MOROCCO - October 28,2012

MOROCCO

October 28, 2012

We left Areines, France on September 25 under somber skies and enveloped in an equally somber mood. With Daniel and Jojo in their own camping car we headed straight south for Morocco but first we would detour for Daniel to see his terminally ill sister in hospital in Poitier. Continued rains after the visit didn’t help.

The next day it was through the Pyrenees on the Atlantic side to Cantalajo, Spain to the home of a boyhood friend of Daniel’s. The atmosphere shot to euphoric in a hurry. We all walked into town to see another of Daniel’s friends, Pedro, a mid-seventies fun-loving joyous man who refurbishes old motorcycle rust buckets into like-new. The picture on the right is what he starts with and on the left is his work. He does absolutely everything except the tires. He does it for the love of doing it, will not sell them, won’t even bring them to shows. Pedro is a work of art himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Continuing on through Spain toward Algeciras west of Gibraltar the rains kept up, at times torrential to the point we had to slow to a crawl with four-way flashers on. We left our overnight sleeping place the next morning in a garage parking lot to buy our tickets and catch the ferry in the grungy port city of Algeciras to Morocco. The African side is actually a small enclave belonging to Spain so crossing the border into Morocco is then a few kilometers south.

Ah Morocco…donkees, plastic bags everywhere, stunning sand dunes, snow-capped mountains, beaches, crazy cities, cobras, transport taxies piled up to the sky, camels, unbelievable gorges, Islam, very good and very bad roads, palm trees, oasis, begging, poverty, requests for beer and whiskey, sand storms, goat herds, sheep herds (quickly diminished by the annual Muslim sheep festival), incredible people, nomads, the Berber culture, the start to a Paris/Dakar  Legends Race, cellphone coverage second to none…and probably the most diverse, beautiful and fascinating country we have ever seen. By the time it was all over, the van was 5000 km older. But more on all this later.

The first problem of the trip was with our camper’s second battery which went toast. We did manage to find a new one and that was that. We headed east along the Mediterranean coast; very hilly and curvy roads but beautiful. We made it even more difficult for ourselves by talking a single lane road to a lighthouse at Cap des Trois Fourches. The scenery was as invigorating and eye-popping as the driving.

Staying in Saidia on the coast we arrived for the start of the Paris/Dakar Legends Race; there were many friends of Daniel who has done the original Paris Dakar Race 17 times. He was antsy to go. And I was too! Before we left we watched as each motorcycle and each car was fired off by the starter…14 days later, failing breakdowns, accidents and kidnappings, they should be in Dakar, Senegal some 6000 km away. Once all the support vehicles had left so did we but taking our own route at our own pace. Leaving Saidia you drive past thousands of homes and apartments, unsold, uninhabited. Here is a real estate boom gone as bad as Spain’s. What we saw here we would later see on the Atlantic coast of Morocco.

Now the skies were all sunny with temperatures of 30C+ later to climb to 40C! We drove down the east side of the country along the disputed border with Algeria. We were stopped at a checkpoint for information gathering and were told that no other tourists had come through the area in a long time. It felt isolated and alone…it felt great!

                                                                                                                       

Stopping near Bin-Benimathar for the night in a totally flat region with no vegetation, we pulled off the road by a house surrounded by trees planted for a windbreak. Soon Mohamed and his family came to see us and invited us for tea. (Tea in Morocco is usually mint tea, good by itself but served with enough sugar to keep you buzzed for a week unless you ask for it unsweetened in which case you get odd looks.)

Sitting on the floor in a house without any furniture and plied with mint tea and cookies is a great way to interact with the local culture. We would see the next morning as to whether the water used was clean or not!

Jo and Daniel gave them clothes, we gave soaps and balloons. After tea we set up by our campers to eat outside in the dark; Mohamed showed up, sat down on a stool he brought, put his elbow on his knee, and proceeded to watch us eat from inches away. He interrupted, importantly, his vigilance and was proud to call family and friends to tell them he was with friends from France and Canada! Both campers were thoroughly inspected for interest…and for gifts not yet offered.

