For a long time now I've had dreams of travelling across Africa camping out, exploring distant lands and unique cultures and communities in a modified 4x4. Those dreams are now a reality only not in a 4x4 but a Toyota Yaris!
Dubai was like being on another planet. Even our heat conditioned bodies fresh from Morocco couldn't take life outside air conditioning in this almighty desert city. However, we did get to see a lot in the one day we had there and what we saw went from the sublime to the ridiculous to the what the to the why?
We landed in Johannesburg and was kindly put up for two nights by our good friends Craig and Paula's parents who live in the northern suburbs. We were treated to some warm hospitality and top tips for our trip from Roni and Ivor before it was onwards in the Yaris down south to the Drakensberg Mountains.
On our first day on the road we did what we said we'd never do. As the sun started setting we still hadn't found our accomodation, had driven through some small rural townships and were heading, a little clueless, into the Dranksensberg unknown. Then out of nowhere we passed a huge festival. After a bit of banter with the organiser on the gate he let us stay for one night which was kind of him seeing as it was day one of the four day White Mountain Folk Festival. It was a cracker first night and went on late after hours in the resident bar of the White Mountain game lodge.
Day two feeling a little jaded we set off to the south Dranksberg hoping to cross the border to Lesotho across Sani Pass. However on arrival into the foothills of the pass we were told that most 4x4s couldn't pass it so a Yaris would, how shall we phrase this, struggle : )
However, where we were was amazing with the Lesotho mountains clearly visible and this town in the foothills extremely green with some cracking walks to be had. We set up our tent in a cracker of a campsite off the beaten track and were content with this fall back plan.
Day three and we made it to the south coast and camped once again in the small coastal village of Morgan's Bay. It's great to be under canvas and with our own wheels. We're just realising how much flexibility it can give you when travelling. The campsites are superb and the roads are fine. In fact too fine. Freeway speeds are indicated at 120km/h but nobody sticks to this speed. The signs kindly warn you to slow down to 100km/h on tight corners and also spring 'Warning Pedestrian' signs on you last minute as you race through rural townships. Oh, not to mention random animals on the road at various points - cows, sheep, baboons....you definitely have to have your wits about you.
Day four and we did a monster drive to a place called Wilderness which is exactly what it says on the tin. It is a coastal town but feels like you're out in the bush.
Day five and we decided to come off the Garden Route which was, to be frank, a little boring. Straight as an arrow and not much to see. Excuse me if I turn all Clarkson on you but the roads then turned into some of the best driving roads I've ever driven. Shame we were in the Ya.....leave it Matthew. Green mountains and a multi-coloured patchwork landscape that was a photographers heaven. We landed in a place called Hermanus, billed as the best place in the world for whale watching. So much so we decided to stay and pitch our tent here instead of cracking on to Cape Town 120km away.
Day six and we landed in Cape Town and found probably the only inner city camp spot available. An eco village had recently been developed out of town with an organic farm and a hostel. They let us pop our tent down with minimum fuss. The only catch being we are sharing the facilities with 46 Lesotho schoolchildren. I don't know how we do it.... It was also salt in the wound at not getting to Lesotho over Sani Pass. I'm sure I've seen a few of them sniggering at our wheels as well. Maybe they know!
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Fast Forward
Fast forward 20 days and we are now under the shadow of Table Mountain in Cape Town.
I'd like to say we overlanded it from Morocco down the west coast of Africa. Alas, we did not but we had a great time during our ten days back in England with the highlight being a road trip across South Wales over on the ferry to Ireland for Bert and Jenny's wedding in Kenmare on Ireland's west coast.
Had some cracking nights out, caught a Villa game and lots of Africa prep work before it was onwards to Johannesberg via Dubai.
Having provided a tip on Day One in the shape of 'The Secret to Upgrade Success', I have another pearl. Don't fly long haul with a king kong hangover. It makes you do silly things like forget your hand luggage and spill orange juice over your crotch just five minutes into the journey.
I'd like to say we overlanded it from Morocco down the west coast of Africa. Alas, we did not but we had a great time during our ten days back in England with the highlight being a road trip across South Wales over on the ferry to Ireland for Bert and Jenny's wedding in Kenmare on Ireland's west coast.
Had some cracking nights out, caught a Villa game and lots of Africa prep work before it was onwards to Johannesberg via Dubai.
Having provided a tip on Day One in the shape of 'The Secret to Upgrade Success', I have another pearl. Don't fly long haul with a king kong hangover. It makes you do silly things like forget your hand luggage and spill orange juice over your crotch just five minutes into the journey.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Toubkal Refuge - Toubkal Summit - Toubkal Refuge - Ilmil
Day 71
Sunday 6th September 2009
The all time low point of the 4167 summit climb would come around halfway up where we discovered we'd forgotten our bag of food, we were walking in a cloud unable to see anything ten yards in front or ten yards behind and our legs felt like alien objects.
What is it with us and summits? Both our Kinabalu and Toubkal ascents were clear blue skies on Day One but just when we needed a clear day to be rewarded with views from the summit....clouds.
Back on Day 19 and 20 of our trip we climbed the 4085 metre summit of Mount Kinabalu in Borneo. Both this and Jebel Toubkal were two day hikes, both were over 4,000 metres in altitude but this is where the similarities ended quite abrubtly.
