Day 7 - We kicked off the day with a rooftop breakfast, gazing out over the Tangier medina and a lot that lays beyond. Jay and I had booked a private taxi for 10:30 to haul us two and a half hours up to Chefchaouen. Naturally, this meant we had to conquer some serious elevation. Our original driver was fashionably late; however, he managed to organize one of his guys for the job. The resulting drive up to the Blue City was surprisingly pleasant. We only stopped a handful of times along the route to absorb the sweeping mountain views, eventually rolling into our destination around 1:30 PM.
As luck would have it, our driver is a local. He immediately spotted a friend while navigating the edge of town. Jay settled the bill. Since we are lodged deep in the old Casbah again, pulling the car right up to the hotel entrance was geographically impossible. Thankfully, the driver's fortuitously placed buddy doubled as our personal sherpa to guide us up the relentless hills to Hotel Dar Mounir.
We breezed through check-in at the hotel. Since the peak tourist season packed its bags a couple of months ago, we definitely aren't throwing elbows for a spot in this picture-postcard city. Truthfully, I suspect we might be the sole occupants of the establishment tonight. The main public square did maintain a pleasant hum of activity; it was temporarily flooded by the day-tripper crowd spilling out of tour buses for a few fleeting hours. Consequently, we were entirely spoiled for choice when it came time for a late lunch. We ultimately rolled the dice on Restaurant Twins, and it turned out to be an absolutely stellar selection.
I always find it fascinating how a place like this actually evolved. Chefchaouen was born back in 1471 as a military fortress. A local leader named Moulay Ali ibn Rashid built the original kasbah primarily to keep the Portuguese from aggressively expanding inland from the coast. The town quickly morphed into a rugged mountain refuge for Muslims and Jews who were fleeing the Spanish Reconquista. For centuries, it remained a fiercely isolated stronghold. In fact, the city was essentially closed off to outsiders right up until 1920 when the Spanish established a protectorate. After those doors finally opened, a slow trickle of curious travelers gradually became a massive wave of global tourism by the late twentieth century. The town itself has grown to a modest population of about 46,000 residents today.
As for why Jay and I are currently drowning in a sea of cyan, there is no single agreed-upon answer. The most poetic theory points to the Jewish community who settled here. They supposedly introduced the blue wash to mirror the heavens and maintain a constant connection to the divine. A much more practical local theory claims the bright blue tricks mosquitoes into thinking the walls are actually flowing water, thereby keeping the pests at bay. Others simply argue that light colors reflect the brutal Moroccan summer sun to help keep the mud-brick houses cool.
Whatever the true origin story might be, the modern reality is all about the dirhams. The "Blue Pearl" branding is an absolute magnet for travelers. The locals fully embrace this lucrative identity. They haul out massive bags of raw blue pigment every single spring to refresh the walls and keep the tourist economy thriving.
