"The Jouney South" Morocco Travelogue by travelinxs

[The drive down from England through France and Spain was a cold and bumpy experience in a miserable February. Aside from sharing a pizza in the Eiffel Tower restaurant with a bomb hidden in the toilets and nearly being blown away by another in a record shop I had just visited down the Champs-Elysees which detonated (ETA), it was a long but uneventful journey.]

‘The people with whom I am travelling with are certainly a rather crazy bunch, from different backgrounds and each with a distinct personality. I am in fact the youngest, but feel determined not to be left out as a result.’

[Having arrived on the African continent at Ceuta, a Spanish enclave, we passed across the boarder into Morocco.]

‘The three and a half-hour journey to the city of Fez saw a dramatic change in scenery. Firstly, we travelled across the low coastal plains before rising up through the Atlas Mountains, which become more predominant in southern Morocco. The mountain range stretch for some 2,400km, more or less parallel to the coast and acts as a curtain separating the Sahara from the Mediterranean. The mountains are really a series of ranges of which the predominant mountains, rising some 3,000m, is the Great Atlas.

The higher slopes have great forests of pine and cork oak, while the valleys and plateaus are watered by the rain and snow that fall on the mountains. The people who live in these mountains are called the Berbers. They used to take refuge in the wildest parts of the mountains where some of their villages could only be reached with the aid of ropes. The Berbers still live there, cultivating the deep valleys and grazing their sheep. They grow esperto grass for papermaking, as well as a little wheat and barley.’

Fez Madina

‘To break our journey south we stopped for a couple hours in the town of Tetuan; an attractive market town of 101,000 people. We parked beside a mosque, which we could use as a landmark if we became lost and John and myself split from the group to stroll through the streets.

We soon found ourselves lost but were rescued by a young Moroccan who invited us to his uncle’s house for tea. Of course, his house mysteriously resembled a carpet shop, and it was over an hour later before we managed to escape the skilful sales pitch of his family.’

The 'Crew'

[The drive continued to Fez.]

‘The position was admirably chosen. Lying 100 miles east of the Atlantic and 85 miles south of the Mediterranean, Fez is situated on the hilly slopes of a valley, on the River Fez, which divides Old Fez from New Fez. Walls, which appear damaged in many parts, surround both parts.’

‘Fiji arrived with another English speaking guide, Garly. They were to take us on a tour of the city. We drove from the campsite and parked high up outside the Medina. Taking faith and leaving the truck unguarded, Garly and Fiji lead the way down the rough track and toward the interior of the fascinating Medina itself.

All at once, it seamed I had entered into a stage set for the 14th century. Passages threaded their way in seemingly all directions, often very narrow, obscuring direct sunlight and adding to the dark atmosphere.

The sounds of the craftsmen filled the air. The rhythmic hammerings of the ironworkers at work on their kettles, coppersmiths beating out their ornate trays and the cries of street vendors as they try to tempt the passing trade.

The powerful aroma, which typified the whole of the Medina, comprised of many ingredients. Spices and newly cut cedar wood, cooking oil, freshly baked bread and nauseating animal hides combined to give off an acquired, if not all too unpleasant smell.
“20,000 people live in the Medina,” informed Garly. “And another 20,000 people visit each day. Many are Berbers, come in from the mountains to buy and sell. Come, keep up!” he commanded sternly, leaving us little time to examine the produce on display in the hundreds of pigeonhole shops that lined the streets.

“Balek! Balek!”(“Make way!”)came the cries from behind. I managed to wedge myself in a doorway as a donkey careered down the cobles, closely followed by its driver, the animal’s high load of wicker baskets being thrown from side to side. Garly waved us through a decorative archway and into a courtyard.
“This is the Qarawiyin Mosque. The oldest University in the total world,” announced Garly with great pride, swinging his arms out wide, pivoting on one foot in a slow arc to train our eyes on the decorative mosaic walls and green tiled roof. It is true the mosque is the oldest in the Islamic world. Founded in 859, its present form dates back to 1135.