Whilst Kinabalu offered a walk with unforgetable moments and sights completely unique to that part of the world and that mountain, Toubkal did feel a more natural experience. It was quite simply a mountain in a range that you could climb - no guide, no signage (other than that of towers of boulders left by previous climbers), no steps and no frills.
We started at 5.15am down at breakfast. Many had already taken off but we waited for a slither of light which came through around 5.45am. The first part of the climb was scrambling up big boulders before hitting a more caring path but no less caring in gradient. To put this into perspective yestrday we walked 10km climbing 1467 metres. Today whilst only walking 2-3km we were climbing a whopping 960 metres.
Legs we weary just an hour into the climb which wasn't a good sign. And things got worse as the caring path turned evil with small stones zapping the energy from your legs like sand and causing a few slip sliding issues. The only motivation was having sight of people resembling ants in the distance marching up the final ascent after negotiating the quick sand track we were horrified to discover but not all together surprised to learn that the ants were climbing just one part of the final ascent. This was ridiculously steep and where moral was at an all time low - we discovered we'd forgotten our bag of food, we were walking in a cloud unable to see anything ten yards in front or ten yards behind and our legs felt like alien objects.
But we soldiered on hungry, hammered and halfway. It was here that things started turning for us. We pushed through the tough ascent and the pain barrier and were told by the first 'descenter' that we had only thirty minutes to go. Even though we had much longer to go the climb started feeling easier psycologically but the track was starting to level out comparitively. Eventually we saw the Majorca couple who slapped our hands and congratulated us. Slightly delerious from pain, hunger and the altitude we looked up to see the pyramid that represented the summit just 10 seconds from our grasp. It felt like a great achievement and everbody was feeling it shaking hands and slapping backs. The weather had even momentarily cleared for us rewarding us with clear blue skies and fantastic views of the high atlas mountain range. We were given some nuts and dried fruit and the energy started coming back to body and legs.
We waited around and had the summit to ourselves until we were ready for the descent. This was really tricky in patches. You'd lose concentration for a second and you were on you arse. The slippery small stones and the large boulders we'd encontered on the way up offered their own different challenges going down whilst all the time the steepness perplexed us on how we'd managed to get up the bloody thing.
We were accompanied by a dog for much of the descent who we whistled over when we spotted her scaring mountain goats into a huddle on the edge of a cliff. This dog was phenomenal tackling the ascent and descent everday. However, we were later to find out that this was nothing compared to the guides who took the trek five to six time a week during Ramadam meaning no food or water during the day.
Back at the refuge at 11am and we were greeted with a lunch which was more than the doctor had ordered. Layla had 40 winks and we were back at it on the 10km descent from the refuge to Ilmil. Body already beaten this was another four hour walk.
The walk would prove extremely tiring and tough especially when Layla' knee started playing up. 'Nothing a couple of painkillers can't help' she said striding on, big grin and eyes the size of dustbin lids.
We also had rain and thunder and lightening to contend with and when we though that was bad it started hailing huge pieces of ice. The hail hitting you felt like being the stag at a paintball activity centre.
But we made it back to Ilmil and YES the shower was good and YES the tangine was better and YES the 7.40pm to bed felt like heaven.
Sunday 6th September 2009
The all time low point of the 4167 summit climb would come around halfway up where we discovered we'd forgotten our bag of food, we were walking in a cloud unable to see anything ten yards in front or ten yards behind and our legs felt like alien objects.
What is it with us and summits? Both our Kinabalu and Toubkal ascents were clear blue skies on Day One but just when we needed a clear day to be rewarded with views from the summit....clouds.
Back on Day 19 and 20 of our trip we climbed the 4085 metre summit of Mount Kinabalu in Borneo. Both this and Jebel Toubkal were two day hikes, both were over 4,000 metres in altitude but this is where the similarities ended quite abrubtly.
Whilst Kinabalu offered a walk with unforgetable moments and sights completely unique to that part of the world and that mountain, Toubkal did feel a more natural experience. It was quite simply a mountain in a range that you could climb - no guide, no signage (other than that of towers of boulders left by previous climbers), no steps and no frills.
We started at 5.15am down at breakfast. Many had already taken off but we waited for a slither of light which came through around 5.45am. The first part of the climb was scrambling up big boulders before hitting a more caring path but no less caring in gradient. To put this into perspective yestrday we walked 10km climbing 1467 metres. Today whilst only walking 2-3km we were climbing a whopping 960 metres.
Legs we weary just an hour into the climb which wasn't a good sign. And things got worse as the caring path turned evil with small stones zapping the energy from your legs like sand and causing a few slip sliding issues. The only motivation was having sight of people resembling ants in the distance marching up the final ascent after negotiating the quick sand track we were horrified to discover but not all together surprised to learn that the ants were climbing just one part of the final ascent. This was ridiculously steep and where moral was at an all time low - we discovered we'd forgotten our bag of food, we were walking in a cloud unable to see anything ten yards in front or ten yards behind and our legs felt like alien objects.
But we soldiered on hungry, hammered and halfway. It was here that things started turning for us. We pushed through the tough ascent and the pain barrier and were told by the first 'descenter' that we had only thirty minutes to go. Even though we had much longer to go the climb started feeling easier psycologically but the track was starting to level out comparitively. Eventually we saw the Majorca couple who slapped our hands and congratulated us. Slightly delerious from pain, hunger and the altitude we looked up to see the pyramid that represented the summit just 10 seconds from our grasp. It felt like a great achievement and everbody was feeling it shaking hands and slapping backs. The weather had even momentarily cleared for us rewarding us with clear blue skies and fantastic views of the high atlas mountain range. We were given some nuts and dried fruit and the energy started coming back to body and legs.
