Yesterday I introduced Chefchaouen, the village of mystical proportions lying in the mountains of Morocco.

Now we’ve arrived at the main square just before dinner. It’s lined with shops, restaurants, historic gates, giant trees, and old men in long robes. Just when I thought Chefchaouen couldn’t get any more scenic…

People-watching is an engaging activity here.

Our group meets at a restaurant right on the main square for dinner. My friends who visited Morocco a month earlier suggest the Aladdin restaurant on the top floor overlooking the square. I wish I’d run up there for some quick photos, which is typically allowed if you buy a drink.

We’ve already ordered by the time I notice the furry friend curled up on the bench behind us. He stays like that for the whole two hours and no one disturbs him.

All meals in Morocco begin with dishes of olives (and, in this case, cheese). I could eat them before every meal for the rest of my life. My friend Karen on the tour is also an olive addict and whenever we’re next to each other our dish empties first — we joke that we have to sit at opposite ends of the table to work the system.

This is our first opportunity to order cous cous since arriving in Morocco and I order mine with chicken. It’s simple and delicious.

Those are the golden walls of the kasbah, the old fortress that once protected this village.

Our guide Mohamed shows off his tea-pouring skills. He’s not quite as dramatic as the waiters in Rabat but we’ll give him high marks.

Mohamed also writes all of our names in Arabic so we can see what they look like. Here’s ERICA —

The sky grows darker as the main square around the kasbah springs to life. Restaurants become crowded as musicians sets up in one corner, their sounds echoing across the cobblestones.

After paying our bill, we’re ready to explore some more. I split off from the group intending to try some night photography but then my evening takes a delightful turn.

I’m not wandering with any intent, just strolling to see where the alleyways take me. The area is well-lit and it’s still relatively early. I come across a doorway I noted during our afternoon walk — there had been an old man standing there who I found captivating, but before I got up the courage to ask for his photograph he’d turned back inside. Now the door is open and I feel this odd magnetic pull urging me to say hello. Plus I’m eager to practice my Spanish.

Tentatively, I rap on the open door to get the attention of the three old men inside. I say hello and briefly introduce myself in limited Spanish. To my relief, they greet me warmly and motion for me to sit down. We chat for maybe 30 minutes and it feels so good to practice my Espanol! And it’s heartwarming to engage with kind locals. We talk about jobs, family, where we’re from, and how pretty the area is. Here are my three new friends:

As the conversation (and my depth of Spanish) runs dry, we say good-bye and I walk back to Hotel Madrid with a big smile, uplifted by the encounter.

The following morning we have an optional hike planned. It’s early and most of the group elects to sleep in. Truthfully, I’m tempted to stay under the warm covers too, but I log onto Facebook on my iPhone and one of my friends who visited Morocco a month earlier has JUST posted an album of photos from Chefchaouen, including the hike. What are the odds? I take it as a sign and push myself out of bed.

Here’s our intrepid group of morning hikers:

About halfway through the hike, the most random thing happens — I spy half of an old, white cassette tape lying in the dirt just beyond a mosque. It catches my attention because the friend who’d just posted the Chefchaouen photos on Facebook had included a photo OF THE EXACT SAME CASSETTE TAPE from when she went on the hike. What are the odds? In the month since Tamar has visited, the tape has broken in half.

Here’s the photo she posted on the left below, and the photo I took one month later on the right:

I message her the photo and say I’m following her breadcrumbs.

Our group reaches the ‘top’ — not really as you can keep climbing up into the Rif Mountains forever and ever — and poses for this groupie (a selfie with multiple people in it, a term coined by my friend Grace).

The sun rises as we make our descent, so I take more photos on the downhill route.

Overlooking beautiful Chefchaouen:

We cross the same ravine we came through yesterday:

We stop for lunch at this Italian restaurant of all places — check out those yummy baked goods below.

Our guide Mohamed suggest we try this local drink made with avocado and other fruits, then topped with crushed nuts. I order a mango smoothie instead but this looks good:

Like sands through the hourglass, our time in Chefchaouen has run out and we press on towards our next destination. This is a picture-perfect village and if you’re headed to Morocco, don’t miss it.

Thanks to Nomadic Tours for discounting my tour in exchange for photography and blogging. Opinions are my own.