Further south we started seeing nomad tents, rarely more than one at a time, isolated and unpretentious. Usually no one was around as they were off with their herds of goats finding grazing…difficult to do in this tough landscape not easily taking to humans and their needs.

 

The next day was hot…DAMN HOT!...with an air temperature of 40C and that of the road’s equal to the sun. The road was straight with little traffic. Clear skies. Perfect day to roll in the desert. But wait! What’s that noise?!? That was a rear tire on Daniel and Jojo’s camping car (they’re not called motorhomes in Europe) exploding to shreds. A slight swerve. Changing a tire in this heat on blistering pavement with no breeze or shade is loads of fun. Amazingly all the vehicles that did come by stopped to see if we needed any help…the Moroccans are helpful people and will not leave anyone stranded in such conditions. Sure there were camels roaming freely about but catching one for the hundreds of kilometers to the next town was probably out of the question. So the tire was changed and we slowed our pace to get to a larger town to buy tires.

Throughout the country but especially in the east and south, the colour of the soil ranges from black to white, gray to red, yellow to green, rust to tan. The consistency goes from sand to rubble, pebbles to boulders, plate flat to mountains over 4000 meters, deserts as far as the eye can see to seashores. Wildlife? Apart from some of the drivers (though on the whole they’re better than in most European and North American cities) the wildlife ranges from sand vipers and cobras to camels and donkeys to hawks and seagulls. The heat and the usual lack of water is what bring all this together. Sudden rains bring destructive flash floods. Just as suddenly gone, the sun takes back its domain and cooks the soil into what appears to be the decoration on a birthday cake. But drive over this stuff with caution; if it isn’t totally dry underneath, you may plunge into a mud hole from which extraction better be quick or your vehicle is now part of the cake recipe. In a sandstorm? Careful with the strips of mini dunes across the road. At 90 kph it will be like hitting stone and you may find yourself without a front undercarriage.

In the far southeastern corner of the country we turned onto N17 toward Figuig. We didn’t make it very far. The Moroccan army had the road blocked and refused us entry. We were getting into a sensitive and disputed area where the forces of Morocco and Algeria eye each other with caution. Back onto N10 it was.

Again, stopping for the night is best done away from people so as not to be hassled especially by the kids. No Campground? Easy. Go off road. There seem to be countless places to drive off road, pistes they’re called here, with resulting solitude, peace, quiet, stunning sunsets and sunrises as well as night skies second to none. The density of stars leaves no room for darkness. The only vegetation here is a brain-like cactus used for stomach problems in a tea-like drink. The sun comes up fast and strong; it’s hot by 8 am. Then a goat herd followed by a nomad and his two young kids. He doesn’t worry about his three donkies; they were hobbled the evening before. Then another girl, a teenager, shows up…from nowhere as they have the ability to do. She is very pretty. We give them a few clothes, balloons, soaps. The man wants a cigarette. All happy they leave to continue their lives, waving graciously and appreciatively to us. We have made new friends. You can do that in these places. Things are different here. Sharing is a common and necessary way of life.

Er-Rachidia was the next big town we would get to. Go through was the plan. Stopping in it was the reality. Daniel and Jojo needed to buy two new tires. The process was…well…typical Third World-ish. The theatrical play goes something (exactly) like this…

Drive into town; drive around town asking where tires are sold; get lost; ask again (repeatedly); get lost repeatedly); find tire shop; ask for tires; “Yup…we gotta tires”; “Maybe”; call to tire shop in France to ask Moroccan employee there to talk to Moroccan employee standing in from of us; understand nothing; “Yup…tires we gotta are good for you”; good; “But we cannot put on”; why?; explanation not understood; sent to another tire shop in another part of town; get lost; find shop; “We do not have tires for you”; but can you put on?; “Yes”; where are tires bought and paid for at shop #1?; “Tires bought at shop #1 are being brought here to shop #2”; man seen rolling two tires down the street in our direction; tire installation started at shop #2; two men working and three watching, not counting us; no tire pressure gauge; tires installed – good; one bolt snapped – bad; pay inflated price (no choice); get out of town. Close curtain. Please.