We waited around and had the summit to ourselves until we were ready for the descent. This was really tricky in patches. You'd lose concentration for a second and you were on you arse. The slippery small stones and the large boulders we'd encontered on the way up offered their own different challenges going down whilst all the time the steepness perplexed us on how we'd managed to get up the bloody thing.
We were accompanied by a dog for much of the descent who we whistled over when we spotted her scaring mountain goats into a huddle on the edge of a cliff. This dog was phenomenal tackling the ascent and descent everday. However, we were later to find out that this was nothing compared to the guides who took the trek five to six time a week during Ramadam meaning no food or water during the day.
Back at the refuge at 11am and we were greeted with a lunch which was more than the doctor had ordered. Layla had 40 winks and we were back at it on the 10km descent from the refuge to Ilmil. Body already beaten this was another four hour walk.
The walk would prove extremely tiring and tough especially when Layla' knee started playing up. 'Nothing a couple of painkillers can't help' she said striding on, big grin and eyes the size of dustbin lids.
We also had rain and thunder and lightening to contend with and when we though that was bad it started hailing huge pieces of ice. The hail hitting you felt like being the stag at a paintball activity centre.
But we made it back to Ilmil and YES the shower was good and YES the tangine was better and YES the 7.40pm to bed felt like heaven.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Imlil to Toubkal Refuge
Day 70
Saturday 5th September 2009
In Marrakesh we had been quoted 2400 Dirham to do a package tour to Jebel Toubkal. We opted out of that and were extremely glad when arriving in Imlil we realised we could do things a whole lot cheaper. We didn't need to stay in the riad, we didn't need a guide, and we certainly didn't need a mule.
So off we went early doors guideless and muleless on our lonesome with Toubkal refuge our destination at the foot of the summit climb and 10km in distance and 1467km in altitude away from where we currently were.
A couple of hesitant turns and directions from locals (Toubkal then point usually got the desired response) and we were on the right track to the refuge.
We past the town of Amound walking across a huge rocky riverbed before traversing steadily up into the high atlas and stunning scenery with Toubkal continuously our backdrop.
We pushed past the temptation of snacks in the last chance village and found salvation from the sun in the shape of an overhanging rock where we tucked on some fine Laylamade sandwiches.
This provided the energy to crack on and negotiate the toughest and steepest part of the day. After here the valley opened out and from this point on it was only distance rather than gradient that was going to kill us.
Highlight of fellow climbers had to be a group of oldies who persuaded us to stop and share some fresh orange juice with them. Brits, they'd met at a mountaineering club in the 70s and had become good friends visiting amazing places ever since.
Eventually after five hours of walking, legs getting tired and body getting weary we caught a glimpse of the refuge. This was enough incentive to push on and reach our first day destination with the hard work still to come.
The refuge was buzzing with excitement and full of nationalities and ages which was quite strange as we'd hardly seen a sole on the walk. Everybody was happy to chat.
We shared dinner with a couple from Majorca and agreed to start the climb with them the following morning at 5.30am.
Saturday 5th September 2009
In Marrakesh we had been quoted 2400 Dirham to do a package tour to Jebel Toubkal. We opted out of that and were extremely glad when arriving in Imlil we realised we could do things a whole lot cheaper. We didn't need to stay in the riad, we didn't need a guide, and we certainly didn't need a mule.
So off we went early doors guideless and muleless on our lonesome with Toubkal refuge our destination at the foot of the summit climb and 10km in distance and 1467km in altitude away from where we currently were.
A couple of hesitant turns and directions from locals (Toubkal then point usually got the desired response) and we were on the right track to the refuge.
We past the town of Amound walking across a huge rocky riverbed before traversing steadily up into the high atlas and stunning scenery with Toubkal continuously our backdrop.
We pushed past the temptation of snacks in the last chance village and found salvation from the sun in the shape of an overhanging rock where we tucked on some fine Laylamade sandwiches.
This provided the energy to crack on and negotiate the toughest and steepest part of the day. After here the valley opened out and from this point on it was only distance rather than gradient that was going to kill us.
Highlight of fellow climbers had to be a group of oldies who persuaded us to stop and share some fresh orange juice with them. Brits, they'd met at a mountaineering club in the 70s and had become good friends visiting amazing places ever since.
Eventually after five hours of walking, legs getting tired and body getting weary we caught a glimpse of the refuge. This was enough incentive to push on and reach our first day destination with the hard work still to come.
The refuge was buzzing with excitement and full of nationalities and ages which was quite strange as we'd hardly seen a sole on the walk. Everybody was happy to chat.
We shared dinner with a couple from Majorca and agreed to start the climb with them the following morning at 5.30am.
The High Atlas Mountains
Day 69
Friday 4th September 2009
Armed with a whole load of information we set off today to Imlil, set in the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco and the base of many treks including the two day Jebel Toubkal summit trek that we would start tomorrow.
Jebel Toubkal at 4167 metres is the highest mountain in North Africa so this wasn't going to be easy.
