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Walking With The Dead

Luxor hieroglyphics

Luxor, Egypt

by Dr. Benedict Davies

For the ancient Egyptians, the West Bank at Thebes (modern-day Luxor) was their realm of the dead, an august “City of the Dead”, no less. It was a sacred domain where the transition from this life to the next began. The whole area of this ancient necropolis is graced with funerary monuments, each specifically designed to facilitate a safe onward journey into the Underworld. Most conspicuous amongst these architectural treasures are the royal memorial temples, such as Deir el-Bahari, the Ramesseum and Medinet Habu. Located not far from these cultic installations were secluded cemeteries for the kings, queens and lesser royalty from the ruling dynasties of the Egyptian New Kingdom (c. 1550-1069 BC). And all along the fringes of the Theban Foothills, where the Nile Valley cultivation meets the desert, the most prominent officials of the age constructed their own tombs as portals into the hereafter.

Valley of the KingsOne of the main highlights of Luxor is, without doubt, a tour of the royal necropolis, better known today as the Valley of the Kings. Here, amongst some of the most spectacular tombs from the ancient world, one can still come face-to-face with the mummy of the famous boy-king Tutankhamun in what had been a makeshift and hastily-prepared tomb. Bedecked with arcane hieroglyphic inscriptions and puzzling iconography, the magnificence of these sacred sepulchres has been enchanting and astonishing travellers ever since the earliest Greek and Roman historiographers found them long-abandoned and robbed of their spectacular burial treasures.

ancient Egyptian artToday most tour groups visiting the Theban west bank tend to combine the Valley of the Kings with a stopover at the memorial temple of the 18th dynasty female pharaoh, Hatshepsut. From afar, this temple’s magnificent edifice seems to have been hewn from the very cliffs of Deir el-Bahari by the gods themselves. If extremely lucky, your itinerary may allow you some time amongst the wonderfully decorated private tombs of officials that honeycomb the Theban hills. Yet, it is sadly regrettable that so few people find time to visit the ancient workmen’s village of Deir el-Medina. This remarkable site simply doesn’t register on the mainstream tourist ‘radar’. Yet, a visit to this wonderfully preserved settlement will be duly rewarded with a memorable experience.

Deir el-MedinaDeir el-Medina was home to the royal artisans – the men who excavated and decorated the tombs in the Valley of the Kings and the Valley of the Queens. For anyone interested in the history, architecture and art of the tombs in the Valley of the Kings, the village is something not to be missed, an opportunity to get up close and personal with the king’s own workmen. The remains of the ancient settlement lie in a secluded and dusty valley at the southern end of the Theban necropolis. The environment here is extremely harsh. Cut off from the cooling northerly breezes, the site is hot, arid and devoid of any vegetation. The modern Arabic name of Deir el-Medina refers to the Coptic monastery that was later founded on the site. “The Village”, as it was known to its ancient inhabitants, was a state institution, specifically established to house the royal craftsmen and their families.

Well preserved Egyptian artThe village appears to have been founded at the beginning of the 18th dynasty by king Amenhotep I (c. 1525-1504 BC). From then on the settlement underwent several phases of expansion to the extent that it comprised at least seventy family homes by the time of its eventual abandonment, probably during the reign of Ramesses XI at the end of the 20th dynasty (c. 1099-1069 BC).

Nowadays, the majority of the village houses have been remarkably well preserved. Throughout the settlement, walls still stand to a height of several feet, clearly demonstrating the original living arrangements amongst the densely-packed terraced housing. Even the once-bustling main street remains a prominent feature, dog-legging its way through the centre of the village.

Deir el-Medina is also renowned for the quality of some of the tombs in the local cemetery. The workmen certainly invested heavily in all of the necessary funerary arrangements for their safe transition into the next life. Their tombs were beautifully decorated with religious iconography and especially well-equipped for life in the hereafter.

There is little doubt that the workmen were hugely influenced by the artistic conventions that they employed for their work in the royal tombs. Some can even be seen adopting excerpts from royal funerary texts that would have been so familiar to them. The best preserved tombs date from the first half of the 19th dynasty (c. 1295-1213 BC), a time of great prosperity for the workmen. At the time of writing, three tombs are open to the public, each having been chosen on account of their beautiful frescoes. They belong to two of the workmen, Sennedjem (TT 1) and Pashedu (TT 3), and the chief workman Inherkhau (TT 359). Decorated by skilled artists, these tombs bear a striking comparison to the royal tombs in the neighbouring valleys, hardly surprising given the fact that they were built by the same gang of workmen.

