Chefchaouen.

The blues and an unwanted admirer.

Beppe was there awaiting me at breakfast as he'd overheard my discussion about when I was leaving the next day. He never shut up! I was trying to enjoy my Moroccan fried donut, a non sweet puff of air that I had with jam that was full of big hunks of apricot and the soft cheese. He was going to Chefchaouen as well! Of course he was. He told me he'd be leaving at 11 so I thought I was safe. My driver/guide had arrived at 9 and Beppe suddenly appeared behind me. The manager said he had a brilliant idea - since we were both going to the same place, Beppe should come with me! I was incensed. My driver didn't look too happy either, he must have seen the look on my face as he said he'd have to ring his boss to see what he would charge him.

This is where I needed to have boundaries but I didn't know what to say. Omar, my driver, left a message for his boss and he took my bag and Beppe followed behind us, trying to keep up with his huge back pack and bag, dressed in camouflage pants, matching jacket and lime green scarf! If I hadn't been so annoyed, I would have been amused. I was close enough to my guide to whisper, I don't want this guy coming. He nodded and said he'd sort it. When we reached his car, his phone rang and he relayed an amount that astounded Beppe, he was incensed now. He said he would pay half of my fee but no more! The driver wouldn't accept. I was saved, almost. Beppe slung his backpack back over his shoulder and said: "I'll see you there, it's a small town. Ciao bella!" I got in beside Omar and breathed a sigh of relief and thanked him. He told me that Beppe wouldn't be there till late as the train took a long time.

It was a 3-4 hour drive through parched landscapes, palm trees and tiny communities clinging to hillsides. We stopped at a local market near the border where gourds hung from a stall, boys on donkeys hanging around waiting for a sale and having fun in between time. Baskets of pale pink pomegranates that we buy and try - so sweet. There's another little nut like brown seed with a thin coating that is good for the stomach. Omar takes a bit of everything for me to try and no one says anything. He buys some strung dried figs for our journey.

Then another market stop. This one blew me away. Women in traditional outfits with fantastic hats selling their produce, strings of dried figs surrounding them like jewellery, the odd chicken awaiting it's fate. Sardines grilling on a bbq, bunches of garlic, parsley, herbs fragrancing the air, their perfume released by the relentless heat. Dirt, dust, kids, melons, old men with canes and glorious moustaches and a parking area for donkeys.

Along the roads we pass men and boys with their donkeys attached to carts - they're on their way to get water as there's no water source here. I've stepped back into the time before tractors, men and donkeys plough the fields as we pass by dry arid zones to the lush greenery of fields of olive, orange and pomegranates. We're heading to the Rif mountains, chatting about my guide's life, his young son, the economy. Fez's economy is artisan based, with olive oil, figs, tourism and phosphates.

We arrive at our destination at two and I'm starving. We find a parking spot on the outskirt of the town and Omar gathers our bags and we drop his off at another hotel on the way and we eat at the hotel's restaurant. Lunch is so cheap! A chicken and olive tajine and mint tea for around $6 Australian. He's got a tiny room here for 7 euros, he earns 200 euro a month which is around $300. As we walk out I look down and in the stone floor is a huge ammonite fossil!

Then I'm dropped off to my accommodation which is 70's retro chic but clean and my room upstairs opens onto a terrace with an incredible view. I'm on my own with a few hours to spare before Beppe turns up. The colour of this city is mind blowing for me. The brightness of the whitewashed walls and the startling colour of the different, deep blues that frame everything.

It is so peaceful regardless of the tourist throngs. I see no one, I am attuned to the beauty of this place. No one knows the exact origins of the blue but there are a few theories, including blue being a mosquito repeller! or that it symbolises the sky and heaven and therefore has a spiritual significance.

The cats lazing, the old doors of such beautiful sun drenched hues studded with bronze nails, sacks of powdered coloured paints, craft and art shops everywhere, rugs and tapestries. People lining up at popular Instagram hotspots. If I want to take photos there, I'm going to have to get up early the next morning.

I meet up with Omar as he takes me on a circular walk around the town and up to where the main source of water comes from. People are dressing up in traditional outfits that are for sale to take photos. I want one of the hats but they're too big to take with me.

We wander through the Jewish quarter, past the fountains where people still access fresh water from, tiled and colourful and the centre of village living. We stop at a vegetarian restaurant and go for mint tea on the rooftop. I look down and see Beppe, wandering with a camera almost as big as him! Omar and I have a laugh and make sure when we leave that we go in a different direction.

