2011/5 Morocco to the desert

Well our unexpected arrival in Morocco (we really had no plans of leaving Spain that day) was into most unexpected weather. It was cloud to sea level, rain and quite cold. However the crossing was smooth on a very smart ferry. We were a bit surprised to be sidelined at the customs (because our papers were all filled in and in order) along with a few other vehicles for 2 and a half hours. No explanation. We didn’t get checked at all either which means our alcohol using up campaign was all to no avail and now we have no supplies!

On the ferry we had decided on our plan of attack.  Head SE from Tangier through Fez, over the Middle then the High Atlas to reach the desert proper past Ar-Rachida & Erfoud so doing the hottest part first then crossing west and returning via Marrakech to the Atlantic coast and north to Tangier.

Anyw

ay we finally escaped from Tanger and set off into the murk in the hills above. Took the road to Tetouan, which turned out to be the long way round, but much of it on good roads,which was a good thing because we couldn’t see a thing in the dense fog. Moroccan driving rates along with Turkish and Egyptian – scary. It is nothing to pass going around a blind corner and the roads are clogged with pedestrians, donkeys, carts etc.

After 3 hours we completed the 110km trip to Chefchaouen – a small town with a well-preserved medina (old Arab quarter) – winding alleyways and blue-tinted whitewash on the walls. Very relaxed, with few tourists – David settled in immediately and need to be prised away after 3 nights. Although no relaxing ‘beer in the square’ at lunchtime. But the taxis that bring us back up the very steep hill to the campground cost less than a euro, so he can afford to nip back home and have one of the scant supplies he has left.

We had no idea how much Morocco had retained its culture – so much more so than Turkey, even though only a stone’s throw from Spain. But the clothing, housing, shops etc are remarkably unwesternised. The older men wear hooded robes – seemed straight from the Lord of the Rings. Young men the standard western gear.

This area of Morocco – the Rif, is renowned for it’s cannabis cultivation. Everyone we meet has tales of being offered great deals, but no one has approached us at all. We are not sure if we look super respectable, or maybe like plain-clothed police. Who knows? Maybe just too old.

Eventually David was convinced that there was more to see in Morocco than Chefchaouen, and that no one was going to offer him any cannabis, so off we set towards Fez. Another action-packed journey – winding, tortuous road but it  doesn’t matter because there is so much to look at. Joanna is still muttering days later about the poor woman labouring uphill with a huge load on her back as her husband marched along beside her, unladen, with a stick in his hand. Stopped at a huge souk out in the open under makeshift tarpaulins etc on the way, seemed to be in the middle of nowhere to us, but there were plenty of people buying and selling. Bought some bread, eggs and dates. David is in bread heaven here. The French have left a great legacy of good bread here and in fact we have had the best baguettes here of our trip. Apologies to all French people reading this.

Visited the Roman ruin of Volubilis en route to Fez. We like Roman ruins – not sure why, because we are getting quite sick of a lot of monuments and other old stuff. Volubilis was the far end of the Roman empire, with many mosaics although poorly maintained.  We particularly liked the stork nests on top of the pillars. Spent an interesting night camped in an olive grove with sheep and goats next to Mohammed, a fossil stall holder, who chatted in fluent French about topical events in the world today. Far more up with it all than us. A knock on the door at breakfast with olive oil and fresh bread to mop it up.

Stopped at the supermarket on our way into Fez . The only one we have seen so far. (They have wine and beer!) Stocked up a bit. The great advantage of supermarkets (apart from the booze) is  that you can buy 8 tomatoes or 3 apples. In the souks they can’t understand it and always want to sell you 2 kilos of tomatoes. Their scales aren’t geared for much else. We would much rather put the money into the hands of the producers than the international supermarkets, but it is a problem.

   Fez was great. Our parking spot for the 2 days there was in the Place Boujloud, right beside one of the big gates into the Medina or old Arab quarter, they don't seem to mind staying overnight and nobody bothers you. We had a wonderful 2 days finding our way around with the help of a guide book. So much better than having a guide with a fixed timetable. After two days we really though we had got the multitude of alleyways sorted out, not without a few false moves.  The Moroccans are so friendly and we really felt part of the place. We visited old houses with fine ceramic tiling (‘zellig’)and woodwork, old ‘fondouks’ where traders stopped the night in days gone by, plus the tanneries which they say haven’t changed for hundreds of years. All this while competing with a million people, carts, donkeys etc in the narrow alleys with traders trying to catch our attention.   Place Boujloud is a bit of a night time entertainment venue, so 2 nights were enough.

Next day heading south again. Wow! In 200 kms we went through so many different environments we were quite mind boggled. The fact that it took us about an hour to get out of Fez is not important. (I keep telling David that and eventually he will believe me, I’m sure.) The signposting in Morocco is different from what we are used to, and just because they spell everything differently from the map and put in destinations that are different from ours shouldn’t matter. We passed through lush,fertile plains, mountains of cedar forests with Barbary apes frolicking in the trees and up and over Stan, hissing their displeasure when we tried to growl at them. Joanna could watch the apes for hours on end and we have a soft spot for storks, sometimes wonder if we would have been better off just visiting a zoo.

Into the Middle Atlas mountains with high plateaux (that Joanna thought looked like the steppes of Russia, even though she has never been there), shepherds with huge flocks of goats and sheep. Low lying mud Berber villages and even the odd nomad tents. Then suddenly through a dry gorge and out in arid plains with the High Atlas mountains looming ahead.

Another souk, more sensory overload. The crowds, the crush, the colours, the noise, the smell – watch where you put  your feet. But we managed to buy 6 tomatoes, 2 cucumbers, 1 aubergine, a handful of beans, garlic, coriander … we are making progress.

And then there were the truffles. We had the doors shut tight against the apes, when startled by a loud knock. A smiling Mohammed proffering a large bag of black truffles – at least he said they were and looked like them to us with our limited experience of fresh truffles. A hard and fast bargaining session took them from 1000 Dirham about 100 euro to 7 euro. Worth the risk we decided. Made a beeline for an internet cafe and googled ‘black Moroccan truffles images’ – there they were. Mohammed said to cook with eggs and he knew what he was talking about according to online recipes. Next camp, in the oasis amongst the palm trees, carefully prepared the omelette as advised online. Trying to ignore the slight niggle that these might be some highly toxic fungus or even magic mushrooms as David hopefully suggested – (he doesn’t give up easily) – we toasted what could be our last meal ever with a chilled Moroccan rose. Then the big let down. They were tasteless. Into the bin and continued the meal with a very nice jar of Tripe a la mode de Caen. Have since discovered that white truffles are the way to go here.

Thence over the High Atlas although not so bad as we were already at 1400m. Striking scenery as we traversed the rocky plateau with a stop for coffee and talk with Said by some thermal pools above the Ziz river.

Down through the Ziz gorge to find an excellent camping spot in the ‘Meski Source Bleue’. This is what we imagined the real Oasis place, parked under palms, with its own spring next to the Ziz river (what a great name for a river), and a ruined kasbah(Old fortified town) nearby. Bread and provisions from the village next door, and Mohammed to show us round.