Ilmil was a beautiful alpine village with a sprinkling of restaurants and accomodation. We opted for a budget option that still had views of the range from the courtyard cafe and our room. Alternatives were the riad of Ilmil which was a beautiful old building with roof terrace looking out to the mountains. Next grade up and king of Ilmil accomodation was the kasbah which was a grand building perched on a cliff above the village.
We met a nice English chap staying at our accomodation who had just got back down. He had some great tips for the climb and also gave us his map. Bloody nice bloke.
We wandered the town and I bought a ridiculous hat as protection from the sun. I looked like Hugh Jackman. Not because of the hat, more the build ; )
We had an early night with a big day of walking ahead of us tomorrow.
Friday 4th September 2009
Armed with a whole load of information we set off today to Imlil, set in the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco and the base of many treks including the two day Jebel Toubkal summit trek that we would start tomorrow.
Jebel Toubkal at 4167 metres is the highest mountain in North Africa so this wasn't going to be easy.
Ilmil was a beautiful alpine village with a sprinkling of restaurants and accomodation. We opted for a budget option that still had views of the range from the courtyard cafe and our room. Alternatives were the riad of Ilmil which was a beautiful old building with roof terrace looking out to the mountains. Next grade up and king of Ilmil accomodation was the kasbah which was a grand building perched on a cliff above the village.
We met a nice English chap staying at our accomodation who had just got back down. He had some great tips for the climb and also gave us his map. Bloody nice bloke.
We wandered the town and I bought a ridiculous hat as protection from the sun. I looked like Hugh Jackman. Not because of the hat, more the build ; )
We had an early night with a big day of walking ahead of us tomorrow.
Monday, September 7, 2009
The Road to Marrakesh
Day 68
Thursday 3rd September 2009
We had decisions to make this morning - stay in this amazing place with this lovely family or hop in with Simo to Marrakesh. After going round in circles we opted for the Simo option. We said our goodbyes and gave a promise we'd return.
Simo arrived at Balmagne with a Japanese girl in tow who I think was more than a travel partner. He wasn't as bubbly as yesterday but explained he'd only had 15 minutes sleep. This didn't hamper his ability to drive the difficult mountainous roads with the drive full of windy lanes wrapped around monster mountains with deep deep valleys a couple of thousand metres down below.
We had one stop off which was a bit obscure. Simo pulled up outside a cafe showing a horse race from France. He appeared to have a wager on it and got back in the car after the race a lot more sober than when he had left.
Layla had previously offered to drive if needed and with 60 km to go she took over the reigns taking our deadlocked friend by surprise with her driving on these difficult roads. He took the wheel back as we entered Marrakesh having banter with any motorist or pedestrian who caught his eye. He was what you would call 'a character'.
He dropped us at the bus station and we head off to the Medina checking out a number of guesthouses before deciding on a bit of a bargain. Already we felt this city had the edge on Fes. The place had a buzz about it although we had probably seen more westerners in the taxi ride into the city than we had seen in our entire Morocco trip so far.
Thursday 3rd September 2009
We had decisions to make this morning - stay in this amazing place with this lovely family or hop in with Simo to Marrakesh. After going round in circles we opted for the Simo option. We said our goodbyes and gave a promise we'd return.
Simo arrived at Balmagne with a Japanese girl in tow who I think was more than a travel partner. He wasn't as bubbly as yesterday but explained he'd only had 15 minutes sleep. This didn't hamper his ability to drive the difficult mountainous roads with the drive full of windy lanes wrapped around monster mountains with deep deep valleys a couple of thousand metres down below.
We had one stop off which was a bit obscure. Simo pulled up outside a cafe showing a horse race from France. He appeared to have a wager on it and got back in the car after the race a lot more sober than when he had left.
Layla had previously offered to drive if needed and with 60 km to go she took over the reigns taking our deadlocked friend by surprise with her driving on these difficult roads. He took the wheel back as we entered Marrakesh having banter with any motorist or pedestrian who caught his eye. He was what you would call 'a character'.
He dropped us at the bus station and we head off to the Medina checking out a number of guesthouses before deciding on a bit of a bargain. Already we felt this city had the edge on Fes. The place had a buzz about it although we had probably seen more westerners in the taxi ride into the city than we had seen in our entire Morocco trip so far.
Bad Decisions Make Good Stories
Day 67
Wednesday 2nd September 2009
A stunning then quite strange start to the day today. Layla was up for sunrise on the roof terrace and came back to the room very excited. Before I knew it we were up to our eyeballs in gorge. An extremely narrow, rugged gorge used by climbers and base jumpers as well as mere mortals like us. Layla befriended two dogs en route and we the appeared to befriend an old chap on the stroll back who invited us to his place for a brew. Although a bit sceptical we thought what the hell and he led us, quite literally, down a garden path into the grounds of a kasbah and up into a large, old homestay where we were led up into a small room...wait for it...was full of carpets. We got the tea but also got a long speil on the making of the carpets from hand from a man who got angry whe Layla interupted with questions and even angrier when he learned that we didn't have a home or jobs and certainly didn't want his carpets. Things could have got a hell of a lot worse when Layla elbowed over her tea onto one of the carpets but fortunately he didn't flinch. We did however think it was time to leave when he shouted 'you not want to help nomadic people'. Before you could say Allied we were out of their.