For the more adventurous travellers, I would strongly recommend following in the workmen’s footsteps by taking the ancient desert track that leads from the south-west corner of the village, over the mountain ridge and down into their place of work, the Valley of the Kings. It is by no means an easy walk, with the track becoming quite steep and treacherous in places. Simply put, it should only be tackled by the physically fit and those with experience of traversing uneven and tricky terrain. For first timers, it is definitely advisable to seek out the services of one of the local guides, who will gladly offer the service of a donkey for those unaccustomed or unable to make the journey on foot.

remains of ancient hutsApproximately half-way along the mountain pass, at the point where it crests the ridge that separates the royal burial ground from the Nile valley, stand the remains of an ancient group of huts. These spartan buildings were put up by the workmen for their overnight accommodation during the working week in the Valley. It would seem that after a hard day’s back-breaking toil in the royal tomb, the men preferred to retire here for the night, rather than making the longer journey back to their families at Deir el-Medina. High up in in this splendidly isolated and lofty perch, the men would have whiled away their evenings talking about the day’s events at the worksite, singing songs, telling stories or discussing private business matters.

This is a breathtaking walk, and one that is richly rewarded with spectacular, panoramic views out across the valley cultivation to the mighty River Nile as it serenely charts its perennial course towards the shores of the Mediterranean. Without doubt, this has to be the most uplifting way by which to reach the Valley of the Kings. With plans now afoot to replace tombs such as Tutankhamun’s with full-scale replica models, time is clearly running out for those who have yet to visit these marvels of the ancient world!


One Day tour to Luxor from Cairo by Flight Visiting Best Of Luxor City

If You Go:

Audio guides to the Valley of the Kings, Deir el-Medina and the Tomb of Sennedjem are available at www.iconicguides.com.

About the author:
Dr. Benedict Davies is an Egyptologist, traveller, freelance writer and the founder of MP-3 audio tours “Iconic Guides”. He also holds a PhD in Egyptology from the University of Liverpool and is a leading expert on the community of royal workmen of Deir el-Medina and the Valley of the Kings. A seasoned traveller, Benedict is particularly interested in the culture and art of the ancient Near East and the Far East.

All photos are by Dr. Benedict Davies.

Tagged With: Egypt travel, Luxor attractions Filed Under: Africa Travel

Alexander’s Oracle

Siwa Oasis at sunset

Siwa Oasis, Egypt

by Robin Graham

I am at the temple of the Oracle of Amon, fabled throughout the ancient world. Alexander the Great stood here, so for once I’m in good company.

Siwa Oasis rockThis is where he came to seek legitimacy for his rule over Egypt. The Oracle confirmed his divinity, although exactly what was said to him he took to his grave eight years later. He did well to get here, to Siwa Oasis in Egypt’s Western Desert. Others had disappeared in the attempt.

The floor plan of the temple reveals a hidden passage and chamber from which it would have been possible for a concealed priest to simulate the voice of the oracle. I think we can assume that had Alexander known about this he wouldn’t have bothered making the trip.

The temple is perched, precariously, on the edge of an inselberg -a rock hill- which would have given him, as it now gives me, an unhindered view in all directions, the lush canopy of Siwa’s date palms like a green carpet. The young Greek king must have felt that the world was at his feet.

Beyond the palms to the north, in all honesty, there is not a lot. Desert stretches between here and Marsah Matrouh on the Meditteranean coast three hundred kilometres away, and not the alluring kind – all silky dune and camel train. Sandy gravel would be an apt description, just about featureless to our eyes as we made our way here; sensory deprivation on a ramrod straight road, the empty space sweeping past us hypnotically in our shabby little car.

temple to AmonTo the south it’s a different story. Close by the foot of the inselberg, just metres away, stands the last remaining wall of another temple to Amon, replete with hieroglyphics. Both temples would originally have been part of a larger complex. This second temple fragment can be found where the date palms form a clearing, visible from here. It’s in a sorry state, having been dynamited in the 19th century by a local police chief to build his station. Oops.

