Day 7
Day 7: Sunday 29/06/03
Beep!,Beep!,Beep! I jumped up and straight out of the bed in one swift movement, because I knew if I had cancelled the alarm and rolled over, I would probably still be there now!
Bloody hell, did I feel tired, or what! The soothing warm shower very quickly turned to cold Arctic rain, and I became more awake by the second, screaming obscenities and having to force myself to stay in the shower. Why is it the water always goes cold on you just after you have dumped a large dollop of shampoo on you head?
Next decision of the day, do I dry myself with the musty smelling towel, or, do I use my own nice dry fresh smelling one? I chose the musty option and smothered myself in deodorant to mask any lingering smells. Getting my own towel wet and having to then put it into my rucksack without letting it air was the worst of the two evils, I had reasoned to myself.
I am again the only person in the downstairs restaurant, where the same food is again on offer for breakfast. I had a piece of bread with some jam, washed down with a small amount of coffee and lots of milk in a cup, but switched to orange juice half way through, unable to stomach any more.
At 6.45 the minibus has pulled up and those travelling are beginning to assemble with their bags outside.
The driver gets everybody to tick his or her name on the list he has, and then confirms that we are all present and correct. I do a quick count and am pleased that there are to be only 8 of us, plus the driver, in this 13-seater minibus for the trip.
The introductions are then set in motion; I already know Pryia and her friend Danika who are also accompanied by the other girl I don’t yet know, her name it turns out is Kim. Ulla the Danish woman from last night is here and all sorted for the trip, there is another guy who is from France by the name of Guillaume, then finally a young couple from Bristol in England named Tom and Emma made up the octet. So this is it, a gang of intrepid travellers heading off into the wilderness on a big Moroccan adventure. (Well, you’ve got to make it sound a little exciting, haven’t you?)
As for the driver he did tell us his name, but I could not for the life of me remember it, or for that matter even pronounce it thirty seconds after he told us, hence from now on he will be known as the driver.
We set off with everybody on board making small talk, I suppose trying to get a handle on the people they would be spending the next three days with. Priya and Danika sitting at the back said very little, preferring to shut their eyes and catch up on the sleep they had sacrificed by getting up early this morning. I was sitting at the front looking out of the windscreen that resembled a map of the London underground system; it had that many cracks in it. Through the cracks I saw a few nice looking places on the way out of the city that I thought might warrant a better look round, if and when we got back in three days time.
I knew straight away that this would be a nice trip, on first impressions all the other people were sociable and easy going, with no mystery surrounding anybody, the conversation was light hearted and mostly concerned a little bit about each other, the places and things we had seen. The only person I was having trouble getting to grips with was the driver, who for some reason kept mumbling to himself.
There is nothing wrong with talking to yourself; we all do it sometimes
(Don’t we?) but, not constantly, as he was doing. As I was sitting at the front
I was hearing him all the time in my left ear and kept turning around and saying
eh? what? Whenever he said anything, but as he was not actually talking to
anyone in particular, he just looked at me as though it was I who had lost the
plot somewhere.
I think he might have been reciting verses from the Koran, but he was never
quite loud enough to make out what he was saying. The only time I could hear him
was when he was on his mobile phone, or conversing with Ulla who was sat behind
him and translating whatever he said for the benefit of all. I knew she would be
an asset on this trip, and now she was proving it, as she was able to bring
everybody into the conversation.
It was around an hour, or so, after we had left the hotel Ali that I really started to get the feel of this trip. We were now heading out into the Atlas mountains and were following one of the very few main roads that actually run through Morocco, not a main road like we know them, this was more your dusty country lane type of road that ran through numerous villages and open farming land. I was a little concerned by the amount of phone calls the driver was receiving as he drove, especially when he was holding the phone in one hand, while trying to wrestle the minibus around one of the many tight bends on the mountain road.
The rural experience I craved had not been long in coming, with the city of Marrakech now a good distance behind us, and mile upon mile of open dusty desert roads ahead. It soon became clear that motorised transport was not the norm out here in the countryside, with every second car actually being a Donkey! In fact the further we drove the fewer cars and more horse drawn carts and donkeys we saw. It got to the stage where four-legged transport outnumbered the four-wheeled version by about twenty to one.
