Hello again my readers and welcome to part four. After worrying that these chronicles were becoming unduly long we made good progress in part three and I hope to do as well again this time. I expect you are all champing at the bit to get going so I shall spend no more words on pleasantries and dive straight back in.
Having taken a sharp hairpin bend off the main road we started working our way deeper in to the Atlas (the mountains not a map book - sorry couldn't resist). Some time later we stopped on the side of the dusty track and unload our bags ready for them to be piled on to some unfortunate mules. Prior to arriving here Graham had given us some rather complicated directions explaining how to get to the Gite where we would be spending the next day or two. He wasn't going to be able to guide us up the path as he was staying with our stuff to keep an eye on the mules (or was it the other way around?) but expected to overtake us on the way. To be honest the path to the Gite wasn't at all as complicated as I had been expecting from the description and due to the unexpectedly good progress we were making Graham had wondered if we'd got lost, as rather than overtaking us he didn't even catch sight of us.
The Gite was on the edge of one of several small mountain villages in the Tijhza valley (that had only recently got water on tap) and it was under construction, or modification or something. It was used mostly by people either wishing to do short walks in the mountains from here or as a stop off for people doing significant treks; we were in the first category (or at least a couple of us were) but we wouldn't get to that until the next morning. All we had to do that evening was to relax, settle in and eat. The Gite whilst much less basic than the dunes of the Sahara was still pretty basic and was one place where even those who had paid for a room to themselves had to share. The rooms were small and contained only 3 hard narrow mattresses put directly on the floor but then what else do you really need. It has to be said that it was in a lovely location with a fabulous view back down the valley. The scene was typically lush and green where it was cultivated with dusty redish mountains rising on all sides. Probably on account of the nearest road being almost an hours walk away and the general lack of electrically produced noise (such as TV's) it was marvellously quiet, and staring out at the view it held a sense of stillness that even the sleepiest quaintest English village couldn't attain. One thing that all of this back to basics remoteness did mean though was that once it was dark you may as well go to bed as there was nothing else to do. So after dinner (which was probably chicken tajine again) it was a relatively early night, especially as there was a walk in the mountains in the morning.
During the night I discovered that even without electrically produced noise there were still things in the mountains that could spoil the stillness. At about 2am there was a dog howling somewhere down in the village and then at 5am the 'Mule Men' started a lengthy conversation outside our window (on account of the mules being parked out there). For all this disturbance however I was still keen to get up as we had been told that breakfast was going to be porridge! Under normal circumstances it would be hard to get excited about the prospect of porridge but these weren't normal circumstances and the most significant thing porridge had in its favour that morning was that it wasn't bread. As it turned out the porridge was rather thin but I had seconds anyway just to show I knew which side my bread was buttered (if you see what I mean).
With breakfast done it was time to see what people wanted to do. The choice was between a 4 hour walk up and around the mountain behind the Gite or a gentler wander to a waterfall along the valley. We'd had a preliminary show of hands the night before after dinner which (if I remember rightly) indicated about a fifty fifty split. I don't know what changed overnight but the waterfall had somehow increased its popularity leaving me to wonder if I might be wandering up the mountain on my own. Fortunately by the time it came to set off I found that Stuart was coming too and Graham was taking the lead. We hadn't been walking for more than five minutes before I concluded that at least some of those who chose the waterfall option had made a sensible choice, the steep zigzag path was narrow, indistinct and made of loose dust, sand and grit which made things a little tricky. It was a hot climb that sometimes required the use of hands but before long we reached the top of the main slope where more level ground appeared. Here we were rewarded with the expectably fabulous mountain views as well as a distant glimpse of where we were headed which in this instance was a small looking hill shaped like a flattened cone and nicknamed 'Jebel Tajine' by Graham on account of it resembling a tajine (the cooking pot not the food). The landscape up here really was very bare, probably due to the conspicuous lack of grass or other significant plant life. There were isolated yellow thistles and other small flowers but the most notable things growing were the juniper trees that are dotted about the place which I shouldn't have been surprised to discover smell of Gin. Once at the base of Jebel Tajine it became clear that this hill wasn't as solid as one might have liked which made scrambling up it rather an 'all fours' affair with knees also being employed where required. We each picked our own way up the steep crumbling sides trying to reach the top without sliding all the way back down. When at last we were at the top our new vantage point let us look across even more mountains (as you'd expect) and also some crude stone pens where people passing through with herds of sheep or goats could keep them safe overnight. By this stage the day was warming up (although it was generally cooler in the mountains) and it was time to complete the walk by returning to the Gite, after we had managed to get back down Jebel Tajine that is.
