Advertisement
Published: August 15th 2007
Essaouira port
The fishing boats lined up in Essaouira's very funky little port We have kind of backtracked a little, after spending a few days in the Atlas Mountains south of Marrakech, but the thought of good seafood and cool sea breezes was too enticing yesterday afternoon, when we were delivered back into the searing, smoggy heat of Marra.
First - the Atlas. Suze and I entertained grandiose dreams of trekking up North Africa's highest mountain, Jebel Toubkal, and so we made our way up to the village of Imlil, at the foot of the great peak. From Marrakech, this meant a very tight squeeze in a grand taxi, which is not as grand as it sounds, it is basically just a 1970s-model Mercedes sedan with six passengers shoved in, that travels between towns not serviced by buses. An hour out of Marra, and we were in the beautiful valleys below the Atlas. I had always presumed that these mountains would be like a high-altitude extension of the Sahara, all red desert peaks, but they are like mountains everywhere - high up and covered in snow, with verdant river valleys leading into little
Around mosque
The folks in the Atlas are pretty devout (and don't have much else to entertain themselves), so the town mosques are pretty important places. This one is in the village of Around alpine villages.
Imlil is really just a stopover point for trekkers, and has one street full of guesthouses, restaurants, and shops with hiking gear and food supplies, plus excellent views of the Atlas. Suze and I were recovering from colds and stomachbugs picked up in Marrakech, so we decided to sit around for a few days and take it easy. We found a cool little hotel where we were the only guests for the whole three days we were there, and were given use of the kitchen by the proprietor, who seemed happier sitting watching TV than preparing expensive meals for his only two guests. We raided the local stores for some fresh mountain produce, and I perfected the art of brewing Moroccan mint tea, while we both enjoyed eating food that wasn't tagine or couscous for a few days.
I might as well admit it now, but no, we never did get to the top of Toubkal. We became quite cosy in our foothill paradise, and the idea of a hard slog up to 4165 metres didn't appeal. But we did venture out on a few easier walks around the area, seeing the cute, ramshackle villages around
Atlas house
A ramshackle house sits in the shadows of the Atlas mountains the valleys, where life hasn't changed much in decades. It was all braying mules, goatherds, and snotty-nosed kids playing in the dirt.
When travelling around Morocco, it is easy to forget that this country is
poor. Very poor, in fact. The GDP is the same as Egypt's, which just doesn't sound right because Egypt really looks a lot less wealthy. Moroccan cities, outside of the medinas, are all denim jeans, nice French cars, and mobile phones. Also, because tourism is so important
here, a fair amount of effort goes into disguising the real poverty of the
place. If you just saw Casablanca, you could be forgiven for thinking
that Morocco is doing okay. Going out into the country, however,
reveals a different story. The mudbrick houses and farmyard smells,
and weathered locals doing back-breaking work just to survive, are a
world away from the smart, sophisticated cities.
This poverty is connected to Morocco's reputation as a place that likes
to separate tourists from their money. You get it everywhere, having to
bargain hard for food, rooms, taxis, souvenirs. Unlike Egypt, where a smile always keeps such haggling a largely pleasant experience, here it
can deteriorate if you don't
Atlas village
One of the many earthen villages sitting in the valley near Imlil just hand over the cash that is requested.
People will charm you and flirt with you, asking you to please, just visit my shop, no pressure, just look no buy. Eventually, you capitulate, and you do just that - look and no buy. All of a sudden, the mood changes. 'I have waited two days for you, and you no buy!' You apologise and try to walk away. The guy swears at you under his breath. He gives you a look that could cut through a tagine-pot. You
feel guilty for the next two days and try to walk around town without passing his shop. You wish you had the cash to buy something from everyone, to give to every beggar, to spread some of your western wealth around the place. But none of us do. You feel bad about trying to haggle down the price everywhere, but you justify it by saying, 'well, I'm paying too much even after bargaining, so he's still making a profit', or, 'if I can save some money now, I have more to
give to someone later'. Both cop-outs, I know, but every bit of business a tourist brings here, whether it be
The mighty trekker
Pausing for a breather... of the fivestar or scungy
backpacker variety, does add to someone's income, a little. And the hope is, that by seeing the poverty, you will be able to understand it better, to think of ways to help alleviate it.
Anyway, now I am rambling. The point is - Morocco is poor, people want your money, fair enough, but it's all very hard to deal with here on the ground.
Back to the trip. We left the Atlas, as time was ticking by a bit, and our Mauritanian visas are still running out (18 days and counting), so we darted back to Marrakech and then decided to pop up to Essaouira, before the long slog down through the Sahara. It is a wonderful town, where the Atlantic crashes onto the Portuguese-style medina walls, and the calls of seagulls reverberate around the ramparts. You can while away the hours eating fresh seafood, or drinking coffee in one of the little squares. It is certainly more chilled than the big cities, and a lovely place to recharge. The fortifications are pretty impressive, and inspired Orson Welles enough for him to film the opening scenes of Othello here. The town honoured him
Around Around
The village of Around (or Aroumd on some maps), which sits up the vallley from Imlil with a plaza named in his honour, where a bust of him peers down, forlorn and sphinx-like due to his nose having been chipped off.
Our onward journey continues on Sunday, when we head out of Morocco proper, and into (depending on your opinion) the adjacent country, or southern Moroccan province, of Western Sahara. Hope to get to a computer somewhere along the Saharan road, so until then...au revoir.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.057s; Tpl: 0.014s; cc: 16; qc: 23; dbt: 0.0212s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 2;
; mem: 1.1mb
Tora
non-member comment
Ring Ringgg
Hi Mate! now i`m in selcuk heading then to fethiye. i just saw a guy under 30sh, lonely planet under his arm, with sandals... then i remembered the next dialog: ring ringgg, hi, where are you?, in the felucca, whereabouts?, in the river, Which river? Nile.... safe travel.