It was on to the Gorges de Ziz with some of the most amazing and odd rock formations we have seen anywhere in the world. We wild-camped beside a receding reservoir. Ah…peace and quiet.

We headed south on N13 toward Merzouga. On the way we stopped in Erfoud, a dusty town where it seems anything and everything is sold on the streets somewhat in the fashion of a
garage sale. Here is where small fossils imbedded in rock are cleaned with the stone slab turned into tables, lamps, fountains, key chains…all things garish. The workmanship is amazing especially seeing the archaic equipment used by sandal-footed workers with no eye or ear protection of any sort. Even more impressive were the “desert rose”. These are formed over time by wind and water, start off as a simple small dimple in the sand which the forces of nature turn into a stunning masterpiece. They usually are in groups and are very hard though quite fragile. We’ve had one at home for years and never knew what it was. The locals say that they start when a camel pees on the sand. Not sure now what we’ll do with ours.

While in Erfoud a sand storm hit. It was to be the first of four during our travels in Morocco.  A sandstorm is akin to a snow storm except there are always strong winds and the side of your vehicle facing the wind and sand is prepped for a new paint job. Unlike snow, which you can drive through if there is a snow patch on the road, sand patches are to be driven around or over slowly. The wind packs the sand into an anvil that can rip apart whatever hits it at high speeds. Still Dawn was giddy with child-like excitement each time a sand storm hit. She just loved them.

And of course, in any storm, caution is important when other traffic is possible…even camels.

The area up to Merzouga is flat and dry, no trees and only a few lonely short bushes. Merzouga is a tiny place, the end of the road. From here it’s raw Sahara Desert. One of the, if not THE, most beautiful place we have ever seen. Placid, serene, peaceful, quiet with dunes ranging from knee-high to hundreds of meters up. Ever-changing. The colours constantly change depending on the time of day and amount of sun. True sunsets and sunrises can only be experienced in the desert. Seeing more of it means going on foot if you stay within sight of the houses or by camel or 4x4 if you go further. It’s a beautiful place but can be very hostile fast if unprepared.

Merzouga is a backwater place and really interesting. Simple mud-walled houses, a few grumpy and disinterested camels, good quiet people, sand everywhere and best of all…ah…peacefulness. We took the next day just to explore the place…and be stared at. We camped (not the right description…more like parked and plugged-in for power) on the back side of a riad owned by Ali, a local and old friend of Daniel and Jo’s. He and his brothers run the place. They are expanding. Renovations take years here; repairs take longer. Daniel suggested to Ali that he make a list of things to do, detail it to staff and get things done. The conversation soon was changed to the weather. Ali and his  brothers were more interested in giving us funny sayings. When asked about a reservation, Ali spoke up softly and said…”Oh no. This isn’t France.” Another, “There’s no fire in the lake” (meaning there is no rush…another Moroccan favourite) is supposedly of Swiss origin (go figure). In Morocco French is a common second language as France was here as an occupying force for some time. Here the French slang for women is “gazelles” and for men is “gazoos”. And one of the more unique sayings goes “tomatoes in January are not the same as tomatoes in February”.

The first evening here Ali invited us as his “personal guests”, a big deal in Morocco and a show of his importance, to attend the celebration of the christening of his nephew just two weeks old. We were escorted into the family’s home, empty of furniture in the main rooms, and sat on large carpets as everyone else was. Daniel and I were the only men among all the women whose own husbands were in another part of the building as is customary here. Beating of drums and singing went along with the mint tea offered; as special guests ours was served on a small table just for us.

