After an interesting train ride spent chatting to a single Moroccan mum with 2 teenage daughters, we arrived in Fes at about 2230, were met by our driver, and transported to Dar Anebar, the riad which was to be our home for the next 3 nights.
The next morning, after a bit of a sleep in, we met our hosts Aziz, Mustapha, Mohammed, and owner Ahmed over breakfast, then ventured out into the wilds of the Medina. Naturally, we got lost, but that's half the fun, and in the process we managed to check out the tanneries (just follow your nose, you'll find 'em!) - fascinating because they still process the hides all manually, outdoors, same as they have done for centuries, bought a leather poof and wallet, a blue Moroccan dress for Susie, got my head shaved, and popped out the wrong side of the Medina in the rain.
For the next day's activity we had decided to visit the ruined Roman city of Volubilis, and Meknes, so after brekkie we walked out of the Medina (no cars inside) in search of a driver for the day. No sooner had we hit the outside, than our man , Azedine, materialised beside us (they have a sixth sense, these guys), we negotiated a fee for the day, and we were off.
BTW Later on, I'll tell you a bit about Susie's haggling skills.
After a very pleasant drive of about an hour through beautiful country, we arrived at Volubilis, negotiated a fee with a local walk-thru guide, Rashid, and away we went. Rashid could talk the leg off an iron pot, but was entertaining and very knowledgeable, and we spent an interesting hour wandering around looking at the remains of the first Roman settlement in Morocco.
We then went on to Meknes, had lunch at a restaurant owned by Azedine's mate, who's brother naturally owned the carpet shop next door and invited us in for a "look", but we managed to fend off their friendly efforts to sell us something.
Major point of interest for me in Meknes happened to be right across the road from our lunch spot - this was the entrance to the underground prison/dungeon where the bad bastard Sultan Moulay Ismail, architect of Meknes' 17th century glory days, kept thousands of white slaves his Saracens had brought to Morocco after raids along the European coast of the Med and up to England and even Ireland. I had only recently read a book, loaned to me by paddling mate Russell, on the subject, so was fascinated to walk down into what would have been hell on earth for the poor souls incarcerated there.
Our car was delivered to us the following morning, a slightly worn manual diesel Prado, which we proceeded to make even less new over the next week. After a quick check of our steed we were off to the next-to-the-dunes outpost of Merzouga. We had some fun navigating out of Fes, but eventually found the right road out of town (Sheila is not programmed for Morocco, so we were on our own!), and tooled out into the lush green hills before climbing over the Rif mountains. Once over the mountains the country became progressively drier until we were driving in the desert, finally arriving at the Kasbah Mohayut at 1700, just time enough for a swim in the pool and glass of wine before dinner in the beautiful courtyard.
We had the next day free until our scheduled 1700 camel departure for our overnight camp in the dunes, so engaged one of the hotel staff, Mohammed of course, to show us around the local area. Mohammed was a very proud, educated local Berber, who among other things, took great pleasure in showing us the democratic water usage system used by the locals for crop irrigation. There is a channel running from a series of wells, and each landowner is allowed to unblock the channel into his plot for a total of 4 hours per week. This is overseen by the village headman. We also managed to spend some money on a couple Berber rugs, and listen to some great live African rhythms (bought the CD) from a group descended from black Nubian slaves.
It was during this outing that I failed my 4WD test in sand - managed to get bogged within 100m! But miraculously, within a minute of us bogging down a local man appeared with a shovel, helped dig us out, and was walking away without wanting anything until we called him back and offered a little something for his trouble, which was graciously accepted. After that I was banished to the passenger's seat for the rest of the day and Mohammed took over. Shame.
We made it back to the Kasbah with just enough time to become Mohammed and Fatima of the Desert, ready for our camel ride out into the Erg Chebbi dunes for our dinner and overnight stay in a Berber tent. Trying to take photographs from the back of a moving camel is a bit of a challenge, but nevertheless I took a gazillion, some of which may be okay, and we arrived at our camp with plenty of time to fan out and catch the shadows as the sun sank into the dunes. Fabulous. After dinner, our Berber hosts treated us to some Moroccan rhythms and singalong by a campfire before we all wandered off to our tents.
Up early the next morning, we were back at the Kasbah by 0830 hungry for breakfast.
After settling up at Kasbah Mohayut we headed East again towards the High Atlas mountains and our next destination, Dades Gorge, finally arriving at our riad, Chez Pierre at about 5:30. Lonely Planet described this place as a "climbers' hotel", and I was a bit baffled as I hadn't seen any decent climbable walls close by, until it dawned on us that it was LP's little joke, referring to the endless stairs guests are obliged to climb to get to their rooms! Sheesh! Actually, the rooms were a bit scruffy, and we were a bit disappointed in the place.... until we sat down to dinner. Our chef, Nadia, wife of the Belgian owner and mostly resident in Paris, was a sensational cook. Her fabulous meals made us forget any shortcomings in our accomodation!
Next morning we engaged a lovely local guy, again a proud Berber named Mustapha, to show us around off the usual tourist routes using our vehicle. And show us he did. He took us way up into the hills off the bitumen, we wandered through irrigated plots next to streams, bounced along rocky tracks, through tiny villages, and even visited a nomadic Berber camp in a cave. The men were all away with the sheep and goats, but we sat down with Grandma and her little grandson for a glass of mint tea and chatted, Mustapha doing the interpreting. Next time you pour yourself a glass of water from the tap at home, spare a thought for these people, who walk 2 hours to collect water in plastic containers, then carry it all the way back.
Mustapha, we found out, has his own company guiding trekking trips in the High Atlas, as well as being right into music - playing in a band which will be going to London to perform soon. On our way home he proudly showed us his "Music House" - his new home which is at present a work in progress, about half built. We were also introduced to his youngest brother, Ayoud, (Mustapha is 3rd of 9 children!) 15 years old and will steal many a girl's heart over the next few years, and to his Mum, who proudly showed us her maths book after coming in from school. How about that - 9 kids over 19 years, and now has decided she needs an education and has taken herself off to school. A lovely lady.
For our entertainment the next day, we wanted to visit Todra Gorge, which meant a fair backtrack on the bitumen, or, as LP puts it "If you're up for a bit of a challenge, you can link the 2 gorges via the "piste" which links the upper ends of the 2 gorges. Our mate Mustapha said, "No problem, Rob can drive it!", so off we went in search of the "piste". After some spectacularly high winding driving through the upper Dades Gorge the terrain eased a bit and we started looking for our turn off. It only took 4 stops to ask for directions before we drove past it. Susie said "That must have been it." "Nah, couldn't be, it was just a couple of ruts!" It was.
And so commenced 40 odd clicks of 1st and 2nd gear driving along rocky ruts, river beds, and over harrowing drops in truly awe inspiring country. During the 2 hours it took we passed one other vehicle, parked off the track in the river bed thankfully, and not coming at us on the side of a mountain, and occasionally and briefly discussed highly unlikely and undesirable things like flat tyres and breakdowns out here.
But, we made it through without a problem, and after stopping at a mountain outpost for some lunch, we drove onto the bitumen and into the very narrow upper end of Todra Gorge, only to encounter PEOPLE. Hundreds of them, and cars everywhere, as well as little motorbikes buzzing around like bees. It was Sunday, and it seems all of Morocco likes to go to Todra Gorge on a Sunday for a picnic.
