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Published: October 6th 2008
Myriam From Erfoud
Young lady studying english to work in tourism. We met on the local bus to Rissani.Well, my journey home wasn't without incident, so perhaps I will recount these misadventures before concluding my Morocco journal.
I showed up at the Marrakech Airport on Tuesday, September 30, at 0550 for my return flight home at 0750. Problem was, the flight was from Casablanca, not Marakech! Who booked this itinerary anyhow? I took the next flight to Casa at 1110, as the airport staff said I was too late for the 0630 flight. Upon arrival a scant 35 minutes later, I checked into the expensive Atlas Airport Hotel, so there would be no difficulties making check in the next day to try again. While dining at their fine establishment, I picked up a case of food poisoning, compounding matters. Funny how things go from bad to worse when you don't need it. I was at the airport the next morning bright and early, and was hit up for an "Exit Fee" of $250 USD to leave the country, because of the flight change. I suggested that perhaps I would take up residency in their "fine" country instead, but the official didn't get the sarcasm. I paid up and was happy to get airborne. I felt like the character
Auberg La Tradition, Merzouga
Taken at dusk during the sandstorm. in Midnight Express when he walked across the Istanbul tarmac to the airplane, half expecting to be stopped and refused exit for some reason or another.
Happy to arrive in Amsterdam, but chagrined to discover I would have to overnight yet again, as flights out were already overbooked for this day, October 1. Shelled out for another expensive hotel room to pass the next 24 hours, with my sick stomach for company. And just to put an exclamation point on my return home to Edmonton, my car battery was dead in the airport parking lot, so I had to get a boost before I could leave!
Anyhow, I wanted to tell the tale of my first local bus experience from Tangiers to Chefchaouen when I first arrived in Morocco. A local woman came on board while we were waiting to depart, and she proceeded to recant a tale of woe and sorrow that brought tears to her eyes in the telling, so I thought that this woman must really be in trouble. A few people gave her some coins and taking pity on her, I emptied my pocket of my few coins and saw the glint in her
Oliver and Mubarouk
Tea House in Merzouga eyes as the tears dried up quite quickly. Then the next beggar came aboard the bus to tell a tale also, but not near as compelling in the acting department. He didn't receive much in the way of donations. Looks like a business to me.
I departed Fez on Monday afternoon of September 22, interim destination Midelt, with a vague idea of going into the desert. While waiting in the Fez bus station, I passed the time chatting with a local barber, who's lived in Libya, France and Norway. He explained that under Islamic law, a man is allowed 4 wives. But only in Morocco, it has been decreed, that the first wife must give her permission before her husband can accept further wives. The local bus finally departed at 1600 hours, and we were at first serenaded by the soothing strains of an Islamic lament. Later, much to my consternation, this was replaced by film footage of the many Arab-Israeli conflicts, with an inset screen of a Mullah, in a hate-filled diatribe of shouting, exhorting muslims to jihad against America and Israel! The screen was overlaid with scenes of violence, confict, bloodshed, and burning of Israeli flags. All
the while with the Mullah shouting out distinct words such as El Qaeda, Hezbollah, jihad, in the same sentence as America and Israel. The high volume ranting was quite unnerving in the now darkened bus!
I was happy to get off the bus in Midelt, some four hours later and checked into the small Hotel Atlas for 60 Dirhams, or $8 Cdn with shower extra. While trying to find a meal and get some information, I ended up going to two different carpet salemens' houses for "tea". I had explained that I was only looking for travel information, and they agreed saying to come for a social tea and "our hospitality". So after watching as they unrolled a great deal of carpets in front of me, and asking which one I liked the most, I patiently explained that I only agreed to come for travel information. Finally, he began telling me of a cousin running tours in the desert for over $100/day, and I really lost interest then. I took my leave, thanking them for showing me their nice handicrafts, but they still wanted me to trade something. How about my sandals they asked? Or my watch? But I
need these items!
I thought hard overnight about what to do, and had come to the conclusion that the hassle factor was too annoying, so I was going to take the next bus to the other less touristic desert, Erg Chigaga, two days away. So on Tuesday morning I arrived at the bus station bright and early, and ran into a couple of guys from Slovenia, Oliver and Rudi. I chatted with them, listening to their arrangements to go into the Erg Chebbi desert, where I had originally intended upon going, and decided then on the spot to join them. Now I wasn't alone, and had back-up to deal with the local hassles. I nicknamed the two of them Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy, after the famous American comedy duo. These two are as different as night and day, and very funny in their interactions. Oliver is a big boy of 105 kg, very outgoing, outspoken, and enjoys the banter with the locals. Rudi, is really laid back, calm, mellow, and takes things in stride. They complement each other very well, so I felt good about tagging along with them at their invitation. If I hadn't, I would have
Ahmed and I-Thumbs Up!
