By Ben Ade It is a rare opportunity indeed for non Muslims to freely explore a mosque. Upon discovering a long abandoned place of worship in the Atlas mountains, our curiosity on these structures became fulfilled. As with the churches of Christians, these mosques tend to be the most elaborately built and decorative buildings in any said village or town. Even after 30 odd years of complete abandonment this one seemed structurally sound, whilst ruinous houses gave way to the elements in surrounding lands. During the days we made good use of its full shade and beautiful marble floors, which provided us with a perfect badminton court for many hours play. I also climbed the old wooden ladders of the tall tower interior, where the prayer caller once stood. Once the sun had long gone, night time here presented a good chance for some unusual photography. I used a selection of lights to illuminate the huge interior with green, the colour of Islamic sanctity I believe. The exterior face was fully lit by moonlight, whilst the remaining dark sides were given a subtle hint of yellow coloured flashlight to complement the green. The future of this huge building will most likely be eventual degradation and collapse, this in mind, it was nice to give it some final appreciation.
1 Comment
By Ben Ade To put this city into words is a challenge. We spent only a couple of days here but left with all senses buzzing, numerous blisters on our feet and an overall feeling of awe instilled. The initial drive through the city was abnormally hectic, with this in mind, we decided to camp at an official site on the outskirts. At the equivalent of £5 a night it seemed good value. One of our camping neighbours were a Dutch biker couple who had a specially made carrier with sun shade fitted to the bike for their wee terrier dog. Also a friendly French couple with a fold out roof tent on a new Toyota pick up, the bloke runs a chain of automated laundrettes in Brittany but his true passion and long term dream is to become a bus driver. On the subject of buses, we were in need of some local transport the next day. We opted for a hired taxi-bus, complete with kamikaze driver, back and forth from Marrakech to save driving and parking in the tangled hive of city activity. Once inside the city walls never a dull moment occurs. The mind boggling maze of souks kept us amused for hours on end, a workshop or boutique for anything you can imagine. The symphony of scents hits you, one after another, most very pleasant, some not so. Jovial calls of 'Ali Baba, hey you Ali Baba', aimed at me, from many vendors. This seems to be my nickname in Morocco as various people have explained to me, something to do with the beard and possibly sheared head! The Djemaa el Fna square is another place of constant amusement. Sipping freshly crushed orange juice, we watched entertainers, snake charmers, monkeys and musicians fill its paved interior throughout the daytime. The late afternoon sees it transform seamlessly into rows of covered food stalls serving grilled meats and tagines. With the evening here, comes a similar atmosphere to a large music festival, sounds of musical instruments flowing free and grilled food aromas pouring down the alleys. We had the pleasure of a full evening meal within these stalls, even amid the semi-organised chaos the service and food was still spot on. The history of this square is slightly less rosy than the modern day frivolities now ongoing, it used to be the area for the cities public executions. The city also retains its working tanneries, unchanged over the centuries. A wander through one of these was interesting, to see the original process that would end in our sought after leather goods. This really must be an unpleasant job though and one which probably should be transferred to machines. The smell of rotting flesh and vats of fermenting pigeon waste brings on ill feeling and turns the stomach, quite unlike any other odour. The chemicals and dyes added are also known to be highly carcinogenic on exposure. I take my hat off to the men and woman who prepare the skins and toil within these vats, streams of putrid liquids covering them head to toe. The one slightly tiring aspect of Marrakech are the petty crooks. All cities have them, but they seem unusually persistent here. These half weasel, sub humans follow any tourists they spot, the city is crawling with them. We personally experienced a few of them, ranging from around age 6 to age 70 odd. They try all sorts of methods as ice breakers, saying hello in English, guessing your nationality, starting a supposedly friendly conversation, giving fake directions to lead you to their lairs or countless other dishonest strains of banter. Ignoring them is the best bet, this worked most of the time for us. However, some follow you still and then after 5 minutes or so of this will demand money for 'guiding' you. A particularly unpleasant one came when one of these creatures insisted on following us for ages, before stopping our progress and doing what we have dubbed 'the face change', after seeing this transition with numerous people now. He insisted on 500 dirhams for 'guiding' us, I would usually have no problem dealing with such a situation, but I had been keeping eyes peeled along this small back alley. Seemed it was a weasel gang, dark lurking types appeared at each end of the street making it feel quite enclosed, some young men now appeared to 'help' the man with this transaction. This had a bad vibe, I stuck to a story of having nothing on me, the men luckily seemed in a hurry to move to the next haunt and after much arguing and unpleasantness I distracted the ringleader with the equivalent of two Euro out of my pocket and we edged away past his cronies, hastily back to the busier streets. It was now late in the day and the patience for these types was gone. Now, upon taking a photograph of the main square, a slithery old snake charmer