Mid-morning in the Talassemtane National Park and the first fires are being lit in the simple wooden huts that serve as cafés along the wooded hiking trail. We take steaming cups of mint tea — me, my sister Caroline and our guide, Abdeslam — and cross a rickety bridge to sit beside a waterfall that tumbles and rushes its way past the cluster of tables. Troupes of children amble by, as well as couples in fleeces and stout walking boots. It all feels very hearty and outdoorsy, and not really what I have come to expect from Morocco at all.
But since the Talassemtane sits squarely in northern Morocco’s Rif Mountains, perhaps this isn’t surprising. The parched desert landscapes and scorching sun that define Marrakesh, the dramatic white-tipped wave of the Atlas Mountains, the fusion of French and Arabic culture — all of these things are missing in this less- visited region. Instead, the windblown city of Tangier acts as a gateway to a different version of a familiar country, more Spanish, with agricultural landscapes and swathes of vineyards that bespeak considerably more rain than the occasional days that refresh Fez and Marrakesh.
This area of Morocco has long been favoured by the French for its mix of unspoilt sandy beaches and the dramatic Rif, along with Spanish visitors, for whom it is a 35-minute hop across the water. Now, British operators are starting to discover it too; something for Moroccophiles, like Caroline and I, who know the big tourist draws and are looking for something new.
Our tour begins in Tangier, where “new” is the word of the moment. Once a thriving commercial hub — from 1924 to 1956 an “international zone” jointly administered by France, Spain and Britain — its infamously louche glamour gradually faded, until the city became a byword for urban disintegration and corruption. King Mohammed VI is looking to reverse the trend with a gleaming new marina and corniche, a high-speed train link to Marrakesh, and new roads and green spaces that aim to make the city a tourist draw again.
For now, however, it is still not quite a city to love. Our drive from the airport seems to meander through endless suburbs before arriving at the pretty 14th-century kasbah perched above the medina. We arrive just in time for sunset on the roof terrace of our elegant riad, the Nord- Pinus, and while the sun drops behind the jumbled city, we look north, across the water, to where Europe lies, a little more than 20 miles away.
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It’s this proximity that makes such a difference in northern Morocco. Walking through Tangier the next morning, parts of the city feel almost European: wide boulevards flanked with palms, the streets a jumble of Spanish, Moorish and colonial architecture. Later we drive out to Cap Spartel, the northwestern point of mainland Africa, where the roar of the Atlantic meets the quieter waters of the Mediterranean. We stand on the ramparts of the lighthouse as the wind hurtles in all directions and the sea rolls and lurches. It feels dramatic, and vaguely awe-inspiring, as if we are looking at a vast, invisible seam.
Wind is a theme in Tangier. Our guide tells us four winds meet in the city, and they all seem to be blowing when we set off inland towards Chefchaouen, our second base. The route across the agricultural plains becomes increasingly white-knuckle as hefty gusts buffet the car, but slowly things ease as the mountains rise up around us, giving shelter from the gales.
The mountain town, about two hours away, is the highlight of the region. Founded in the 15th century as a fortress against Portuguese invasions, it became a Jewish stronghold during the Reconquista and was part of Spanish Morocco from 1920. The town’s polyglot history remains, with Spanish residents alongside Moroccans, and a strong sense of Riffian culture, with many older women wearing traditional mountain dress. It’s also central, in terms of location at least, to the Rif’s kif (hashish) production, which covers many of the slopes around the town.
Yet Chefchaouen has its sights on more than hippies and backpackers in search of a good smoke. Twenty years ago the villagers painted the houses and streets in the old town a vibrant shade of cobalt blue, which makes it one of the most instagrammable places in the world. Rumours abound on where the idea came from; that it was started by the Jewish settlers in the 1930s to make the town reflect heaven, that it was done to ward off mosquitoes, but Abdeslam tells us that it was a commercial decision by the townspeople to create something unique.
Whatever the reason, the result is spectacular. The winding alleyways of the old town shimmer ice-blue in the sunlight, the quiet streets dotted with galleries and restaurants that give it the feel of an Arabic St-Paul-de-Vence. There’s something magical about the place, for now at least. The shops sell the same leatherware, jewellery and ceramics that you can find in Fez or Marrakesh, but the atmosphere is far less frenetic. We spend an afternoon pottering around and bartering with shopkeepers in a jumbled mix of English and Spanish; French is very much a third language in this part of the world.