Taken in the Berber Village mud hut. had a far different experience, missed some amazing sights, and missed out on heaps of laughs. We boarded a battered old bus stuffed with locals, for Rissani, six hours away. Alone, this would have been a distressing ride, but with these two characters, it was a lot of laughs involving lots of interacting with the locals! A box of chickens was stuffed under the seat in front of us, which explained the muffled squawking. One old man with weathered, blackened hands, was disputing the cost of his ticket with the conductor, as he waved the receipt around and complained loudly. Next thing you know, we are all laughing hysterically, in fact the entire rear section of the bus was yucking it up because of the old man's performance! He seemed to enjoy the attention, because every time the conductor came to the back of the bus, he would let off another tirade with a twinkle and a wink in his eye to us!
In Rissani, the boys had made arrangements to be picked up by Mubarouk in a beat-up Mercedes, Grand Taxi, to take us to Merzouga, on the edge of the desert, so no hassle. The front seats
were held upright and together with a wide strap. We picked up two Geman girls to fill the taxi, and drove through a dust storm to Auberg Camping La Tradition Kasbah. It wasn't difficult to figure out where the many large dung bettles were getting their sustenance from, with the amount of camel droppings about. They were crawling and flying all over the Kasbah.
The next morning, we were mounted on our camels and away by 0915 before the heat of the day. Our Berber guide, Ahmed, led our three camel caravan over the golden-sand dunes on foot. My camel was called Jimi Hendrix of all things, as I lurched over the dunes for two hours, until lunch break after crossing a patch of black, volcanic desert, at a small, crumbling, Berber village of mud huts. We took refuge on carpets in one of the huts, resting in the relative coolness, before continuing on to the Erg Chebbi Oasis for the night, another 1.5 hours away. We stowed our gear in the bivouac, a Berber tent, before scrambling up the largest dune, maybe 200 metres high, for fabulous sunset views. Pretty cool to watch the desert sands change colour
with the setting sun, and observing the other tourist caravans arriving in camp from our lofty vantage point. Back at our bivouc, we were served traditional mint tea before our chicken tajine supper, cooked and served in a large, cone-shaped clay pot. After dinner, the Moroccon drums, came out, to the accompaniment of guitars and our Berber guides singing. Ahmed calls his smoke, "chocolate", which explains his pace of working, as everything is on Africa time. Another guide, Omar, was a real chatter box, telling us how he likes to take the bus to Casablanca when he gets some money in his pocket, so he can drink beer on the beaches all day, only to take the long night bus back to Mersouga! This journey has to be at least 14 hours! Omar also shared that he doesn't like himself the next day with his hangover!
It was really magical, laying on our backs, looking up at the clear, moonless starlit sky, staying at, not a 3 or 4 Star hotel, but the Million Stars Open Air Hotel, Moroccon drums resonating in the still night air, Kif smoke wafting over the dunes, sharing Slovenian pear Schnapps! With no moon,
no city light pollution, the Milky Way was clearly visible stretching from horizon to horizon, and with an occasional shooting star, the scene was in a word, brilliant!
The next morning, Thursday, September 25, we watched the sunrise slowly begin to heat up the desert sands once more, before breaking camp at 0715. 1.5 hours later we were back at the Auberg for a shave and refreshing shower to shed the desert dust from our pores. I was glad to get off that camel, as we were all now quite sore. I couldn't imagine crossing the Sahara on one of these beasts! I have to feel sorry for these creatures though. They don't appear to get any food or water during our rest stops, or meal breaks, and have one of their forelegs tied together so they can't get up and run away!
We three, then hired a local kid and his Renault truck, to drive us several hours away to the Todra Gorge in the Atlas Mountains and the remarkably different ecosystem and cooler temperatures there. Apparently, we had just missed, by a few days, torrential rains that caused flashflooding, wiping out several small villages in the
area, causing many road closures. We were witness to the ongoing cleanup and road repairs from the boulders and other debris washed down the gorge. At one point, we had to have our vehicle pushed through one washout, only to encounter another washout a little further on. That is when we decided to stay put for the night and not press our luck. We stayed at the Hotel Yasima, where we commented that the manager who just happened to be standing under a picture of the King of Morocco, was uncannily similar in appearance! He told us a wall of water 7 metres high, that came roaring down the gorge! The gorge cliffs are 300 metres high and in places only 20 metres apart in the narrow corridor.
On Friday the 26th, we pushed onto to the Dades Gorge, north of Boumaine du Dades. I donated my emptied lunch bag to a young local girl on the same bus, looking after her younger siblings, as one of the young 'uns had to throw up, due to the rough ride.
