Arto Teräs - In the land of the berbers, Morocco 31.3-17.4.2001

Part 2: Donnez-moi un stylo

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Wednesday morning we took a taxi to Azilal, a small town about 200 km to the west of Marrakech. That would be the starting point of our five days of hiking through the High Atlas mountains. We had reserved the taxi and negotiated the price beforehand and later found out that in this country it's a mistake which leads to paying double or triple the standard price.

The big taxi network in Morocco is a really practical way to get from one place to another. The cars circulate continuously between major cities and have standard prices, although sometimes try to ask a bit more from tourists. The prices are always per person and if the group is smaller than the capacity of the car, you have to either wait for more passengers or pay for the empty seats also.

It is best to walk or take a small taxi to the main traffic station and not to accept any offers on the way. The place is always full of taxis that have already decided among themselves which one is going to which direction - ask around to find the right car. The taxis don't always have a sign on the roof but are all the same color in the same city and thus easy to distinguish. The most common models are old Mercedes and Peugeots and they have the right to take six passengers in, two in front and four in the rear. But as the price is around 25-30 DH per person for 100 km it isn't too expensive to pay for the whole car for a group of four or five.

At Azilal we met Christelle's friend Hamid who had kindly taken a day off to help us organise the start of the hike. We had reserved a local guide with mules to carry most of the material. The primary reason wasn't laziness but to take advantage of the locals' experience of the region and hope to get to know their lifestyle. Now we heard from Hamid that it would actually be three people, one per each mule and they would also prepare the food for us.

The mountains are inhabited mostly by berbers, which is a different people than the arabs. The berbers generally have a more relaxed way of life and even their own language which has nothing to do with arab.

The Mercedes changed to a 4x4 Land Rover and after buying some fruit and vegetables we took the road towards Iskatafen, a small village a bit further away.

The road went up and down the mountains being first asphalted but turning to sand about midway. The scenery was magnificent, small farms between the hills and the mountains, a small river flowing in the bottom of the gorge, children looking and waving after us. We even had tea in a small hut on the way, I wonder how that business is profitable as the road wasn't actually filled with tourist buses and not even with other cars.

Our group photo next to the road, Hamid is the second from the left.

We arrived late afternoon and installed in one of the typical brown houses. The difference from hectic Marrakech was striking. No more traffic noise, no more shopkeepers in every corner trying to sell something. Children standing next to the houses trying to hide their curiosity towards us and contemplating whether they could come closer. Fresh home-baked bread and butter.

Christophe was still too white to merge into the local population but had at least put on some appropriate clothing. Don't worry, be happy!

After a while the curiosity took over and the children approached us. The families certainly weren't rich but they were still nicely dressed. Communication was a bit more difficult, the people outside cities don't always speak French very well and our group still a lot worse arab and berber. Hamid knew all three and translated when necessary. Magali drew a couple of nice pictures and we sat outside late enjoying the moonlight.

On Thursday we woke up at 7 and started our long-awaited hike an hour later. The mules seemed to us to be quite heavily loaded but the owners said it was about the normal amount. In any case it didn't really feel like doing any sports carrying just our small backpacks containing only water and other necessities for the day.

We climbed from just under 1900 to 2900 meters and descended to 2200 in another valley, total lenght being about 20 km. The dust and dry air irritated the throat a bit, but all things considered it was an easy walk. The huge plate of vegetables we had for lunch prepared by our mule owners confirmed that the week would be far away from an ascetic journey through the dry land.

There were small trees up to about 2500 and small patches of snow before the highest point, but mostly the vegetation consisted of small 20-30 cm high bushes, adapted to the dry climate.

Brahim took charge of the kitchen and surpassed all our expectations with a sumptuous dinner of couscous. After eating we asked them to sing some local songs for us and they agreed. We sung some French ones for an answer (although I didn't know the words of most of them) and so started the musical evenings that would last during the whole trip. Plates, spoons and other kitchen equipment made good drums and Mohammed even started dancing and invited us to join.

This "sand castle" was right next to our camping place, it was interesting to explore the ruins during the night. You can also see the small river that we started to follow.

Friday didn't bring anything really amazing from a landscape point of view. We traversed several villages and this time the kids weren't shy at all. It was a bit painful to continue with two dozen 3-10 year olds running around and asking pens, money or other things. "Donnez-moi un stylo" was a phrase that we heard many, many times. We weren't equipped with a few hundred ballpoint pens but gave out some candy.

I hadn't been feeling very well since the morning and after the lunch my stomach decided that the best way to be is empty. It proceeded with that plan rather effectively using both available exits and for the last few kilometers I was forced to ride on one of the mules.