We dine at Lala Mermousa that Omar has suggested and I ask him to join me as he knows the value of silence, unlike Beppe. This is a family run, old style restaurant in a cave-like dwelling. I have a chicken and prune tajine with cardoons and preserved lemon and a blackberry juice which is the drink to have here. I'm almost teetotal, for the time being anyway. Omar walks me home and I sit on my balcony, editing photos, the heat of the day softening around me.

The next morning, I get up early but the Instragrammers are there before me! Ah well, I find a person free place, hail a passerby and ask them to take a photo for me and then meet up with Omar again as we're moving on today, stopping at some places on our way back to Fez.

Morocco - Fez.

History up close and personal.

Alone again. The daughter has left on her journeying and I'm off to Fez, the name that conjures up mystique and romance! The plane is almost empty and I arrive at Fez airport which is slightly weird and small. Their are signs everywhere that say you can't take photos and I wonder who would and why you can't. The passport control person isn't as scary as I imagined he would be and he looks at me and says: Vanessa, Vanessa, welcome, welcome to Morocco with a big smile and I relax and feel like it's my late husband telling me I'll be fine.

I've arranged for a driver to pick me up and deliver me to the outside of the medina, a fortified walled city. A porter from the hotel is there to meet me and take me to Riad Rcif as there are 9,000 tiny medieval streets in this city and wifi doesn't work here to guide my way. I follow behind, trying to remember how to get back but I am lost within minutes as we wind in and out and finally come to the ancient door of the Riad.

Walking in, I am transported to another world, I don't know where to look, there is so much beauty, tiles, patterns, colour, plants, carved wood, a gurgling fountain. They sit me down and bring me mint tea and tiny almond cakes and then I'm shown to my room. It's amazing! Brilliantly coloured glass windows, carved wooden doors, an upstairs bathroom that beggars belief. I wander around taking photos and then decide to go out but I'm told at the desk that it's not a wise decision for a woman to go out on a Friday night as there are hustlers around. He suggests I go with a guide tomorrow and organises one for me.

He suggests a relaxing massage with rose oil and I agree and then I dine on the rooftop. I choose a table and then sit back and watch an almost full moon rise over this crazy citadel. A muezzin calls people to prayer, the eerily beautiful sound takes me back centuries. The food is amazing, there are six different 'salad' dishes that aren't our sort of salad (as they say not to eat salad here) but pickled and cooked vegetables and then a Tajine of olives, lemon, onions and chicken which is flavoured with delicate herbs. I order a half bottle of expensive wine which obviously is not consumed by the locals and sit back with the almost full moon in view, feeding the cat that has come for a visit in the hope of sustenance.

Breakfast is served in the internal courtyard. I am surrounded by beauty and a feast is set before me. Interesting rounds of bread, soft cheese, jams and the sweetest orange juice but I am annoyed, as an Italian guy opposite, whom I think for some reason might be the manager,(he's not but he's stayed here before and acts as if this place is his) starts chatting to me - constantly! The tour guide is late so I am stuck hearing about this guys travels. Not one question about me. I'm worried he's going to invite himself along on my tour but thankfully, he's seen it all before - of course he has.

My guide is wiry, robed and hatted, blind in one eye and with very few teeth. I think he must be in his late 70's but he's only 66. I have a job keeping up with him. The streets are a maze.

We visit the coppersmiths, the cedar man who makes beautiful intricate spools of cedar using his feet!, I'm given one to smell it's evocative scent and then told to keep it. I think I'm expected to buy something else but I'm worried that I'm on the move for a while and won't be able to carry much back with me, also I'm on a budget. He tells me there are 280,000 people living within the medina walls that were built in the 8th century and many more than 9000 streets.

We keep moving, my mind exploding with the visuals and the crafts. We go to the markets, to the street of smelly fish, we pass the rabbit man, the pigeon man, the chicken man who is so elegant surrounded by his flock that I ask if I can take a photo of him. He nods and beckons me to sit next to him on his hay bale. He's suited, hatted and is looking very debonair. I shake my head but he is insistent. I am up close and personal with his produce. And that is what it is for him. His chickens are healthy and looked after but they are his livelihood. This is a medieval marketplace, you know where your food comes from, who nurtures it and how it'll be killed rather than the nicely presented end product of meat that you see in supermarkets.

I want to take photos of everything, he's very patient, my guide but he's on a schedule. I follow his white hijab and his hat. There are sellers of argan oil and I shake my head when asked to buy, then a carpet place in an old riad. The rugs are woven by widows and some of the profits go to them. I am gestured to sit down, mint tea is brought and rugs appear and are unrolled with a flourish in front of me. I try to tell them that I can't buy anything, more rugs appear as they think I don't like the ones they've shown me. I would love to buy one but can't afford them. They finally give up and I'm left alone.