The next day friends from Vendome who were taking a short trip on the hotel route with a rental car came to Merzouga and stayed at Ali’s. That evening all eight of us wanted to go up the largest sand dune in the area, the one to the right in the picture above. We didn’t get the sunset we had hoped for with the clouds coming in but it was a blast. Worse than snow for climbing…two steps up, three steps back. It was stunningly beautiful. To the west was Merzouga, flatlands and surrounding Atlas Mountains; to the east endless sand dunes like waves on an ocean suddenly frozen in time.

Climbing the large sand dune outside the village, we saw the clouds coming our way. Back at Ali’s we would experience what they brought. Strong winds and another sand storm, this one so strong it created a perfect wall of sand in the sky coming toward us. We would soon be enveloped and for protection be inside Ali’s place. As all eight of us sat down to eat at a meal prepared by Ali’s staff, we heard thunder. Then rain. Rain in a sand storm becomes thick…mud-like. The rainfall was hard and violent punching holes in Ali’s roof letting in wrist-sized water gushes flooding the floors. It was also pushed in around the doors and windows. Luckily the floor in the room not being even, we were able to continue our meal though a little confused as to why the staff did nothing to stop the flooding. Tomorrow, we thought…tomorrow they will clean things up and fix the holes in the roof. Tomorrow came and went. The next day came and went. Nothing was done. This was a “there’s no fire in the lake” moment

The sand in this region when mixed with water becomes grease. We needed to get back to Risanni so I tried to get out. Completely slick black ice had nothing on this stuff. Many tries and a few pushes later we were out but we left Ali’s place a mud-pit with character. This stuff would take days to dry, probably months before anyone smoothed it out.

What came next was what Dawn and I had been dreaming of for some time, two days with a 4x4 in the desert dunes with and overnight in a Berber nomad’s tent complete with local food. Daniel, Jo, Dawn and I in one 4x4 were followed by our French friends in another. They would go for the day while we would overnight. It was more amazing than we could have ever thought. The first stop was just south of Merzouga in “The Village of Blacks” where black Africans lived descendants of migrants who worked in the wheat fields once grown in the area. They now dance and play music for passing tourists to earn their living. Nearby someone had a type of wild desert fox on display for a fee. We felt very sad for the poor trapped animal. Then it was on to the full desert, indescribable and a must see. Sand dunes as far as the eye could see with skies justifyingly making us feel tiny. Suddenly we came upon a large, very old tree, all by itself. It is considered a self-perpetuating tree; as the leaves fall to the ground and decompose, they nourish the tree itself.

It would be here that we would have a long lunch. Berber pizza they called it. Everything made from scratch and cooked on coals on the sand.

  After lunch, we drove deeper into the sand dunes to deserted villages and small surface mines worked by hand with only a small hammer as its tool of choice. They were following veins of mica eeking out a barely sustainable livelihood. Periodically…camels, a nomad tent…rare even out here.

And here is where the fossils are found which we had earlier seen in Erfoud. We looked for them…they were everywhere in massive rock formations.

As the day went on our driver got crazier driving over the dunes…we all laughed and giggled and yelled out for more. Even when we came very close to the not-so-friendly Algerian border complete with troops watching us.
 

We had come this far for the reputed sunset which was as stunning as we had been told. Tans and golds and browns and grays and blacks danced together into the night. We didn’t want it to end.

As we watched the ending of another magical day we turned to see our driver texting on his cell. Even out here Morocco has cellphone coverage!