Another clearing, just a little further away, is perfectly circular as is the fresh spring that is to be found there. Tourists are told that this is Cleopatra’s Bath, but that’s a conceit of the local tourist board. Actually it’s the Spring of Juba, the ancient Spring of the Sun about which Herodotus wrote in the 5th century BC.

Herodotus thought this spring boiled at midnight and cooled at noon. In fact the warm temperature is constant; it just doesn’t feel that way to a cold hand at night, or to a hot one in the afternoon. Alexander and his entourage cannot have failed to linger here. Beyond the date gardens, the Sahara begins. A few miles south you can sit in the fresh water of a hot spring, surrounded by fifty-metre dunes on all sides and listen to birds sing in the small garden that the spring irrigates. Beyond that, nothing but more dunes and rocky crags till you reach Sudan.

salty lakeTo the east Al Zaytun – one of Siwa’s vast salt lakes – glimmers. In the late autumn a salt layer covers it’s surface and from a distance the lake appears to have frozen over; a bizarre sight when the daily temperature can hit thirty-five degrees celsius. At roughly twenty metres below sea level, even the water from the many springs here is salty and so of course is the soil, which the Siwans call kershef. A mixture of salt, rock and mud, it made an excellent building material, or so they thought.

Beyond the lake’s shimmering far shore, nothing but desert all the way to Cairo. It was in those sands, in stark contrast to Alexander’s successful journey, that fifty thousand of Persian King Cambyses’ men, on their way to destroy the Oracle, were swallowed up by a sandstorm.

sand dunesLooking west across that green carpet, about four kilometres away, Siwa’s largest structure towers above the swathe of date palms. Though magnificent, the Shali is an object lesson in why kershef may not be your preferred building material the next time you erect a fortified city. Crumbled and in a ruinous state it still looms over the modern town, a victim of infrequent but, very occasionally, heavy rainfall.

Alexander won’t have seen this – it wasn’t built till the thirteenth century, not abandoned till the twentieth – and difficult as it is to imagine anyone saying no to him, he wouldn’t have been let in anyway; this was a forbidden city, home to Siwa’s families and closed to all others. That would be one up to me then, since they’ve moved out now and I will have the run of the place tomorrow, and will climb to its highest point, the world at my feet once again.


Budget Travel Package to Siwa Oasis from Cairo or Giza

If You Go:

Getting There: Fly into Cairo or Alexandria with one of the many international carriers, for example www.egyptair.com. From both cities the West and Middle Delta Bus Company offers services to Siwa via Marsah Matrouh on the coast. See www.bus.com For example, expect to be on the road for nine or ten hours if you start from Cairo, and around six hours if your journey begins in Alexandria.

Staying There: Visit www.siwa.com for details on the insanely exclusive Adrere Amellal (www.siwa.com/AdereAmellal.html ) out of town or the two more affordable alternatives in the centre, Ababenshal (www.siwa.com/AlbabenShal.html) and my favourite, Shali Lodge (www.siwa.com/ShaliLodge.html). All three are run by an organisation which aims to promote sustainable ecotourism in the oasis.

When to go: The oasis bakes in the summer as well as enjoying a thriving mosquito population, and in winter the nights can be cold enough to prohibit those desert camp outs, so go in Spring or Autumn to get some more temperate weather.

About the author:
Robin Graham is a writer and photographer. His articles have appeared on Gonomad, Matador Nights, Literary Traveler and Bootsnall and his photography has been featured in the Telegraph online. He formerly blogged at www.alotofwind.com.

Photo credits:
First Siwa Oasis photo by: Vincent Battesti / CC BY-SA
All other photos are by Robin Graham.

Tagged With: Egypt travel, Siwa Oasis Filed Under: Africa Travel

Rambling Around Morocco

vendor selling spices in Morocco
by W. Ruth Kozak

THE OURIKA VALLEY

It was November, and the rainy season had begun in Morocco. The day before our trekking group arrived at the Ourika Valley in the foothills of the High Atlas Mountains, a flash flood had swept down the dry wadi gouging away great chunks of the road and gnawing at the foundations of the mud-build Berber houses that perched precariously along the river bank.

the author, Ruth Kozak, on her Morocco trekMy Moroccan trekking adventure had begun from the beautiful city of Marrakech that nestles like a rose-quartz gemstone near the foothills of the snow-capped High Atlas Mountains. Our first trekking destination was the Ourika Valley. When we arrived at the starting point, we were forced to leave the van walk to the meeting point as the roads were impassable. We had to teeter across foot-wide Berber bridges fashioned out of sticks, suspended over the rushing white water and squeeze behind houses on uneven slippery pathways meant only for goats. In places where the road had washed away the mud-brick houses overhung precariously over the river bed .

