Memories of Morocco - Part XII - What happens in Essaouira...

Thursday morning breakfast is on the rooftop terrace. With time to sleep in, for a change Anne and I arrive last for breakfast. The sun is warm and there is little wind. From the rooftop we can see many surrounding rooftops but they do not obscure the ocean.

Afterwards Anne, Brian and I wander down to the beach and walk along the shore trying to avoid incoming tide. The beach is alive with people, horses, camels and surfers. After more than an hour of walking we decide to turn around in need of some hydration. The length of the beach is deceiving, extending much farther than the eye can see. We stop at the first outdoor cafe for a banana juice and French fries.

"Camel beach"

We spend the afternoon walking the streets of the medina shopping for gifts to take back home. Moroccans love their drums, of all sizes and shapes. The Moroccan square hand drum, made of goat skin and hand painted with henna on both sides, is not only a musical instrument, but a work of art. Its small size makes it suitable for transporting in a suitcase. Anne and I each buy one plus we split on one to give as a gift for Scotty.

On our way back we discover the world’s most delicious juice is made right across from our riad: freshly made orange/ lemon juice with ginger and sweetened with sugar which they extract from the sugar cane using an expeller machine.

Sugar cane expeller

For dinner Anne and I go to a restaurant that is an outdoor square with dozens of stray cats. I have the most delicious chicken couscous imaginable. Unfortunately, this means I overindulge yet again and there is no prospect of riding it off the next day.

Anne has scoped out a spa for us to visit on Friday morning. A traditional hammam includes a body scrub, facial and massage. This spa has day hours for women only; evening hours for men. Given their culture one might expect the women might be prudish, but they were quite the opposite. You remove all your clothes except for underpants and lie face down on the tile floor. The temperature is hot and humid like a sauna. They dump buckets of warm water on you and then they scrub you down on both sides and leave you lying there for an undetermined period during which I became quite restless. When the masseuses finally reappeared they poured more buckets of warm water on us and told us to sit up so could wash our hair. After that we moved to massage tables and they worked on our muscles after applying a mud mask to our faces. One more dousing of warm water and we were invited to leave.

Feeling quite refreshed and invigorated, we went back to the hotel to dry our hair before going out for lunch. We chose a French vegetarian restaurant with an outdoor patio with front row seats to do some people watching. While I ate my Panini, we watched some acrobats do some amazing tumbling, balancing and throwing each other up in the air and catching them. Meanwhile some musicians sang and played drums.

Afterwards we walked past the harbour and out onto the beach where we met two jovial young men selling horse and camel rides. This was a common theme, but these two caught our attention by asking why Anne was smiling and I was not. In response I put on my best mean face and the one fellow exclaimed that he thought I did karate. He said he could tell by my feet and the way I walked. Wow! Then they playfully challenged me to a fight. I was game for this and when they said two against one, I said okay, sure! But they could not bring themselves to hit me they said, because I was a woman. 

Anne, Ishmael, me and Nelson

So Anne suggested we have a pushups competition. These guys were tall and sturdier than the most of the men we’d seen. Ishmael was the volunteer. We got into pushup position in the sand and I started counting. As I passed 30 I wondered how many pushups this guy would be able to do. He collapsed at 44. Like the boys in N’Kob they had a good laugh over it. After chatting, we agreed to ride his horses but only for 30 minutes. Our dirhams were getting low so we couldn’t afford more. Nelson took Anne on his horse and I went with Ishmael. He asked if I had ever been on a horse. I said yes. Had I ever galloped? I said trotted yes, galloped no. He said today we will gallop. I said, Oh yeah? Leading my horse as we talked, he said I will ride with you; I am experienced. So I said okay. When he got on the horse and tried to get him to run, the horse rebelled and bucked his neck into my face. Ishmael calmed him and got off. He said his horse did not like having two riders. So much for experience!

That night we went to dinner with Scotty and Brian. We walked the streets of the medina looking for a spot. A man came and got us and guided us upstairs to his restaurant. The place was indoors (it was a chilly night) and we were the only patrons. The place was cozy, comfortable and the food was sensational! A cat curled up on my lap before moving to Scotty for some attention. I had my first taste of pastillas, which are like pies. Spiced vegetables (and meat if you desire) encased in a filo-like pastry. Mine had sliced strawberries on top. The size was reasonable so for once I didn’t feel overstuffed. And we never would have gone to this place had it not been for the assertive man in the street showing us the way.

Just the four of us and a cat!

Saturday morning we had a mini bus drive us the 170 km back to Marrakech. That afternoon the temperature was 30 degrees. We wandered the streets and then relaxed on the hotel terrace soaking in our last rays of Moroccan sun. Five of our Toronto friends had flights out that same day. The rest of us would fly out on Sunday. Included in the cost of our trip was a shuttle to the airport. All our needs were seen to. So many fantastic, unique and memorable experiences were all thanks to our organizer Scott Robinson of Offbeatroads. Without him this trip would not have been possible. Unforgettable Africa!

Memories of Morocco - Part XI - Riding Northern Morocco's Atlantic coast

Outside the hotel in Imessouane

Our last day of riding begins on a gentle climb. At the top we are treated to a breathtaking view of the ocean. The road continues for many kilometers high up on wind-blown cliffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. The scene reminds me of sections of the Cabot Trail that contour the island overlooking the ocean far below.

