Yesterday afternoon, a new friend and I climbed a steep hill to the Kasbah and sat down on some brick steps at the top, out of breath. The hillside was littered with broken glass and squashed coke cans, in stark contrast to Tétouan’s centre ville, which is usually quite clean. But the view of the city and Rif mountains was breathtaking, and our spot on the hillside was refreshingly calm and peaceful. Three or four teenage boys were chilling nearby, and just below us, a handful of chickens strutted around on a rooftop among the clotheslines. We saw a man with three sheep walking toward us and started jokingly singing the “last lone survivor” line from “Eye of the Tiger,” what with it being a couple days after Eid and all. When they got closer, we realized they were actually goats. The man nodded at us and he and the goats kept walking and disappeared over the hill.
Just over the peak of the hill, past the Kasbah’s fifteenth-century fortress walls, narrow streets are home to vendors selling clothing and pointy “babouche” slippers, a smelly tannery, and an eye-catching jewelry market.
The other side of the Kasbah overlooks a cemetery, with Martil and the Mediterranean in the distance.