Marhabaan al’usrat wal’asdiqa/Bonjour famille et amis!
We wrap up these dispatches with the juxtaposition between a Moroccan seacoast town and the arid lands east of the High Atlas Mountains, including the Sahara Desert. Leaving the mysterious passageways of the Marrakesh medina, the 4 of us experienced a 3 hour bus ride west to Essaouira on the Atlantic Ocean, passing by more beautiful landscapes, from low sandy colored mounds with green tufts and a smattering of small rocks to green grasses and fertile soils. We would cruise by seemingly unsupervised dromedaries, however, the highlight was a unique posturing of goats in the limbs of an Argan tree. Determining how they accessed their perches was left for our imaginations to conjecture!
Our arrival at the bus station was met by a confluence of offers from local teenagers to haul our bags in 2-wheeled carts to our hotel, which cost us all of 40 DH ($4 USD), for a less-than-5-minute walk. Always glad to help the local economies. We were immediately revitalized by the fresh salty air and the small size of Essaouira (70,000) after the grittiness and noisiness of the medinas. It was afternoon and dining seaside was in order, serenaded by acrobats and musicians on the beach with the wind bringing waves rapidly rolling in. Addicted now to the sea breezes, we strolled toward a local orange juice stand and down among the fishermen on the town’s dock, which carried the smells of newly caught crab, squid, shrimp and eel-like sea creatures to our nostrils, alongside wooden and steel-hulled vessels.
Our only full day here was spent walking the sands, barefoot (fully aware of the rainy weather we were missing in Seattle), kicking the rolling waves, locating the ruins of 18th century Bordj el Berod, a watchtower south of the mouth of the Oued Ksob River. We eventually lunched at a fish stall near the fish dock, picking out our seafood fare and negotiating prices for red snapper and lobster to be cooked at Stall #22, which ended in some sharp words over our bill, creating somewhat of a scene. We quickly erased this memory hours later, at Le Patio for our dinner in the medina, which was exceptional in quality and service, sharing lamb shoulder, Mille-Feuille de tomates, and Dorado couscous while being serenaded by local musicians. Too much lamb, so we boxed up the excess and brought it back to feed the five new kittens living in a cardboard box outside our hotel front door, which was voraciously accepted.
Returning back to Marrakesh, we said our good-byes to Phil and Marilyn, while Maggie and I, having contracted with Moroccan Desert Trips several months before, were picked up by Hassan, our guide and driver for the next four days. He impressed us by not only being on time, but by being able to find our deep-in-the-bowels-of-the-medina Riad. Our drive to the Dades Gorge would take most of the day, with stops for photo taking, coffee au laits and lunch. The weather had been rainy the day before, resulting in new snow in the High Atlas Mountains, which made for breathtaking beauty driving eastward. Along the way, we would have more scenic moments, with the contrast between the gleaming white snow and the rich, red soils enhancing the drive, as did the small village enclaves nestled into the hill sides, some blending into rock and mesa backdrops. Hassan would accommodate our need to exit the car for certain photos of small villages (200-300 strong), standing with us and relating the stark, hard-scrabble subsistence-only lives of these people, walking to secure and bring back water from the larger towns. The dirty white satellite dishes throughout the village signified their only connection to the outside world. Outside of villages, there would be abandoned and eroded abodes, sadly melting like a Salvador Dali painting.
We passed by roadside villages enjoying their Sunday market, Berbers milling around on both sides of the narrow winding road, donkey-riding locals sitting side saddle with their goods for the market draped over their beasts of burden. At Tizi N’ Tichka Pass (7,400’ elevation), we stopped to tour a women’s cooperative for producing Argan consumables, noting the sequence of processes involved. Continuing down the east side of the Atlases, we listened to Hassan’s Berber music, witnessing green scrub dotting a light layer of melting snow ground cover with patches of red soil appearing, disappearing eventually into a green-terraced valley, while views on the other side of the car were of stark contrasts between jagged red rocks silhouetted against snow-capped peaks in the background. We had made a point of telling Hassan that we were not interested in the touristy movie industry settings here in the Province of Ouarzazate, where movies like “Lawrence of Arabia”and “Gladiator” were made. However, we made an exception for a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the 17th century Ksar of Ait-Ben-Haddou, also known as the Kasbah of el Glaoui, former war lord and Pasha of Marrakech. Alas, a movie about Yemen was being filmed on the river bed below during our hike up to the windblown crest of Haddou, the movie props below failing to tarnish this inspiring experience.
The next day we were treated to the natural wonders of both the Dades and Todgha Gorges. In Dades, the rock formations were smooth, rounded and reddish-brown, whereas the Todgha formations, an hour away by car, were ridged and tannish-brown, pocked with green scrub. Both gorges sport clear running waters, the Todgha River coming from inside the mountains versus the melting snows and pure enough to cup your hands and take a draught. Women could be seen washing clothes in the waters pouring from the rock faces before they entered the river. Rock climbers were at work on the faces, one of which was 300 meters (1,000’) high according to a local. The variation of rock formations continued on our way from the gorges…mesas with tops and sides of dark swirls, stacks of boulders looking like so much Playdough. On our way to Merzouga we came across another phenomenon, a sequence of 6’ high, and 6’ diameter parallel dirt mounds housing 30 meters deep wells tapping into underground rivers, fed by rains. The most exciting part of the day came about as we neared Erfoud when we saw signs of a sandstorm forming, in which we found ourselves enveloped where we had to stop on a bridge, close all windows, not being able to see even a foot in front of us, hoping no one would run into us. It seemed like an eternity but it was probably only 30 seconds until we could see well enough to continue!