Atlantic coast

Near the edge

As the road heads inland we pass through a sleepy village before venturing out into the countryside. A goat herder herds his flock across the dry riverbed, up the bank, and across the road. Seeing a turn-off, I stop and wait for Adboul to give directions. The turn-off leads down a rough, hard-packed dirt road peppered with embedded rocks. This rocky surface goes on for about 5 kilometers before the pavement returns. A little while later the road becomes dirt again, hard-packed and smooth. The day is warm with a cooling breeze coming off the ocean. It is the kind of day you wish would never end.

Alas, it ends all too soon but what a great way to end the trip: with an exhilarating descent down a bumpy dirt road! As the road flattens out, for a change I am disappointed to see the lunch van. The riding is over too soon. And it really is over: For the day and for whole the trip! I’m feeling wistful.

We enjoy our last roadside lunch this time under a hot sun. A child is watching from a distance, too shy to come close. Scotty offers her some food which she takes home and then returns. After lunch Scotty gathers the support team and us riders and presents them with a tip and a huge thank you for all their work the last 10 days. Aboul (the cook) gives leftover salad to the donkey tied up nearby. I wondered what happened to all the other food we didn't eat over the past 10 days.

Last roadside lunch

It’s time to clean up and get in the vans for the drive to the ancient walled city of Essaouira, located on the Atlantic Coast, where we will spend the next two and a half days. It is a bumpy drive through the remaining range of mountains, crossing a rocky stream bed and driving up a winding unpaved road with sheer drop offs on one side. A 4-wheel drive ATV would have been better suited to this terrain than our mini-bus but our driver does his job well.

Along the way, we stop at a roadside Argan Oil shop. Having viewed hundreds of Argan trees on our travels through Moroccan hills, it is fascinating to watch how the women crush and work the Argan nuts into paste extracting the oil for the many health and beauty products that will be manufactured from Argan kernel.

Soon we are in Essaouira a town famous for its artisan shops, European feel, and long, sandy beaches. It’s a tourist town unlike any we have visited to date. Our riad is located in the medina, a fortress that now is the center of a bustling market that would put many North American outdoor markets to shame with its abundance of restaurants, cafes, hotels, spas and shops.

No cars are allowed inside the walls of the medina, so we are let out at the gate and a man pulling a cart appears to haul our luggage to the hotel. The sea air is much cooler than inland; Essaouira is nicknamed the windy city for a reason.

That evening, Scotty, Brian, Mark, Anne and I walk the streets of the medina in search of a hotel restaurant where we will have dinner with a view of the ocean, in the hopes of watching the sun set. Unfortunately, the sky isn’t clear and the sunsets unremarkably in a haze blending water and sky. Still not tired of delicious tagine, I order a vegetarian tagine and a Schweppes citrus soft drink.

We conclude the day with a walk in search of a bakery for Scotty and I. We also stop at a stall selling freshly made nougat. These are quite the treats after more than ten days without anything other than fruit for dessert. 

Tomorrow we will have time to explore this town and its beaches.

Memories of Morocco - Part X - Ride of the dam

It’s Tuesday morning of the second week in Morocco and we awaken to yet another beautiful day. Being in a valley, the sun has not risen high enough yet to warm the hotel. It is draped in shade and cold enough to see your breath. I have on all my layers – tights, gloves, even shoe covers. I know it will warm up quickly but I don’t care; we are starting on a downhill and it will be chilly.

After a basic breakfast of bread and jam, eggs, juice and tea, we quickly get on the road. After a short climb, we descend roads whose steep drop-offs as the road contours the ever-changing shape of the mountain. Eventually we get to a tropical valley. A river flows past the road surrounded by dense clusters of palms trees. I stop to regroup and notice the warmth of the sun and lack of wind. It's good timing: as the van pulls up some layers are removed before moving on.

Tropical valley

When Abdoul arrives we continue riding through the valley until we come to a left-hand turn. Adboul tells us it’s okay to ride on but to wait at the bottom of the hill. His directions are vague but we wait in another valley at a river crossing. We’ve had our fun and now it’s time to work again climbing and taking in more spectacular views. We get to a cross-roads and have to wait for directions. By now Scotty, Brian, Evelyn, Charmaine and Wei are all standing around wondering where we are heading. None of the locals seem to have French. The van arrives tailing Steve, Donna, Jackie and Mark. We make the required turn and climb again along a road that winds around a rocky precipice.

The crossroads

Eventually a large body of water, unlike anything we have seen in this country, is visible in the distance below. We descend gradually until we arrive at a massive, horse-shoe shaped hydro-electric dam.

Scotty at the dam

Scotty mentioned that lunch was not far after the dam. Once the dam is out of sight, I stop and wait not sure where the van is. Brian and Anne approach and we all wait together. When the passenger van arrives, he says we can proceed. Anne and I ride together for quite some time not seeing the white lunch van. I am getting quite hungry having only eaten bread for breakfast plus an orange and a Cliff block en route. There is a mosque at the top of the next climb that Anne and I ride up to expecting to find the van. But by the top there is no van, and more mountains loom. Anne stops to take a picture and I continue on, my mind set on finding the lunch van.

Endless road

It would be fair to say that by now I am getting pretty frustrated when kilometer after kilometer of climbing does not get me any closer to the lunch stop. Despite the cool start to the day, it has turned out to be one of the hottest days so far. As I approach what looks like the very top, a small vehicle pulls up from behind beeping its horn. The driver says something unintelligible and I ignore him. He pulls up beside me and tries again. This time I can hear the passenger say “Abdoul là-bas!”. It hits me that Abdoul has asked him to pass on a message. So I turn around and head back down.