That afternoon a small group of us went to explore the local village which was made up of narrow higldy pigldy streets between crumbling mud buildings. The place seemed very quiet and we only saw the occasional child and some animals about the place. I expect they get rather tired of noisy tourists wandering about taking pictures as if it were an exhibition or something. Anyway, that about wraps up the Gite part of the story. It was a 7am breakfast the next morning (no porridge this time, it was back to bread) before walking back to the road and the bus. It was to be another fairly long travel day with the scenery split roughly in to two sections. The first was of course more red and yellow mountains on one of which someone had hung their washing out to dry by draping it over low bushes (rather novel I though) and then over the Tizi'n'Tichka pass to see the lunar landscape of the Anti Atlas leading to the flat arid plains.
It was early evening when we arrived in Essaouira (pronounced Esa-wera) on the Atlantic coast. Essaouira is almost a complete contrast to everywhere we had been so far as it resembles a quaint old Portuguese fishing port with its whitewashed buildings with blue doors and shutters. It has a chilled out atmosphere and street after street of artisans workshops, boatyards where traditional boats are made and a long curving picturesque beach. The whole of the old town in surrounded by quite significantly fortified stone walls some with rows of canons pointing out to sea, although I think they are now just for decoration. Graham took us on a brief tour of the place to help us get our bearings as we would have a chance to explore on our own the next day. Then it was on to a rather nice beach side restaurant for dinner. The thing I liked most about this place wasn't the food (which was mostly fish) but the fact that we could sit right next to the floodlit beach and watch the locals playing football all night. I mean I am still not a fan of football but it added to the atmosphere. After dinner no one was particularly keen to call it a night and so came the hunt for somewhere to go for some frosties, we tried to return to a restaurant near the square where we'd had drinks earlier but were turned away. Apparently it was going to be difficult to find anywhere that would take a group as large as us at this time of night, which I suppose shouldn't be all that surprising in a country where most people don't drink. So the group fragmented with some heading back to the hotel and others going onto see what they could uncover by themselves. Within moments the only group members left in the square were Graham, James and myself. When Graham started to speak I was rather expecting him to suggest calling it a night but instead he felt the group was now both small enough and probably also male enough to be let in on one of Essaouira's dark secrets. Forging a path across the square which at night was still bustling we were led down a narrow street towards the inner city walls. With every successive turn the street seemed to get narrower, darker and more sparsely populated until at the end of this moderately concerning passageway we entered a bar. I felt how I assume it would feel to enter a smugglers den or something of that type, it certainly wasn't licensed in the official sense, more likely kept open with backhanders to the authorities. The place was essentially a largish squarish room which wasn't too badly lit, with table after table encircled by Moroccan men drinking like there was no tomorrow. Graham explained that there was no social drinking culture in Morocco almost certainly due to the fact that they weren't supposed to drink at all so when they chose to break this rule the whole point was to get completely wasted. An unfortunate consequence of this is that as they are not all that used to the alcohol they don't all handle it that well and we were warned to keep our eyes peeled in case any poorly co-ordinated violence erupted. We took up position next to the bar which was at the farthest possible point from the door and stood there like the most conspicuous thing in the world, apart from perhaps if a woman had walked in. For all this it didn't take long for some of the locals that were stood about near us to start chatting away to us (again they could speak just about any language) as Moroccans really are very friendly (and generally not one bit violent). Two of these folk were teachers and the way they spoke had faint revolutionary undertones, a clear desire for Morocco to change and I suspect become more liberal and open minded. I don't know enough about Moroccan culture and attitudes to hazard a guess about its future but if global trends are any kind of indicator it will only be a matter of time.
