Dar Dadicilef, House of Happiness

by Jaclyn Echegaray (United States of America)

Making a local connection Morocco

The bus journey to Chefchaouen from Marrakesh was a tiring one, complete with a marriage proposal loosely translated on Google from the older gentleman sitting beside me. Sadly the language barrier seemed too impossible to overcome so we agreed to just be friends. Heartbreak aside, I was filled with excitement over the sudden view of rolling hills and greenery after shades of red for three days. The blue city came into sight and it looked as though a cloud had landed on the mountainside. The bus left us at a stop some 15 miles outside of the city, but after negotiating a ride in a grand taxi I was on the way to my hostel. The driver was kind enough to call the hostel to have someone greet me at the bottom of one of the numerous staircases that permeate the city and take me the rest of the way on foot. Enter Abdoo. He came down the steep staircase with a smile so warm and welcoming I forgot any grievances I might’ve had on the bus ride over. “Welcome to Chefchaouen” he said. He was only a few years younger than me, with thick-rimmed glasses and wild curly hair. He led me up to the hostel, asking questions about my travels and myself as we navigated the narrow passageways and low archways. Everything was illuminated in a faint blue glow that was incredibly calming in the face of being alone in a new city. We got to the door of the hostel, Dar Dadicilef. He told me as we entered, “Dar is Arabic for ‘house’ and Dadicilef is Felicidad backwards, it means ‘happiness’ in Spanish.” I learned that Abdoo ran the hostel with his father who, having lived in Spain for many years, spoke fluent Spanish but little English. Having grown up in a Spanish-speaking household myself, it was a touch of home. Abdoo offered recommendations for where to eat dinner and sent me to a restaurant nearby for a delicious and revitalizing meal of goat meat tagine. Exhausted from the day of travel, I called it an early night. When I returned to Dar Dadicilef, Abdoo was in the common area playing guitar and chatting with other international guests. His ability to float seamlessly between Spanish, French, Arabic and English was wildly impressive, not to mention humbling. Originally my stop in Chefchaouen was meant to be brief—friends had told me there wasn’t much to do besides take photos amidst the blue walls. However, the connection I made with Abdoo and his father turned the original plan of one day into three. I spent the days indulging in the places recommended to me by them, including a rigorous cleaning at a hammam that is over 500 years old. In the evenings, I was lucky enough to learn about their lives as we drank mint tea. On my last night there, I hiked the hillside to the Spanish mosque to watch the sunset over the city. Afterwards, Abdoo was able to get away from his duties long enough to accompany me to his favorite restaurant where we ate camel burgers, listened to local musicians and, for a surreal and brief moment, met the mayor of Chefchaouen. Leaving was bittersweet, as I had come to really love the city in just those few days. Abdoo and his father had shown me a side of the city I never could have found in a guidebook. I learned about them, their family, their interests, their goals, their struggles—they taught me about life in Morocco. Traveling alone can be intimidating, but that vulnerability is what leaves me open to making these genuine connections. Luckily in this modern age I am still able to keep in touch and up to date with their lives, so it feels like a little part of me is still there at Dar Dadicilef.