Morocco 2006

The next morning we were up early and headed back to Rissani for gas and food before heading west, and a bit south, to the Draa Valley and Zagora.     We were following a line of about a dozen camper vans from France, about five kilometers out of Merzouga, on a lonely stretch of desert, when suddenly they all pulled over, on both sides of the road.     They effectively blocked traffic in both directions.     As we threaded our way through them we saw that the reason they’d all stopped was not some mechanical problem that one of them was having, but that ALL of them were emptying their septic tanks right there by the side of the road.     Unfortunately this is not the first time we’ve seen French tourists behaving in such a disgraceful way.     Tabernac. When we stopped in Rissani we were immediately accosted by someone wanting us to look in his shop and buy whatever it was he was selling (it wasn’t clear what).  We weren’t inte...

It was snowing when we left Dades Gorge.     Regardless of that minor inconvenience (we are Canadian, so what’s a little snow), we decided we’d head up into the Todra Gorge.     That meant going directly east to Tinghir and then north into the gorge.     Todra is much narrower, rougher, rockier, and more dramatic than Dades.     The road twists and turns through     somewhat menacing, and very high vertical rock walls that defied the penetration of even the smallest shafts of light.     It was bitterly cold.     At the top of the gorge we came upon a very poor village, Tamtetoucht, where the ragged children reminded me of children I’d met in the Andes, with rough weather-reddened cheeks, chapped lips, bare feet, and beseeching eyes.     There are so many people in this world who lead such desperate lives, with no hope of anything better, no chance to improve their lot, and so little, really, to live for. ...

We met Mohammed of the Mountains in Dades Gorge.  We were picnicking, having just driven to the beautifully rugged and very cold top of the gorge, and was tending his agricultural plots in one of the many little valleys along the Dades River.  He took us on a guided tour of the valley,  telling us about the irrigation system and how it worked, what crops were planted when, and which indigenous plants were good for teas and medicines. And sharing with us the traditional beliefs, customs and lifestyles of the once highly nomadic Berber people. We were honoured when, at the end of our walk, Mohammed invited us to come with him to his mother’s home.  The home was in a small village north and west of  Boumalne Dades, known as the ‘gateway to the gorge,’  and the town where our hotel was situated.  In this village the mostly two-story buildings, all made red clay, often mixed with straw, and sometimes cement, for strength, ...

After a great breakfast of eggs, olives and bread we headed out to explore the gorge.  We drove, on a perilously narrow road winding road, up to the top of the mountains, which according to our hotel staff are some 6000 feet in elevation.    There were no railings or barriers on the most precipitous and dangerous parts of the road, and like many roads in Morocco, it was not wide enough even for two small cars to pass safely.  So when what’s coming  toward you is a 4x4, truck loaded with wood, rock or livestock , or a bus overloaded with people, often careening along at break-neck speeds, you do your best to move aside, without going over the edge.    For their part, the fun seems to be in weaving and zig-zagging around you at the last moment, grinning and waving and as casual and nonchalant as can be.  We did see a few vehicles that had gone over the edge, but only one accident, shortly after leaving Dades Gorge, in which ...

From Taliouine east we travelled through a rather flat and featureless landscape, stoney and bleak, coloured only by the frequent collections of plastic bags, to Ouarzazate (pronounced, according to Moroccans and tourists alike as ‘where’s it at’).  It’s a new-ish town, put on the map many years ago by (mostly American) movie moguls who made films like Lawrence of Arabia and Kundun here, as well as hundreds of spaghetti westerns.  A couple of movie studios are still there, and there’s an impressive wall with several huge Egyptian  statues standing guard over nothing more than the red dust of the surrounding desert.  Just before Ouarzazate we came across a 1950’s style gas station with a sign saying ‘cold beer’ and ‘last gas station for 200 miles.’  Undoubtedly built for some B-rated shoot-em-up American western, it looked very at home in the sandy barren landscape.  Of course there was no beer or gas to be had there. The town o...

After our little side-trip to Paradise Valley we headed due east from Agadir, through the broad, mostly flat Tifnoute Valley.  The Assif Tifnout  (Tifnout River) that flows though the valley irrigates a patchwork of green fields and supports lush vegetation on either side of the river, but not much beyond, where the barren hills once again dominate the landscape. We stopped in Taroudant , a little city with a big market, where we had a great time 'window shopping,' and bargaining for leather slippers, hassocks and a wallet for D.  The shop keepers were either sincerely disappointed with the deal, or feigned dissatisfaction to make us think we had done well.  We will never know.  After all they with centuries of trading, bargaining and bartering for everything from slaves to salt, are the experts.  We are less than novices at this game.  But it hardly matters as whatever we pay for what we buy is worth so much more to ...