Bee Stings and Beautiful Waterfalls

This weekend I took it upon myself to do something touristy. Well more touristy than an orange juice in Djemma al Fna. I headed to Ourika Valley with a friend and his mother on a day excursion. It was an early start by weekend standards and we were on the road by 8.30am. Crammed into a Grand Taxi (Taxi K'bira) like a can of sardines I was riding shotgun. Now this shotgun is not the revered 'best seat' in the car. This shotgun had me pretty much sitting on my friends lap and almost sitting cheek to cheek with the cab driver. 2 in the front, 4 in the back. You have to wait until there are six passengers in the car before the driver even contemplates starting his engine. That said, we had six in no time at all and we were on our way. It's about 60 km out of Marrakech. It's a lot more temperate than the city and many Marrakchi's head there for the cooler weather and the famous tagines.

Along the way the driver stopped a couple of times. The second time he stopped he very seriously got down and looked at the rear of his car. With a shake of the head he informed us we would have to go with another driver as his car was leaking oil and he could not possibly make the whole trip. Once again we crammed into the taxi and were later informed that he got a phone call from a friend who had a bigger job for him. We'd been dumped. I felt so cheated!

We arrived in Setti Fatma which is a little touristy town at the far end of the Ourika Valley road. This is the base for a seven waterfall hike. I was so glad I came prepared in a pair of worn through Havianas. As I stepped out of the car I felt this stinging sensation on the arch of my foot. As I looked down a dirty, rotten bee had left a little present for me in my foot. I carefully removed the stinger ad tried to impress my friends mother by saying ' Arghhhh!Tizwah, Tizwah! Arggghhhhh!' I was told by a friend once that 'Tizwah' means bee, in Arabic. Apparently not. She got the idea when I began making buzzing noises and started flapping my best bee like wings. For all those people wondering what I should have said it was 'Tizwait' (I am sure that is not spelt correctly) and it's not even an Arabic word. It's Berber. Will I ever work this language out? If I don't then I will at least be a form of entertainment to Moroccan women and Berber taxi drivers.

Anyway onwards and upwards. We crossed wee bridges held together by nothing more than a few nails and old pieces of wood. We scrambled up and down rocks and only made it to the second waterfall. Upon heading to the second waterfall we found a handy little ladder to climb. We didn't realise that it was a luxury and we were meant to pay for the privilege of using some little man's ladder. Three dirhams later he was happy and me and my slippery flip flops had found their way to safer ground.

A yummy tagine later, we were all set to head back to Marrakech. An uncomfortable hour spent pushed up against the passenger door window and we were back in Marrakech. A full belly and a happy day spent in the Ourika Valley.

A short walk to a pretty view.

The day was perfect. Such amazing weather.

The first waterfall.

Here's one way to keep your stock cool. Insert a hose in the minaret and have the cool water spurt out the top.

The view of the Oued and people's homes set into the mountains.