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Unlike in Tangier, where it was suggested that wandering around after dark might not be the most sensible plan, Chefchaouen is no less safe in the evening than by day. However, it’s also dry, apart from the one government-owned hotel. Naturally, we venture there first to drink cold Casablanca beers while the sun drifts below the opposite hills, and sheep bleat and stumble around in the lengthening shadows. The beauty is gentle, pastoral, entirely at odds with the Morocco I know.
Fuelled by our Casablancas, we head off in search of something to eat. The main square comes alive at night, with buskers playing beside the fairy light illuminated mosque, the clutch of restaurants full with Moroccan families and backpackers. We decide to try something more off the beaten track and stumble across Sofia’s, a small, strip-lit kitchen opening on to a handful of tables. It turns out to be the perfect choice: Sofia’s husband running the orders, the woman herself behind the stove and their small daughter whirling between tables with drinks. We eat crispy filo rolls filled with spicy shredded chicken, smoky aubergines and sizzling merguez, accompanied by piles of salad and homemade bread. The entire feast costs us the equivalent of £9.
The next day we set off with Abdeslam to explore the mountains that surround Chefchaouen. This is serious walking country, with huge peaks that snag great rolls of cloud and keep them hanging, like a broiling, smoky tsunami. The Talassemtane has two day hikes — one to the Akchour waterfalls, the other a stiff climb to “God’s Bridge” that involves a fair amount of river walking. We opt for the waterfall walk, stopping at the lower falls, before the terrain gets more tricky. The trail is well kept and easy to follow, punctuated with regular café huts; it turns out that the rather unprepossessing café back at the car park does a superb line in kefta (spicy lamb meatballs) and salad.
We’re sorry to leave Chefchaouen and the Rif, particularly when the weather changes dramatically as we recross the plains towards Tétouan.
We’d planned to stop off and explore the Unesco-protected medina and the wide boulevards lined with classic Spanish façades, but as we pull into town the rain is sheeting down. Abdeslam takes us on a whirlwind tour of the Place Hassan II, with its light towers designed by a student of Gaudí, and the elegant streets that surround it, before ducking through a white archway into the medina itself.
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Weaving through shoppers and stallholders, the tangle of alleyways feels hugely atmospheric, if a little damp. It may be one of the Morocco’s smallest medinas, but it’s also one of the most authentic, with little changed since the 17th century.
It feels as though we are the only tourists in the whole place, and it’s rather wonderful to be in a souk without fellow Brits haggling over babouche and peering at maps.
But in the end, the weather beats us. We retreat to a café, where the counter gleams with sticky triangles and parcels filled with almond paste and nuts. Moroccans rival Turks for their love of sweet things, and we sip hot chocolate and eat shebakkia — fried pastry dipped in honey and sesame seeds — and stare gloomily at the grey skies.
It’s ironic that our last day and night are supposed to be exploring the beaches that this part of the coast offers. Tamouda Bay is a big destination for the French, with many familiar hotel brands acquiring stretches of sand. The newest is Banyan Tree, a palatial, Asian-style resort that sprawls across a vast expanse of beachfront. It’s a serious change of gear after the authenticity of Tétouan and Chefchaouen, and as the wind howls around our suite we resign ourselves to a long lunch and a trip to the spa.
The hotel, not surprisingly, is pretty much empty. Determinedly British, we take a pre-spa stroll along the beach and fantasise about what it would be like to lie by the seafront pool, potter across the grasses in flip-flops and sip cold beers as the sun drifted below the horizon. As beaches go, it’s nice enough, although it needs a thorough clean and the housing estate across from the hotel isn’t a pleasing sight.
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Over a slightly surreal final dinner of upscale Thai food we get chatting to one of the waiters, who comes from Chefchaouen. He tells of his plans to gain experience at the Banyan Tree before returning home to start his own business. When we tell him how much we loved his town he goes slightly misty-eyed, clearly a little homesick. I tell him that I know how he feels. The French can keep the beaches, I’ll take the cobalt hues and unspoilt charms of Chefchaouen any day.
Annabelle Thorpe’s second novel, The City of Untold Stories, is set in Morocco and will be published in April
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Annabelle Thorpe was a guest of Original Travel (020 7978 7333, originaltravel.co.uk). A tailor-made tour costs from £1,740pp B&B, including flights from Gatwick and private transfers. The itinerary includes two nights each at Nord-Pinus in Tangier, Dar Echechaouen in Chefchaouen and Banyan Tree Tamouda Bay, one night at Blanco Riad in Tétouan and private transfers and guiding in Tangier, Tétouan, Chefchaouen and Talassemtane National Park