Soon I meet up with Abdoul who is fit to be tied. In his broken English he asks me if I know where I am going. What am I doing? Do I know how far off route I am? After he finishes his angry rant, we ride back down the mountain together. He stops at a turnoff and shows me where I should have turned. He asks me if I think we rode 10 km past the turn. “AND ALL UP!”, he points out. Not far down the road, the support team is working and the entire group of riders is enjoying lunch under a shady tree. It is hot today and I am thirsty having nearly run out of water. Abdoul reaches for my hand and we ride across the bumpy field together. He puts on his best smile and raises my hand, indicating his victory: what’s lost is now found. 

After another exceptional roadside lunch, we get in the vans for a short drive to the Atlantic Coast. We reach Imessaoune, a small hippie surfing town where we will spend the night.  The hotel is set back from the ocean but the coast is just a short walk down the road. Jackie, Donna and I walk into town to find an ATM. I’m wearing shorts, but the wind blowing off the ocean is cool. This early in the season the surfers are wearing wets. We discover from a local merchant that there is not an ATM anywhere in this town. Donna buys herself an orange juice, Jackie a coffee and me a banana juice at an ocean side cafe.

Jackie and Donna

That evening, Scotty has planned for us to have dinner at a pizzeria where we will treat our support crew to dinner. It is the pizzeria owner’s first night opening for the season. She only makes individual pizzas, which are quite large. Thin-crust vegetarian pizzas are the best but we have lots of left-overs to take back with us.

Tomorrow would be our last day of riding and what a day it would be!

Memories of Morocco - Part IX - Anti-Atlas: our longest climb

Today will be the longest climb of the trip. So Monday morning after breakfast Scotty, Anne and I drive to out of the city to a mall/gas station on the outskirts of town where we unload our bikes. The others will be joining us later. Instead of Abdoul it is Mohammed who rides with us. After riding in the desert, our chains are in need of some oil and so this is taken care of before we leave.

At first the road is flat and busy by Moroccan standards. Anne is feeling good and rides ahead to catch up to Mohammed while Scotty and I hang back saving our energy for the climb. Shortly we regroup in a small town where the van stops. It’s time to eat an orange and strip off some clothes as the day is warming up nicely. Before long the road veers steadily upwards. It’s a very long climb with lots of switchbacks. Eventually the traffic lessens as we cross the beautiful landscape of the red sandstone of the Anti-Atlas Mountains. (The Atlas Mountains are north of the Anti-Atlas which contour the Algerian border south of Morocco).  I don’t have accurate stats but the climb takes us at least a couple of hours. Not that it wasn't breathtaking - actually it literally was - but I didn't bother to stop for many pictures. I had a good rhythm and didn't want to break it.

Anti-Atlas

When we spot the white cook van at the top of a rocky outcropping, it is a welcome sight indeed. Anne and I and accept tea and oranges. As Scotty approaches, he shouts out to Abdoul the cook that he is in the wrong spot. He must pack up and move to the absolute top of the mountain. Anne takes pity on him but Scotty is firm. So, off we go again, more climbing...

Anne and Sally at the top

Soon I am riding alone and keeping a hard pace, at least that's what my legs are telling me. Each switchback promises an end to the climb and no sooner it disappoints. Around each sharp bend more ascending is revealed. There is nothing to do but keep pumping the pedals, switchback after switchback. Then finally, the white van is in view! And the location is well worth the extra climbing. This spot is much better than the first, offering a panoramic view of the lower mountains and valleys.  We take more tea and some photos while lunch is being prepared. The van carrying the rest of the group is due to arrive soon.

While we are walking around the precipice, a bus load of tourist arrives to take in the view. With their heavy  English accents they ask us about our experience getting there by bike. Anne and I share some laughs with them as we take their picture and they take ours. They are behaving more familiar than you would expect from someone you just met. Some of the hilarious comments makes it feel like we’re in a Monty Python skit. Before we know it, they have all disappeared back into the bus and they’re gone.

There’s no sign of our group so we have lunch without them as there is more riding to do.  They arrive soon after we’ve finished eating. I am looking forward to long descent ending up in the small remote town of Imouzzar where we will stay the night.

View of waterfalls from our room

The three of us sit on the second floor terrace overlooking the road below. There is a high waterfall dropping down a massive rock face in the distance and we are surrounded by more mountains, this time with more green than we are accustomed to. A small river flows in front of the hotel. A short walk along a mountainside path takes you to a series of stalls with things to buy such as silver jewelry, wooden boxes and objet d’art, as well as snacks and drinks. After Anne has been gone for some time, I walk down the path to find her. She has bought some trinkets and is dithering about buying a really cool wooden tray with a handle; the whole thing that folds up small. The salesman drives a hard bargain but she eventually buys it. Then he sells me a bracelet and thumb ring. He is extremely pushy but he is also so good-natured and funny, it is hard to resist him.

Later we get assigned our rooms and nobody is happy. There is no hot water, no towels, not enough blankets and no heat and the rooms were filthy. It is as if the hotel staff was not expecting us. In a kind gesture typical of our driver Adboul, he gave Anne and I his personal towels. I was disappointed not to be able to shower after a hot and sweaty day on bike especially given the evening temperature which had cooled considerably. I cleaned up using cold water but my hair would have to wait till the next day. At 9:00 pm we sat in the dining room dressed in layers of clothes. In spite of the hotel’s many shortcomings, the meal was very good.

We go to bed feeling uncomfortably full once again but sleep soundly nevertheless. Fortunately, we will be riding from the hotel first thing in the morning.