attached himself and demanded money for being in the photo. This time I politely instructed him to sling his hook before having to physically push him aside, leaving his desperate calls in vain behind me. As long as you are aware of these guys, the place is otherwise good fun to explore. This is one of the busiest cities we have ever visited, quite unlike a European or Western metropolis in many ways. I would recommend the experience to anyone looking for a city experience with a twist. We were very glad of making the detour to spend time within its ancient walls. If you want a taste of the countries great hospitality and genuine friendliness though, you may struggle to find it here! By Melissa Shaw Moroccan architecture is certainly a consideration when planning to build structures in the absence of modern building materials, or on a low budget. Making use of the immediate resources available on their doorstep to construct and decorate grand homes or entire villages from riverbank mud-clay (or 'pisè' as they call it), straw, rock, bamboo, amongst other natural materials. Stacks of this mud-brick lay drying in the heat of the sun awaiting their place among the many walls. However, we better not get our hopes up too quick, it is never that simple. For these hand constructed homes require constant up-keep to maintain their strength and sheer unique beauty after the wet season having washed some of this mud plastering away. Ksours (or ksar as a singular) and Kasbahs that they are named, can be discovered amongst the valleys of the southern oasis's, deep into Morocco. These ksours are fortified tribal villages that inhabit many families surrounded by a mud brick wall enclosure. Kasbah's are grand homes built for the ruling family generally beautifully decorated with monumental designs. It provides quite a humbling feeling to imagine that once each generation has walked the many footsteps, ate family meals together, introduced new family members, watched children grow, amongst all aspects of life, within these walls, it can then return completely to its original state...earth. This is surely the most efficient eco home there is? Many of these Kasbah's and ksours offer tours around their enclosed structures for a small entrance fee. Also, some entrepreneurs have caught onto the idea of opening restaurants and auberges, hotel stays and campsites for Morocco's many visiting tourists. Moving onto the subject of tourism, we had the pleasure of visiting many of these ksours and kasbahs. Amongst them was the famous Ait Benhaddou. This popular tourist attraction is one of the classic 'tick off your must see in the Morocco' lists. Movie fans flock here to witness the stage and back drops of films such as Lawrence of Arabia, Jesus of Nazareth as well as Sodom and Gomorrah. With this town becoming a popular film spot, several film crews have restored and re-modelled buildings to suit each films needs. A bus station of tour buses clogged up the main street and entrance to the main attraction. Hotels, cafes, restaurants, souvenir shops, and any other method of draining your purse all line the streets along the route and into the Ksour. Ait Benhaddou is a challenge to determine the exact age although, it is said to have building here since the eleventh century. In the past the position of this site was due to the trans-Saharan trade route from the south passing through a pass in the High Atlas mountains and onto Marrakesh. Now with the sad depletion of population within the area due to the new passes through the mountain range (see previous post) avoiding the area only a handful of families actually live within the ksour and kasbahs. Each family earning an income from the valley's gentle agriculture and of course, the passing abundance of tourists from across the globe. Camel rides always on offer around these areas. Ben and I clambered upon two of these docile creatures which I'm sure would of been quite content relaxing in the sun for a few more hours. One, two, three! and we were hoisted into the air by the elongated legs of these grumbling beasts. Guided by the head collar, we plodded around the desert. A little more uncomfortable than I expected but restoring fond memories of donkey rides across Blackpool beach. The Camel calf wailing as it followed closely behind the train of camels and their passengers. Getting down was another experience altogether! By Ben Ade To command maximum respect in Morocco, it seems you really need a clapped out old Mercedes saloon. These things are everywhere, I am unsure of the reasoning, Germany must have imported a colossal amount here throughout the 70's and 80's. These may lack the grandeur and good looks of the Cuban style retro rides, which consist of 1950's American made classics. However, just like Cuban classics, these do seem to plod on for eons whilst becoming quite iconic. Most likely running on used chip oil from the cafe's, the non turbo charged diesel is the popular version, 0-60 mph in around 2 hours. 80% of taxi drivers use these, although we did go through one town, Guelmim I seem to recall, where the local taxi firm, called 'Petits Taxi', used only old Peugeot 205's in uniform red colours. The old bull nose Mercedes vans are in similar demand, hailing from decades long past, they are here what the Ford Transit is to the UK. The pride of ownership taken in these ancient vehicles is a joy to see, often decorated very artistically with great skill. A reminder that the super dull, credit driven new car economy in the UK really has erased the soul and individuality from vehicle ownership. Just a constant, cold, planet destroying process of 'buy new and dispose of old' now remains. By Ben Ade Like dessert, the desert is best in small portions I would say! The idea of cool, fresh mountains sounded very attractive after weeks in the dusty heat. Thankfully the huge gorges and snow capped peaks were fast approaching, the mighty High Atlas.
