Cup of tea? Piece of cake!

One evening during my latest Spanish getaway, I drove 30 km inland looking for a "teteria" that I had heard about. A teteria is a “café” style place serving Moroccan flavoured teas in the old fashioned way.

I got in the hire car at 8pm, very confident that I would find it somewhere around the inland Costa Blanca town of Crevillente. I got to the Centro Urbano (town centre) within twenty minutes. While parking the car I noticed a cyber café. I Googled Teteria but could not find any directions. I asked the café owner if he knew of it. He handed me the Spanish Paginas Amarillas. My search did not produce any results.

Being home to a large Moroccan community Crevillente’s main street has its fair share of carpet shops and halal butchers. I plucked up the courage and, dodging the hanging rugs, I entered a Moroccan bazaar. The owner scratched his head, asked all his assistants. They too scratched then shook their heads, unable to help.

I walked up and down Crevillente’s emptying streets, toying with the idea of stepping into a café or a bar and risking my life by asking the owner to help me locate one of his competitors, and a Moor at that.

I finally decided to accost a Spanish couple walking a Spanish dog. “Lo siento, por favor… Do you know where I can find La Teteria?” To my utter delight the young man said he knew and in Spanish explained that I needed to head back out of town and drive for about eight kilometres to the third Gasolinera, just on the outskirts of Albatera. Once there, I could always ask around for further directions. I had by now been wandering the streets for more than half an hour. I thanked the helpful couple, got into the car, turned up the volume on my El Barrio CD and sped off.

Within minutes I found myself in Albatera, having counted only two petrol stations. Did I count wrong?

Did the Spanish young man include the one on the other side of the road?

I drove round the one-way system and headed out of Albatera. I saw an ornate entrance flanked by palm trees a hundred yards ahead.

Could this be a quiet place to sip a glass of mint tea?

I pulled in and straight out, after spotting a beautiful gravestone. A smart Spanish cemetery.

A few minutes later I arrived at the petrol station, parked away from the pumps and asked the attendant.

HE knew where the teteria was.

I turned up a side road past the last pump and began climbing into the hills. Three kilometres, on the right, he had said. At last, I can have something to eat and drink! I kept my eyes open. The hills were peppered with beautiful walled villas.

I got to a junction, forked right, up a one-way road and into a cul-de-sac. No mint tea in sight. Just shuttered summer residences, covered in alarm warning plaques.
I reversed back and forked left. I unwound the window as a small car was edging past. The young driver did not know where the teteria was but said:

“Siga me!” Follow me.

I did… For at least four kilometres away from my intended destination. He stopped at a junction and told me to turn left back into Albatera. Once there, someone would help me, he said.

“Shit! Return to square one!”

Back in Albatera, I parked the car and approached a couple of walkers. The man said he knew exactly where it was. “I’ve heard this before!” I thought.

"Gasolinera y pues derecha... into the hills for around three kilometres. There is a white building with an arrow. "

He turned to his partner. “La flecha… Blanca o negra?” She thought it was a black arrow. I was to turn right at the arrow.

Once again, I thanked them and sped out of Albatera, past the petrol station -the attendant was lowering the shutters-, and right into the hills once again.

It was nearly ten o’clock by then. I turned my headlights on and zeroed the counter. After two kilometres I slowed down and began searching for a white building and a black arrow.

Right as the counter clocked three miles, I saw it!

An electricity exchange. A square white box covered with graffiti among which, a bloody black arrow with the word teteria underneath pointed right.
"Yes! I’ve arrived! All I need to do is follow the 'flecha'..."

I drove down a bumpy and windy lane, past a few dark buildings. Not a sign of life or tea.
“This is it. I am bloody lost!”
Before I got back to the main road and, just as I was about to give up, a car drew up behind me. I parked and smiled at the woman driver, my arms raised in despair.
She said: “La teteria?”
I said: “Si, senora.”
She smiled and said: “Siga me!”
She turned back and I followed her past the quiet buildings I had seen a few minutes earlier. She stopped at another crossroad. I got out of the car. She pointed to the right and told me to go all the way to the end of the lane and I will find a car park.
I thanked her with my limited Spanish, got back in the car for what seemed the hundredth time.
Up and down another narrow lane for a mile or so, I finally found the car park with a dozen cars in it. I asked a man and a woman who had just got out of their car:

“Es esta la teteria?”

“Si.”
I nearly cried with a mixture of joy and relief.

Having overtaken them down a tiled alley lined with rosemary bushes I got to a massive wrought iron gate. A bearded young man in white robes unchained it open and welcomed me in Arabic. I said I was on my own. He chained the gate after the couple came in.
I asked if the place served food. "No, we only serve tea."
I thought: “What a bloody trek for a cup of tea. I just hope they serve some baklava with it, I am starving!”
I explained that last summer a neighbour had told us about this jewel of a teteria and I had to find out where it was.
He told me to wander freely around the teteria and then later share some tea with him when I had finished visiting.

The place was right out of medieval North Africa. Like a Saharan oasis all with palm trees, bougainvillea and stones buildings... In the dark, to the light of beautiful Moroccan lanterns, I went from one tiny room to the next, absolutely dumbstruck at the decor.

There were all kinds of seating areas, indoors and outdoors. Cushioned sofas, low wooden chairs, intricately carved tables, scented candles…

A few people sat here and there quietly chatting while soft Arabic music played through archaic speakers dotted all over.

I passed the kitchen where an Arab woman was busy pouring boiled water into silver teapots filled with fresh mint and tea leaves. Stunning brass trays laden with tiny decorated glasses waited to be carried to the customers.

I spent at least ten minutes looking around, soaking in the atmosphere and then promised myself to come back again now that I knew how to get here. A dream of a palace!

The young man, who had welcomed me, looked puzzled as I rushed past him and the gate, explaining that as it was getting late, I would come back another day.

I flew back to a restaurant near home for a juicy steak and chips! No mint tea anywhere to be seen… Just a drop of Rosé…

That night, I was really delighted I had found that magical oasis and could not wait to go back one warm summer’s evening.

Photo of Ameridhil Castle (Morocco) by Steven Le Vourc'h