Memories of Morocco - Part VIII - Overnight in Ouarzazate then to Taroudant by car

Saturday morning we got up early to see the desert sun rise. Then had breakfast in the dining tent. It was still windy and the clothes I washed the night before were all dry by morning. Moroccan breakfasts are high carb calorie-dense banquets including some or all of the following: croissants, crepes, crusty bread, flat bread, cakes, and pastries. Also on the menu are soft cheese wedges, yogurt, bananas, eggs and fresh squeezed orange juice. Morocco is known for its abundance of orange trees so we had some of the best oranges ever. This morning was no different.

While we sat in the tent digesting our meal and waiting for the guys to unload our bikes, I took the opportunity to do some mobility and animal locomotion exercises on the tent floor as Rasheed and some of our group watched. Rasheed attempted a few yoga moves including one lying on his side while propping his head up with one hand. He chuckled and sat back down.

Next we rode out of the desert on sandy road, then turned right onto a long, straight highway leading back to Zagora. We rode through town for quite a while and then out into the countryside on gently rolling hills till we got the lunch stop. This was the first day that wasn’t sunny. White wispy clouds and light breeze kept the temperature on the cool side.

Lazy lizards waiting for lunch

After lunch we drove to old Berber villages and valleys to get to Ouarzazate where we stayed at a big, Western-like hotel. Our stay was uneventful with the exception of a row at dinner over plans for the next day. It would be our first day not riding but we did have a 5-hour drive to get to Taroudant which no one was looking forward to. We settled on an early morning visit to the Kasbah before leaving by car for the next distant city. It was such a nice day I was not happy to be spending it in the car but it was unavoidable.

I sat in the front of the van allowing full view of the scenery as we drove. It was incredible. Had we more time, some of the mountain passes would have made for great riding. After several hours, we stopped at the side of the road for an undeserved lunch.

When we got to the bustling city of Taroudant, people crowded around to watch some locals engaged in a boxing match. Crowds were so dense it was difficult to maneuver our van without hitting pedestrians, cars and bikes. A white man riding an odd looking bicycle with a car-size rear-view mirror led us to a dingy parking lot full of garbage where we unloaded our bags and followed the man down an alleyway not unlike those seen in Marrakech. I'm quite sure we were all thinking the same thing: what hole-in-the-wall is this guy leading us to? But we should have known better. The drab appearance of the medina did not reflect what was behind its walls. 

We stepped through a low door into another world. The walls of the property were covered with green vines, the pool area lined with banana trees and there was French style outdoor furniture to enjoy the quiet. Unfortunately the pool was full of dirty water. Not that it was warm enough to swim but the state of the water detracted from the otherwise beautiful surroundings.

Pool and outdoor dining area

This guesthouse was owned by the guy on the bicycle, a Frenchman, who designed and built the entire place with exquisite attention to detail. We all had unique rooms with windows in a variety of shapes - some so unusual they defy description - and all had decorative lighting, cushions, lounge chairs, throw rugs and book shelves stocked with old books. All the bathrooms had traditional Moroccan-style tiling with intricate, highly detailed patterns but no two looked the same.

Second floor

Guesthouse dining room

Tomorrow we would get back on the bikes and climb the longest uphill road yet!

Memories of Morocco - Part VII - From oasis to desert by bike and by camel

Today is oasis day! We ride our first Moroccan highway (the roads are never busy because there are just not very many vehicles in this country) to a roadside stop where everyone regroups including our injured friends riding in the van.  We drink mint tea and snack on dried fruit and nuts. Moroccan dried fruit, the dates in particular, are the freshest you will ever taste!

After the break, there is one short climb over a mountain pass and then the road flattens and winds through the next village. As we ride through town, we pass a bunch of boys out playing ball. As we continue on, there are suddenly palm trees everywhere. The Draa Valley is home to the largest date palm groves in all Morocco.

Palm groves

Oasis lunch stop

We stop for lunch in this lovely oasis. There is lots of time to lounge around and drink tea. But then, it is off to the next town, this time on lovely dirt roads. The contoured edges of the mountains flank us on either side and the land becomes dry rubble once again. At the next town, as usual we are stopped by kids excited at the site of visitors on bikes. They want to take our bikes for a quick spin. We oblige and let me ride down the road to the crest of the hill and then turn around. This could have gone on all day but we must move on.

Bike-crazy kids

Scotty says we will ride for about 15 minutes but his estimate is off by more than an hour. Our lovely dirt road soon becomes full-on washboard, jarring enough to vibrate your fillings loose. There is nowhere on the road – or off - that is smooth. We are in wide open spaces and the headwind is unmerciful – a desert windstorm. After well over an hour of this, I am relieved to see Scotty just outside of town waiting finding refuge from the wind behind a building. It is getting late, so the van must pick us up and take us to through the town of Zagora where a caravan of camels awaits.

We are each assigned a camel and we climb on still dressed in our cycling clothes. The sun is warm but the whipping wind is cool. The camels are kneeling on the sand with layers of heavy blankets on their backs. There is a horizontal bar to hold onto. When the camel stands up, her rear goes up first tipping you forward, so you better be holding on to the bar! The camel drivers lead us out onto the road before crossing into the flat open desert.

