Arriving late into town, well into midday, our internet connectivity had finally been restored. Finding a small quiet cafe on the close edge of town with a rooftop view of the small city across the canyon, Rocky and I rejoiced at the sign proclaiming free WIFI. Time to stash the giant fold out road map we had bought in Fes in the glovebox. Just like old school days, we had successfully made our way to Chefchaouen through the Rif Mountains of Morocco without any of the modern navigation tools - this time it was only paper and our heads.
The most immediate and larger problems had already been solved. Like just how to screw our heads back on straight. Clearly they had not been. On our way here, we had somehow steered ourselves into a massive misadventure along the wrong route that brings back both feelings of wonder and excitement coupled with horror and dread when we think back on it. What we thought was going to be a short three hour drive turned into a two day adventure. But that story, rightly deserves its own separate post. Suffice it to say, we were most definitely ready to get back on track.
After inadvertently taking the much longer “back route” to Chaouen (as we were later taught to call it by locals), we were starving. I can now tell you that a big bag of peanuts desperately bought at a lonely road side food stand can only satiate the appetite by a mere few hours. A late tangine lunch sounded all too heavenly at that point in our travels, and with the web suddenly at our fingertips, it seemed we had arrived at nirvana.
Unfortunately, even in nirvana, the laws of bookings still apply. Rolling late into this popular town that shows up on most Moroccan travel circuits, most of the hotel rooms had already been snapped up and there were slim pickings for tourists like us who preferred to travel on the fly. By the time we logged on and scanned the booking apps for availability, it was clear that we’d need to be a little creative.
The pecking order for finding the best spots to bed down for the night seemed to be alive and well in this remote corner of the world. First, you had all the travelers who had found all the pictures and reviews simply too tantalizing to resist. The majority of these folks had booked well ahead of time into these highly rated accommodations. The cream of the crop of this bunch may had even booked their places as far as six months to a year in advance of their vacations.
Next, you had the travelers who had booked anywhere from a week to a couple months out. While the luxury suites may not have been still available, these tourists would typically be able to snap up remaining rooms featuring some of the most enticing ensuite bonuses such as balconies with wide sweeping views, large ornate poster beds that reminded them that they were in Morocco, and other free perks like a welcome drink down at reception and free breakfast in a stunning central courtyard.
Then, you had guests who had just come off an absolutely horrible night’s sleep in a scrappy place down the road and who were now looking for an upgrade. With a scant few hours of sleep, there were a lucky few who were able to snap up a great deal first thing in the morning.
Next, strolling up to the counter mid-morning would be the backpackers who’d just arrived in town, had scanned what was out there, made their best picks, and booked up any of the more sensible remaining rooms. If they were lucky, they might have been able to capitalize on some last minute cancellations of luxury suites which were now on fire sales.
And, then, finally you had Rocky and me. The late afternoon minimalist ultralight travelers who saw it too much of a weighty burden to travel with reservations and who, in this particular instance, straggled into town way too late to have hope of any decent pickings. With the sun sinking down closer to the horizon line, backpackers like us, who had veered way off course and ended up at our destination with little time to spare, were happy to accept any remaining scraps that were left.
Scanning our choices over a dish definitely not containing peanuts, it would seem that we only had two picks left before us. One was a giant penthouse suite occupying the top floor of a hotel in the center of town. Clearly, this was a last minute cancellation that had just opened up. The second option was a room with a couple of double beds in a one star hotel with terrible reviews on the far edge of town that looked like it had lived a hard and challenging life, which could be ours for all but a fraction of the price of the first.
Having just weathered a super spooky sleepless night that we weren’t absolutely sure that we were going to make it through alive, Rocky and I could withstand a little luxury. Off to the uppity hotel we went. Thankfully, we had asked to see the room first. A super strange layout, coupled with a difficult bed situation in a hot and stuffy room, quickly burst our bubbles. The price was pretty spendy too, at least on Moroccan standards, even after splitting in half. Quickly dispensing with this option, we marched off to the far corner of town to take a peek behind Door No. 2.
As we ambled up to reception, we could hear people arguing at the front of the line. Something about a booking which was clearly not as advertised. This didn’t have that, and that didn’t look like this. After much back and forth, there didn’t seem to be much resolution as far as we could tell through the thick language barriers on all sides.
The countenance of the stony-faced host hardened a bit more. Words became fewer and colder. The unhappy guests grunted something loudly, swooped the keys off the desk, and stormed off with bluster towards the outdoor stairway leading up to the rooms…apparently, the customer wasn’t always right. Maybe we had just stumbled into one of those mystery vortexes where conventional laws like common courtesy don’t apply and where things get a bit out of whack and distorted.