After getting settled into my nice room at the Hotel la Kasbah de la Vallee, I went on an
Ahmed and Field Expedient Candle Lantern
Ingenious candle lantern made from a separated pop bottle and desert sand for ballast. impromptu rock-climbing excursion, tackling the left peak of a very inviting looking, bright orange cliff face. I was within 4 metres of the peak, wanting so badly to press on and get to the top, when I heard the sound of thunder from on oncoming storm. That and the fact it was only 20 minutes till sundown, gave me all the incentive I needed to abort the mission and get off that mountain. I was back down and on the road, only 10 minutes from the hotel when the deluge came down, so I got drenched anyhow.
I took a chance on a 1/2 litre of a bottle of the local, supposedly award winning local red wine, Ksar, with my dinner. It must have been on the shelf for a while, because it certainly didn't live up to it's 1983 Montreal wine tasting award! The next day, this mild headache would be greatly exasperated by a horrible bus journey through hours of narrow, twisty, mountain roads.
On Saturday the 27th, we took the upscale CTM bus, rather than the local bus, which meant less stops and supposedly greater comfort. There were only a few locals onboard and about
1/3 full of other travellers on their way to Marrakesh. We passed rocky terraces, local laundry decorating the rocks and drying in the sun, in one of the most gutwrenching bus rides that I can recall. I think I remember something similar in the Cameron Highlands of Malaysia some years ago. I took two Tylenol, closed my eyes and hoped this journey would end soon--it didn't. I mean the driver had one hand on the steering wheel, one hand on the gear shift, and one hand on his cell phone! How did he do that?!
Finally, 6.5 hours later, we arrived in Marrakesh and took a taxi to bring us to a nice Riad, a local house set around a garden courtyard. Anything mentioned in the Lonely Planet was all booked out, but fortunately we did luck out in a pleasant place called Riad Taghazoute, with terrace views of the city, looking west over the Koutoubia Mosque, and a nice sunset to chill out with. We were also close to the massively chaotic Djemaa el-Fna Square, with it's story tellers, snake charmers, beggars, and other various hucksters. In fact I can probably say that there are more shakedowns in
Erg Chebbi
Morning in the sands. this city than you can shake a stick at! A pickpockets favorite hunting ground as a lady from Montreal told me of how her zoom lens was boosted from her pack. Amazingly, the police are quite vigilant, and were able to recover her property within minutes!
On Sunday, we sent on a walking tour of the souks/markets before they got too busy, so it was easy going, not like the insane congestion of the souks of Fez and those labyrinths where we had to pay a local boy to show us the way out! We stopped for a beer (Heineken) at the snazzy Cafe Arabe. A really nice swanky place, with cool lounge music and cooling misty water fogs from the canopy. We took a taxi to the Four Star, Hotel El Andalous in the afternoon to use the swimming pool and have lunch. The bill was $40 Cdn each!
That evening, I had the worst meal I had in Morocco, and we got cheated in the process in the "free air-conditioning" open air restaurants of Djemaa Square! We were hustled to a table, but were adamant that we only wanted calamari and chips. They brought us many
unasked for items, plus a plate full of deep fried bits we never asked for. When the bill came in at three times the amount we were expecting, that's where Oliver's smooth talking skills as a negotiator came in. "Good price for you and good price for us", which turned out to be less than half what they were originally asking. I think that the locals enjoy the challenge of parting the tourists from their money by whatever guile and sales tactics they can muster.
That evening the boys weren't up to going out to a nightclub, so I struck out on my own, my last night in country and all, to the Montecristo. It wasn't very busy, but there seemed to be an abundance of local women all dressed up in revealing western clothing, not covered up head to toe like you see in the streets. I got the idea pretty quick when they wanted me to buy them drinks and return to their chambre. Just here to dance I said. At closing time, one of the "ladies", that I had been dancing with wanted me to take her taxi, complete with driver and "handler", and they would
drop me off. I don't think so! I was involved in a tug of war and argument between two other taxi drivers wanting my fare. I settled on the more trustworthy looking of the two, told the other "No touche pas", and grabbed my own "taxi libre". That's when the other mob began following me through the streets of Marrakesh in their taxi. My taxi driver shook me down for ten times the daytime fare, explaining that it was late at night and so on. When I got out of my taxi, the punk "Handler" , confronted me, wanting me to also pay their taxi! Right. I walked away to my Riad without further incident.
On Monday, the 29th, I said good-bye to my Slovenian travel companions, Laurel and Hardy (just kidding boys!), as they continued onto the coast. It was a lot of fun travelling with these two comedians as they were such great company through some trying situations, bringing levity and laughs during the time spent on the road together. I spent the day relaxing and preparing to depart Morocco, even finding a copy of the International Herald at a newstand, to read while having my kefta
(meatballs) tajine lunch at Chez Chergrouni, overlooking the Square.
Now that I am safe and sound at home once more, I think I'm content to stay put for a while yet. Not saying that the inevitable travel urge won't take hold of me once again, and send me off on some adventure to some wild and exotic location, not yet travelled, in the near or distant future!
Ensahallaah!
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