The circle trip up the Ourika Valley took six hours, a total of just over seven kilometers. By the time we arrived back to where we had started, some of the road had been cleared. A van waited for us to take us back to the restaurant where our driver would be waiting. It was a ramshackle vehicle, the cabin gutted, with wooden benches along each side. Our group of fifteen trekkers and the tour leader crammed into the back. The driver, his companion and the Berber guides sat in the front and one other man stood on the back bumper. Amazingly, twenty people scrunched into a space that was meant for ten. In places, there was barely enough road left for the van to manoeuvre by. Miraculously we made it to the end of the road construction where our mini-van was waiting to take us back to Marrakech.

AMIZMIZ SOUQ AND A TREK ON THE FORESTRY ROAD

guide helping trekker across narrow bridgeEarly the next morning, we set off for a visit to the Berber market at the town of Amizmiz. A Moroccan souq is a total sensory experience. We were greeted by a cacophony of sounds: goat bells, braying donkeys, merchants calling out their wares and shoppers haggling, coppersmiths and blacksmiths hammering. The souq is comprised of very small shops and canopied stalls selling fish, meat, poultry, and locally grown fruit and vegetables, sacks of mint tea, nuts and dates. Spices such as saffron, cumin, ginger and cinnamon are displayed in colourful cone-shaped piles. The smells of mint, spices and baking foods fill the air with a mouth-watering fragrance. In one lane the barber shops were doing a brisk business. Men can get a shave and haircut while their wives bargain in the market. In another lane a man tends the barbecue coals under a dozen cone-shaped clay tajine pots containing chicken or lamb stewed with eggplant, carrots, onions and raisins in savory spices, to be served over steaming plates of couscous. Dinner’s ready when your shopping’s done!

Leaving the Amizmiz souq, we headed up into the mountains on a well-maintained forestry road. Here the villages are different from those in the Ourika Valley. Tiered on the mountainside, their ochre clay walls almost make them invisible in the mountain landscape. There are well-irrigated terraced gardens and lemon and olive groves. The road is lined with eucalyptus trees; the mountain slopes rocky and arid. The scent of lavender and thyme makes the air fragrant and the walk pleasant.

A WALK IN THE ASNI/OURIGANE FOOTHILLS

view of hillside village in MoroccoThe next morning we set off for another trek to inspect a higher route along the ravine above the River Ourigane. Instead of attempting the more difficult climb up into the mountains with the rest of the group, I opted to cross the valley on the Berber trails instead and was provided with my own personal guide, Mabourak.

The countryside is stunning with its shrub-covered knolls and rich sienna-red earth. Because my guide was well informed about the flora and fauna of the land, our walk became a geology and botany lesson. Minerals abound in the area and I collected agate, flint, hematite and bits of lapis lazuli. Mabourak showed me wild garlic, thyme and other herbs and wild flowers. Low bush juniper and quince grow in abundance. In the reforested juniper groves wild boar are hunted. Other animals such as fox, mountain sheep and goats, and jackals roam here. There are many wild birds too, such as eagles, hawks, cuckoos and pheasants. The trek with Mabourak, was the highlight of my Moroccan adventure. I was glad that I’d had that time alone to absorb the beauty of the countryside and get acquainted with one of the locals.


7 Days Private Tour of Morocco

If You Go:

Currency in Morocco is the dirham. $1.00 U.S. = 7.91 dirham.
Passports valid from six months of issue are necessary but no visa is required. You must show a return ticket. It would be wise to check the travel immunization clinic before leaving and take along medication for stomach upset.
Travel warning: Be aware of pick-pockets and backpack slashers in crowded markets. If you enter the souks with a guide or hustler the price of everything you buy will be increased to include a commission for them, often as much as 40 per cent. Be prepared for the attentions of faux-guides.
Guides: Licensed guides can be hired for about $30 Cdn a day for sight seeing in the city or trekking in the country.
Clothing: It is advised for both female and male travellers to dress modestly to avoid hassles.
Taking photos: Vendors and performers in the souks expect to be paid. Many Moroccans don’t like having their photos taken so be discreet when doing so.
Tour groups: There are various tour companies offering group tours and treks. I went with Ramblers Holidays from London Eng. www.ramblersholiday.co.uk.
Where to stay: For hotel information: www.wtgonline.com
Or contact: Federation Nationale de l”Industrie Hotelieri, Angle Ave Nado et Rue 3, Quartier Polo, Casblanca 20550 fnih@iam.net.ma www.fnih.ma
Other Accomodation: There are well-organized campsites, youth hostels, self-catering suites and hotels of all categories available in Morocco. See www.travel.yahoo.com for more information on hotels.

