The lower Atlas Mountains
That morning we embarked on our 3 day, 2 night tour of the Moroccan countryside, Atlas Mountains and Saharan Desert. Our home was a black van with three rows of seats. Our guide was a good natured, roughly 30 year old Berber man (pronounced bear-bear) named Rashid. He we spoke some basic English (and hopefully not much more, for his sake) and was more of a driver than a guide.
We immediately ascended into the mountains. The mountains were barren and dark, with snow capped peaks (domes). People were walking the entire length of the pass through the mountains, some carrying packs, others not.
We stopped occasionally for pictures and refreshments. The stops were obviously pre-arranged, with some businesses displaying the travel company's logo on a window. Rashid was warmly greeted wherever we went. We eventually found that we (unsurprisingly) paid a higher price for most items as a result. However, most things were very cheap even after the mark-up.
The High Atlas Mountains
While we booked a private 5-person tour, we soon discovered we were accompanied by a mini-bus of fifteen or so other people. They hailed from the United States, England, France, Holland, Hong Kong, and Germany. It was initially fairly awkward interacting with them. Essentially, they were on the same tour as us only they had a larger group. They would eat at the same restaurants, only at larger tables. They would make the same stops, but would all ride around in a bus as opposed to a van.
After passing through the mountains, we drove to a secluded kasbah (description of kasbahs here, familiar song here). The kasbah was apparently the main source of income for the community. A large donkey cartel served those attempting to cross the shallow river separating the community from the kasbah itself. Children of various ages as well as their leader offered round trip rides for 20 dirham. AC was wearing sandals and forded the river both ways. Sean also waded on the way to the kasbah, but shared a donkey with me on the way back. Dan's ride on the way back from the kasbah was hilarious. Dan (6'3") was on the shortest donkey of them all, with his feet almost dragging in the river. This picture was taken by one of the "others" before we had met them (he thought it was too hilarious to pass up).
Sean and I atop the kasbah, overlooking the village
Dan, in front of the Kasbah
We were rushed on our visit, so Sean, Dan and I literally ran the last half of the ascent. Pat and AC did not bother rocking the kasbah all the way to the top. The top of the kasbah commanded a view of the Atlas Mountains to the North and a rocky, barren terrain in all directions. Our return down the hill, also at a gallop, emphasized the extremely modest living conditions of the kasbah's inhabitants. The rooms had dirt floors and the walls were made of clay and straw. While many of the homes were obviously uninhabited, some were not.
On the roof of a building in the kasbah
Children begged us constantly on the trip. The kasbah was no exception. When we stopped later in the day, kids begged for enough money to buy footballs. Usually under the watchful eye of a parents, at times it was difficult to sort the needy from the merely resourceful. On one occasion outside a McDonald's in Rabat, a boy asked me for some fries. When I gave him one or two he more or less laughed in my face and went to show his friends. It didn't exactly endear me to give more.
The restaurant we ate at after the kasbah was satisfactory. We had arguably the best prepared Moroccan salad of the trip, served with olive oil and bread. However, the chicken brochette (essentially chicken on a stick) tasted like chicken nuggets.
Moroccan salad
After lunch we drove the remainder of the afternoon to the Dades Gorge. The countryside between was barren and dotted with the occasional small town. People in these towns seemingly walked everywhere, often long distances, though some had motorbikes, cars, donkeys, or horses. Women here dressed much more conservatively than in any of the cities we visited, covering their entire bodies except the hands and part of the face. The poverty was overwhelming at first, but after several hours of driving through villages of varying levels of destitution, we were sadly dulled to it.
The drive into the gorge was excellent. We followed a windy river through broken earth and weathered rock formations.
Our hotel in the gorge reminded me of Volcano House of the Big Island of Hawai'i. It was heated only with portable propane units. None of the rooms had any of these, only the hallways. The view, however, was impressive. It overlooked the river and looming rock walls on either side. We of course decided to go climbing. The climb was difficult in places due to loose rock and prickly plants, but was overall not terribly difficult. That being said, three of us (not to be named) quit after fifteen minutes of climbing and crawled back down. The other two surely would have continued longer were it not for the impending sunset.
At dinner we finally ate with the other group. We sat next to a Londoner and his two children of roughly 8 and 10. The kids were entertaining and intelligent. We were on our best behavior for the first time in the trip, slipping only one "that's what she said" into the conversation. Dinner consisted of tagine, oranges, couscous, and bread. Not overly filling.
That evening we met the two Americans in the big group and shared houkah with them while listening to some of the Berbers play drums. They were both teaching English in France and were on one of their many mandatory vacations.
In the morning we drove out of the gorge and continued north and east towards the Sahara.
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