Camel caravan

Riding camels is not a fast mode of transport. As such it takes about 45 minutes to travel less than 4 kilometers. But inefficiency aside, it was a unique experience, at least for me! As the sun set behind us, the long shadows cast by Canadians on camel-back led by Berber camel drivers was an image that I would not soon forget. As the pancake flat desert drifted into rolling sand dunes, a cluster of Berber tents, set up in a quadrangle configuration, appeared in the distance. This semi-permanent camp, made up of 10 sleeping tents containing one double and one single bed, one dining tent, and shower and toilet tents, was where we would be spending the night. This camp was obviously set up for soft North Americans and Europeans who don't like the idea of sleeping on the ground.

Berber campsite

The desert sunset was exceptional. After biding farewell to our camels, it is time to shower and change in time for dinner. It was so windy, we had dinner in the dining tent instead of outside. Our Berber host Rasheed, a large man who demonstrated his pride in his country by periodically shouting “Africa!”, did everything: he was chief cook and bottle washer, not to mention drummer and singer. After another amazing Moroccan feast, we sat outside around the fire and listened to three Berber men sing and play drums under the stars. Although we couldn't understand the words, there was pure joy in the music they created. They encouraged us to drum and sing with along with them. 

That night we slept soundly under heavy blankets breathing in the fresh air.

Memories of Morocco - Evening in N'Kob

For the past few nights in Dadés Gorges we had the pleasure of being hosted and entertained by wonderful gentlemen who it made it obvious they appreciated our business. And this night was no exception. This time our hosts were Berber not Arabic. Besides these two languages, French was the most common language spoken, especially in the cities. As such my friend Anne's bilingualism came in handy. While communication often broke down, it was a great advantage having Anne there to translate for us.

The Berber men wore traditional dress: long flowing blue robes with red neck and headscarves and slippers. So far hotel staff have all been young and male. We had three servers on this evening but one in particular stood out. His name was Adid and he was very cute. After dinner, he performed several quite impressive magic tricks for us.

Adid performing magic trick

For his final trick, he poured water on a plate and asked us each for a strand of hair. We all obliged and he was careful to ensure we all got a strand of hair onto the plate. Then he told us to lean in close to the plate. And bang! He slapped the plate of water soaking our faces. Those who were closest obviously took the most dousing. We all laughed at our gullibility.

Before turning in for the night, Adid and I shared a secret handshake/fist bump. Maybe it was this that prompted my friend Anne to challenge Adid to an arm wrestling contest. Not herself but me! So we sat down and I rolled up my sleeve and with help from Evelyn (not sure why she knew this but she did – she told us to hold hands under the working arm) we got ourselves into position. I beat him and so his friend wanted to have a go. To be fair, this time I used my left hand. I beat him also. Both men were laughing and enjoying the moment.

Arm wrestling

Again thanks to Anne, next came the pushups contest.  Off came the headscarves. We positioned our selves head to head. First Adid, then his friend, then his other friend (he had a stalkier build than the first two) jumped in. I counted 1, 2, 3,... 20 (one man down), 21 (another goes down) by 24 the last man collapsed. We had a good laugh, including the spectators. I have to admit, that was fun! I said to Anne in our room afterwards, these guys are amazingly good sports. We are in a Muslim, male-dominated culture so to say this was unexpected is an understatement. I will always have special memories of this evening in N’Kob.

Pushups contest

Before sending us off to bed, Adid took us up to the terrace of the hotel to gaze at the stars. The wind was still blowing and so we didn’t stay for long but the stars were absolutely brilliant. What an end to an amazing day!

Memories of Morocco - Part VI - Through the mountains on dirt roads

It’s Thursday and we have to the gorges. It’s a long drive to the start point. We retrace some roads we came in on and then drive through a busy town and into open spaces. A right turn off the main road leads us to the Jbel Saghro Mountains. Scotty muses that we should have started to ride sooner as these are such pretty roads. Nevertheless we have a long day of riding ahead – mostly on dirt.

View of the road from the van

The vehicles deposit us in a beautiful open space surrounded by mountains. A local man is selling beer mugs but he can’t make a deal; his price is too high and he won’t bargain. It takes a while but the bikes are unloaded and we are ready to roll. It's late morning. The unpaved road begins flat and but soon angles upward. I see Scotty up ahead followed by Anne. At the top, she removes some layers and I go ahead. I see Adboul sitting on the side of a fork in the road. I turn left and ask him if this is the right way. He ignores me so assume it is.

Unloading the bikes in the middle of nowhere

I ride alone for a long time awestruck by the incredible scenery. I cross the Tizi n’Tzazert pass at 2200 metres. I reach the highest point and still have not caught Scotty. It’s strange but I continue on. The ascent is estimated to be 10 kilometres; the descent 20. Score! The ride down is long weaving around outcroppings of rock. I see flocks of goats which scurry off as I approach. In the distance I see a caravan of mules so I stop to snap a picture. Inside of the few minutes it takes me to get to where I had seen them, like magic they had disappeared off the road and into the notch in the mountain. Miles of endless downhill with soft earth on corners pebbled with rocks is a mountain biker’s paradise. As it flattens out I wonder where Scotty could be. It is not like him to go so far ahead. I continue past some ATVs and notice some military men at an outdoor cafe. It’s like an oasis in this dry remote area.

Near the top

Real café or mirage?

After a few more clicks, I decide it would be imprudent to keep going so I turn around and head back the way I had come. I start to consider the fallout of my decision not to wait for Adboul or Anne or any of the other riders. What if I took the wrong turn earlier in the day? It would be a long climb to the top and likely I would not make it back to the starting point before dark. There was a small guesthouse on the mountain; I could stop there.