About the author:
This trek in Morocco, made with a group of Ramblers from England, was a highlight of Ruth’s travel adventures although she preferred the more leisurely walk with just the guide than the group trek which tended at times to be like a road race.

All photographs are by W. Ruth Kozak.

Tagged With: Morocco travel Filed Under: Africa Travel

Morocco: Adventure in the Sahara

leading camels across sand dune

by Michael Ream

Heat waves rise from the sand as Ahmed hands me a canvas-wrapped water jug, a few beads of liquid glistening on its mouth. “Drink,” he orders as the sun beats down on my back, sweat staining my dusty canvas LL Bean shirt. I tip the jug back with both hands and take a good long swig.

A day and a half earlier I walked into the Sahara, just me, a fellow traveler and Ahmed, our guide. Now the three of us have come to this spot, a windswept patch of sand in the shade of an acacia tree, after walking miles without map, compass or GPS. Setting down the jug, I watch Ahmed saddle up the camels and silently hope for the best.

The road to the desert

The Sahara begins in southern Morocco, its dunes sprawling across the border with Algeria. The village of M’Hamid, a base for desert treks, is located over the Atlas Mountains from Marrakech, where I catch a bus in the city’s sprawling, chaotic transit station.

At Zagora, seven hours into the ride, my bus pulls into a forlorn, empty parking lot. Touts swarm the bus the moment I exit, offering desert treks. The hot breezes blowing across the lot are almost a relief after the erratic air conditioning on the bus.

The oldest – and biggest – of the touts, wearing faded jeans and a smudged polo shirt, pushes through the others, wedging himself between them and me, standing in an unshaded doorway, fanning myself with a map torn from my Lonely Planet. After his French brings only shrugs, he begins halting attempts in English. Simon, a Belgian whom I befriended on the bus, stands taciturnly behind me, arms crossed over his lanky frame.

Striking out with English, the tout follows us onto the bus as it pulls out of the lot. He sits down opposite Simon and jabbers away in French. Simon translates for me. “He’s offering us a trek via camel and four wheel drive, plus two nights in a hotel.” I start talking to the tout, with Simon serving as translator.

“We get two nights in the hotel as well as the trek?”

“Oh yes, very nice hotel,” replies the tout. “Nice dinner as well.” Nice seems to be a word he has practiced quite a bit.

“What about supplies, gear, stuff like that?”

“It’s all included.”

We go back and forth for a few more minutes, talking money, before we finally shake on a deal. The tout immediately dials his cell phone and talks excitedly for a few minutes. For the rest of the bus ride he hovers over us, following us outside whenever the bus stops, perhaps afraid to let us get away.

The sky has turned pitch black by the time the bus wheezes to a halt in M’Hamid’s dusty square. Temperatures are still in the high 80s, and the chocolates I purchased at the duty-free shop in JFK airport have melted in their tin container.

The village is literally at the end of the road, with the two-lane desert highway we just rode across petering out in the drifts of sand that blow through the streets. A scattering of ramshackle shops and cafes stand like lonely beacons in the night. A new group of touts clamors to carry our bags. We make our way to the hotel, a squat, boxy structure built around two courtyards, with a concrete bathhouse. The rooms are cell-like, with mattresses on the floor and wooden shutters with peeling paint. After a sumptuous feast of Moroccan tajine, meat and vegetable stew, with delicious fresh-baked bread, I lie down and immediately doze off.

A Lonely Landscape

sand and camel in SaharaIn the morning, we meet Ahmed in a vacant lot by the hotel. His sky blue djellaba flutters in the desert breeze as he busies himself heaving baskets bulging with food, water jugs and blankets into large wicker baskets slung over the saddles of two camels.

