Out of Africa.

Tanger looked much more attractive from the deck of the ferry to Spain. The dismal overcast had parted, and the sun sparkled gaily on the white buildings.

From the ferry, you can get a good idea how close Africa and Europe are to each other. Spain is on the left.

Jesus welcomes us to the harbor in Tarifa.

Our hotel had a lovely patio.

The weather was brisk and windy. Great for kites, not so great for swimming.

There were a lot of kites.

The old customs house and fortifications.

The Island of Doves marks the transition from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean.

All the fun spots were closed for the season.

It was a profound relief to get back to pork and alcohol. 

There are even bars for children, apparently.

P.

Among the Tangerines.

Thus far Morocco had greatly exceeded our expectations. We loved the people, the food, and the varied beauty of the country. So we were excited to visit the famous port city of Tanger. Alas, it failed to live up to the hype. It was gray and grimy and not at all appealing. Still, we did find things to like.

O came with me to the Casbah.

Our hotel was quite nice, with a good view of the harbor. Too cold to swim in the pool, though.

The outdoor markets were significantly less vibrant than those in other cities.

There was, however quite a lot of interesting street art.

And beautiful old doors.

The old fortress still sports the original cannons.

We ate a good lunch at Café Hafa. Open since 1921, the café  was a favorite haunt of the Beatles and the Stones in the 60s. 

The café's many terraces offer sweeping views of the Bay of Tanger and the Straits of Gibraltar. We could just make out the Spanish coast in the distance. 

The weather cleared just enough to allow for a gorgeous sunset, our last in Africa. We were sorry to leave Morocco, but looking forward to our return to Spain.

P.

Deep blues in Chefchaouen.

Blue is everything and everywhere in Chefchaouen.

What's behind those blue doors?

In the case of our riad, a lovely little boutique hotel. A riad is a traditional Moroccan home that has been converted into a hotel. And the Lina is a beautiful example.

With spa.

And interior court.

And a comfortable rooftop deck.

With panoramic views of the town.

We wandered the vertiginous streets and alleys for hours.

Discovering funky little plazas.

Fountains still used by the locals as a source of water.

Cats pretending to be goats.

There are other colors available.

Moroccan graffiti.

The main square is a casual place to relax with a glass of tea.

And every table comes with its own cat.

Just on the outskirts of town, the Ras el’Ma river runs down from the Rif mountains in a series of pretty cascades. This is a popular picnic spot for locals and tourists alike, with shaded tables and quite a few food and juice vendors.

There are several theories about how Chefchaouen got the blues, but no one really knows for sure. But however it happened, the little town is quite a magical place.

P.

Stuck inside of Volubilis with the Chefchaouen blues again.

We left Fez on a beautiful morning.

We had hired a taxi to take us on the three-and-a-half hour journey to the blue city of Chefchaouen. It was almost as cheap as taking the train and much more convenient. Our driver spoke pretty good English and gave us a running commentary as we motored through the green rolling hills of northern Morocco.

We sped past beautiful little hill towns.

And made a long stop at the ruins of the old Roman city of Volubilis.

Volubilis was a major trading hub for the Romans, providing a conduit for products from the far interior of Africa: wild animals for the games, foodstuffs, and exotic woods and spices. The site is physically beautiful and fairly well preserved.

You can still see how the city was laid out, with an administrative center, temples, and residential areas.

In some of the houses, the mosaic floors are still intact.

Many of the mosaics feature marine animals, even though the city is quite far from the coast.

Apparently they weren't quite clear on how to ride a horse.

And that must have played a lot of baseball.

The grist mill has been partially restored.

Locals have pillaged the site for building materials, but not as much as they would have if the city was closer to modern settlements. And that distance from the modern world also keeps it from being overrun by tourists.

We'd heard a lot about the blue city of Chefchaouen and were looking forward to visiting. On first glance, not so blue.

But after our taxi dropped us off at the main square and we rolled our luggage up the steep, narrow streets toward our riad, the blue grew.

P.