Our arrival into the new Menara Airport in Marrakech was greeted by an inability to obtain Moroccan Dirham as all the ATM’s were empty on Sunday, and also they would not exchange Australian currency. None-the-less our spirits were raised when we were greeted by our pre-booked smiling taxi driver who would take us to the laid back sea side town of Essaouira, a distance of 175 km for 750 Dirham ( 1 AUS $= 7.5 DH) for a gentler introduction to Morocco.
The taxi ride afforded us with an enchanting panorama of terracotta buildings that punctuated the arid landscape with vast open and deep azure skies. The scenery was truly beautiful. This would be a mantra that would be often repeated on our travels here. An inauspicious lunch interspersed the journey.
Essaouira was everything that we had imagined it to be and more. A delightful array of exotic fortified walls in the UNSECO world heritage listed medina, expansive water views, fishing boats, seagulls, the gentle taros or breeze, friendly Moroccans like our concierge Abdul and his wife Saida and strangers who would say “Welcome, welcome to our country” and cats and more cats, (we are all convinced George is Moroccan). Our two nights stay at the Riad des la Mer, for £65 per night for the whole of the first floor, would pass quickly.
It was here at a restaurant that a young waiter who was looking for a wife proudly announced that Katie had ‘desert eyes’ and that she sounded like Norah Jones. (A pick up line Moroccan style!) It was also here on the way to the outdoor fish grills where we had lunch (choose your seafood and they cook it in front of you) that Katie was approached by a man who she thought said; “Do you have some cash?” to which she replied, “No thanks, I have no small cash”. As it transpired what he really said was; “Do you want some hash?” We had a bit of a giggle at Katie’s expense.
After a bout of clothes shopping in the souks and an altercation with the luggage man, we somewhat reluctantly left Essaouira as we had a date with Marrakech. In some ways this altercation was a portent of things to come and some things that passed.
On our taxi ride back to Marrakech I noticed what was to be a common occurrence on Moroccan roads. “Police check points” every 30 minutes or so along the road. At these ‘check points’ you would often find cars emptied and searched by the Police. Unsurprisingly our taxi driver, who was good friends with all of them, was always waved through. I am sure a little Machiavellian donation always helps the cause.
In a Lonely Plant TV documentary on Marrakech, shortly before we left, the reporter said; “Marrakech if you are not careful, I will not go out with you.” In part, this summed up Katie’s and my experience of Marrakech.
Katie’s assessment; “Marrakech is what it is” turned out to be rather prophetic. The UNSECO world heritage listed square, Djemaa El- Fna lived up to its billing, with a vibe and a cast of thousands including snake charmers, dancing monkeys, walking owls, freshly squeezed orange juice and a plethora of food stalls. Yet on the surface Marrakech did appear suffocating. People seemingly only interested in conversation if you bought something, exploiting your trust, pushy, rude, demanding, incessant, beggars being wheeled into restaurants where you were sitting asking for money and people literally chasing you for money if you took a photo; snake charmers particularly.
At one stage unannounced a young male, with a cheesy grin, came up to Nicole and put his arm around her and proceeded to walk her through the medina. To my disdain, I removed the offending arm and politely told him to “&^!@##!”. Much to Nicole’s annoyance who said; “Dad I can look after myself thank you”. A point well made by Nicole and taken on board by her father.
Cries of “Hello baby”, “Hello flowers” and “I give you a thousand camels” from virulent young stags followed the girls throughout the medina. At one stage, when Katie and I were walking together one of them yelled out somewhat luridly to me; “Oh you are a lucky guy.”
I was beginning to think that Marrakech was not so much an awkward first date but rather a tempestuous relationship that was terminal. I was struggling to get beneath this layer to uncover another of her faces.
This view was coloured by the fact that, by Moroccan standards, we were badly ripped off when we had lunch on the way from the airport despite being promised by our smiling taxi driver that the food at this cafe was much cheaper and better than at the airport. Also ironically as we were hassled on the way to the fish grill by a restaurateur who advised not to go there as they hassle you. While the food was good it was much more than we should have paid. You see in some places there are no menus or prices and while I am quite adept at bargaining for clothes etc bargaining for such a basic commodity as food (not required in Nepal) was something foreign to me.
And lastly the departure from Essaouira left a bad taste in my mouth where we had our luggage transported on something akin to a wheelbarrow for 100 m to our taxi. I gave the person a tip of a couple Dirhams which he literally threw back at my face, not enough you see. In hindsight it was a misunderstanding and my lack of understanding of North African culture. At the time it was incandescent rage and layering my animosity somewhat unfairly toward the Moroccan people. Travel is such a good teacher.
Our Hotel, the Jnane Mogador, in the heart of the medina for two nights was fantastic (except for one morning of cold showers). The tagines and breakfast were simply divine as was the hammam experience at the hotel for Anne and Katie. 45 minutes of exfoliating, covered in black soap and clay splashed with lots of hot water lying butt naked (apart from the undies) on a heated floor. All this pleasure for 125 Dirham or $16.