The reviews on Google were horrible. I’m not actually sure that I’d ever actually seen ratings that low. No wonder this place had the only vacant rooms left in town. Comments spanned the full range of possible gripes from complaints about the rooms, beds, bathrooms, water pressure, cleanliness, creepy crawlies, the general condition of the overall facilities, and staff (no surprise). Thankfully, there were no comments about bed bugs, for that would surely have set us skittering off down the road back to Door No. 1. That awkward palatial suite was looking better by the minute. It was just that the price of the diamond in the rough laying before us was really hard to beat and we were there, next in line, soon to be served by a wonderful customer service representative who could turn it all around for us.
Bracing ourselves for a lashing, we asked if we could see the room before plunking down our cash. Without so many words, and thinking back on it perhaps no words at all, a set of keys were dropped on top of the counter. There’s better than a good chance that they had been gently placed before us, but in my mind’s eye, they were quite definitely slapped down in frustration.
Winding up the stairway to the fourth floor, we caught glimpses of other guests coming and going. Definitely the scrappy backpacker type. Hmmm…I guess we were too, just a little bit older than average. At least we blended in. But seeing this didn’t do wonders in raising our expectations of the room. Unlocking a loose and janky deadbolt, we pushed the door open half expecting to be trampled by a motley gang of cockroaches, spiders, and fleas. Thankfully, the coast was clear and we could flip the lights on with no other fear than a mild shock from a crappy electrical circuit.
Much to our surprise, we found ourselves in a two bedroom suite. Things actually looked pretty good. Mattresses passed the checks with two thumbs up. Everything seemed tidy and clean. Solid toilet with a good strong flush. Hot water in the shower with decent pressure. Check, check, check.
We even tallied up some bonus points. Two fairly spacious bedrooms each furnished with their own dresser and window with a view, well lit, minimal street noise, and well positioned on the top floor at the end of a hall with no shared walls with any of the other guests on our floor. Best of all, it was super cheap! How was it possible that we’d be getting all of this for only that?! Did I forgot to mention the rooftop deck with an incredible view of the entire town with some tempting looking loungers and couches only a few steps away?
Would you believe it if I told you we had a great stay? Didn’t think so. We honestly did. But otherwise don’t believe everything you see, hear, or even think. Some things just seem to work out well despite what seems like would be doomed for failure. When it comes to bookings, the biggest takeaway for me in this whole experience was that while some bad reviews are truly legitimate, they should be read with heavy skepticism and should not be used as the sole bellwether factor in making decisions. We had a wonderful time in our little abode and I walked away with a great lesson.
Since that trip, I’ve stayed in several low rated campgrounds, hostels, motels, and hotels. No longer convinced of a strong correlation between poor ratings, lower than expected rates, and my level of satisfaction, I often seek out an underdog right from the get-go. The big guys, the ones that get all those good reviews and have commensurately sky high expensive rates, get most of the business without even having to lift a pinky, leaving everyone else to pick up the pieces. What I’ve found is that so many of these lower scoring spots have to work so much harder to earn your satisfaction. And it often shows.
Just now, as I’m writing this, I’m coming off my fifth night at the lowest rated campground in Death Valley. Significantly less expensive than all of the higher rated ones in the park, it comes with far fewer stars in reviews. Yet, having stayed a couple of nights at the most expensive, highest rated campground up the road, a couple of nights at the next most popular choice just down the road, and a night at another hot spot up the highway a few clicks, I’ve found this bottom-of-the-barrel campground to be my favorite. With far less use than the others, the bathrooms are much cleaner, it’s conveniently located to some great amenities, and it’s way quieter than one would expect on quick glance from the highway. I’ve got some elbow room here. My closest neighbor is 75 feet away from me instead of perhaps only 15 to 20 feet at the others. At a fraction of the price, it’s easier on the pocketbook too. Sure, it lacks a picnic table, but as a ultralight minimalist camper, I don’t miss it.
Despite having now spouted all this praise and glory on budget accommodations, I’m not sure whether or not I could actually recommend that you give them a shot. For full disclosure, I’m often repulsed at wealthy pretentiousness and this biases my opinions. As the scales tip towards the stuffy, exclusionary, or snooty this and snotty that, I tend to turn back and head the other direction.
If this resonates with you at all, even just slightly, then perhaps try giving a lower ranked place a standing chance. It may be way better than what you could have ever expected. Maybe start with something simple. Ask yourself what’s truly important to you in a booking with a keen eye out for not confusing “needs” with “wants.” Please, do mind some basic limits though. Safety first.
And, for goodness sake, if you see any evidence or comments about bed bugs, run away the other direction. Fast.
Happy hunting. Keep it real.