In times gone by the crossing of the isolated High Atlas range could be quite an undertaking. The few small passes were not only dangerous with constant landslides, floods and snow, they were also controlled by powerful tribal families. Their grip on this treacherous terrain made these people some of the most powerful in Morocco. The Lords of the Atlas, as they were known, continued rule well into the 20th century. Eventually the French managed to subdue these Berber tribes during their 'pacification' of the country as a colony of France. The first sign of dramatic passes are the famous gorges, these cavernous routes slice right into the mountains. The rocks and earth of the Dades gorge are of an amazingly rich red in colour, which lead on to a hair-raising, hairpin bend roadway. Due to the nature of landscape in this gorge we really couldn't find any free space to set up camp, so we decided to use an official camp site near the head of the gorge. After our evening meal and attempting to use the painfully slow WiFi, I noticed a traditional band setting up on the lawn. Along with a couple of other campers, we headed over to investigate. The couple of local guys were amazing drum players and also masters of some cool magic tricks. The next day we headed back out this gorge so as to see the adjacent Todra gorge, again very impressive but a different colour once again, more yellow and beige. Whole areas of rock with fossilized skeletons, this time land based creatures. Terrifyingly large claws, mysterious birds, strange bones and several unrecognisable huge objects. All fossilized and visible, of course due to the complex process involved to reach today, the animals full shapes were mostly distorted or broken. The final route of passage chosen was the Tizi n Tichka pass. This impressive main road was literally blasted through the Atlas by the French in the 1930's, quite a feat of dynamite usage. Even though the constant bends cancel all visibility of oncoming traffic, you will often find tourist buses and also tour guide SUV's overtaking you at high speeds on said corners. A bit scary, but all very 'normal' in Morocco somehow. Spectacular views were had throughout these roads, although a view or quiet reflection can quickly be spoilt here by the fossil men. These blokes adorn mountain roadsides and seem to hide in bushes perhaps too, they see possible tourist and will give it their all to get your attention. One even jumped in front of a forward moving Kaerus whilst garbling something in loud incomprehensible French, a quick glance to see if he was ok, seems yes, he is standing grinning with dodgily painted 'fossils' for sale in each outstretched hand! The few days and nights spent within these mountains were great, the feeling of cool night air again is also quite splendid. The coat and hat even made an appearance one evening! On the final night here, whilst wild camping on a sheltered edge of a rocky peak, we had the privilege of viewing a 2 hour lightening storm, miles across in the neighbouring valleys below. This was unfortunately accompanied by very strong, tripod shaking winds, otherwise my electronic eye would have been viewing it too! By Melissa Shaw According to aerial photography sources, there are some 4200km of low-lying hedge rows, filled with glorious blooming roses around the El Kelaa and Skoura areas. Fortunately for us, we have planned our visit to Morocco during the Spring months, providing us with the best opportunities to observe the variety of flora and fauna this beautiful country and has to offer. This has been a treat in itself. Amongst these hedge rows, thousands of delicate pink roses emerge. These perfectly petite roses are said to be brought here by the Phoenicians of Persia. Not only popular for the beauty they behold, but their powerful and irresistible fragrance that they possess. Wafts of this intoxicating scent circulate throughout the air and are inhaled through our Land Rover air vents. The local ladies rise early to pick the fresh blooms in the morning before the scorching spring sunshine dries the bloom. Heavy ladened sacks of freshly picked rose flowers are carried up from the gorges, where the river provides such fertile ground, then taken to a cooperative rose distillery where they produce oil and water for a variety of cosmetics. Ben and I managed to catch a sneaky glimpse into the factory one morning to observe four or five women picking off the petals, preparing them for the next stage. Apparently, it requires ten tonnes of petals to produce up to three litres of rose oil! Of course, I also very much enjoyed trying out the rose and argan oil product testers. In late May-early June the local town holds a 'rose festival' to celebrate the years yeild of crops. A well attended event I should imagine, with many friends and families gathering from the mountains for a period of