Mountaintop guesthouse

Not long after thinking all these contingency thoughts, I see Scotty riding towards me. What a relief! I tell him I thought he was ahead. He tells me he just wiped out on a soft corner and cut his forearm open and grazed his knee. That aside, he says no he was the last one to leave. It is only after I talk to Anne, who tells me Abdoul is pissed at me for going ahead, that I figure out what happened. It was Adboul, not Scotty I had seen in the distance (they were both wearing blue) and Adboul stopped at the fork in the road to guide the other riders down the right road. Mystery solved.

Scotty and I had waited at the little cafe and were introduced to the military men having lunch outside in a covered area. They offer us tea which I gladly accepted. Scotty even had lunch here. Shortly after, Anne and Adboul pass by and we stop for our group lunch down the road. Luckily there is shelter from the strong wind.

After a midday feast, we continue on winding dirt roads tending downwards, until we reach one more long climb. At the top I see Adboul and wait. The sky is blue and the view is stunning. Scotty and Charmaine – who is riding strong – approach and we ride the last 10 or so kilometers through a moon-like landscape to the town of N’Kob where we would stay for the night.

Moonscape on the way to N'Kob

It has been a long day and the sun is setting. Our hotel overlooks a sea of date palms. Mark dives in the pool, which he admits is cold. We meet our hosts and have tea and snacks on the terrace but it is cooling off.  We all find our rooms and have a shower before heading to the dining room for dinner.

There is enough to tell about this evening that I will save it for the next post! Tomorrow, it’s off to the Draa Valley which we glimpsed today in the moonscape. Never a dull moment.

Memories of Morocco - Part V - Dadès Gorges by bike

Yesterday we started out on paved roads and after lunch were on some amazing dirt roads – a highlight for me. Today we rode from the hotel starting out on a climb. These roads lead us through some more breathtaking scenery through some of Morocco’s oldest rock formations. If you have ever seen the Cadillac commercial on a wild road in Morocco, you’ll get an aerial view of the roads we took on this day. Needless to say, the road is all up or down, but mostly it is up.

I am riding alone until I stop for a nature break, then Scotty and Anne appear and we ride together to the lunch stop. There is some construction on the road that is very odd to see in this country: big CAT excavators and loaders at the foot of the mountain digging up rock to make new roads, an unwelcome break in the peace and quiet.

The river continues through the valley and greenery naturally abounds in the lowlands. The climbing seems endless. Coupled with the effort of the climb and the intense sun, today is the warmest day yet. With the increased elevation come some incredible views of a most unique topography.

The mountains are bone dry, horizontal lines revealing the shifting of the earth’s crust. The area which now forms the Dadès Gorges lay at the bottom of the sea millions of years ago. Great quantities of sediment were deposited around giant coral reefs, and over time this material became compacted into a variety of sedimentary rocks such as sandstone and limestone. Eventually, the movement of the earth’s crust caused the region to rise above the sea, forming the Atlas Mountains and surrounding landscape.

What goes up must come down.. eventually. In this case, it held true: At the conclusion of our descent, around a wide curve, is a small concrete bridge over a flowing river. The lunch van is there and tea is ready!  We had to coordinate with the other vehicles bringing injured people and others not keen on riding on cliff edges to the lunch spot. With the extra time, we decided to ride further down the road but quickly encountered more road construction which deterred us from continuing. So we headed back to the bridge. There I discovered a single track trail along the river that was peppered with sharp rocks. I rode as far as I could before it became too jagged for my basic skills. Back at the lunch stop, we set up the tarp on the ground near the river and basked in the sun.

To fill time, Anne and I did handstands against the bridge and then when the girls arrived we got them doing some mobility exercises. We got as far as the hips before taking a break, as the sun was quickly dehydrating us. When everyone arrived, the food came out. Lunch was one of the highlights of the day as our driver/cook typically chose a quiet, scenic spot at the side of the road to set up. They cooked our lunch and brought it to us in courses: baskets of bread, cheese, chopped raw vegetables, oily fish (usually sardines or tuna), some kind of pasta, and tagine. They poured numerous glasses of mint tea and finished with oranges and bananas. Needless to say, we never went hungry and usually over-ate.

On this day, we piled in the vans and drove back to the hotel to spend a leisurely afternoon on the terrace overlooking the rock wall of mountain opposite our hotel. It was a good opportunity to do laundry and hang it out in the sun to dry. We had multi-course meals here including soup, salad, tagine main course and dessert. Our waiter, Ibrahim, was warm and engaging young man, who liked to interact with his patrons. He took a shine to our friend Wei and joked about marrying her. He told many jokes and kept us all laughing throughout the evening, sending us to bed the previous night thinking about his favourite riddle. Tonight we had drummers and singers to entertain. We slept well that night.

Another full day. Tomorrow we would leave the gorges by car and cross the open plains driving to the start of a mountain pass that was one hundred per cent dirt. I could hardly wait!

Memories of Morocco - Part IV - Dadès Gorges

Kasbah

Day two of the cycling tour promised to be even better than the first. We walked across the road and down a path that led to the river. Scotty wanted to cross the river barefoot but we opted for the quick and easy route: over the footbridge. We followed a narrow path along the foothill which was lined with fabrics, jewellery and artwork for sale. “Just look, good price!” The path wound its way around and up to an opening in the wall. From there it wasn’t far to the top. From this vantage point, you could get a 360° view of the surrounding valley.

A gentleman sat in the shade playing an odd guitar-like instrument. For the privilege of taking his picture, he expected, and got, payment. On the way up, Anne and I were attracted to some paintings that were created using saffron and tea. By heating the paper, the colour emerged from the painting: saffron became a brownish yellow that depicted the camels and desert background appropriately. We returned to the artist’s hut to purchase some of his work.

