Chefchaouen (land of plentiful kif)

In need of a weekend away to a chiller, less pushy town, we headed for picturesque Chefchaoen, where the locals smoke and peddle kif (hash) as though it were totally (not quite, though the police are said to look the other way in this region) legal. Of no matter, in any case, as I still won't smoke... My first bus ride in the country, it wasn't all that bad. The town, though hillier than Fes and therefore a bit tiring, was beautiful thanks to the sky blue whitewash they apply to their houses and pathways.

The people were indeed less pushy--indeed, hours after Lora took a photo of a group of kids, the shy one of the bunch caught up with us as we fixed on some pastries being sold by a man on the street. We didn't recognize her at the time, but she did something that neither one of us will soon forget: she started explaining to the man which pastry she wanted, saying in Arabic "not that one, that one." The man, wearing glasses a centimeter thick that made his eyes appear larger than they were, was having understandable difficulty finding the pastry she requested. Nonetheless, he finally got it for her, but instead of trotting off with it, she placed it in Lora's hands, as a gift. This adorable little girl, living in a land of kids who will beg for a dirham at the drop of a hat (and offer to help you find your hotel 50m away for much more), bought this pastry as a gift to these rich strange westerners.

I spent two hours with a Berber guy trying to sell me rugs and blankets and the like. I kept adding items to the pile, hoping to dupe him into giving me a better deal. Instead the price kept going up, and I started to go numb, not thinking anymore, but rather just bargaining for the sake of bargaining. In the end, the four pieces I purchased amounted to about $75, a good deal by western standards. Lesson learned: a good deal, though it may seem like one at the time, is likely too good to be true. What was camel turned out to be cotton, what was cotton turned out to be acrylic. Like I said, I just was not thinking anymore--in retrospect, of course that sweater is cotton--camel wool would be much scratchier (so really, it was for my own good). Though I could have bought the items for $40 at the over- and fixed-price place down the road, I feel confident that I've paid my 'white man's tax' for the duration of my trip.