music, dancing , socialising and the busy market (souk). So, that was me content having pampered my self in all things floral, smelling like a rose hedgerow myself. We then continued our perusal around El Kelaa, into the Artisan du Poignards Azlag where traditional dagger making still is ongoing today. A spectacular display of individually decorated, handmade daggers ranging in all shapes and sizes. It would appear we had stumbled into a treasure cave. If one wishes to purchase one of these artistic traditional Moroccan daggers, they offer a professional complementary engraving service along the blade too. Along the far reaches of the rose valley, within the mountain roads and passes, caves can be seen around the landscape. A closer look at these mysterious mountain doorways, demonstrates evidence of habitation, by the Berbere Nomads enduring the winter months here . Many of these homes have stone walls holding livestock secure. The cave entrances have been narrowed by stone walls also, to provide rooms and doorways, also to lock in the heat. Blackened cave ceilings provide a 'sooty' smell from generations of fires heating these cosy homes from the bitter winter chill. By Ben Ade Inspired by the recent rally/raid event we attended, the decision was gleefully made to head off road, once again. This time the 'Djebel Bani' lay ahead, a huge desert comprising of many terrains. A desert is not what I imagined at all, sure sand dunes are included, but the rest consists of horribly rough 'hammads' (black rock strewn landscapes) and miles of barren dust bowls. The constant winds, dust and heat ensure your passing of these areas will be tough. We had read that you can cross this desert to reach M'hamid off road across 200 kilometres, on the map this looks to be an 'as the crow flies' short cut so it made sense at the time.
After 50 kilometres of bone shaking hammads, we did begin to question our decision. Soon enough though, we were relieved to hit a huge dust bowl, poor visibility and breathability, but much smoother driving surfaces. Amazingly, even though there are no roads, we hit a tiny village minding its own business. The bemused residents all froze in their daily tasks to watch us appear out of the dust. At this stage the only guidance was the compass, I knew that heading directly East should be correct from looking at the paper map, so we stuck at it. Swathes of scrubby savannah followed next for some time, but then the infamous desert sand began. Initially it was quite worrying, over 3 tonnes of Kaerus sinks very easily if momentum is not maintained! Then I remembered the 'diff lock' lever on the gearbox. We were well accustomed with the additional low range gearbox by now, but the rarely used differential lock option was, I know think, designed for sand. I wont bore you with the concept of how differentials work (look it up on google if you are curios), but once engaged this lever locks off the differential, enabling Kaerus to grunt along through the sand as if she was a camel. Melissa drove a large section of the dunes which she thoroughly enjoyed. It was getting late and we decided to stop, palm trees were spotted on the horizon, it was an oasis just like in the movies. As we relaxed to watch the sun set on the desert horizon, a large snake slithered past very closely, seemingly not bothered by our presence at all. The next morning the alarm clock was a friendly herd of goats, passing the oasis for a morning drink, with shepherdess and dog following. On the morning inspection of Kaerus, she seemed to have a nasty cut on one of her rubber tyre feet, no doubt from the rocky hammads. The air was topped up with the compressor until we hopefully passed a tyre repair shop. Eventually the couple of hundred kilometres was complete, M'Hamid lurked in the distance. Various tour guide driven Japanese SUV's, packed with camera laden holidaymakers soon appeared to do small loops of the dune or two beside town. 'The genuine Sahara experience', apparently. This was a town with nothing much going for it except a small amount of tourism revenue, one walk up and down the street was enough. A chancer on every corner, eagle eyed guys watching you in order to gauge the best way of emptying your wallet before they approach. Since the age old caravan trade routes came to an end, plus the Algerian border closing, there is just no source of income for these hardy people in the sand. We escaped the wild frontier hustlers by disappearing off a back alley, then hopping into Kaerus discretely and fast. The tyre was next on the list, which proved not to be as easy as hoped. The first tyre shop looked like just the ticket, however he succeeded in wasting an hour and making the puncture much worse, before asking for 400 dirhams! I put the spare wheel on now, gave him much less than he wanted and we escaped once more. The next town looked more