We thought it best to leave the gorge where we hadn't made too many friends and tried hitching at the side of the road. It was a quiet stretch but we eventually got a bite when a Moroccon rasta pulled over and said we could hop in to Tinerhir. His name was Simo and although driving to the desert today said he was going through Dades Gorge, where we were headed tomorrow onwards to Marrakesh tomorrow if we wanted to go with him. He also gave us a good tip for accomodation in Dades.
For the second day in a row a taxi boss with no teeth rubbed us up the wrong way so we made the local bus west to Balmagne De Gorge by the skin of our teeth. All the locals were extremely friendly chatting and smiling to us the alien race on this 46km journey.
In Balmagne we had a bite to eat and were latched onto by a bloke with a weather beaten face and dark brown teeth who showed us to a minivan to the gorge. He tipped the minivan driver off as to where to drop us which wad his mate's accomodation but we stood firm and stayed where Simo had recommend which turned out to be gold.
An absolute delight of a family made up of three brothers, their father, one of the brother, wife and son welcomed us openarmed into their amazing guesthouse with views over the spectacular gorge.
Wednesday 2nd September 2009
A stunning then quite strange start to the day today. Layla was up for sunrise on the roof terrace and came back to the room very excited. Before I knew it we were up to our eyeballs in gorge. An extremely narrow, rugged gorge used by climbers and base jumpers as well as mere mortals like us. Layla befriended two dogs en route and we the appeared to befriend an old chap on the stroll back who invited us to his place for a brew. Although a bit sceptical we thought what the hell and he led us, quite literally, down a garden path into the grounds of a kasbah and up into a large, old homestay where we were led up into a small room...wait for it...was full of carpets. We got the tea but also got a long speil on the making of the carpets from hand from a man who got angry whe Layla interupted with questions and even angrier when he learned that we didn't have a home or jobs and certainly didn't want his carpets. Things could have got a hell of a lot worse when Layla elbowed over her tea onto one of the carpets but fortunately he didn't flinch. We did however think it was time to leave when he shouted 'you not want to help nomadic people'. Before you could say Allied we were out of their.
We thought it best to leave the gorge where we hadn't made too many friends and tried hitching at the side of the road. It was a quiet stretch but we eventually got a bite when a Moroccon rasta pulled over and said we could hop in to Tinerhir. His name was Simo and although driving to the desert today said he was going through Dades Gorge, where we were headed tomorrow onwards to Marrakesh tomorrow if we wanted to go with him. He also gave us a good tip for accomodation in Dades.
For the second day in a row a taxi boss with no teeth rubbed us up the wrong way so we made the local bus west to Balmagne De Gorge by the skin of our teeth. All the locals were extremely friendly chatting and smiling to us the alien race on this 46km journey.
In Balmagne we had a bite to eat and were latched onto by a bloke with a weather beaten face and dark brown teeth who showed us to a minivan to the gorge. He tipped the minivan driver off as to where to drop us which wad his mate's accomodation but we stood firm and stayed where Simo had recommend which turned out to be gold.
An absolute delight of a family made up of three brothers, their father, one of the brother, wife and son welcomed us openarmed into their amazing guesthouse with views over the spectacular gorge.
Fear and Loathing in Merzouga
Day 66
Tuesday 1st September 2009
Apparently nine years ago Hilary Clinton did a similar tour to the one we took this morning which was through the oasis which acts like a front lawn to the dunes. Funnily enough it's a fresh water source underneath the dunes that maintains the oasis and there is a very organised irrigation system which feeds water into the residents alocments on a rotation basis so they can grow their dates, chillis, almonds, mint, cummin, figs, apricots, aubergines and tomatoes amongst other crops for consuming and for sale at the markets.
Our guide was Ilhan who was a nephew and a university student studying French Lit. The only person at uni from the village. After the oasis we learned how village homes were constructed. A change in attitude was needed in the construction of homes after a flood wiped out many residence in May 2006. Stone instead mud was the main difference I could work out. Over the years there has also been a change in attitude to families. 'My grandparents didn't know how many children they have. They have many. If one dies no problem we have others,' Ilhan said. Ilhan himself had eight uncles alone and only three siblings.
We were to later to learn that households still exist that hold 40, 50, 60 family members. One famous house in Zeragona holds 120 of the buggers.
After the tour it was onwards to Todra Gorge and a completely different Morocco to the desert. We managed to haggle a guy down in Rissani who was heading in that direction. He picked up his mate and two kids and we set off on the 200km trip west to the gorge. The driver was a laid back kind of a chap with big aviators and a foot out of the window approach to driving. His mate in the passenger seat was bubbly and obviously adored his kids, a boy and a girl who were lovely.
You could practically feel the temperature drop a degree for every 20km we drove and the landscape changed beyond recognition into baron scrub with the Middle Atlas mountains as the backdrop.
Our driver was a real character who didn't think much to the Moroccon police. 'Scumbags' he shouted when they came into site which sounded very un Moroccon. Then as we passed them he saluted at a surprised looking officer and shouted 'To the King' out the window at him. The rest of the car were in stiches.
We said our goodbyes at Tinerhir the closest town to Todra Gorge and waited for a taxi we had organised to take us to our preaaranged accomodation. It never came and,as the sun set, it looked less and less likely of arriving as everyone geared up for their Ramadam meals and the square which was previously packed to the rafters turned into a ghost town. We decided to roll with it and sat down at the nearest cafe and ordered some Ramadam soup which was absolutely delicious and cost five Dirham (around 38p) for both.
