking space I paid up.

I spent two nights in Chefchaouen. It rained continuously but I sampled the cuisine, walked the walls, drank mint tea At one of the cafes I met an Australian couple who had bought a home in the medina and spent three months a year there.

They had seen me on my bike and asked about my itinerary. I said my next port of call was Al Hoceima. They looked at each other in horror.

“ You are traveling alone aren't you? “ asked David. “ Well whatever you do don't stop on the road unless you have too. It's , without exaggeration, beyond the law in some of those towns. But on the plus side it is a pretty ride if there is no fog or low cloud.”

I loaded the bike in a light drizzle and another guardian asked me for a further night's guardianship. I had planned to leave after getting some breakfast but as I was reluctant to make a further contribution I left straight away. The decision not to have something to eat especially after only having a light meal the night before would impact on me later that day.

After about 30 minutes of climbing, the weather got worse. The rain and wind increased and the temperature dropped to around 3C. I have never been so cold, even skiing in minus 17C. There was low cloud and I could hardly see. I needed to put more layers on and just as I decided to stop a green Mercedes with tinted windows drew alongside and waved me down.

Heeding David's warning, I upped my speed and looked behind me to see him following. He came right up behind me and honked his horn and flashed his lights. I dare not go any faster, I could hardly see and I had lost all feeling in my hands.

He chased me hooting and yelling out of the window for about 10 km, then as we got near the town of Bab Berret he stopped.

By this time I was frozen. I had to stop and warm up. Even with my heated grips up full I had no feeling in my hands and I was beginning to yawn and feel sleepy, the first signs of hypothermia. I pulled over, got the side stand down and dragged myself of the bike. I was literally shaking all over.

Just then a man came over and asked in English : “ Are you OK.”

“ Yes I am very cold and I need to put more layers on and get something to eat. “ He grabbed me and my tankbag and we walked into a large , smoke filled room full to the gunwales with locals. It was not noisy, only just a slight hum , and even the TV showing Italian soccer was turned right down.

My new friend got me a coffee and took off his lovely sheepskin coat and put it around me. I was shaking so much that I could not lift the coffee and when I cupped my hands around it , I spilled it over them and did not feel it.
After about 10 minutes , I began to feel human again. A coffee, mint tea and a sticky bun had revived me. The combination of cold and lack of food in the last 24 hours had played havoc with my system.

Hassan introduced me to his two friends Ahmed and Hussein. They asked me what I was doing and as the conversation went backwards and forwards, I learned that my saviors were drug dealers selling hashish to Holland and Sweden.

“But the market is not so good now. We have to get some new areas – but it is so competitive. “ His conversation reminded me of that of a marketing manager – new markets, diversification, threats, opportunities.

“ Well what about selling another agricultural product. “ I asked

“In the past 10 years we have had EU advisers here and they told us to grow avocados. They also told that to every village in the valley. It takes five or six years to get the first avocado crop. How do we feed our families during that time? The crop will all ripen together with a short selling time. The only outcome is cheap avocados for the EU, “ said Hassan.

“ We have been growing and manufacturing hashish for generations. We will continue to do so.”

I look around the room. Even though the customers, many of them glassy eyed and smiling at nothing in particular, were dressed in traditional garb, you could see the expensive Swiss watches, designer eyewear and the sheepskin coat that Hassan had draped over me earlier was made in France. Outside were serious four wheel drives. Avocados would never provide that.

The smoke in the room was beginning to get to me. I felt elated and I guess I was getting a high through the second hand smoke. I remember President Bill Clinton when asked if he had smoked marijuana replied: “ I smoked ,but did not inhale.”

Well Mr Clinton, I can truly say I inhaled but did not smoke.

Hassan invited me home, but the rain had stopped, and I had layered up and felt ready to ride again. So I left my new friends , but not before Hassan gave me his phone number, in case I needed help.

I hopped back on and began the descent to the Med. But nature had one more surprise for me. It started to snow. I rode carefully and even stopped to take a picture of the bike against a snow bank. After about 30km , the sun burst out, the road improved and the temperature rose.
David was right, it was a nice ride. In the sun!

I made it to the coastal resort of Al Hocieme just before dark, found a hotel, had a hot , hot shower and had a great stodgy meat meal. I crawled into bed and felt really warm for the first time in what felt like days.

I reflected on my luck meeting Hassan. Here was man whose trade and occupation we can only revile but who showed compassion and aid to traveller in distress.

What judgement do you make?