The local bus service was an open backed truck with as many people as possible crammed on to it, all hanging on for dear life. There was no handy petrol station to pull into if you fancied a nice cold drink; it was a wilderness with nothing for miles around, apart from that is, the odd adobe house sited in the middle of nowhere. Just looking at these mud brick dwellings that looked a little out of place in the vast openness made you question why anybody would choose to build a home there in the first place?
.
The driver breaking from a bout of mumbling started pointing and informed us through Ulla that today was market day as we approached a little town near the start of the Atlas Mountain range.
On our left we could see quite a large ramshackle of covered stalls with lots of people roaming around, while up on an elevated position to the right of the road was what I assume, was the car park on market days. There was actually no cars to be seen, just a couple of lorries and around 150 donkeys tied up waiting patiently for their owners, who would no doubt return laden with shopping for them to carry into the hills on their backs.
It got to the stage where it wasn’t anything special anymore and you did not even take too much notice when you saw a donkey on the road in front. Invariably the donkey was loaded down with a large bundle of whatever and perhaps two, or maybe even three, small children on its back. Usually being led by a woman covered from head to toe in traditional robe walking in the blistering heat, heading for who knows where? There were no villages, or homes to be seen anywhere for miles around. It’s when you see this type of living that you begin to question your own standards and vow to never moan again when a train, or bus, is a few minutes late.
Trying to draw a comparison is difficult, as the whole culture of these people has to be taken into account, but just having a donkey is a luxury item and the equivalent to owning a car for us, I suppose? Probably a bad comparison, but how do you equate to these people who all seem to be happy enough, yet have so very little by our standards. And then there is us, who have it all and are never really happy?
Music is what’s needed now, at least that’s what the driver thinks as he roots around in his glove box looking for something he feels we will all like. The only tape he has of Western style music turns out to be The Mamas and the Papas singing California Dreaming over and over again. This was probably great in it’s day when Hippies first started arriving in Morocco, but things have moved on a little since then and someone like Coldplay would have been more to everyone’s taste. Either that or we all needed to be smoking a joint to get into the vibe! With no other Music to offer us apart from Arabic stuff we suffered this onslaught from Mama Cass, until finally Danika at the back could take it no longer and managed to dig out a Sting tape from her rucksack. I think I preferred Mama Cass!
The driver is happy to stop as often as we want to take pictures, but we leave it up to him as he has done this trip so often, he knows exactly where all the best picture spots are. Most of us used these stops to not only take some snaps, but also as an excuse to stretch our legs, get some fresh air or have a smoke.
Guillaume is a smoker like myself, in fact we are the only two in the group
apart from the driver who do smoke, so it soon became the norm for us to get the
cigarettes out and stand around together having a “Hamlet moment”, while the
others got out their cameras to have a “Kodak moment”.
(Below Right: Tom & Emma capture another stunning view on film)
Guillaume is a thirty something Frenchman and has a very laid back air about him, something I took to straight away. He was telling me a little about himself that I found surprising at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought that maybe it wasn’t, and maybe explained his laid back attitude.
He spent his working days looking into people’s eyes, literally! He told me that he came from a family of Pharmacists, both his parents and brother ran their own shops, but he had taken another medical route and had become an optician! I had a little thought run through my mind as I wondered what makes people want to become an optician?
“What do you want to be when you grow up Johnny?” “I want to be an optician Daddy!” “Ugh?”
It just doesn’t have that same ring to it like a Train Driver, Astronaut or Fireman, does it! Still I suppose someone has to do it, otherwise we would all be walking into lampposts and getting the kids to read the gas bill for us! Having said that, I remembered when I was taking some pictures of a girl a while back and she told me she was at university studying to become an Optician, so I guess it’s probably not as strange as I first thought.
At one of the stops we made climbing high into the atlas we were confronted by a young boy selling amethyst and some other semi- precious minerals that are found in the rock around this landscape. A couple of us bought some as they were really quite nice and not in the least bit expensive, also we felt the young boy was entitled to earn something, simply just for having to stand there all day waiting for tourist vans to pull up on a picture stop!