Late afternoon, we pulled in to the meet-up spot for our overnighter in the Sahara outside of Merzouga, greeting the owner of this company, Hakim, robed and wearing a Berber blue head wrap and traditional garb. This was the base for desert entry, where we would leave Hassan until the next day. Dromedaries (not camels, the differentiation being one-humped versus two) were kneeling on the sands, awaiting our ascent to their hump. Our two animals facetiously were named Jimi Hendrix and Bob Marley, assumedly based upon our speaking English. Part of our hour-long ride to the camp site consisted of an introduction to the massive and colorful dunes, the two of us on our mounts, and the long shadows produced by the sun, moving toward setting as we headed east. After an hour of harassing our “sit” bones, we dismounted and parted company with our humped friends for the night, looking down on our campsite for the evening, then climbing the steep dunes to bear witness to the sunset. It was a tricky effort, with the sands giving way, having to side-step, digging in as you would climbing in the Northwest snows, looking back down at the changing sand colors due to the movement of the sun and finally witnessing the passing of the sun over the High Atlas Mountains.
After a dinner of tajine, the 8 of us campers collected in the middle of all 5 tents on the carpet-covered sand to be treated to some traditional Berber music provided by Hakim and his crew of 9…a fire was lit in a heavy metal tray hanging from a tripod in the sand, being tended to by a youngster earning his stripes in this seasoned group of Berbers. A 2 hour session of percussions (different sized drums) and hypnotic chanting ensued under the stars. Hakim then challenged us to sing a “national” song representing their country (USA, China, Australia and Italy). We all failed miserably but had a lot of fun in the process, especially the USA faction, not wanting to sing the national anthem or ‘America the Beautiful’ given the political environment today. All we could do was come up with 1959’s ‘Running Bear’ by Johnny Preston, and only a couple of lines at that. The original recording had Native American drumming, so it fit in with the night’s theme and banging on the drum given to us. China cheated, using YouTube to get their lyrics, after being told they couldn’t do that. We played fair and embarrassed ourselves a bit. Oh well, we all got a pretty good laugh!!! All the lights were turned off after the fire died down and we all laid back in total silence, staring up at the massive amount of stars, shooting and otherwise, a totally Zen period.
Like the town crier, one of the staff went through the camp at 6 a.m., calling “sunrise, sunrise”!!! Maggie still suffering a bit from a cold, allowed me to take her camera and climb the dunes to capture the event. Along the way back I took photos of tracks in the sand that turned out to be fox and insects (most likely a Scarab beetle). After breakfast, we mounted Jimi and Bob for the hour long parade back to the put-in spot. Maggie, as on most trips, had to have a picture taken as the 12th Woman, only adding to it this time, Pussy Hatted Woman in honor of the massive political demonstration before the inauguration in which she had participated. Hassan met us and had to stop by his mother’s apartment in Merzouga, inviting us to meet her. It was a sweet side trip, her serving us tea and beaming at her son. These moments of personal contact and generosity are what we live for when we travel. We were now in the process of returning to Marrakesh for one night before flying to Paris, where we would spend 4 nights decompressing, but Maggie had Hassan take us to the Merzouga covered market first to purchase some spices. We were treated to Hassan’s childhood friends, some of whom expected that we would purchase from them due to the relationship with Hassan. We loved the environment here, with men on donkeys trotting down between stalls, the haggling in the spice shop where we spent 220 DH ($22 USD) after intense bargaining, resulting in a 30% reduction on a 44 spice mix (Ras El Hanout), Harisa spice mix and an aromatic/sinus opener sniff ball. During the spice man’s spiel, he treated us to a Moroccan honey with a surprising, lingering heat and we were sprayed with various mists, rubbed with essential oils and other scented entities. He also admonished us on bargaining with him, “even though it’s a thoroughly Moroccan custom”, because HE’S HONEST! The best negotiating was when Maggie haggled over scarves, having the owner adorning her in a Berber head wrap. She eventually paid ½ the asking price for two scarves, the seller telling me to “stay with her, she’s very good”.
On the road back, we responded to Hassan’s questions about American music and spent the 6 hour drive finding You Tubes of various iconic singers and groups, playing them for him, writing down names of the artists for him to listen to on his own. He was especially interested in knowing about ‘message’ artists. We played Crosby, Stills & Nash singing “Marrakesh Express” which brought out a huge grin. We also turned him on to Cat Stevens, now known as Yusef Islam, someone he might be interested in given the Stevens’ conversion to Islam years ago and the messages in his early years. During this drive we continued to appreciate Hassan’s driving skills while maneuvering these mountainous winding roads, coming around a bend in the road to find a truck on its side against a smashed guard rail and only a couple of feet from a certain fatal drop.
Hassan dropped us off at our hotel near the airport where we said our good-byes, embracing as ‘family’ given how close we had become, meeting his mother, sharing American music with him, meeting his friends in the marketplace, buying from them. We were still feeling the gritty sand in our mouths from the desert, hopefully it was at least cleaning our teeth! The next day at the airport, I would that my travel jacket had been harboring sand, finding a pile of red grains next to me in the airport lounge and later, on the floor of the aircraft. I felt like Pig Pen of Charlie Brown comic fame, carrying a dust cloud with me, a sweet after taste of our adventure. On to Paris for 4 nights of resting, as we were feeling pretty “rode hard and put away wet”, after 19 different accommodations over 37 nights, and a bevy of transportation venues: 4 trains, 7 autobuses, 5 days driving a rental car and 5 full days of being driven by guides.
“MUCH TRAVEL IS NEEDED BEFORE A RAW MAN IS RIPENED” (Arab Proverb)
Cheers, Stan & Maggie