[420 Girl]

AFTER settling into a charming (but very snug) room at Chefchaouen's Dar Terrae, my partner and I set out for a hike. The bus journey north from Fes has taken five hours, and we're ready for a leg stretch. Our plans seem reasonable enough: we're hoping to follow a path to the summit of Jebel el-Kelaa (1616m).

Just an ordinary day hike here in this northwestern section of northern Morocco's Rif Mountains. We ascend out of the compact, blue-washed medina via its steep and maze-like walkways, emerging outside the northern Bab el-Majorrol gate.

After veering through the Camping Azilan campground and following the road behind it, we finally turn east on to a rising dirt road. En route, we pass a pack of scary, vicious-looking dogs, which mercifully back away when their master, a goat-herder, whistles.

Finally free of the snarling pups, we breathe a collective sigh of relief. The healing air has barely left my lungs before one sight makes my insides tighten again. I look frantically around, up and down the path and the adjoining mountain banks, looking not for another dog or goat herder, but instead for any hint of a craftily positioned shotgun, perhaps wielded by a local farmer.

Why am I so paranoid? Stretched out on the mountainsides before me, close enough to touch – even smell – are thousands of marijuana plants. I have visions of that scene from The Beach, where the unfortunate backpackers stumble upon a field of similar stuff and are even more unfortunately gunned down.

With these visions in mind, we don't hesitate for a moment. We turn around and head back to the medina.

Producing these drugs in Morocco is technically illegal. Still, the landscape around Chefchaouen gives not-so-subtle hints that no one is really enforcing this law.

As one might imagine, Chefchaouen (which means "look at the peaks") attracts many a bleary-eyed backpacker.

However, not all visitors to Chefchaouen are here to relax: many come for the year-round trekking.

Some treks, such as the one to Talassemtane National Park, east of Chefchaouen, offer the chance to see the colourful Barbary macaques, which inhabit the cedar and fir forests.

Though the Australian Government's Smart Traveller website has warned of banditry and extortion in the Rif Mountain region, the Lonely Planet Morocco guidebook says there is little reason to worry about trekking in the area, especially in the company of a guide.

Just about everyone who comes here ends up chilling out – at least for the duration of a meal – at one of the many open-air restaurants lining the Plaza Uta el-Hamman. The plaza offers views of the 15th-century kasbah walls, the Grand Mosque and the towering peaks.

And just about every restaurant has the tasty, locally-produced goat cheese on the menu: a special treat when travelling in a country dominated by couscous and tajines.

In addition to its rather "doobie-ous" reputation, circa-1471 Chefchaouen has what must be the loveliest medina in Morocco. While there are plenty of whitewashed houses and tiny balconies, the pale blue-washed houses really give the medina its charm.

In 1494, it became home to many Muslim and Jewish refugees fleeing persecution in Granada. However, the blue wash only came about in the 1930s, when Jewish refugees finally decided to paint over the previously green (Muslim) washed window frames and doors.

In spite of the paranoia experienced on our earlier hike, the next morning we set out again, leaving the medina through its eastern gate, Bab el-Ansar. From here, a path leads southeast over a spring and on for a couple of kilometres to the ruins of a Spanish-built mosque.

The patches of blue amidst Chefchaouen's predominantly white medina are visible from this spot. Against the backdrop of the misty Rif, the vista has an almost ethereal feel.

Continuing further along the path, we surmise that surely all the fields in this direction aren't dominated by the tricky stuff.

How wrong we are. The cannabis plants are, again, close enough to touch. I squat to take a better photo.

As soon as I do, three male heads, previously hidden, pop out of the same field, maybe 50m away. They obviously want to see what I'm up to.

Travellers take note: on the outskirts of Chefchaouen, you can bet that Big bleary-eyed Brother is always watching.

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