The temperature is already well into the 90s. We set off on foot through the narrow streets of the village, Ahmed hauling the camels on a length of rope. Within minutes, we have left the village and are heading into a landscape of palm trees and sandy scrubland. Dun-colored dunes loom in the distance.

Ahmed moves briskly, taking a call on his cell phone and greeting a passing goatherd. Without breaking stride, he strips off his robe and turban, revealing a black tank top stretched over a ropy, muscular physique and a mop of thick black hair. He snaps his cell phone shut.

“How old are you?” he says, asking the question using a combination of French, English and hand gestures. We answer and then ask Ahmed his age. “Twenty-One,” he says, although he looks about sixteen.

Complete silence settles in. There’s no hum of power lines or even the chirping of a lone bird. Soon we reach a mudbrick fort. Trickles of shade fall across the weathered walls from an adjacent grove of palm trees. “Entre,” says Ahmed, gesturing toward a low doorway cut into a wall. I duck inside, past straw poking through the mudbrick, into a cool, cavelike room.

I lie down and doze off, wilted from the heat. Minutes later, Ahmed rouses me. He has rolled out a rug and set a sumptuous spread of Salade Marocaine, a colorful mélange of potatoes, green pepper, purple onion and ripe red tomatoes, swimming in the oil of sardines that are piled high on the communal platter. The three of us scoop up morsels of food with hunks of chewy, fresh-baked bread ripped directly from a round loaf. I lick my fingers clean and lounge on the rug, sitting up to accept a glass of sweet mint tea from a pot that Ahmed brews over a portable burner. Not even a buzzing fly can keep me from dozing off again.

Later, I blink in blinding rays of the sun that stream through the doorway. Ahmed and Simon are chatting away. “He’s one of eight children – or maybe it’s ten,” says Simon. “He guides when tourists are here, the rest of the time…” he shrugs. Life is hard in the desert.

Ahmed scurries outside and returns with a plastic water bottle filled with a thick white liquid. Camel’s milk. It’s frothy and very sweet. I drift back to sleep, blissfully dreaming of aquamarine pools and crashing waves.

Under the Stars

Sahara sand dunesWe head out, still pushing toward the dunes, traversing the humps of sand pockmarked with scrubby bushes. Suddenly, Ahmed turns to me and Simon and hands over the rope. He points into the distance and indicates he’ll join us shortly.

“What’s going on?” I say to Simon.

He shrugs, and we begin moving with the camels.

We stumble down a dune. I look over my shoulder. Ahmed turns to face east, drops to his knees and lowers his head to the ground. I continue moving forward. A few minutes later Ahmed catches up.

We crest dune after dune, the sun riding in the sky ahead and painting the sand a rich ocher. A nomad crosses our path, wrapped all in black, riding sidesaddle aboard a donkey laden down with canvas bags.

“Es salaam alaykum,” Ahmed calls out to him.

“Wa alaykum salaam,” replies the nomad, his donkey never breaking stride.

We reach an acacia tree, the only vegetation around, and Ahmed slows the camels, heeling them to the ground. “We camp here tonight,” Simon tells me after conferring with Ahmed. The camels move lazily over the endless dunes, snapping up what few blades of grass they can find.

Soon, Ahmed has a steady fire going from a few branches. As darkness descends, he settles a pot of tajine over the flames. After eating, we recline on the rugs. Ahmed stokes the fire and begins to dance around it, his robe whirling like a dervish. A wailing, guttural sound comes from his lips as he moves past the flames. Then he’s pointing at me and gesturing. “I think he wants you to sing a song from your country,” says Simon. I think for a moment, then begin: “This land is your land…”

Aboard the ships of the sand

In the morning, a slight chill hangs in the air and there’s a thin layer of moisture on my sleeping bag. Ahmed is already up, setting out a breakfast of bread with jam and butter. The water from the canvas jug is warm from the desert heat. I take a look around. No signs of life anywhere.

Ahmed motions to me. He’s rounded up the camels and has the saddles on them. I heave myself into the lead camel and off we ride. Riding a camel is like being atop a slow, rippling wave (Water metaphors come easy in the desert). I rock back and forth, steadying myself with the metal handhold on the saddle’s pommel. After just a few seconds, my hair is caked with sand, and grains have coated my hands like a second skin.