We hadn't stayed out all that late so I was up for a 9am breakfast before setting off with some of the others to explore. In this particular case exploring meant shopping (in fact that's what it usually seemed to mean) and so we set off to see what we could see. As well as all the usual local crafts Essaouira had a particular speciality which could be found in shops and workshops all over the town. The wood of the fragrant thuya tree and more specifically its roots are used to make all sorts of decorative and practical items. I am sure I don't need to list off all the things its possible to make with wood but it seems that much of it is made into boxes of every shape and size as well as everything from small model camels to wardrobes (and even a full size crucifix - which was a bit out of place). The first place we headed for was a short row of workshops built in arched rooms under the city walls that Graham had pointed out to us. Each of these in turn presented a similar scene, with every available space cluttered with endless wooden things and almost no room to stand (the swinging of cats would have been impossible). At the far end would be the 'craftsman' who was usually 'finishing off' some piece or other, however I never observed any of them doing anything more than a bit of general buffing up, certainly no sawing, nailing, gluing or even measuring which made me wonder if it was a little bit of theatre. The sheer quantity of almost identical items spread about the town (and the rather low prices) suggested to me that the bulk of this stuff rather than being lovingly hand made by skilled crafts folk were instead mass produced in a dusty sweatshop somewhere down the road. Anyway, after going from shop to shop and back again I had seen enough and decided head off with Stuart to have a bit of a stroll along the battlements overlooking the sea which eventually led us back to the town where we took a number of random turns that led us to a spice market. Here the various stalls (all with identical things for sale) had their powdered spices piled up into pyramids and I don't mean approximate pyramid like mounds I mean flat sided crisp edged square based pyramids perhaps a foot or more high. Later we wandered across the square to see the large wooden fishing boats being built around the small harbour before heading back to meet some of the others at lunch time. Between the square and the harbour was a string of kind of fresh fish mini-restaurants. They were really only stalls with tables and chairs and a bit of some materiel stretched across the top to give some shade. Out the front of each of these identical places was a crushed ice filled tray covered with a selection of the days catch of fish and seafood. What you were encouraged to do by the very pushy people running them was to choose the fish you wanted them to cook you and then haggle the price until all were agreed and you were sitting down at their stall instead of their neighbours one. The others all seemed happy to give this a try but I will only eat seafood when there is no other choice and on this occasion there was a great deal of choice so I headed back to the town to see what took my fancy.
The rest of our time in Essaouira was spent doing more of the same, just generally wandering about exploring and shopping and eating and to be honest I think that most of us would have been quite happy to have stayed there longer but this wasn't part of the plan as the next day we were back on the bus to go to the 'Pink City'. We had passed the outskirts of Marrakech on our way to Essaouira a few days before but this time would be staying right in the centre of it. It was called the pink city due to the fact that all the buildings were painted a kind of dull pinkish colour to help reduce glare from the hot sun reflecting off them. After settling into the well situated but distinctly shabby hotel it was time for Graham to introduce us to the locale before setting us loose to go and hunt down some lunch. A rather interesting chicken kebab and chips at an outdoor café on a pedestrian street (in Marrakech motorbikes are considered as pedestrians) and it was time to regroup at the hotel to meet up with a local guide for a city tour. In my opinion this was the only part of the whole trip that I wish I could have missed out for two main reasons. Firstly (and I don't blame our guide for this) we had seen all this stuff before and often better examples of it too, and secondly it was a bit of a guided shopping trip (visiting all our guides friends). So we saw a mosque and a koranic school and souks and shops and all with very little explanation (not that we needed it). The only two things of interest were the traditional herbal pharmacy (which was also a hard sell environment but at least we got a demo) and the Djemaa el-Fna which you certainly don't need a guide to find. The Djemaa el-Fna is basically a huge square in the medina and is really the only thing that separates Marrakech from every other Moroccan city, although once this sort of area would have been a more common sight. So what's so special about it? Well, I suppose it is the constant hustle and bustle of it all. By day it is by comparison fairly tame but it still awash with musicians, snake charmers, story tellers, water sellers, (pick pockets) and orange juice stands amongst other things. By night however it really comes alive with the place transformed in to a kind of vast open air restaurant where we dined one night amongst all the frenzied madness and noise, it really does need to be experienced and was for me the single saving grace of Marrakech as a whole. Hard to believe that there was a serious plan to clear the place and turn it into a car park, a plan that fortunately someone saw the folly of.
