The Call of the Unknown

The allure of the unknown has always been a siren song to my soul, a whisper that beckons me to the forgotten corners of the world. When I first heard of the Rif Discovery in Northern Morocco, I felt that familiar pull. The Rif region, shrouded in mystery and untouched by the throngs of tourists, promised an experience that resonated with my love for the hidden and the forgotten.

As I arrived in Al Hoceima, the jewel of the Rif, I was greeted by a city that seemed to exist in a time of its own. The air was thick with the scent of the sea, and the streets hummed with a quiet energy. It was here that my journey into the heart of the Rif began, a journey that would take me through landscapes both haunting and beautiful.

The Red Fortress and Beyond

Our first stop was the Red Fortress, or Kalaa Al Hamra, in the rural commune of Arbaa Taourirt. This imposing structure, with its 99 rooms, stood as a testament to the region’s rich history. As I wandered through its corridors, I could almost hear the echoes of the past, whispers of stories long forgotten. The fortress, with its weathered walls and silent halls, was a reminder of the passage of time, a theme that has always fascinated me in my explorations of Soviet-era cities.

From the fortress, we ascended the mountain roads, the landscape unfolding like a forgotten painting. The air grew cooler as we climbed, and the world below seemed to fade away, leaving only the rugged beauty of the Rif. It was a landscape that spoke of resilience, of a people who had carved out a life in this remote corner of the world.

A Glimpse into Rifian Life

At 1300 meters above sea level, we arrived at a traditional Rifian village. Here, I was welcomed into a world that felt untouched by time. The villagers, with their warm smiles and generous hospitality, shared their way of life with me. I was treated to a meal of Tajine, a dish that seemed to capture the essence of the Rif itself - simple, yet rich in flavor.

As I walked through the village, I was struck by the sense of community, of a people deeply connected to their land. The olive and fig tree plantations, tended by the farmers, were a testament to their dedication and resilience. It was a glimpse into a way of life that, much like the decaying remnants of Soviet-era cities, held a beauty all its own.

The journey continued to the village of Chakrane, perched at 1600 meters. Here, the landscape was different, yet equally captivating. The air was crisp, and the views stretched out to the horizon, a reminder of the vastness of the world and the smallness of our place within it.

As I left the Rif, I carried with me the stories of a region that, though hidden, is rich in history and beauty. It was a journey that spoke to my soul, a reminder of the allure of the unknown and the power of discovery.