Return to civilization

For two more days we bounce about the desert, utterly alone with the silence and emptiness. At another desert camp, a four-wheel drive owned by the tour company picks us up for a trip to the Erg Chigaga dunes, the most impressive yet: Close to 1,000 feet high. From the top, the view is of a full palette of reds, browns and yellows across the desert, with the occasional glimmer of green.

Back in M’Hamid, Simon and I clink two Coke bottles to our journey and successful return. The frosty glass bottles drip condensation onto a café table set on a dusty patio. Ahmed strolls up, and at first I don’t recognize him. He’s swapped his classic desert garb for a t-shirt for a Portugese soccer team. “Inshallah” he says with a wide smile beneath his turban. I smile back. It’s traditional here to tell one to “Go with God,” but it’s Ahmed who took us into the desert and back.


Private Tour: From Fez to Marrakech in 3 Days through the Sahara Desert

If You Go:

The official Moroccan National Tourist Office website: Visit Morocco

About the author:
Michael Ream is a journalist who has published travel articles about Tennessee, Mississippi and Louisiana and has been a reporter for newspapers in Arkansas, Mississippi and Illinois. He has traveled through Bolivia, Morocco, Spain, Ireland, the Netherlands, Germany, the Czech Republic, Slovakia and Hungary. Text and photos Copyright 2009 Michael Ream meream@rocketmail.com

All photos are by Michael Ream.

Tagged With: Morocco travel, Sahara treks Filed Under: Africa Travel

Dogon Cliffs of Bandiagara, Mali

Dogon cliff dwellings in Bandiagara, Mali

by Emma Jacobs

We arrived in Bandiagara, at the edge of the region, before dawn in the dusty lot of the bus station. We had been on the bus from Bamako, Mali’s capital, for twelve hours. Around us, men were dispersing and the families with children were settling down to rest in the dusty terrain of the bus depot until morning. We looked around us, more than a little clueless. The night was pitch black.

Dogon village, MaliA motorcycle came roaring up out of the dark. Its light was blinding, but it honed in on us and approached swiftly. A man descended from it and approached us. Mamadou Traore would be our guide in Dogon Country.

Dogon Country denotes a region of roughly 400,000 hectares, following the Bandiagara Escarpment, an astonishing line of cliffs which climbs up to 500m at its highest points in 150 km. The stunning views from the top went for miles. Savannah went all the way to the horizon, or sand, or rock. The area felt at times impossibly remote, but it was one of Mali’s first tourist groups. Mamadou was one of a few dozen guides who led Americans and Germans and French tourists along the Dogon cliffs each year.

Mali countrysideMamadou had been leading groups through Dogon country for 15 years. Two years ago, he led at Italian on a hike who was so grateful that after he returned home he made Mamadou a website to help other tourists find him. Mamadou checks it every time he comes back to Bandiagara. A town of more than 10,000 people, it has one internet café a mile from the bus station where we’d arrived.

Mamadou would lead us across the expanses of desert and rock and take us up and down the traditional Dogon stairways, cascades of stone down crevices in the cliff face. Dogon women climbed right past us with buckets of water on their head. One woman had a basket on her head and a baby on her breast. Mamadou did all the climbing in a pair of blue flip flops.

The region’s inhabitants mostly belong to the Dogon and Peul ethnic groups, but is identified exclusively with the Dogon, who began arriving from elsewhere in the 15th century. Before the Dogon, the Tellem lived in the Bandiagara cliffs from the 11th century, constructing the top line of shelters bored into the cliffs. In Dogon stories, Tellem may figure in, sneaking back to the Bandiagara escarpment, though no one sees them. A thorough archaeological exploration from the years 1964 to 1971 definitively found evidence of the presence of this Dogon myth.

Tellem construction in the Bandiagara cliffsThe Tellem were agriculturalists, traditionally believed to be unusually small, who stored their food and buried their dead in caves high up the face of the cliffs. Caves have been discovered with the remains of up to 3000 people. One theory, ascribed to by our guide, suggests the Tellem ascended the cliffs on vines back when the valley was greener.

Today, Dogon country is dry. The average in 1994 was only 600mm of rain, and droughts generally last 8 months of the year. Desertification has only worsened with scrub clearance. The temperature nears 120 in the summer, when Mamadou takes a few months off. It’s too hot for the hike.