In the meantime Mohammad our taxi driver turned up and took us the final 14km into the gorge and to our accomodation. Here we got locked into a price war as the quoted cost of our room was increased on arrival to double. We got them down and they changed it once again. The place was run by a shifty mob and, had it not been for the amazing decor in the riad and the roof terrace which looked over the gorge we would have walked. They weren't going to get a penny more out of us though.
Tuesday 1st September 2009
Apparently nine years ago Hilary Clinton did a similar tour to the one we took this morning which was through the oasis which acts like a front lawn to the dunes. Funnily enough it's a fresh water source underneath the dunes that maintains the oasis and there is a very organised irrigation system which feeds water into the residents alocments on a rotation basis so they can grow their dates, chillis, almonds, mint, cummin, figs, apricots, aubergines and tomatoes amongst other crops for consuming and for sale at the markets.
Our guide was Ilhan who was a nephew and a university student studying French Lit. The only person at uni from the village. After the oasis we learned how village homes were constructed. A change in attitude was needed in the construction of homes after a flood wiped out many residence in May 2006. Stone instead mud was the main difference I could work out. Over the years there has also been a change in attitude to families. 'My grandparents didn't know how many children they have. They have many. If one dies no problem we have others,' Ilhan said. Ilhan himself had eight uncles alone and only three siblings.
We were to later to learn that households still exist that hold 40, 50, 60 family members. One famous house in Zeragona holds 120 of the buggers.
After the tour it was onwards to Todra Gorge and a completely different Morocco to the desert. We managed to haggle a guy down in Rissani who was heading in that direction. He picked up his mate and two kids and we set off on the 200km trip west to the gorge. The driver was a laid back kind of a chap with big aviators and a foot out of the window approach to driving. His mate in the passenger seat was bubbly and obviously adored his kids, a boy and a girl who were lovely.
You could practically feel the temperature drop a degree for every 20km we drove and the landscape changed beyond recognition into baron scrub with the Middle Atlas mountains as the backdrop.
Our driver was a real character who didn't think much to the Moroccon police. 'Scumbags' he shouted when they came into site which sounded very un Moroccon. Then as we passed them he saluted at a surprised looking officer and shouted 'To the King' out the window at him. The rest of the car were in stiches.
We said our goodbyes at Tinerhir the closest town to Todra Gorge and waited for a taxi we had organised to take us to our preaaranged accomodation. It never came and,as the sun set, it looked less and less likely of arriving as everyone geared up for their Ramadam meals and the square which was previously packed to the rafters turned into a ghost town. We decided to roll with it and sat down at the nearest cafe and ordered some Ramadam soup which was absolutely delicious and cost five Dirham (around 38p) for both.
In the meantime Mohammad our taxi driver turned up and took us the final 14km into the gorge and to our accomodation. Here we got locked into a price war as the quoted cost of our room was increased on arrival to double. We got them down and they changed it once again. The place was run by a shifty mob and, had it not been for the amazing decor in the riad and the roof terrace which looked over the gorge we would have walked. They weren't going to get a penny more out of us though.
Dune Champion
Day 65
Monday 31st August 2009
As the sun rose at around 5.30am we were well and truly approaching the desert. But for an oasis deep down in a huge gorge which caught us off guard everything else was dry dry dry.
On arrival into Rissani we were bullied into boarding a 4x4 with the only other passenger a Japanese chap with a handlebar moustache and aviators who was off his trolley. Earlier we had seen him fall of the coach on one of our toilet stops jump up and proceed to ask a prostitue where the toilet was. The 4x4 would take us to an accomodation on the proviso that if we didn't like it we would be taken to view others in Merzouga right on the edge of the desert with views of the sand dunes. At the accomodation after a white knuckle ride into the desert we weren't happy with what was an offer. This went down like a lead ballooon and they refused to take us onwards to other places. A row commenced which wasn't the best idea as they had us by the balls on their territory in the middle of the desert. We compromised with being taken back to Rissani and starting from square one.
We made the right decision as we landed some plush accomodation staying with a lovely family spitting distance from the dunes. The father Ali was nice and was obviously a pivotal figure in the village but the highlight was his wife's extraordinarily good cooking and his adorable kids of which he had four-three boys and one girl. As he himself put it 'Many people change wife but why would I? She cleans, she cooks good, she makes four beautiful babies. Why would I change wife? I happy.'
Before you knew it Ali had pulled a few desert strings and we were on the back of camels complete with turbans off into the dunes. It can only be described as another world out there. The colours continuously shifting as the sun set and the feel of the fresh Saharan sand are two things i'll always remember. I'll also remember the fact that our guide probably had the worst job in the world during Ramadam out in the middle of the desert as the sunsets while everbody else tucks into some grub. Let's just put it this way our journey back to the village after sunset was a lot quicker than that out.
Monday 31st August 2009
As the sun rose at around 5.30am we were well and truly approaching the desert. But for an oasis deep down in a huge gorge which caught us off guard everything else was dry dry dry.