After the visiting the Kasbah, we once again loaded into the vans and set off to our next starting point. It was a beautiful, warm day suitable for riding in shorts and short sleeves. We were let out in a parking lot in Taslmante Valley. The riding was hilly but not as high elevation as the first day. The lowlands were rubble arid expanses leading to the highlands. A couple of hours later we stopped near a river for lunch under the trees. Some local boys and girls looked on as Steve worked on his bicycle while lunch was being prepared. I engaged one boy in a sparring match.

Sparring

After lunch we headed back down the road and turned up the mountain on our first dirt road. It led along the hillside through a village. The road opened onto rolling hills. The road was hard-packed dirt and rocks and sometimes dipped and curved into small, dry streambeds. It was fun to ride. I waited for Adboul to catch up before moving on. Good thing because he knew where the nomads caves that we were going to visit were located. I would have ridden right past, the caves being hidden below the level of the road. The nomads were expecting us for tea.

Some time later, Scotty arrived pumped telling me how well Donna and Steve were negotiating the tricky dirt roads. No sooner had he said this one of the support vans arrived carrying injured passengers: Donna wiped out and sustained a deep gouge along her forearm; Steve fell and broke several ribs. A very unfortunate conclusion to a grand day of riding. They bypassed the nomad experience to take care of their injuries.

We went inside the cave and sat around its perimeter while they poured mint tea in small glasses. Abdoul and Adboul 2 (the driver/cook) were showing the old man some pictures on their phone. But his eyesight was failing so I lent him my clic-it glasses that I wore around my neck. What an anachronism!

When we left the hospitality of the nomads, Scotty and I took off down a long descent while the others followed in the van. Scotty had Evelyn’s GoPro camera attached to his helmet so I led the way. It was getting late and the temperature was dropping so I borrowed Adboul’s blue windbreaker. It was good contrast to the red rock all around us. The descent was a gas but not long enough. We rode into the town of Youl until the van pulled over and we had to get in. Daylight was running short and we had to get to the next town, Dadès Gorges, before dark.

Dadès Gorges was breathtakingly beautiful, road contoured the river, both etched their way between the towering walls of rock on either side.

We arrived at Hotel Babylon Dadès which overlooked a river below and a massive mountain face on the opposite side. Although the hotel was fairly new, built into the rock wall, it had amazing ambiance like, I imagine, something from past. Decorative floor lamps created mood lighting down the halls and the stairways. The faucets were made from kettles tipped down towards the sinks. These were lined up outside the toilets. The doorways, windows and mirrors were lined with stonework and topped off with archways. Many of the walls had embedded stones. We were lucky to be spending two nights here.

Memories of Morocco - Part III - First day of riding

It’s Monday, day one of our cycling tour. We are all dressed for cycling: tights, warm jerseys, wind jackets and gloves. As we drive out into the countryside, we start to see mountains off in the distance - snow-capped mountains! Before we know it, we are driving the mountain pass, where unload the bikes. Scotty has picked a nice high point for us to start our ride – downhill here we come!

Abdoul is the front guide; Mohammed, the sweeper – they are both capable and experienced cyclists. Mohammed is referred to as "the skinny one" but really it's a matter of degree. 

And the fun begins! Off we go down a fast descent and already the views are amazing. You can still see the white-capped peaks in the distance. It is about 10 degrees with a light wind. At the bottom, the road curves right as it starts to ascend gently upward. Around the next curve and up and bit more the road levels off. Despite the fairly short length and the shallowness of the climb, I am winded. As more people approach, they are all winded too. Maybe it’s the shock of the first real effort, who knows, but it is hard to explain.

I can’t remember at what point I got permanently separated from the group but my prevailing memory of that day is riding alone through winding roads along a mountain’s edge, a green and intermittently populated valley below, and another wall of mountain to my right that will eventually block out the setting sun. My overall impression is that there is more descending than ascending, which is unheard of on any ride. I find it difficult to keep riding when there is so much eye candy; I want to keep stopping to take pictures. The mountains are red, rocky and dry.

In one of the villages, two kids run out to greet me. They are excited to see a cyclist and fascinated with the rear-view mirror attached to my sunglasses. So I let the older boy try them on. He poses proudly giving two thumbs up. The younger boy assumes a nice fighting stance. I take their picture and I’m on my way. I wish I’d thought to bring some "stylos" to give out as this is what they ask for. Candies too.

Just after a nature break, I spot Scotty across the divide. After he catches up to me, we ride together for a while but then he disappears as he likes to take the descents fast. I do too but I am careful on the sharp corners, of which there are many. There is usually nothing between you and the edge. Scotty estimates we have 15 or 20 km to our destination. I'm actually warm enough to remove my jacket. The day is getting long but we eventually make it to the Kasbah village of Ben Haddou before dusk. Sixty-five kilometers never felt so long!

It is late and we are not moving; so it doesn’t take long before it cools off again. We find our hotel and wait for the support vehicles to arrive with the other riders inside. I find out there has been a crash. Evelyn, who was following Abdoul, tried to mimic his cornering and slide out on some loose dirt, gashing her knee and grazing her arm. I would find out it would take more than a fall to dampen her spirits!