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  That night meant wild-camping again, this time without our vehicles. We would sleep in a nomad’s tent made from large heavy pieces woven of camel’s hair and stretched by wooden sticks pegged to the ground. Sleeping was on the ground. The tent being open on the entire front we wondered about snakes coming in looking for a bit of warmth. We wondered about that all night. I was more worried some half-crazed nomad (that would be Daniel) in a red t-shirt would steal Dawn! What kept us away was a rooster crowing most of the night. But the worst of all was that the woman who had prepared us a massive couscous for dinner the evening before also had a herd of goats. The female goats were fine. The lone male, however, was lonely. He had been fed a type of grass all day that made him amorous and gave him excessive gas but he had a bigger problem…he was tied up.  So all night he would call out for the females and let gas out right after…all…night…long It was …”BBBBAAAAA” …immediately followed by “PPRRUUFFFFTTT”! All night long!! All we could do was laugh and that “song” became our foursomes’ theme song often used over our CB radios while on the road to indicate a toilet stop was in order.                                                                                                                                                                                                                    The next day we would head back through the dunes to Merzouga but not before seeing more stunning beauty. And one final message which I have also seen in the high mountains…nature will always outlast the petty humans. This picture shows a broken down human invention going nowhere while nature’s desert best continues on.                                                                                                                                           

Being with French friends means, of course, that two things are necessary on a daily basis; wine and bread. We brought lots of wine with us though did have to buy some in Morocco. Bread is everywhere though not in the French baguette form. It’s round, flat, very good and cheap.

One of the most unique things we came across was a system to provide water to a city of some 50,000 people. So many people in the desert means water is precious in a region where there is little to be had. For some ten kilometers outside the city there are hundreds of open holes fifteen meters deep. Dug by hand and all interconnected to the underground aquifer, the water flows to the city’s water system.

Next was a drive down the forty kilometer length of one of Morocco’s famous gorges, the Gorges du Todra. The driving in these gorges is not for the faint of heart or with a brand-new-too-wide-uninsured vehicle. The Todra is rugged and very deep and in places never sees the sun. The fact that goods on transport trucks are piled high rather than wide is a good thing.                                                                                       

After overnighting in the gorge we went farther west to the Gorges de Dades, a 65 km long gorge with even more unique rock formations. Stopping part way up for lunch we spent time with a man and his young son. The man played a traditional Moroccan instrument and had played on cultural tours in France. The little boy was curious and fascinated with us.

The next morning we awoke to fresh snow on the High Atlas Mountains not so very far from us. The snow-capped mountains together with the desert and palm trees made for a magical scene, almost surreal. Stopping in the large center of Ouarzazate further on for food, we visited the town’s main square. The city is obviously well off by comparison to the rest of the country partly because it was quickly built for Moroccans encouraged by the government to move here for intentionally compensation-inflated administrative jobs. The purpose was to have a large population center in the south to ensure control of that region. It has also become the Hollywood of Morocco with the film industry based here and spending plenty of dirhams, the Moroccan currency.

And how many of us have been cut off while driving through a crazy Third World country town (Agdz)…by a donkey pulling a cart? Happened to us today. I guess the signal lights on the cart were out of order.

And again this morning we saw a man riding his donkey, in the absolute middle of nowhere, talking on his cellphone (the man, not the donkey though we would not have been totally surprised). Frustrated because you don’t have cellphone coverage? Go to Morocco. Have a disposable income problem and cannot afford a cellphone? Go to Morocc.
 

Heading south on N9 took us through at first flat desolate terrain then over a volcanic mountain range as indescribably beautiful as some of the other places we’d seen in the country. Around every corner another geological wonder each more breath-taking than the one before with formations we had never seen in all our travels. Part way up to the pass we stopped to take pictures. Out of nowhere, as often happens here, a man pops out of the landscape much as a rabbit pops out of a hat. Usually they want you to buy something. This guy had a different gig…lizards he would let crawl on you…in return for a few coins.