Our one full day here was spent walking through the medina, listening to the muezzin call to prayer five times a day at the Koutoubia Mosque, a visit to the Mellah (Jewish markets, which is great for spices) and a walk through the 16th century ruin; Badi Palace.
After renegotiating our five day Sahara experience with another company (Mami Tour)supplied by the hotel, some $300 cheaper than what I obtained through research on the net (always cheaper in country), we were to leave Marrakech at 7.30 the following morning.
But before doing so, with the help of my better half, I was determined to put on a new disposition towards the country and its people.
Day One of our Sahara experience was bursting at the senses. We would eventually arrive at our first nights stay at Dades Gorge at 7.00 p.m. With our driver Hassan who spoke five languages: Arabic; Berber; French; Spanish and English we left in our Toyota Land cruiser for the Atlas Mountains. After an hour the road snaked its way up to Tizi N’Tichka at an altitude of 2,400 m. This pass connects Marrakech with the pre-Sahara oasis and it was along this way that Nicole christened the road more than once as we had to regularly stop for her due to a mixture of car sickness, flu, and tummy pains. Colie was still feeling lousy.
Next stop was the town of Telout and a visit to the Giaoui Kasbah. A beautiful old Kasbah and an enjoyable fossick through its ruins. The next two hours of travel through the Telout valley to Ait Benhaddou was majestic and unforgettable. At Ait Benhaddou, where we had lunch, it was easy to see how the red mud brick Kasbah formed the back drop for films like Lawrence of Arabia, Jesus of Nazareth, Jewel of the Nile and Gladiator. I was really beginning to feel like I was in another continent.
Onto Ouarzazate, pronounced war-zazat, where we visited the Kasbah Taourirtt. By now the afternoon sun was in all its glory and casting a beautiful hue from its radiant light. The sky was a deeper and richer blue to the one at home. Another two and half hours driving through Skoura, Kelaa M’gouna (known for its pink roses) and Boumalne Du Dades we arrived in the dark at Hotel Restaurant la Vallee. It had been a long day and we were very tired and after a quick dinner and Berber hospitality we were off to bed for a very respectable 9.00am breakfast and 10.00 am departure for Todra Gorge and the desert the following day.
We awoke to views of the majestic Dades Gorge, an extraordinary red rock formation, from our hotel window. After some obligatory photos of the Gorge and amazing vistas of the meandering road which lazily climbed steeply off the valley floor we were gone.
Day Two saw us drive through the valley and the town of Tinehir and after two hours we bore witness to the gorgeous, gurgling Todra Gorge. The Lonely Planet Moroccan guide book describes approaching the Gorge as”thrilling and somehow urgent, as though the doors of heaven were about to close before you.” This was such an apt description. Breathtakingly beautiful.
With the 4WD we travelled deeper into the gorge and had mint tea at the fantastic Auberge Le Festival with cave guest rooms. Sitting on the terrace we were surrounded by scenery which was something like out of a Star Wars film, barren but beautiful. During the day, our thoughtful but reserved driver, asked Colie’s name. Somewhere lost in translation Colie became known as Au lait or Olay.
Travelling through Efroud we came across a desert sand storm, a Moroccan willy willy, and the sun had an eerie translucent glow reminiscent to a raging bushfire in the Australian outback. From here onto Rissani and then around 5.00 pm we finally arrived at our Auberge for the next three nights on the outskirts of the village of Mezzouga. We were greeted by the mad and eccentric twenty something Berber, Hassan, who was the Auberge’s customer liaison. He immediately christened us with Berber names; Anne was now to be called ‘Fatima’, Katie was to be known as ‘Aisha’, Nicole as ‘Hidiysha’ and yours truly as ‘Ali Baba’. Hassan insisted that we adhere to these names till the end of our stay. That night at dinner I had my best tagine in Morocco.
After dinner Hassan invited us to a night of Berber music and dancing. What followed was an experience Katie and I would not forget for a while.
We all went back to Katie and Nicole’s room, which was set apart from the main buildings, as Colie was feeling decidedly unwell. Anne stayed with her while Katie and I fumbled our way through the darkness towards the Auberge’s restaurant. As we approached we heard a muted cry saying; “Kaaam... Kaaam” and saw a faint light which turned out to be Hassan’s mobile phone. We could then make out his shadowy figure outside the restaurant where he enquired; “Where is Fatima?” He then proceeded to lead Katie and me into the pitch blackness of the Sahara desert to the sounds of a drum playing in the distance.
Both of us were becoming increasingly bemused as we went further and further into the desert with a person we hardly knew. The sounds of the drum faded and after repeatedly asking him where we were going with little or no response we approached a dense thicket of what looked like bush. A little uneasy we wanted to turn back. He insisted that we go on further. Our imagination, and his Jack Nicholson type Shining snigger, got the better of us which was fuelled by earlier discussions of Bradley Murdoch and Joanna Lees along part of a long and lonely road from Tinehir. We both felt a little vulnerable.
