Here's a tip: if you drive through the Rif Mountain in northern Morocco, heed Lonely Planet advice about driving at night. We didn’t.

We started in Ouarzazate in the desert; our final destination was Tangier. It took two days to cross the Middle Atlas and head towards the Rif ranges in the north.

This spectacular mountainous area is called Ketama and is avoided by visitors because of its rough reputation as one of the world’s largest marijuana producers. It was the off-season and we didn’t see any plantations.

But we knew we were deep in kif (grass) territory: men on the road made smoking gestures to us. The patchy, winding road with a ravine drop to one side was exciting enough, but we had the extra excitement of being chased by a four-wheel drive packed with dealers in dark glasses. Night fell together with a sudden thick fog, and a black Mercedes tail-gated us. Hours of fun.

After the fog and hustlers, we were pulled over by police. They gave us tea, searched the car-boot, recorded our itinerary and our mothers’ maiden names, and let us go. After all, why else would we be there if not for the kif?

In the morning, we found ourselves in a tiny medieval Spain. The blue-painted, swept town of Chefchaouen is a Hispanic gem amidst the Rif mountains that rise darkly behind the city walls. Settled by 15th century Jewish and Muslim refugees from Christian Granada, Chefchaouen’s blue lanes are so attractive that it’s no wonder tourists and locals alike flock to the café-lined Plaza Uta El-Hammam.

We joined them for a well deserved breakfast of pancakes.