I've jumped ahead a little there as we didn't eat out at the Djemaa el-Fna until our last night in town as the first night there was a roof top buffet at the hotel. Now in general I have to say I didn't think very highly of this hotel or its staff but this buffet was really very good and included all of the classic Moroccan dishes we had seen on our travels (so not an enormous selection). After this some of us went onto another hotel where there was a bar and made a bit of a night of it. The next mornings breakfast was the worst I had and the orange juice we were given tasted like concentrate so I joined a few of the others on a trip to a rather nice café and cake shop we had discovered the day before. After this we had a rather interesting wander about looking for a historic site called the 'Saadian Tombs' that were started by the Saadian sultan Ahmed al-Mansour in the late 1500s. Having gone to all the effort of walking there we discovered that although the mosaic and sculpted plasterwork were rather nice it wasn't anything we hadn't seen before and the site was rather small and not all that well kept - oh well it was very cheap to get in. Once back in town the group fragment I was with divided further as someone had discovered that a local hotel had a pool open to non-guests and the lure was clearly too much. Phillipe and I went for another explore of the souqs in the hope of using up some film which proved difficult as whenever I held up my camera some industrious local would dive into shot and then expect payment for having his picture taken. So we wandered and wove our way about not having any clue where we were heading until we found our way out of the bustling souqs into streets populated with teenage boys all wanting to be your guide to somewhere (anywhere at all it seemed). We resisted their offers for some time before one got a handle on Phillipe with the promise of more tanneries and he decided to go along, I wasn't too keen on this idea and decided to try to find my way back on my own. It was a test of my usually poor urban navigation skills and I have to say I was pretty pleased with myself, I only had to double back once and got out in far less time than it had taken us to get in so perhaps I am finally getting the hang it. That night as I have already said was spent in the Fna and after this it was back to the bar for a much quieter night before bed.
When morning came and it was time for the final breakfast of the trip (which was terrible again) before starting to say farewell to people. Some were staying longer but those of us that weren't got back on the bus and went to the airport where more people disappeared until finally back in London the remainder of us said goodbye and dispersed. So all of a sudden it was all over and the next day I was back at work and it was as if I had never been away at all. I think due to the sheer density of the experience and having had no time to reflect on the whole thing that it seemed like a strangely detailed dream. The process of writing these Adventures however has given me the chance to relive my time in Morocco and better appreciate everything I did and saw and the people that I met. As usual I feel I must answer the question "would you go there again?" and the answer is yes but not for quite a long time (there are so many other places to see first) and I would definitely avoid Marrakech, perhaps favouring a walking trip in the Atlas somewhere.
Just before I sign off I would just like to proffer an apology to those of you with whom I travelled that I have not mentioned. I decided at the start not to introduce you all there and then and have since regretted not doing so as introducing you 'as and when' didn't work as well as I had expected. So, just so you don't think I have forgotten any of you here is the list of the people I have yet to mention. Paul and Jane, Nick and Kylie, and Rachel. You weren't intentionally left to the end.
Well, that just about wraps things up. I would like to thank you all for reading especially those of you who are new to my adventures (not that I wish to devalue my long term readership, I am always glad (indeed keen) to have you along for the ride). Normally it is at about this stage in the proceedings that I speculate on where I will be going to next but this time I feel I should play my cards close to my chest as I already have a plan brewing and I don't want to jinx it. Also I can no longer see the point in questioning whether or not I will be travelling again as it seems to be practically a given that I will. So when my adventures begin again and I have some stories fit to tell I shall of course be telling them to you all. Until then, farewell.
David.