Our destination was Zagora for a day (the plan) which would turn out differently (the reality). We would stop at Ali’s, a friend of Daniel’s from his Paris/Dakar days, a man with an unbelievable reputation as a mechanic able to fix all things and with skills to match supported by a calmness rarely seen. We were here to say hello. The next day we said thanks to the nice campground attendant and headed further south into the desert. On the way we stopped at a hole-in-the-wall place where a local man has an unending collection of historical Moroccan cultural artifacts from earrings to doors, lamps to wooden marriage contracts, and everything in-between. Later, a few scant kilometers on, Daniel gets another flat…on one of his new tires! Off it comes…and it also is ruined. Back to Zagora, to Ali to order tires for…maybe tomorrow? Maybe not? In 39C heat this is humorous. Back to the campground…the attendant smiled as he said “Hello…again”. The next day was spent in town, mainly hanging out at the garage, to help “manage” the situation (good luck with that) of the tires and the broken bolt. Daniel attempted to provide shade to the poor helpers with limited (okay…no) success.

You see lots of things standing in one place all day; the two twin-dressed women of Islamic faith were well aware that Morocco has good cellphone coverage. Back to the campground (we had checked out…again). The same attendant smiled (again) as he said “Hello…again…again”; funny guy he was. Helped that they put carpets between our camping cars so we wouldn’t get our shoes dirty.

   Daniel and Jo’s rig now repaired by Ali The Wonder Mechanic, we continued our way to the end of the road and the very dumpy, dusty village of Mhamid. A few kilometers south is the Algerian border which is closed and presents a whole host of its own problems. Now off road and a few kilometers south of Mhamid, we go no further.

 On the way back past the sand dunes, past the military outpost, past the small oasis, we come back along a single-lane and rough road. Seventy-five kilometers worth. Later, close to where Daniel had a flat days before, we stop at a pottery place. “Place” is not how this “place” can be described; alongside the road, disorganized, a man to his waist in a hole making clay pots, another emptying a homemade oven, another stacking, one painting. Dawn and Jo get a sample of the traditional Moroccan hand painting.

 We stay in Agdz for the night. The next day we take a cross road, not well known. There is a cobalt mine part way along whose heavy equipment has broken it up; it would be the worse road we would drive in Morocco. Heading toward Foum-guid, the mountainous scenery would be even more scenic than the last. We could spend a month here taking pictures and just plain staring. Lunch was in a no-vegetation, super dry, 40C amazing spot! It was on to the town of Tata to camp for the night. The running joke was that we would “caca in Tata”; jokes come easy in these parts.

 The oasis is truly a safe haven in the desert. It provides water, food and shade from the intense heat. They can be small or large, round or long but they are always a contrast. A contrast to the surroundings of rock, sand and no vegetation.

And as anywhere in the world, you just gotta go to the dentist. But would you go to the one who advertises this way?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Along route N12 in the southwest, long thin rock formations catch the drifting sands like snow fences stop driving snows. These rock formations are called “sand mountains”. They are stunning!

 One of our lunch stops along the southwestern route was in an oasis, on a hard sand dune, beneath a large date palm tree. Lunch finished we walked around a bit and soon came across a few older people harvesting the dates from their trees. The man would climb the tree barefooted and the women would collect the dates. The yellow colour shows that are not yet ripe enough to eat. A younger family member came along and able to speak French explained the process. They insisted on giving us more dates than we needed and would not accept payment. They did accept the kids’ clothes and toys we offered them. Again, things are different here. Life is simpler. Life is shared. Things are different here.

The next morning, continuing west, our Tom-Tom GPS said that the next action we would need to take was in 250 km…and that was to go straight through a round-about! The other side of Guelmim, we camped in Abaynou where the owner was unpleasant enough to get a mouthful of Dan; he went away.

 It was then on to Sidi Ifni on the Atlantic coast, 3700 km done since we had entered the country. Out came the champagne to celebrate! Up toward Agadir, an outrageously touristic place for wintering Europeans, and on to our stop in Taroundant in a very pleasant campground owned and run by a French man fed up with French bureaucracy.

The heat gets so intense in the desert that mirages do happen. Quenching your thirst is a must. How you quench your thirst matters not. Whatever is at hand usually works.