The next venue on the agenda was for some refreshments in a small cafe above a bakery, reached by a staircase so narrow you had to turn sideways to climb it. Being the last to enter, I took the last remaining seat next to a massive Moroccan woman. Garly took our orders with the help of Fiji and no sooner than my coke had arrived then the woman beside me began chatting on in Arabic, not conscious of covering her face and totally oblivious to my pleas of, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand Arabic.” Something she said tickled her own sense of humour and she suddenly burst into a roar of manly laughter, bringing her massive fist crashing down onto the table, sending coke everywhere. After another ten minutes of this, we were both creased up with laughter, though I had no idea why.

Back out on the street, with Garly pacing the way, we halted briefly whilst he introduced us to a blind beggar seated on the ground. Apparently he once sang from the Koran at the mosque. He gave us a few bars, in an excellent voice, which was rewarded with several coins. There were many beggars and destitute refugees from society, spaced sparsely along the alleyways. It was always tempting to donate, but at which point do you stop?'
[A problem I still battle with today]

The tannery

'We, somewhat predictably, found ourselves in another carpet shop. Stuart, on being engaged to a girl back home, purchased an exceptionally deep carpet, described by our Moroccan host as a ‘naughty-business carpet’ and guaranteed ‘not to leave one mark from chafing’! We were invited to look around the house, so John and I climbed the stairs. Peering around one door we found three girls at work weaving a carpet using an old fashioned pedal machine. They were aged from about ten to sixteen.

Back out in the bustling streets Garly announced, “Now we go to the tannery”. Now here I must admit that at the time I had no idea what a tannery was. So I was glad to follow...in my flip-flops.
Garly stopped at a small doorway and stood waving us all in. I failed to notice he did not follow. As soon as I stepped through the door I was hit, as if with a sledgehammer, by the pungent stink of rotting corpses. I cautiously edged my way between the massive chalk-coloured vats, vainly attempting to avoid stepping on the head of a half-decomposed cow, or a pile of entrails that could have been extracted from anything. Still, I could not prevent the layer of blood and guts covering the ground from bubbling up through my toes like congealed porridge.
After a visit to a clothes shop, where I haggled like mad to reduce the price of a Berber coat down from £30 to £10 with the help of Garly, we made back toward the truck, leaving the fourteenth century behind us. On the way, John took great delight in pointing out an identical coat to the one I had just purchased for only £5. The story of my life.

After an evening of belly-dancing girls, couscous and a drink at a hotel bar with a mad Moroccan who called me ‘Buckingham Palace’, we returned to the campsite and collapsed exhausted into my tent.

The following morning I stuck my head out through my tent flap to do my daily assessment of the weather to find it had rained all night and the ground was waterlogged. Malcolm and Chris were up to their elbows in oil and grease as the engine had broken down, so it didn’t look like we were going anywhere fast.’

[We were stranded for two further days until the truck was finally fixed.]

Tifilalet

‘I watched Fez through the rear window as it faded out of sight. It was with mixed emotions that I watched. Fez held a certain fascination for me. Perhaps, because it was my first Islamic city I had visited, it represented a taste of the world outside Western Europe.

Moving south again, we climbed high into the mountains, these making up the Middle and High Atlas. As we snaked around hairpin bends and climbed the steep inclines, again the forests emerged and thickened with altitude, to be finally crippled towards the peaks as the snow encroached. With the temperature falling we reluctantly fished out the sweaters and jackets again.

Passing by Ilfrane, it seamed ironic to be travelling through North Africa, with the Sahara our destination and to see brightly clad skiers sweeping down the mountain slope.

As the afternoon rolled on, we began our final descent. The high cliffs to one side and the deep valleys the other, gradually merged and the landscape levelled. Further, we penetrated into this forbidding land. As the light faded, so the view took on a dull, yet dramatic black and white spectrum. This arid landscape, partially void of feature of form, faded to the distance where the horizon rippled with a far off mountain range. The taned earth consisted of dry mud and shingle, which the truck spat aside as it rode easily over its surface.