My guide, at times like this, deserts me to go and smoke I think. I wait for him to collect me and he asks what I have bought. I confess and he shakes his head, but you are a widow, he says. Guilt ridden, I ask him not to take me to places that I have to buy from and that I want to go to another vegetable market that I've heard of. He nods and moves off, taking me to see the trickle of a river that runs sluggishly through the town. We go via the Jewish quarter where golden jewelled carriages and thrones for weddings fill shops and then past the exquisite gold jewellery stores.

And then we're out of the Medina and I'm taken to the Tanneries, more hard selling but they're very nice about it. I'm given a sprig of mint to hold near my nose to offset the smell of the leather tanning and am left again. I look out through the arched window at the oldest tannery in the world, immersed in the colours, the whiff of leather going through it's process. I'd love to buy the shoes but again, I have a small suitcase because of my back surgery and I leave empty handed.

I ask about the vegetables again and he nods and then we're in a taxi that's covered in dust, the window screen cracked halfway through, windows open, the driver smoking and we're transported to another tourist stronghold where I'm taken on another tour and shown beautiful but expensive ceramics. I decide that this time I have to buy something, I choose a small green tajine, wrapped around in silver wire that is supposedly wholesale but I later find it's double the price of those in the streets. Americans are buying up big and having them shipped back. I'm given more mint tea and then we're in another decrepit taxi back to the medina. I've had to pay for the to and fro but I'm upholding the economy. I begin to wonder if he understands the word - vegetable.

I'm taken to a restaurant and left again at this tourists only restaurant, not a single Moroccan in sight. Luckily the food is good, ending with the sweetest green melon and mint tea but there's no sight of my guide. He's probably eating with the locals, which is what I had been hoping to do.

He finally returns and takes me to a jewellery and etching place , I shake my head and they talk and shake their heads, they're probably saying how me I am but I'm at the beginning of my journey here, I can't start buying everything I see. I'm starting to get pissed off and then finally we round a corner and there is the vegetable market! He is forgiven.

Pink pomegranates, quinces, preserved lemons, young dates, strings of dried figs, mats of fresh herbs, rounds of soft bread, woven baskets of okra and the softest jammiest figs which he helps me buy a bag of. Then there's the camel meat shop with a camel head staring into the market place.

And then we weave in and out of the backstreets, visiting a school for Muslim studies where my guide used to stay and learn. The walls are muted, ageing beautifully, the tiles of old still deep with colour.

Then we go to a street where the dyeing takes place, the men stirring vats, women bringing their clothes for a quick change of colour; wool and cotton wads of soft hues, lavender, light teal blue, rose. Then to material and cotton shops with spools of the most glorious colours, ruby, rose quartz, bronze; silked and shiny.

We pass by a mosque where women are not allowed, I have a sneaking look into where men rule and where women in brilliant peacock colours sit on the steps of the doorway, backlit by the light from the open courtyard of the church. The doors, the tiles, the woodwork. I am in awe of the beauty of this place.

Finally, I am taken back to the Riad. Whilst talking to the manager and happy that I have not run into Beppe, the talking Italian, suddenly he is behind me. He suggests we eat together, he's booked a place but I tell him I'm eating here. He says he'll no doubt meet me for drinks later. Little does he know that Australians are done and dusted by 6.30 and he won't eat till 10. I'll be safely in bed by then.

I take my usual table, the waiter is friendly, the muezzin is doing his thing, my friend the cat has found me. I have a sweet chicken and almond dish in layers of phyllo with sugar and cinnamon on top which is amazing and tonight I have 9 small dishes of the Moroccan salad! I try them all, I must have done 30,000 steps today. I finish the other half of my half bottle of wine as the full moon rises over the medina. Moroccans don't drink but the French have a 1500 hectare vineyard near here. It's 9.30 and I'm worried the Italian might find me so I retire for the evening. Tomorrow, I'll be going to Chefchaouen, the blue city. I'm so excited.

Return to Lisbon.

This is a prelude, a short interlude to the best story of my 14 months away. We came back to Lisbon to divert to other locations, other countries. The daughter to Bordeaux to see her partner, her company to Australia and London and I...to Morocco! Excitement has taken over apprehension. What a multi dimensional crowd we are!

The daughter and I lunched at the loveliest restaurant....Leitaria a Camponeza. This was an old shop that sold milk and all things milk related back in the day. It is Art Nouveau and so beautiful. I embarrass the daughter by taking photos of everything. The food is great and comes with olives and bread and we order green wine. Then we explore together, walking past the gorgeous tiled buildings. So much colour and design!

That night we all meet up for a last meal together and then head to a rooftop bar that overlooks the castle on an almost full moon. Tomorrow, Friday13th, we all go our separate ways. Tomorrow I'll be in Morocco!