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!