Ait Benhaddou is described as one of the most exotic and well preserved
Kasbahs in all of the Atlas region, if not the world, so it was no surprise that
this was on the itinerary of places to see on this trip. It was around 11.a.m
when we got here and I was expecting it to be crawling with tourists, but it
wasn’t. As far as I could see we were the only small group here, so had the
entire place to ourselves. After parking the minibus tight to a wall that had
some shade the driver said we had 45 minutes to look around the Kasbah. In the
first instance we still had a short way to walk to get there, which we did by
crossing over the dried out Oued Ounila riverbed, being led by a young lad who I
assumed was to be our guide. I say assumed because he was there when we got out
of the minibus, but don’t know who actually appointed him.
I dare say he was not a real guide anyway, as he did not say a word the whole way round, he just kept pointing in the direction we should walk. I don’t begrudge him trying to earn some money, but this place was not that difficult to find your way around, and personally I would have preferred to explore at my own pace, rather than have someone keep leading the group in the direction they wanted you to go.
The Kasbah itself was just a little to good to be true, looking like a Hollywood film set, with everything in just the right place and laid out to give the impression that time had almost stood still for centuries. Had it not been surrounded by open desert land, you could almost have believed you were in Disney World.
There were very old looking dust covered earthenware pots laying against the ochre red mud-brick walls, old colourful handmade carpets hanging from open windows, small inviting doorways with the occasional inquisitive little head of a child popping out. Your eyes could not help but look down the interesting little alleyways that cried out to be explored. Who would not want to take a picture of the odd looking donkey that was stood idly munching on some feed outside a closed door, and then there was the few people roaming around in traditional Berber clothing that set off the whole scene.
It all seemed a little too unreal and you got the feeling these people were actors, who were somehow putting on a show for you. And in reality they probably do earn more from tourism than anything else, so try to keep things looking how they feel the tourist want’s to see it. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy the experience, because I did, but being ever so slightly a little bit cynical, I found it hard not to have these thoughts run through my head.
The Ait Benhaddou Kasbah is now under UNESCO protection, which goes to show just how old the place really is, and this location has been used as the setting for many films over the years, including Gladiator, Jesus of Nazareth and Lawrence of Arabia to name but a few. Maybe it was because I had seen these films I was relating to them and seeing this place as just an extension of Hollywood? (Below group picture from left to right- Guide, Tom, Priya, Danika, Kim, Emma, Guillaume)
We were invited into one of the homes to look around at a typical Berber way
of life, but it was not that typical. Once you are inside the young man in the
robe and turban worn over a conventional check shirt and black pair of brogue
like shoes tried to sell you things. He was producing dusty old stuff from
wooden chest like boxes, that he then claimed were this, or that, and well over
two hundred years old e.t.c.
While the things he had on offer, such as small Berber mats, pots, bangles and knives did look nice, and I dare say would have made good reminders of the trip, they were not original, and as far as I was concerned had obviously been distressed to look old. Now I’m no David Dickinson Antique type expert, but it never ceases to amaze me that these people think everybody is going to be taken in and believe them. Then again, someone, somewhere along the line will always be taken in and buy something. Then they go home happy and tell all their friends about this three hundred-year-old antique they bought in the kasbah, that in reality is a three-month-old factory produced reproduction. On the up side this could be a win, win situation, the seller is happy and so are you thinking you have a relic, providing of course, you don’t pay too much over the top for the item.
Nobody in the group bought anything and moved on, while I stayed out on the balcony taking some pictures. The young boy after failing to interest me in any of his goods asked who was going to pay him for looking around his home? I thought it was more like a museum! He then said that the others had told him I was the leader of the group, and that I would be the one to pay him! Laughing at his quick wittedness, I told him they had lied and were not to be trusted, then walked out to catch up with them, leaving him a little upset and ever so slightly confused.
Climbing towards the top of the kasbah you reach the ruins of the once
fortified granary, from where you can get some spectacular views out into the
stony desert with it’s lush green palm trees that surround the area. From this
elevated position it was also possible to see the numerous storks sitting almost
majestically guarding the Kasbah in the nests they had built on the roofs of the
higher outlying buildings.
Our forty five minutes were soon up, but we could easily have done with another hour as we walked around the Kasbah, all totally in awe at some of the sights, yet we had to press on as we were on a tight schedule, although only the driver knew exactly what that schedule was.