To help them quench their thirst many Moroccan men would ask us for a beer or, preferably, whiskey. When we said to them that as Muslims they weren’t supposed to drink alcohol, the answer we invariably got was… “I’ll drink it at home where Allah won’t see me”…or… “I’ll drink it at night when Allah won’t see me”. Okay then.  Did we mention?…things are different here.

                                                                                                                                                                                                               

One of the odd things Morocco is famous for is its tree-climbing goats. We had heard about it but hadn’t seen it…till now. Guess you’ve got to learn how to climb a tree if you want to eat green stuff here.

 

                                                                                   

We would then tackle the next and biggest gorge of all, the Tizi-n-Test, 150 km of wild mountain driving. Steep up and down, mostly very narrow, badly broken pavement, 1000 meter drops, no guardrails, a pass of 2200 meters high.

The mountain landscape, ruggedness and red earth colours reminded us of Nepal. The red object in the picture is actually a van driven to that point but never going any further and now used as a “shop” to sell things in. The front end actually hangs over the edge of the cliff!

It was a long, hard day of driving and being hit with a sandstorm a few kilometers from Marrakech didn’t help. It was our fourth sandstorm since we had entered Morocco. Very tired we arrived in Marrakech by 6 pm, in the rain.

The next day, our first in Relais de Marrakech, probably the best campground in the country and owned by a French couple, was errands day. Haircut, wash clothes, groceries and yet another inspection and a garage for yet another potential problem with Daniel and Jo’s camping car. Such days are necessary on long trips and the best thing to do is simply buckle in and get things done. It is just part of travelling.

 October 20 was to be our first day in Marrakech, shopping in the souq for things we don’t need and visiting the main square. Marrakech and this area are notoriously touristy; many Europeans take cheap flights directly to the city, stay a few days and fly home. That’s the extent of their Moroccan experience. The square is your first introduction to the craziness and is just out of control.

      There is everything here…a man selling dentures and individual (we assume false) teeth; a vendor with what seems to be everything pickled in a shop which we weren’t sure he could even leave; cobras, desert vipers, and other assorted snakes; and the endless list goes on and on. There was even a sleazy looking man pushing massages (oh wait…that was Daniel!!). 

In the evening as darkness makes its appearance food tents go up. Thousands of tourists are cajoled, pushed, nudged, pulled, corralled, strongly encouraged…sometimes with their paths blocked…to eat at each place. It’s very competitive. The food is decent, usually with fish or chicken as a base, and the prices reasonable. It’s very noisy. It’s good fun.
 

In the picture with the lights and the covered tents there is a gray empty building in the upper left corner. It was here that in 2011 Moroccan terrorists set off a body explosive device and killed fifteen and injured eighty, mostly French tourists but locals as well. The killers were soon captured and convicted. The original building was demolished and the one you see is the replacement under construction.

 

We spent another day in Marrakech but had lunch in a more upscale place. Usually Dawn and I would have a vegetarian tagine (vegetables cooked with water and spices in a covered clay pot) or couscous. Both were always very good.

One of the special treats Dawn and Jo had was a hammam. It’s a traditional Moroccan scrub bath with super-hot water followed by a massage. It usually lasts ninety minutes.

We did manage to find a now unused palace, Palace Badi, once inhabited by the higher ups. The workmanship and the details were some of the best we ever seen. Everything was done with individual tiles.

The second or middle day we were camped near Marrakech we hired a car and driver to take us up the Vallee de l’Ourika, another of Morocco’s stunning gorges. Our driver, Mohamed, was used to doing this and used to stopping off at the shops where we would probably buy so he could get a cut. We didn’t which also meant, neither did he. At the first shop/valley overlook/pee stop Dawn and Jo were “scarfed” to look local.

        Further up the valley the beauty of the landscape is different but equal to any we have seen. Harsh erosion in a red landscape with few trees and sturdy bushes. Again, not overstated…this place is stunning.