I continued on the mule still the next day when we arrived to the most beautiful part of the hike, the canyons of M'Gouna. It's not as well known as the Todra, but magnificent too: the narrow passages are about 5 meters wide and the stone walls rise straight up to about 50 meters. The sides show the results of water forcing its way through - rounded corners, small caves.

On Sunday I wasn't sick any more and joined the others in the walk. The riverbed wasn't as narrow as the previous day but it made tight turns several times and we had to cross the stream quite often. My hiking shoes weren't very well suited to that. Usually I succeeded in finding a place with some rocks and keep my feet dry but occasionally it was too deep and the goretex film made sure that the water that went in also stayed there until I took the shoes off. Well, sometimes you don't guess beforehand the best equipment and have to take things as they come.

The mountains were also very different from those in the beginning of the hike. There were few plants on the slopes and the red color made them look a lot like the pictures I've seen of the Grand Canyon.

As we continued to follow the river there weren't any major altitude differences, but the distance was rather long: 30-35 km. I sure was tired after that. Mathieu still had the courage to walk about half a kilometer back to the center of the village to get me some bottled water. To avoid all risks I hadn't been drinking any water from the river since my stomach problems despite we had tablets that should make it safe.

On Monday, the fifth day of the hike we arrived to Kelâa M Gouna already before noon. We paid and reluctantly said good bye to the mule-owners - we had really been treated like kings during the week. From the left: Brahim, Lhoussin, Omar (who travelled with us without pay, apparently training) and Mohammed.

We took a taxi to Ouarzazate (now paying the right price) and hopped off at the kasbah just outside the town. Kasbahs are castlelike buildings or groups of buildings constructed by various dynasties over the centuries. The kasbah at Ouarzazate was mostly painted white from the inside but in some places we could see some pieces of the original interiors. The architecture was quite a labyrinth.

We didn't spend a lot of time at Ouarzazate and took the taxi back to Marrakech still the same day. 200 km on the curvy mountain road took 4 hours and we arived at about 8 pm, again at hotel Farouk. We were too tired to go to the center but went to the restaurant of the hotel for a good meal to celebrate the end of our hike. It was good and the service superb, nothing to complain about.

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Copyright Arto Teräs <ajt@iki.fi> 2001.
Redistribution of this document as a whole or any of the pictures individually is permitted in any medium provided this copyright notice is preserved.

Last update 17.8.2001.

	The Mercedes changed to a 4x4 Land Rover and after buying some fruit and vegetables we took the road towards Iskatafen, a small village a bit further away.
	The road went up and down the mountains being first asphalted but turning to sand about midway. The scenery was magnificent, small farms between the hills and the mountains, a small river flowing in the bottom of the gorge, children looking and waving after us. We even had tea in a small hut on the way, I wonder how that business is profitable as the road wasn't actually filled with tourist buses and not even with other cars.
	Our group photo next to the road, Hamid is the second from the left.
	We arrived late afternoon and installed in one of the typical brown houses. The difference from hectic Marrakech was striking. No more traffic noise, no more shopkeepers in every corner trying to sell something. Children standing next to the houses trying to hide their curiosity towards us and contemplating whether they could come closer. Fresh home-baked bread and butter.
	Christophe was still too white to merge into the local population but had at least put on some appropriate clothing. Don't worry, be happy!
	After a while the curiosity took over and the children approached us. The families certainly weren't rich but they were still nicely dressed. Communication was a bit more difficult, the people outside cities don't always speak French very well and our group still a lot worse arab and berber. Hamid knew all three and translated when necessary. Magali drew a couple of nice pictures and we sat outside late enjoying the moonlight.
	On Thursday we woke up at 7 and started our long-awaited hike an hour later. The mules seemed to us to be quite heavily loaded but the owners said it was about the normal amount. In any case it didn't really feel like doing any sports carrying just our small backpacks containing only water and other necessities for the day.
	We climbed from just under 1900 to 2900 meters and descended to 2200 in another valley, total lenght being about 20 km. The dust and dry air irritated the throat a bit, but all things considered it was an easy walk. The huge plate of vegetables we had for lunch prepared by our mule owners confirmed that the week would be far away from an ascetic journey through the dry land.

	On Monday, the fifth day of the hike we arrived to Kelâa M Gouna already before noon. We paid and reluctantly said good bye to the mule-owners - we had really been treated like kings during the week. From the left: Brahim, Lhoussin, Omar (who travelled with us without pay, apparently training) and Mohammed.
	We took a taxi to Ouarzazate (now paying the right price) and hopped off at the kasbah just outside the town. Kasbahs are castlelike buildings or groups of buildings constructed by various dynasties over the centuries. The kasbah at Ouarzazate was mostly painted white from the inside but in some places we could see some pieces of the original interiors. The architecture was quite a labyrinth.