Kim the Australian girl, who is actually American and has both Australian and British citizenship got talking to a group of Americans in the small café where we had stopped to get some cold drinks. They are on a whistle stop tour of Morocco, but no self appointed guide for them, they have an American man who speaks Arabic and actually lives in Morocco, where he works as a tour guide for an American company. We don’t care as we’ve got Ulla; she asks all the questions we need answered from the Driver, who speaks no other language than Arabic. But to be fair to him, when he’s not mumbling or talking to someone on his mobile phone, he seems to be knowledgeable enough, if the answers he gives Ulla are anything to go by.
Back in the minibus and everybody is buzzing with the memory of what we have just seen fresh in our minds. Thirty five kilometres further along the road and we pulled into the town of Ouarzazate (pronounced War zazat), a small town that came to prominence back in the late twenties when the French built it up as a Garrison and regional administrative centre. Today it is home to the Atlas film studio that was currently shooting a film, so it was not possible to have a look around.
You could quite clearly see from the exterior of restaurant we were to have our lunch at, that this was not going to be a cheap eat. The prices here were about double what all of us had been used to paying in Morocco so far, but obviously the driver wasn’t going to take us to a cheap restaurant, as of course his commission would be affected.
We had a look through the moderately expensive menu and negotiated a cheaper meal on the strength of their being eight of us. The restaurant was nicely laid out with old pots and other objects all over the place, just like a theme restaurant. We sat on the upper terrace and overlooked the studio where they were shooting something to do with Egypt. This was easy to see from this elevated vantage point we were seated on as the set was done up in the style of the Pharonic era, with a couple of large Sphinx’s to be seen standing prominently behind the main gates.
Across the road from the restaurant was the Taourit Kasbah and Glaoui Palace, but unfortunately time did not permit us to visit, as we had to head off straight after lunch. This was a bit of a shame, as I would like to have had a good look around this UNESCO restored palace.
They say when having a meal is a good time to talk to people and do a deal (something to do with Jesus and the Last Supper), hence so many business lunches I suppose. This meal was no different, only we were not trying to sell each other anything except the odd story. Sat around a large table we were able to enjoy each other’s company while we ate.
I was now starting to get a little insight to most of the others on the trip and finding out what it was they did when not travelling. Priya was on a final fling before starting a new career, having just got herself a job after finishing her last term at university. Welcome to the real world Pryia!
Danika was going back to university to finish her studies; Both Tom and Emma were still at University studying. Tom was looking towards a career in the foreign office just like his father, who had been a diplomat with the Dutch government, but did not hold out that much hope, as it is such a competitive market. Emma was studying to become a doctor, so we would be alright if any of us cut a finger, or whatever. Mind you she had a large swelling on her ankle that she did not know what had caused it, or how to treat it. I told her that I had some ointment that I had bought in Egypt that I had used on mossie bites, which worked wonders for me! I would let her have some when we got to the hotel that night, it might help.
Kim who was between jobs, was telling me that she was on an extended break and planned to move onto France and then Spain to meet up with friends before finally heading back to Brisbane to look for a new job in her field of Public Relations.
She came to be living in Australia after emigrating from England where she had lived in London for a while, then took a job out there and had stayed for the last six years. She now held Australian citizenship as well as British! How that works I don’t know, but I suppose it’s not that difficult, as I myself, could if I wanted, have both a British and Irish passport.
Ulla was in Morocco to see some friends and intended to return to her adopted Egypt to concentrate on a new project for the Open University! I felt like the odd one out with all these academics around me, but I suppose I came in handy, as I knew how to take pictures!
In all honesty I could not have asked for a better bunch of travelling companions, they were all pretty happy go lucky and not one of them was the slightest bit obnoxious, which was a little strange I thought, as there is usually one in a group! Perhaps it was me?
The minibus was soon on the move again with eight full up and satisfied diners on board, this time heading towards the Dades Valley through the mountain passes of the High Atlas, that become unpassable during the winter months because of the snow. It doesn’t seem right that it was so hot at the time, yet come the winter months the cold is such that this mountain region is cut off with high snowdrifts.
