Extreme Hospitality

For the break our family and a friend, Rebecca, drove through the wild, winding and rugged Rif mountains (I still call them "hills" having grown up in the Himalayas) on our way to Al Hoceima in the north of Morocco. On the way, I was delighted to catch a glimpse of the first snowcaps I've seen in a long, long time. Gerald kept teasing me saying they were clouds in the shape of mountains, but I know a mountain when I see one! Al Hoceima was the sight of a horrible earthquake several years ago which killed over 500 people in the surrounding areas.

When we arrived, one of Gerald's former students - Achraf - showed us around his beautiful city all the while complaining that we were not staying long enough. Dramatic cliffs and mountains plunge right into the Mediterranean Sea creating a series of secretive coves, beaches and caves along the coast. The city itself clings onto the edge of steep hills so that getting around it reminded me of driving in San Francisco.

Achraf is very proud of his Rifi Berber heritage. There are three main groups of Berbers in Morocco, and the Rifis are known as being the wildest and the most able to withstand the series of conquering armies that have swept through the area in the past. Much of this is because of their remote and inaccessible location. You will notice, too, that the Rifis have a fairer complexion - and it is not uncommon to see blue eyes or even red hair as a result of intermarriage with the Spanish. Al Hoceima and the entire north had previously been quite neglected for various reasons - mostly due to their history of resistance and rebels. But when Mohammad VI came into power, one of the first visits he made was to Al Hoceima. "Never in our wildest dreams could we have imagined the king coming here!" Achraf exclaimed. He had no limit to the praise he gave the king and the money the palace has sent their way to develop the city since then. Notice King Mohammad VI's picture at the top left of the picture below.

After showing us around, Achraf took us to a little cafe overlooking the beautiful bay. As if that was not enough, he insisted we come to his grandfather's place (palace) for supper. The room was sumptuously decorated with not one minuscule spot left unadorned. This was the family entertainment center and we felt like kings just being there. They apologised profusely for the "simple meal" of delicious kebab and lamb, prune, and lemon tajine. We had made arrangements for night, but that was not to be . . .

"What? I have already called and it's all set up for you to stay at my grandfather's farm!" (Gerald protests.) "You have to stay there!" (Gerald protests.) "Are you saying you don't want to be our guests???" (Gerald gives in.)

And so off we went to the family "farm" which consisted mostly of oranges, olives and pumpkins on the same land as the family brick factory. The house itself was a typical Moroccan upper class home - though it is their second home where they spend holidays and weekends with extended family. Beautiful, decorated and complete with sheets on the beds, it felt like a 5-star hotel. Except there was no heat and no hot water because they didn't know we would stay for night. Minor details. Nothing like lots of blankets and washing your hair in glacier-like water (to get the effect, beat your head with a hammer - ah, the price of beauty). The girls got THEIR OWN ROOM which was, without a doubt, a highlight in their lives. They were thrilled - especially since it had a "princess" bed! Life could not be better!!!

In the morning we were walking around enjoying the beauty of the day when Achraf pulled up. After whipping out a picnic basket from his trunk, he laid out a red-and-white checkered tablecloth on a table outside overlooking the sea. Out of the basket he pulled bread, milwi (a kind of bread), Kharsha (corn bread), coffee, hot milk, pure honey, French bread with chocolate inside, cheese and jam. The guard came walking up the path with some steaming Moroccan mint tea. Could it get any better???

Later we had a tour of the brick factory and then saw some more of the coastline. Below is a picture of a Spanish island just off the coast. It hosts a police station and a prison and has no contact with Morocco. Supplies are helicoptered in from Spain.

Before we were ready to leave, Achraf said we couldn't possibly go. "You have to stay for lunch!" (Gerald protests.) "You haven't even stayed 24 hours!" (Gerald protests and explains we have to meet my brother and family in the next city.) "Well tell them to all come here! " (Gerald protests) "My mother has already made lunch!" (Gerald has an emergency meeting with me.) I tell him that his mother could not have possibly started lunch already - it's only 11:00 and Moroccans usually eat between 1:00 and 3:00. I assure Gerald that Achraf is simply being the perfect host but that we have to go. With great delicacy, we explained this to our host. Achraf called his mother. "OK - she said you can go. But you have to come back and stay at least three days!" (Gerald agrees - mostly.)

With a great many thanks and still in amazement of this family's kindness, we say goodbye and head out on our way. Ah - Moroccan hospitality at it's best!