With the approach of darkness, we pulled up amid a cluster of shallow hills. We ate a quick meal out of tins before attempting to erect our tents. The wind was strong and bitter; the ground hard, making it difficult to hammer in our pegs. Once our tent was made sound, John and I climbed in, checking our sleeping bags for inquisitive scorpions. I think John fell asleep quickly that night, but I lay awake for several hours, listening to the wind as it scoured the desert floor and rattled the tent. Somehow, as I lay there in the darkness, I felt very alone and vulnerable. Not frightened, just alone.'

Sijilmassa

'Around 8am, with everyone cold and uncomfortable we skipped breakfast and moved on. We arrived at Er Rachidia at lunch. Very much a garrison town, it is also the administrative and commercial centre of the Tafilalet province. Morocco retains a strong military force, which is not so apparent in the main central and northern cities, but are in evidence in many southern provinces.

Chris and I strolled the dusty streets, stopping off at the only cafe for refreshments. In the central square a small market was being held and Rob set about choosing ingredients for that night’s meal. When I joined him he was browsing over a stall of imported gods. Bic Biros, plastic charms and other rubbish gifts. All that interested me was a biro to replace my broken one, but not one the stallholder had to offer worked. I could not forget we were dealing with Arab traders here as he was prepared to lower the price of the biro on the grounds it did not work!

Back at the truck, after a little bread and jam, we set off again. We entered Tafilalet Canyon, barren but for the occasional oasis doted along its bed. We now began to notice the lack of other vehicles. We had only passed a relative few that day.’

Desert sunset

‘We pulled up at Rissini, a slight diversion from our destined route east. Immediately, a group of young boys rushed the truck. Some were trying to sell fist-sized camels and donkeys which they had skilfully crafted from reeds. One, only about ten or twelve years old, fell head-over-heals in love with Sara and insisted she had one free. He followed her everywhere, grinning and chatting on in French. Others offered tours of Sijilmassa, to see snakes and scorpions said to infest the ruins.

The ruins were founded by the Romans as an outpost during their conquest of North Africa and are interesting to explore, with tiny corridors and streets running over and below the small dwellings. Wandering back through the oasis, we paused to shade from the sun sitting on a wall. After a few moments Mike leapt to his feet crying out. He had been sitting on a favourite haunt for soldier ants and these tough little fellows had taken offence and attacked.

We were surprised to find Stuart half-asleep sunbathing beside a small natural pool in which two Moroccan women were standing in washing OUR dishes. In answer to this rather unusual sight, Stuart explained he had started to wash them himself when a woman had insisted on taking on the chore for him and had become quite upset when he had protested, so he left them to it. Nobody believed him.

We were now travelling east, hoping to make the Algerian boarder within twenty-four hours. As the light faded, Malcolm took it upon himself to display a little stunt driving, careering off the tarmac straight into a disused telegraph pole, which was smashed to the ground. Jumping from the cab, he frowned at the damaged front bumper and, after scanning the horizon for any witnesses grabbed the fallen wood, dragging it around to the rear of the truck.
“That was done on purpose,” he assured his passengers. “It’s for firewood.” Nobody believed him either.

We camped away from the road that evening in a dry wadi (riverbed). We had dispensed with the gas cooker we had been using up to then and built an open fire on which to cook our stew. The nights were not as noticeably cold now and to lounge around the fire after a meal was the social event of each coming day.

It was a mind-searching sensation to sit relaxed, watching the inflamed sky turn through shades of orange and red before becoming extinguished with the setting of the sun. The desert floor became lit by a million clusters of stars, there being no contamination of the atmosphere to dull their brilliance.

The following morning I awoke to the realisation that I only had £200 ($300). Oh well, it was a pleasant warm morning, so I was not going to let that worry me right then. I also noticed, besides Mike and Vicky sharing a tent, so were Mike D. and Gail, and Garth and Sian. I had not realised we were so short of tents.

We arrived at the Moroccan boarder at 3.30pm, and were forced to bribe the customs to pass through by giving them a bottle of Pernod. The military gave us no problems however and allowed us to pass after the usual passport checks.'

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