On arrival into Rissani we were bullied into boarding a 4x4 with the only other passenger a Japanese chap with a handlebar moustache and aviators who was off his trolley. Earlier we had seen him fall of the coach on one of our toilet stops jump up and proceed to ask a prostitue where the toilet was. The 4x4 would take us to an accomodation on the proviso that if we didn't like it we would be taken to view others in Merzouga right on the edge of the desert with views of the sand dunes. At the accomodation after a white knuckle ride into the desert we weren't happy with what was an offer. This went down like a lead ballooon and they refused to take us onwards to other places. A row commenced which wasn't the best idea as they had us by the balls on their territory in the middle of the desert. We compromised with being taken back to Rissani and starting from square one.
We made the right decision as we landed some plush accomodation staying with a lovely family spitting distance from the dunes. The father Ali was nice and was obviously a pivotal figure in the village but the highlight was his wife's extraordinarily good cooking and his adorable kids of which he had four-three boys and one girl. As he himself put it 'Many people change wife but why would I? She cleans, she cooks good, she makes four beautiful babies. Why would I change wife? I happy.'
Before you knew it Ali had pulled a few desert strings and we were on the back of camels complete with turbans off into the dunes. It can only be described as another world out there. The colours continuously shifting as the sun set and the feel of the fresh Saharan sand are two things i'll always remember. I'll also remember the fact that our guide probably had the worst job in the world during Ramadam out in the middle of the desert as the sunsets while everbody else tucks into some grub. Let's just put it this way our journey back to the village after sunset was a lot quicker than that out.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Ramadam
Day 64
Sunday 30th August 2009
We decided to take the foot of the gas a little todayand explore our surrounds. Different readings suggest that while the Fes Medina is it's history dating back 1500 years the Ville Nouvelle is very much modern Fes.
The problem we were having was that it was slap bang in the middle of Ramadam. Meaning the 99 percent of Moroccons who are Muslim wereimpacted by the month long fast. The knock on impact was the opening and closing of shops and cafes were different from the norm. It was very difficult to get a bite to eat at a cafe in the day fore ample as people would rest during the day having been up in the night eating. You actually felt strangely guilty eating in the open during daylight hours in the knowledge that the people around you couldn't eat, drink or consume anything until sunset.
For our evening meal we somehow managed to sit down at a cafe just as the sun was about to set. There is a standard Meal that Muslims eat at sunset made up of dates, soup and milk. Everbody else in the cafe had this set meal in front of them untouched willing the sun to set so they could devour it. However, of the people we'd spoken to so far many explained it wasn't the eating that bothered them so much but more the thirst. This would be a whole new proposition down in the desert though.
We proceeded to order and fortunately for us our meals arrived after everbody else had started to eat. There was no way we would have started anyway.
Our hotel broke the bad news that we couldn't use their showers before our overnight coach journey. It was over 40 degrees today so we weren't in the best shape. They did however recommend a hotel down the road that had a private shower block. Bizarre as it seemed we were led into this secret room behind reception where we had showers before heading for the coach station for our 9.30pm nine hour journey to the desert.
Sunday 30th August 2009
We decided to take the foot of the gas a little todayand explore our surrounds. Different readings suggest that while the Fes Medina is it's history dating back 1500 years the Ville Nouvelle is very much modern Fes.
The problem we were having was that it was slap bang in the middle of Ramadam. Meaning the 99 percent of Moroccons who are Muslim wereimpacted by the month long fast. The knock on impact was the opening and closing of shops and cafes were different from the norm. It was very difficult to get a bite to eat at a cafe in the day fore ample as people would rest during the day having been up in the night eating. You actually felt strangely guilty eating in the open during daylight hours in the knowledge that the people around you couldn't eat, drink or consume anything until sunset.
For our evening meal we somehow managed to sit down at a cafe just as the sun was about to set. There is a standard Meal that Muslims eat at sunset made up of dates, soup and milk. Everbody else in the cafe had this set meal in front of them untouched willing the sun to set so they could devour it. However, of the people we'd spoken to so far many explained it wasn't the eating that bothered them so much but more the thirst. This would be a whole new proposition down in the desert though.
We proceeded to order and fortunately for us our meals arrived after everbody else had started to eat. There was no way we would have started anyway.
Our hotel broke the bad news that we couldn't use their showers before our overnight coach journey. It was over 40 degrees today so we weren't in the best shape. They did however recommend a hotel down the road that had a private shower block. Bizarre as it seemed we were led into this secret room behind reception where we had showers before heading for the coach station for our 9.30pm nine hour journey to the desert.
Fes is Nuts
Day 63
Saturday 29th August 2009
It always worries me when reading about a place being 'an assult on the senses.' In any other context ASSULT is bad but when phrased like this rather appeals to travellers. I'm still not sold on this though. Anyway, just to clear this up Fes is an assult on the senses or to put this another way Fes' Medina is an assult on the senses.
After beating off our third over-friendly tour guide for the morning, this one incidently butting in mid-breakfast, mid-conversation 'Lespagna?Francais? English?' we head to the Medina with a visit to the tanneries top of the list.
Picture a maze of narrow alleyways that stretch out as far as the eye can see. Add enough locals in these alleyways to over capacity touting for business. Oh and a few hundred donkey karts for good measure. Then throw a few clueless tourists into the middle of it all and let battle commence.
We were onto out third map and we still weren't close to any idea of where on earth anything was in this place. We eventually asked somebody for help who passed us on to a smaller less important person who in turn passed onto a smaller even more less important person until we were being led to the tanneries by a small child with a suprisingly good grasp of English and even more surprisingly good grasp of the Aussie accent.