After settling into our rooms we met downstairs for a late dinner of Taine (a typical Moroccan way of cooking vegetables, meat and couscous), bread and olives. Oranges for dessert. Although the rooms are basic, the terrace outside overlooks the Kasbah – a type of fortress high on a mountaintop where it is easier to defend, provides a stunning view as the setting sun hits the foot of the mountain. Tomorrow we will walk up there and have a look around before heading to the next town.

Memories of Morocco – Part II – More in Marrakech

Sunday we spent the whole day in Marrakech. After sleeping in and having a traditional breakfast of bread and jam, mint tea and fresh squeezed orange juice, Anne and I went for a walk to see the Bahai Palace. It was a warm and sunny day. We wandered the open concept palace with many others. Moroccan building interiors are intricate and highly decorative, with multi-coloured tiles set in complex patterns. Within the palace walls, there is a 2-acre garden with rooms opening onto courtyards. We find a turtle living in the garden.

Next we stopped across the street for a smoothie for Anne, and an orange juice for me at a streetside stall. Then we ventured across the street in search of the Artisanal Complex, Morocco’s version of a department store. Unlike the souks, there is no negotiation; prices are fixed. We wandered the three levels of the store and headed back. The skies had clouded over and the temperature had cooled. Not ten minutes after getting back to the hotel, the skies opened up and it poured for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening.

Three young women from Toronto arrived that afternoon: Charmaine, Evelyn and Wei. As a group, they were dubbed “The Girls”.  Around six, we were all rounded up and loaded into a van which drove us to a nearby parking lot to choose and set up our bikes. I shivered in the wind and rain as the guides worked on each bike. I looked for the shortest head tube I could find and nabbed the silvery Rockrider. By the time we got back I did not feel like going out into the rain again so I had dinner solo in the hotel while the others went to the Clock tower for some food and live music. My pasta with mushrooms was scrumptious and good fuel for the next day’s ride.

The next morning we got up bright and early for 7:00 breakfast. We loaded all our bags into the support vehicles and headed into the countryside for our first day of riding. We had a white Mercedes Benz van which carried bikes on the roof and food and cookware inside. A Ford mini-van carried nine people plus luggage and a smaller SUV carried 5-6 people and also had a bike rack on the roof and bags in the back. With three vehicles, three drivers - natch!, one cook, and 2 guides, we were well supported for the next ten days of traipsing around the Moroccan countryside by bike and by van.

Our cycling adventure was about to begin!

Memories of Morocco – Part 1: Arriving in Marrakech

Scotty Robinson, a Toronto-based tour guide operator, owner of OffBeatRoads, organized a 14-day bike trip through the heart of Morocco in mid-March. This was his second time doing this particular tour. My travelling companion Anne and I were in. Lured by the promise of an exotic, far-away country, sunny weather and some early spring cycling we landed in Marrakech on the morning of Saturday, March 18^th  to blue skies and warm temperatures, much to our delight.

Scotty’s tours are well organized and leave no detail uncovered. But when we arrived at the airport, one of his helpers who was supposed to pick us up missed his timing. A helpful bystander used his cell phone to call our hotel and arrange a shuttle to pick us up. A 15-minute drive later, we were let out of the shuttle van on a noisy, bustling street. Our bags were loaded onto a cart and short, sturdy Moroccan man hauling our luggage, led us down a side street lined with shops whose wares were spilling onto the roadway. Intermittent motorbikes and bicycles sped past us as we made our way down the narrow path. We turned down several dinghy alleyways not sure what to expect when we arrived at a small but intricately carved door.

Moments later the door opened, and we entered the riad (guesthouse) stunned at the disparity between the outer and inner walls. The riads here typically have rooms around the perimeter of an open courtyard. At this riad, at the upper level, there was a heavy plastic tarp covering the opening in case of rain. There was enough of an opening for small birds to get in.

Once checked in to our room on the second level, I ventured up to the terrace on the roof of the riad to find our fine leader, Scotty, sitting in apparent meditation, head in hands, on the edge of his lounge chair, the hot sun beating down on his browning back. My first introduction to him was delayed as he didn’t respond to my footsteps and I was reluctant to disturb him. Shortly Anne arrives and utters his name and we introduce ourselves. Scotty has thinning, sun-lightened hair pulled back in a small ponytail. He wears a friendly smile.

After a brief sunbath, Anne and I head to the Souk (market) to see the sights. If you show the slightest interest in any of the wares, you will be strongly encouraged to come inside and take a closer look. “Just look, no problem.” “Good price!”, were phrases we would hear over and over again.

In the open square, we spot a snake charmer and then a man with monkeys, which draws us near. Before I realize it, the man places the small monkey in one arm, then an older monkey in the other arm. On a leash and wearing diapers, these monkeys are unusually subdued. It made me sad to think how these poor monkeys must be treated and what an awful life they must have. We paid for pictures but all I could think about was how sad they were.

Back at the riad, we met some of the tour group members: Donna and Steve, Jackie, and Brian. And later Mark, a lone traveller arriving from Turkey. All from Toronto.

We ended the day with a delicious meal in a restaurant we found in another dark, forbidding alley. There was a musician playing guitar and the food, our first exposure to Moroccan cuisine, was tantalizing. We learned about the common practice of serving mint tea in a unique way: by pouring it out of a silver teapot raised high above a small, decorative glass, the purpose being to make the tea froth. On its own the mint flavour is overwhelming but I came to truly enjoy it with a bit of sugar.

That was our Saturday. Twelve hours of sleep that night went a long way to undoing any jetlag. The rest of the tour group would arrive on Sunday. Monday, we would finally head out into the countryside in a vehicle that would drop us in the middle of nowhere to begin our adventure.