Todra Gorge

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Travel is the most private of pleasures. There is no greater bore than the travel bore. We do not in the least want to hear what he has seen in Hong Kong. (Vita Sackville-West)



Saying goodbye to the Sahara, we head North through Arfroud, then turning West we follow the High Atlas Mountains on our right. The country is very poor. A combination of brown and grey stone plains rise to meet the snow capped mountains. A stunning scene.

Every now and then we come upon a palmeraie (oasis). Towns of pink and orange mud-walled houses surrounded by date palms. Amazing agriculture: olive trees, almonds, onions, lentils, faba beans and, of course, wheat. The underground water seeps from the mountains creating shallow, crystal clear streams which filter serenely through the sands. Each farmer has use of it, one day at a time. A small channel runs up the centre of the plots and the water is diverted into each plot with a shovel of dirt. A bit different to Greg’s system.

The locals swarm the streets. The ladies in this particular town are all robed in black and the men seem to wear whatever they want. On that note, the men seem to do whatever they want. They hang about like lost souls. It appears that the only thing that can inspire them is the call for prayers. They trudge off to the mosque, than afterwards collect in their coffee houses, smoking, talking, leering at Natarsha and watching the world go by. (Gerard is needed in these communities: the love of beer).
Although, the most distinct feature of the lot is the tumbleweeds. Not your average American style tumbleweed but the Chinese variety: plastic. The outskirts of the towns look like a rubbish tip.

At Tinehir we turn off the main road and head up The Todra Gorge, a famous landmark in Morocco. It is an impressive sight: the towering cliffs converging together as the road squeezes between them. Small Berber villages and fertile farms envelope the edges as you drive the 25kms to the end. However, it is extremely touristy. I don’t know how many restaurants, riads, Auberges and hotels there would be. Wherever you stop you are attacked by the touts and the young boys. They are very aggressive and physically try to bully you into buying something, or even worse, to just give them a few coins for free.

We spend the night further down the road at El Kelaa M’Gouna (of course everyone has heard of this place) in a beautiful Kasbah overlooking a river valley. The hospitality is as usual overwhelming: food, music, tea and conversation. What I would give for a rude, sterile, alcohol serving American Best Western Motel.

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