Morocco 2006

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 ...

We stop long enough in Agadir to arrange for another week’s rental of the car, and head up the coast to Awrir, where we head east, into Paradise Valley.     We’re on a mission to find to D’s old camping spot, where he and a group of hippies from all over the world – Canada, America, Australia, Europe – hung out for weeks at a time.     He’s trying to remember the road, the villages, where he traveled so long ago.     It’s a lovely valley, full of palms, and very quiet.       We are the only guests in a hotel with two swimming pools, both empty.    Our hosts were most attentive.     They made us a fabulous Moroccan tagine dish, served with great elan.     I love the way Moroccans pour tea, as many Indian people do, holding the teapot much higher than the glass, so as to aerate the tea.  I’m always amazed at how good their aim is; when I try it, more tea ends up on the table than in the glass.  After...

Tafraoute is a truly beautiful little town: pink, red, orange, ochre buildings melt into the landscape.  Date palms and apple trees in blossom add soft touches of green, white and pink.  We drove up hill and down dale to get to a nearby gorge, then hiked along the course of an old cement aqueduct.  It’s an incredible feat of engineering, built so many years ago.  It’s hard to imagine the work involved, the thousands upon thousands of wheelbarrows, loaded with rocks and cement, rolled over narrow rocky paths through miles of dusty, hot terrain.  Or transported in crude buckets and containers on heads and backs.  Literally back-breaking work.  And all for water, that precious resource that brings life to this barren, rocky landscape.  Truly awe-inspiring. Back to our car we find two Berber women, very colourfully attired, with large, obviously heavy, baskets, standing there.  Through gestures and smi...

Retracing our steps, we went back through Mirleft and Tiznit, and then headed almost due east to Tafraoute.     The narrow winding road took us on a beautiful trip through a very pretty valley, lush with grassy terraces, shrubs and palm trees.     But the real magic was in the almond trees, now in full bloom, their pale pink and white blossoms gracing not just the trees, but forming soft pastel carpets underneath.     A landscape for daydreams: young girls on white unicorns with rainbow manes and tails galloping, galloping together over fluffy pink clouds fretted with silver and gold.     Or for memories: of drives with my mother to see Vancouver streets lined with cherry trees, their blossoms often deeper pink than almonds.     The younger trees like ballerinas, slim and graceful.     The older trees laden with blossoms, their crowns nearly touching one another over the street, perfect pink, perfumed tunnels.     “Oh...

Leaving Essaouira From Essaouira we headed down to Agadir, where we planned to rent a car for more independent explorations.     We caught a ‘gran taxi,’ a boaty Mercedes that was already almost full of other travelers, but of course the driver was able to squeeze us in.     We travelled at break-neck speeds on a narrow, winding road, mostly well inland from the coast until the last stretch before Agadir, where the now even narrower and windier road hugged the ledge between mountain and sea.     I think the driver was trying to impress a young Arab woman, who he kept looking at sideways as he hurtled around blind curves, always on the wrong side of the road.    Unfortunately my heightened state of anxiety prevented me from fully enjoying the spectacular scenery. However, in shallah, we did arrive, all in one piece, in Agadir, a soul-less European city, newly built after an earthquake destroyed the entire place some time in the sixties. ...

Ahhh, Essaouira.  Not raining, considerably warmer, and a lot less hectic.  Essaouira is a picturesque old port town.  Most of its white-washed buildings sport freshly painted blue doors and shutters.  But the real attraction for us, as coasters, were the colourful fishing boats in the harbour.  A photographer’s dream. Hardly surprising, Essaouira had a great fish market.  I couldn't identify many of the fish, but they all looked very fresh, quite probably caught that morning in the early hours before daybreak.  The sellers, like fish-sellers everywhere, were experts at skinning and filleting, wielding their knives with economy and precision, ensuring very little waste.   Just south of Essaouira, in Had Draa, another photographer’s dream: a popular Sunday market where goats, sheep, donkeys and camels are traded.  As the self-proclaimed and now 30 plus years uncontested ‘Camel Queen,’ this was a must-do attraction...