Somewhere in the Middle Atlas

I just got back from a weekend away with some friends somewhere in the Middle Atlas. I didn't know exactly where I was going and I am still not sure exactly where I have been. I do know that I feel tired, have a sore bottom and a big smile on my face. Even though the later do not usually go together.

A friend posed a road trip to a small group of us about a trip away to a beautiful little spot in the Middle Atlas mountains, Morocco (obviously!). We set out Friday evening and were to arrive at our 'git'( yes i know what you're thinking you lazy... but it is pronounced 'zheet'), Moroccan home stay approximately 3 to 4 hours later.

The trip there was interesting. A good friend has just purchased a Renault 4 and Anna assured us that the car was made for these roads and would serve us well. I had complete faith in her. If there is anything I do know about country girls is that they know their cars. We left red Marrakech behind us hopeful of some fresh air. The roads got quieter and the towns less busy. We were on our way. A weekend away from the big smoke. We passed through little Berber villages and I imagine they were really beautiful, however, we couldn't see a thing as the sun had well and truely set. We entertained ourselves by imagining what we could be seeing. I fondly named the car Cat-Dog as this ride was amazing. It launched itself into pot holes and around hair pin bends as though it owned the roads. In my eyes it was officially a cat that thinks it's a dog. The best type of cat in my eyes!

We arrived 5 - 6 hours later. Spirits were high and we were greeted by warm smiles and a healthy serving of home cooked moroccan food. My friend Chris and I devoured a vegetarian tagine and the others received their 'normal' meals, as it was described.

We planned with our 'to go to' guy, Mustafa that we would climb Cathedral Rock the next morning and set of at about 9:30am. We were pretty desperate for a sleep in after a long weeks work. Mine consisting not only of work but an annoying cold and a tummy bug.

The git was lovely, clean comfortable and had character, although at that stage I was so tired I probably could have slept comfortably on a bed of nails. And that is what I did, slept.

I arose the next morning excited about the hike but also a little unsure. I am not much of a hiker to be honest and resistence isn't my thing. Ask me to walk on even grounding and I will out Forest Gump anyone but this was going to be different. I climbed up onto the terrace of the git before take off and asked myself, was I really going to make it way up there? Daunting but do-able I assured myself. We enjoyed breakfast outside underneath the increasingly warm sun and were serenaded by the sound of the running stream close by. Picture perfect.

Bags packed, sunscreen on and head count done we headed off. We were a mixed bunch on this hike. We had the serious hiker, the knee problem, the self proclaimed turtle, city slickers, smoker but fitter than us all guy and a little canine friend who decided to come along on the adventure with us. The hike was going to take approximately 3 hours up an 2 hours down. I couldn't help but think of the journey the night before. I hoped that it was not going to be a case of history repeating itself when it was my feet carrying me and not Cat-Dog.

The walk was amazing. I pushed myself physically but never had a moment where I thought I could not do it. I breathed in the fresh air and stopped (often) to take in the magnificent scenery. The sense of accomplishment when I reached the top of the rock was great. The smiles on top of that mountain were priceless, after the gasping had stopped of course!

The walk down was pleasant enough as the sun had ceased and the temperature had become comfortable. Believe it or not we did make it in the 5 hours too. Once again upon returning to the git we were greeted with warm smiles and a delicious potato salad and berber omlette.

That evening some of us were moving a little slower but feeling good after the awesome day. We passed the night once again eating an amazing feast and playing card games with inappropriate names. An earlier night this night, and a well deserved rest.

After having out final meal together we all set off to Marrakech, a little sad that the weekend was over but keen to get on the road as it had rained most of the night. Once again Cat-Dog showed her true colours and launched herself into pot holes and puddles with enthusiasm and grace. Well rattles and bumps mostly.

The view down the mountain would have been amazing had there not been a thick blanket of fog covering our descent most of the way. Once again we used our imagination to fill in the blanks. We stopped a couple of times for natures calls and photo opportunities. Breathing in the fresh air every time I stepped out of the car. Who knows when I will get this fresh mountain air again. I hope it's not too long.

Shukran bezaf Anna x

The Sunday Souk

Today was the third time I had visited Essaouira's junkyard souk. It is located outside the medina walls. It is a little walk from Bab Doukkala, one of the main entrances to Essaouira's medina.

The previous two times I had been there had been for no particular reason, just a curious wander around really. There were minimal people there and the dealers drove a hard bargain perched upon their rickety old stools or second hand couches. Maybe they were even tenth or eleventh hand because I haven't quite seen couches in that state before.

It's also situated near a tannery, but unlike Fez there are no mint leaves on arrival to counteract the vulgar stench. It's a dustbowl of a place and the windy city kicks up the dust and soon I have been transformed from looking like a beach bum to nomad that has wandered in from the Sahara.

A visual here for those of you who are trying to imagine what I look like is...... a small lady with a scarf strategically wrapped around her head, and Oakleys worn on the outside of the scarf so the strategically places scarf doesn't move and the sand cause momentary blindness.

Now I had never been on Sunday before. The souk transformed itself today. Every mother, father, sister, and brother was out and about hoping to score a deal. People were there for work and pleasure. It was bumper to bumper. It is lucky that I have grown accustomed to, I have to say women, walking straight through you or bumping you out of the way. This time it wasn't to get the bus ticket, milk, oranges, bread etc before me but it was to get to the 1 dirham t-shirts they were selling. The only way I knew this was because there was an adolescent screeching 'Hak, Hak, dirham, dirham' at the top, and I mean top of his lungs. This translates to 'Take, take, dirham, dirham'. A man was heard muttering to his child, "Only a crazy man would bring his wife here." Just how many t-shirts was his wife buying?

There are items here that are packed so high up on top of each other I can not see how it would ever be physically possible to get anything from the bottom, middle or top for that matter. Some piles of trash junk are probably older than I am. I can only liken this souk to something that is reminiscent to a giant game of Jenga and the people of Essaouira are all playing.

Some of the items for sale today were old power points, a pair of thick coke bottle glasses with one arm missing, rugs, carpets, jewellery, pieces of wood, bathroom sinks, hairbrushes, old pens, beds, horse carriages, mirrors, doors, refrigerator trays, tissues the list goes on and on and on.

You see the odd tourist floating around taking photos, as I was today. Having gone with Moroccan friends apparently I am an instant price increaser. As of course I am deemed a tourist and always will be - I have come to peace with the fact that I have to bartyr hard - nearly everywhere. However, for my poor Moroccan friends it also means that when they are with me I am actually making their job harder!

I am petitioning to take Antique Roadshow there, I would love to see what they make of this place. I am sure there is a some treasure there somewhere. It's just a matter of finding it.

Price increase - The framed picture to the right was being sold for 150 dirhams. You could probably buy all those images as postcards for around 20 dirhams. I suppose the guy is running a business!

Find anything here you like?

Jenga anyone?

A carosser man waiting for his next customer to come along.

The main entrance to the Sunday Souk.

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.