One of the most unique places was an area along the rushing river where eating tables are set up across shaky bridges. The tagines were good and the setting hard to beat.

 Morocco is a place where patience and tolerance are a must. The sign in the picture says “Ring and Have Patience”. That says it all. Once again…things are different here.

This year October 27 was one of Islam’s biggest holidays locally called the “Festival of the Sheep”. The ritual is to give the excess meat to the poor. The sheep are invited as the main dinner guests…in fact they ARE dinner. In villages, towns and cities we saw hundreds slaughtered on the street then cooked with scrap wood on the edge of the street, head and all. Skins were everywhere! It wasn’t the prettiest sight we’ve ever seen. For some time prior to the festival sheep were bought and sold and transported by truck, car, motorcycle, bike and by hand to where the dinner plates where to be laid out.  

Morocco is known for its pottery and one of the places we visited was where a number of artisans had gotten together to produce and sell their wares. No machinery here; everything was done by hand from the working of the clay to the making of the wares to the use of the kilns to the breaking of the tiles to make      different shaped mosaic pieces. We were told some of the people worked for the equivalent of $6 a day! This place was back to the medieval times but their work was exquisite!                                                                                                                                              

 

Now it was a bee-line to the coast, to a city called Essaouira. For us it was culture shock. Ocean, boats, and sea gulls replaced sand dunes, 4x4s, and camels. But not so fast! A few kilometers from town Dawn managed to fall in love with a camel and give it a kiss. You can tell by the camel’s smile, it enjoyed it too. The next day we walked from the campground to town, about two kilometers away, along the beach. An odd and out-of-place scene played out with the ocean surf, windsurfers…and camels. Even they looked confused!

Essaouira is a different town, a mixture of tourism and true local culture. The souq area is actually two; one for the tourists and an adjoining set of streets and alleys for local stuff. It has a small port on the Atlantic for commercial fishing boats. It’s a coastal place but tries to be more like its inland sisters. It’s a great place to eat seafood obviously and near the port is a row of side-by-side places with picnic tables and benches all serving the same stuff cooked on homemade charcoal on a simple open metal “bucket”. The owners push as hard for your business as the food hawkers did in Marrakech. Jo’s guidebook said #33 was good so after running the loud and pushy gauntlet we stopped there. There are no fixed price. Pick the seafood you want, they give you a price, you haggle. Being a Muslim country there was no booze at these places. But when we said we wanted a bottle of rosé wine they were quick to agree and sped off to wherever it was they could get it. Quickly and secretly handed off to us like a football being tossed for the championship run, and wrapped in newspaper, we thoroughly enjoyed it. Someone at the next table said…”Ah, we noticed you brought you own”… “But of course” we replied in good French fashion. As soon as the bottle was finished, it was as quickly deported to another place so the authorities wouldn’t catch on.        

Dawn and Jo topped off the visit to Essaouira with another hammam.

As mentioned Morocco’s pottery is well known. Some of the most unique and colourful was in another city along the coast. One of the nicest was pottery baked with a layer of sand thrown on. Designs were painted on top of that.

From here it was a drive through Casablanca (which means “white house”). We had no interest in stopping here with this town being quite dumpy. Up the coast we stayed at a campground called “l’Ocean Bleu” where Dawn and I had stayed back in February during our first trip into Morocco. Then straight to Martil to catch the ferry in Cueta, Spain (on the African continent) the following day to mainland Spain.
 

Three hundred kilometers later we sadly said goodbye to Daniel and Jo who needed to get home in France while Dawn and I continued to the campground at Los Escullos on the southern coast. We spent two months here last winter and are planning to be here to the end of February.

So how do we summarize this trip? We can’t. It was 5000 km of eye-popping scenery, endless fun with two fabulous friends, great food, and nice locals. Morocco is magical. Truly magical.