promising, a whole street of tyre repair shops. We picked the most time worn and well used looking shop, turned out to be a couple of friendly Land Rover enthusiasts. He removed the tyre and seemed confident of the repair, plus only asked for 50 dirham (5 quid). Off we went again, stopping on the edge of town to grab some groceries, a glance at the tyre showed it was almost flat again. Back to the friendly pair to see what they could do. I did feel for the guys as they tried their hardest, it seems the first hustler had really mangled the tyre, meaning the new repairs just were not holding. Luckily I carry an emergency inner tube so they fitted that and we were good to go. This fiasco was taken as a gentle sign to stop driving such awful terrain. Tyre preservation shall be in mind from now on! The toughest desert sections now behind us, we headed onwards, via tarmac, to the next new temporary home, wherever that may be. By Melissa Shaw Spring in the Atlas Mountains offers such adorable pleasantries, for example, goat kids jumping from rock to rock upon the mountain hill side with uncontrollable floppy ears. The whole area is filled with the sound of kids bleating for mother goats. Impressive billy goats with twisted horns demonstrating who's boss of the hill.
As we observe these simple creatures, directed by their shepherd past our camp we heard the strangest of noises...sneezing perhaps? Or maybe one or two have a kind of goat cough? "Parp" here there and everywhere. Hold on! its a goat herd trumping band. Must be all those scrubby plants, perhaps some mint leaves will help? By Ben Ade The people we meet 'on the road' really do enrich the travel experience. So many different individuals from all walks of life cross paths with us on a daily basis.
A very unexpected meeting the other day though was from a bunch of United States military medics on desert training. After months of adjusting to numerous language barriers, speaking fluent English took some re-adjustment! Really friendly guys, they just loved Kaerus and got their pictures taken to show friends back home. Modern Defenders are rare and sought after commodities in the US, mainly due to the cease of export way back in the 1990's. One of these guys runs a Land Rover Discovery, as they are available state side, however the word 'diesel' remains mysterious to most Americans! He also showed us pictures of his cool school bus camper conversion back home, complete with wood stove, used for family holidays, nice work. Anyway, we left the troops to their training and continued further into more heat, dust and sand! Just who awaits us onwards, beyond the next valley or village? By Melissa Shaw This is a phrase most of us Scots are familiar with, I'm sure? I, myself have used it throughout most of the winter months whilst living within our Scottish climate. However until recently it will be a phrase I shall refrain from using too much in the future. Rainfall really couldn't be more of a pleasure in certain places such as the Sahara pouring life back into this dry and barren ground.
I have always been curious of water in all its entirety (as you may have noticed, I have almost developed my own theme throughout this blog). It truly fascinates me! Whilst travelling throughout this desert dust bowl it is clear to the eye that without this valuable water, life is such a struggle. The landscape ranges from blackened rocky stretches with few scrubby plants, that the camels and goats seem to find appetising. Vast, long stretching rivers (Oueds) that lay thirsty, awaiting the next rainfall. There are wide flat plains that present harsh winds and swirling "dust devils" gliding across the landscape churning up a vertical spiral of sand. And of course the sand too, these burning bronze dunes that scatter the southern terrain, display spectacular views and interesting driving too! Any sight of a date palm tree must be a sure sign of a water source within the area, likely to be a well or small river. Small towns and villages appear to be built upon this vital ingredient to ensure survival. We visited many of these Oasis's and enjoyed strolling throughout communal gardens and crop fields. True pockets of paradise is a description for these fertile belts. Golden fields of wheat and barley. Heavily loaded almond and fig orchards amongst blossoming olive and pomegranate trees, all sheltered by huge date palm umbrellas. Of course this agricultural success is only possible by carefully dug beds/areas that lock in the water in as it passes throughout channels. Many homes are also built amongst these small oasis havens, as we observed two ladies catching up with gossip sitting on the concrete channel edge. One older, brightly dressed, clutching her garden tools and the other younger, of slender build, swaying an empty bucket of water due to fill whilst leaning on her doorway entrance. |