Abruptly, we turned back and headed for the Auberge stumbling in the desert closely followed by the hovering Hassan. When we arrived back he said “No problem, we stay here.” What followed was bizarre and somewhat comical. In between Hassan playing the Tum Tum, drums, and singing traditional Berber songs, in casual conversation we asked him about how many in his family to which her replied; “Caravan”. When asked about whether the camels had names he bleated out “Jimmy Hendrix.” Do people get lost in the desert? “Berber GPS” was his response. When Anne appeared he chanted to the beat of the drum; “Fatima dance, Fatima dance, Fatima dance” much like the chanting in William Golding’s film Lord of the Flies. The guy was mad as a meat axe. He very much reminded me of the Russian cosmonaut in the film Armageddon.
He kept repeating throughout the night in his now infamous chortle; “My English is slipping”, “My English is crazy” “No problem Ali Baba” and “Where is Fatima?” Around 10.30 we escaped to the refuge of our room and settled in for a long sleep.
Day Three was a rest day at the Auberge till mid afternoon. Refreshingly, no 4W driving today. After a late breakfast we did nothing, except for reading, writing blogs, resting and eating. The electricity went off for the morning and the showers were intermittently cold. This was a faint echo of Nepal, deep in the Sahara, less than 50 km from the Algerian border. Later in the afternoon when the winds died down we would go on our camel trek and bivouac.
We boarded our ships in the desert just after four still with a hard wind that blew. As we rode further and further into the Sahara my sand blown face was filled with exhilaration. It was one of those junctures in time where you had to pinch yourself. The Father of Mythology, Joseph Campbell, called them moments of bliss. Katie appropriately led us onwards with our camel guide who walked the small caravan of four. After 90 minutes we dismounted and were asked to walk the final 20 minutes in fading light to our camp.
Here we were greeted by a United Nations of tourists: Poles; Americans; English; Italian; French; Scandinavians- about 25 in all. Amidst the swapping of camel stories, histories and travel sojourns we ate a traditional Berber meal and were treated to traditional music and ‘camel dancing’ which was illustrated deftly by Colie. We struck a particularly good relationship with some New York and Buffalo girls who were studying in Italy and having a brief holiday in Morocco. It was refreshing to meet such self effacing and unpretentious Americans. Off to bed around 9.00 p.m. in our own Berber tent we managed some intermittent sleep with the sand in our teeth, hair, eyeballs and other cavities and surrounded by the noisy Scandinavian and French chatter of “ooh, more hash cookies please...”
Night left us quickly as we were awoken at 5.30 to the drum beat of “welcome, welcome” for a very early morning breakfast. Some chose to leave early courtesy of camels, while others like Katie and I chose to climb the dunes to wait and witness the sunrise. There was a stillness here that reminded me of Michael Palin’s reflections in the desert of how the three great monotheistic religions found God here. It is easy to see why amidst such endless and eternal beauty. Katie and I especially, had developed an insatiable appetite for the Moroccan landscape.
There are special moments, sacred moments that embolden a father daughter relationship. As a father, sitting on a sea wall, watching a sunrise or putting your arm around your daughter in a souk builds an indelible legacy, especially as no two experiences are ever the same. It is one of the real blessings of travel.
Day Four had dawned and the Berbers attempted to cajole us into remaining in the desert for the day, an invitation we politely declined. Soon after we were 4W driving along the dunes, (with Colie on the roof!) somewhat mimicking the rollercoaster rides in my youth, back to our Auberge.
The metaphor of the rising sun to greet yet another Moroccan day reflected my developing symbiotic relationship with the land and its people. I had begun to scratch the surface and venture a little deeper into the culture.
It was on the 36th day into my trip that the Sahara claimed me and my new $600 camera. I succumbed to the tummy bug and Dr. Colie prescribed me three gastro stop tablets, a stematil, and a good lie down. Meanwhile, the ‘good doctor’, who was thankfully decidedly better, and ‘the rest of the girls’ visited the nearby town of Rissani, for the Sunday souks, or markets and the internet cafe to reconnect to the outside world. (As it turned out the town folk where rather intimidating, and the girls were the only Westerners there so they stayed only an hour in the cyber cafe).My camera succumbed to the sands of the Sahara. I hope they both get well soon.
In the afternoon I watched on my laptop the beautifully crafted Sean Penn film Into the Wild, based on the true story of Chris McCandliss, a 23 year old, who rejected the trappings of Modernity as he escaped from a tormented family life and sought solace in nature and finally in the Alaskan wilderness. Chris’ reflections in the final chapter of the film, The getting of Wisdom; “The core of man’s (sic) spirit comes from new experiences” resonate with me on my travels. The rest of the family watched a slide show of Colie’s photos, something of a retrospective of our time in Bangkok, Madrid and Morocco.
For the late afternoon we all chilled on the terrace and watched the evening arrive in glorious desert surroundings.
Dinner, than early bed as we are off tomorrow at 8.00 a.m. for our seven to eight hour drive to the Imperial city of Fez.
Until next time
Good tidings and God’s blessings
Janika
