My chosen summer destination in 2006 was the Rif, an area of Morocco steeped in history and a site in modern times of transit and migration between Africa and Europe. The Rif stretches from the intense, profligate Tangier – home to the Beat writers in the 1950s – by the Strait of Gibraltar and the Spanish enclave of Ceuta in the far north of the country, through the Mediterranean towns of Tetouan and Al Hoceima, all the way to Nador and the calm beach resort of Saïdia – the last town in Morocco before you reach the heavily guarded Algerian border. Further inland, you’ll find mountain lakes, forests, tight hairpin turns and endless fields of Moroccan hashish – kif.
My own journey to this region, dominated by the mountains of the same name, involved arriving by ferry from Málaga early one evening in May. My point of arrival was a Spanish-owned enclave in Morocco – Melilla. It is an intense yet safe way of beginning a trip to North Africa – a site of languages, cultures and religions living side-by-side. I was never quite sure whether I was in Europe, Africa or the Middle East. Perhaps it’s all of these in one.
Although Melilla is a claustrophobic place to visit, surrounded as it is by the sea on one side and high border fences on the other, there is enough there to merit at least a day of your attention. A walk along the ancient walls of the medina at midnight was a unique and eery experience – as was the sight of a statue of General Francisco Franco hidden behind a builder’s storage unit near the port!
As there is no rail service to speak of in the Rif, travel between towns is necessarily by road – this can be done either by bus or shared taxi. I took a taxi, a five-seater Mercedes holding a driver and six squashed passengers, on my way to the Cap des Trois Fourches and the most beautiful lighthouse and secluded beach I have ever seen. Translated as the Cape of Three Forks, the name perfectly describes the shape of the coastline on this secluded peninsula, north of Melilla. Here, I learnt quickly the warmth and generosity of Moroccan people, on meeting both a soldier who was guarding the lighthouse and a local teenager offering an insight into the life and geography of the area. My extremely useful Rough Guide to Morocco and CR Pennell’s compact history of the country, Morocco: From Empire to Independence, were my other aids in this area, while I should have taken Carima’s Rif Occidental map too.
After a short, mapless, trek along the coast, taking in gorgeous vistas and being greeted by Berber families working their land, I arrived at Tibouda, a tiny, desolate fishing village of several small houses and many more boats. Moroccan hospitality was once again on the plate. After a polite request to pitch my tent in the village, I was served an afternoon Moroccan mint tea by a soldier who later that night gave me an impromptu lesson in the Arabic of astronomy as I gazed up at the clarity of the stars and the moon.
An early rise the next morning allowed me to see the fishing community in full action, with men leaving and others returning with their catch. But a rule I like to follow on my travels is to leave a place just when I feel comfortable, so I took another taxi to the relative hustle and bustle of Nador, before planning where I would next pitch my tent along the coast. The next few days took in Kariet Arkmane, Ras El Ma and Saïdia, all places where I could swim in the sea and sample mint tea, coucous and fresh Moroccan fish. At Saïdia, the long stretches of clean sand were punctuated by the Moroccan-Algerian border. When a soldier’s gun was raised as I brazenly brushed my feet through the first grains of Algerian sand, I realised my journey along the coast had come to an end.
With my coastal trip at a close, I decided it would be good to end my Moroccan adventure with a journey inland to Taforalt, a mountain village found in the Beni Snassen mountain range. Here I was warmly welcomed by a local farmer who gave me a tour of his fields, beehives and the beautifully decorated lounge and courtyard of his home. I also had the opportunity to meet his 80-year-old father who had been born here, attended the local school and fought against the French colonial army to defend his own fields.
The Rif, then, may be Morocco’s poorest and most underdeveloped region, but it offers the richest of experiences.
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Author: Tim Cleary