We were led up above a leather shop which is, of course, where we'll end up and had a cracking view of all the action as blokes soaked leather in big pots of different coloured dye. It was fascinating.
The idea was to pretty much get in the medina and out pretty sharpish but we were enjoying ourselves so took another vantage point to see the tanneries before embarking on a walking tour through the medina following particular coloured signs. It was only when we attempted a second walk we realised we'd bitten off more than we could chew Tired, exhausted, hopelessly lost, hassled, hot, thirsty in the middle of the medina maze we were on a one wsy journey to sweatsville and just wanted out.
We eventually found an exit and before you knew it we were in a petit taxi back to our prison cell room for a cold shower soaking.
The afternoon was a little more relaxed buying our tickets for an overnight bus to the desert for the next day and wondering the Ville Nouvelle. Dinner was a rather lavish afair at a recommended joint that served up some unique Moroccon cuisine.
Fes is nuts but we like it.
Saturday 29th August 2009
It always worries me when reading about a place being 'an assult on the senses.' In any other context ASSULT is bad but when phrased like this rather appeals to travellers. I'm still not sold on this though. Anyway, just to clear this up Fes is an assult on the senses or to put this another way Fes' Medina is an assult on the senses.
After beating off our third over-friendly tour guide for the morning, this one incidently butting in mid-breakfast, mid-conversation 'Lespagna?Francais? English?' we head to the Medina with a visit to the tanneries top of the list.
Picture a maze of narrow alleyways that stretch out as far as the eye can see. Add enough locals in these alleyways to over capacity touting for business. Oh and a few hundred donkey karts for good measure. Then throw a few clueless tourists into the middle of it all and let battle commence.
We were onto out third map and we still weren't close to any idea of where on earth anything was in this place. We eventually asked somebody for help who passed us on to a smaller less important person who in turn passed onto a smaller even more less important person until we were being led to the tanneries by a small child with a suprisingly good grasp of English and even more surprisingly good grasp of the Aussie accent.
We were led up above a leather shop which is, of course, where we'll end up and had a cracking view of all the action as blokes soaked leather in big pots of different coloured dye. It was fascinating.
The idea was to pretty much get in the medina and out pretty sharpish but we were enjoying ourselves so took another vantage point to see the tanneries before embarking on a walking tour through the medina following particular coloured signs. It was only when we attempted a second walk we realised we'd bitten off more than we could chew Tired, exhausted, hopelessly lost, hassled, hot, thirsty in the middle of the medina maze we were on a one wsy journey to sweatsville and just wanted out.
We eventually found an exit and before you knew it we were in a petit taxi back to our prison cell room for a cold shower soaking.
The afternoon was a little more relaxed buying our tickets for an overnight bus to the desert for the next day and wondering the Ville Nouvelle. Dinner was a rather lavish afair at a recommended joint that served up some unique Moroccon cuisine.
Fes is nuts but we like it.
Kif Kount
Friday 28th August 2009
Day 62
Wow this had to be up there with Bukittinggi. Not only were we awoken by the pre-dawn call to prayer but there was a trumpeter who liked the sound of his own trumpet a little too much throughout the night. As aresult this sleepy town really didn't get going til the pms. The only guys out and about were the local drug dealers who were distinct by their awful teeth and retro football shirt attire. This morning it was Ajax Jari Litminan looking for some buyers. Whilst hashish is now illegal to produce here it was only recently the case with kif, an ancient form of the drug, smoked here for centuries.
I had a kif kount in operation meaning I was counting the amount of times I was offered it. Layla thought the count was sky high because of the dodgy beard I had grown but I stand by the dodgy beard being an essential travel accessory in the same way Laylas zip off trousers are for her.
Taxi to the bus station in the afternoon was amusing with our taxi overheating but our driver taking it in his stride with grin etched on face as his friend saturated the car bonnet with a hose and gave Layla some afters as well.
To sum up our journey fr chefchaouen to fes it was alittle more spacious more baron landscape and a few more kms than our previous journey.
On arrival in fes we opted for the the quieter ville nouvelle to stay in rather than the more popular medina finding a nice prison-like one starer which sufficed.
Day 62
Wow this had to be up there with Bukittinggi. Not only were we awoken by the pre-dawn call to prayer but there was a trumpeter who liked the sound of his own trumpet a little too much throughout the night. As aresult this sleepy town really didn't get going til the pms. The only guys out and about were the local drug dealers who were distinct by their awful teeth and retro football shirt attire. This morning it was Ajax Jari Litminan looking for some buyers. Whilst hashish is now illegal to produce here it was only recently the case with kif, an ancient form of the drug, smoked here for centuries.
I had a kif kount in operation meaning I was counting the amount of times I was offered it. Layla thought the count was sky high because of the dodgy beard I had grown but I stand by the dodgy beard being an essential travel accessory in the same way Laylas zip off trousers are for her.
Taxi to the bus station in the afternoon was amusing with our taxi overheating but our driver taking it in his stride with grin etched on face as his friend saturated the car bonnet with a hose and gave Layla some afters as well.
To sum up our journey fr chefchaouen to fes it was alittle more spacious more baron landscape and a few more kms than our previous journey.
On arrival in fes we opted for the the quieter ville nouvelle to stay in rather than the more popular medina finding a nice prison-like one starer which sufficed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