Out of the mountains we pass through the Valley of Roses and the driver tells us an interesting story about a certain prison we pass in one of the towns. Apparently it was used to house anti royalists and political prisoners at one time. A certain inmate later wrote a book about her time in the prison, in which she explained that the prisoners who were kept in total isolation only knew what time of year it was from the smell of the rose petals that fill the air in spring. I never saw any roses, a little late in the year for them I suppose, but I saw lots of shops selling every conceivable product related to roses, such as perfumes and soaps e.t.c.
Around 4.30 we arrived at our final stop for the day and the hotel that was to be our resting-place for the night. Set in a beautiful tranquil setting here in the Dades gorge, the Hotel le Vieux Chateaux du Dades was surprisingly empty apart from us. Set on the side of the narrow road that runs through the Gorge and right next to a river it had marvellous views all around it and was certainly a nice enough place to stay. Yet looking at the tariff it was no more expensive then the Hotel Ali in Marrakech, which itself was cheap enough.
Our rooms were allocated to us on the lower floor of this three-floor establishment. My spacious room with a stone tiled floor had two single beds and a nice bathroom that had a shower and western style toilet. The window looked out onto the river that flowed by alongside the high imposing orange and red rock-face on the other side. The only thing it didn’t have was any electricity in the room? I wasn’t the only one as no one else had any either, on making some inquiries we found out that the electricity was supplied via the use of a generator, and as it was still light they would not be switching it on until around 6 p.m. That was fair enough, I could see everything fine, and there was no real need for any artificial light anyway.
A few of us went for a walk along the river bank, led by a couple of local children who were only to happy to show us how to find our way along the sometimes narrow and overgrown path. We crossed the river via some stepping stones in a single file, but unfortunately Priya fell in, good job it was only a foot or so deep at this point! Mind you this didn’t stop me from laughing.
A little way further down stream we crossed back over, but took no chances, this time we removed our sandals to wade across, rather than try to walk on the slippery stepping stones that formed a small dam here. Guillaume and Tom were feeling a little adventurous and climbed up the rockface about thirty metres to a cave the young boy had pointed out. Tom it seems is in to rock climbing, and Guillaume seems game for just about anything! I gave Emma the Egyptian ointment to put on her swollen foot, in the vain hope it might help reduce the pain for her. When I had bought it the man in the pharmacy eager to make a sale, had told me it cured just about everything from a cold to cancer!
Back at the hotel and showered we were served dinner at a large table around 8 p.m. …. It was quite a simple meal of cous cous and chicken with some vegetables. We would have liked some wine, but the waiter told us he did not have any, but thankfully he did have beer!
“Great we will have some beer then please”, I said. Five of us ordered a beer, that when it turned up made us laugh! It was in small cans about the size of a half tin of baked beans! Oh well, it was better than nothing, I thought, but it was not going to quench my serious thirst, I was right, it soon went.
So I asked for some more. “Sorry”, said the waiter, “we don’t have any more!”
“What! Are you joking me?” A Hotel that only had five cans of beer, and even then if you poured them all in the same glass they did not come to a pint! ….More cokes all round then!
After dinner Guillaume and Ulla joined some local men who were sitting around, smoking cannabis, chatting and playing music, while the rest of us went up onto the roof to look at the stars. Danika wanted to make a phone call home, but the problem here was there was no phone in the hotel. The waiter told us there was a phone some 500 metres down the road in another small hotel.
I went with Danika to keep her company while looking for this phone; we walked in the pitch-black darkness of night, down the sloping unlit road that was closed in on both sides by the imposing high rockfaces. It looked as though the rock formation had formed a canopy at the top to block out what starlight might get through otherwise.
The good thing, I suppose, was there was no fear of being run over, as we would know if there was traffic on the road as we would surely hear the clip clop of a donkey as it approached, whether it had it’s lights on or not!
We found the phone, but could not use it, as apparently the man who had the key to the room in was in had gone into the local village for the evening! We returned to our hotel and sat on the roof where we again just sat around chatting in a group and looking at the stars that shone so brightly in the night sky. It was easy to spot the constellations and shooting stars as they made there way like tracer fire across the sky.
The reason for this was that the lights were all out now in the hotel, the generator had been switched off.
The hotel staff were putting candles in strategic places to give out a little light, but it was only a token gesture in this blackness that had descended. My little torch came in handy for once, and was able to light the way for me to return to my room, where I was soon in bed and fast asleep!