The Tellem disappeared gradually from the valley after the 15th century, forced out by raids, and perhaps by a change in climate. The Dogon are believed to have migrated from the east—their oral history says from the land of Mandé —to this extreme region to escape the spread of Islam, which threatened animist traditions. The Dogon were agriculturalists from the start and arrived and settled in small groups, often isolated from each other. They often constructed their original villages some ways up the cliff walls. The buildings they erected on the sides of the Bandiagara cliffs were built of stones and mortar. The Dogon constructed mainly houses, but also granaries.

The Dogon cultivate rice, millet and sorghum. We would come upon fields of green onions for export to Bamako, a startlingly brilliant green in all that desert. The villages halfway up the cliffs had been gradually abandoned for more accessible terrain below closer to the crops and to available water supplies.

Today the Dogon villages are arrayed along the tops and bottoms of the cliffs. The villages are small and often long distances from each other. There are at least 15 dialects of Dogon today, some of which defy the comprehension of other Dogon speakers beyond the basic, rhythmic greetings.

close up of Bandiagara cave constructionAbove certain villages on the cliff tops, Mamadou showed us crevices in the rocks where masks are stored. The Dogon would fascinate colonial anthropologists and archaeologists, the first European travelers to write accounts of Dogon Country, most of all intrigued by Dogon ritual and exquisitely carved masks. The Sigui ceremony, held every sixty years, is best-known of these rituals and occasion for some of the most elaborate masks. Researchers suggest Dogon culture is fluid and “accumulative” and these festivals could have changed over the many years of their continuation.

Mamadou told us the first tourists to Dogon Country arrived in the 1970s. The interest in Malian antiques began during the same period and the leakage of the country’s national heritage to foreign parts worsened. The head of Mali’s national museum, Samuel Sidibe, has decried the systematic looting of the Bandiagara caves for tellem artifacts for resale to foreign antiquities dealers. Efforts have been made to organize and educate local populations and outlaw the export of Malian artifacts, but the fight is a difficult one in a very poor region in one of the world’s poorest countries.

We were told that the Dogon guides had been put in place to control the influence of the tourists on the Dogon villages. What’s mentioned most often is that the tourists gave the children things, candy and toys, and that their elders fear what will happen to the children’s work ethic.

Granting the validity of their parent’s concern, Dogon Country was also one of the most visibly suffering regions I saw in West Africa: villages where there were more children than not had distended bellies, others where there was only well water, and one village where the well water was such a dark, muddy yellow color that not even the bravest of our group would try to drink it with only our chlorine tablets.

view from in Bandiagara cliffThe Cliffs of Bandiagara were named a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1989, but the most obvious benefit this seems to bring is more tourists. Our guide helped us climb up to the lowest level of Dogon homes embedded in the cliffs. Walking though the abandoned villages, the structures date back centuries, but still appear virtually untouched. We passed through certain of the doorways and stood inside. At one point, our guide pointed us to a burial site, where a hole had been punctured through the walls. There were bones inside. Bowls and shards of pottery lay abandoned in the rooms of the homes.

Mamadou mentioned with pride the restorations of the cliff dwellings taking place with funding from UNESCO. Some of the buildings on the cliffs have undergone retouching. A man with a clipboard would approach us back in Bandiagara at the end of the week with a survey on sustainable tourism. Mamadou seemed unimpressed. Tourists have been coming to this region for thirty years, he told us. The region didn’t need that study.

When the World Heritage program made its case for the significance of the Cliffs of Bandiagara back in the late ’80s, its report cited the cliff cemeteries and Dogon stairways, but the writer of the essay go on to cite the living Dogon cultural history embedded in this region. You can feel it just beneath the surface, an accumulation of many years of tradition and change.

If You Go:

The Lonely Planet Guide to Mali is an essential on this trip. Visitors usually arrive in Mali’s capital, Bamako. From there, the bus ride to Dogon Country takes about 12 hours. Travelers willing to spend a little more can purchase the services of a vehicle and driver. In Dogon Country, guides can be hired in one of the larger towns you will arrive in. Once you’ve worked out an agreement, they’ll help find your meals and lodging at one of the many encampments scattered throughout the area villages. Hikes cease during the hottest months, beginning around April or May.

About the author:
Emma Jacobs is a student and mostly radio journalist currently based in New York City. She’s finishing up a degree in history and planning her next trip overseas.

Photo Credits:
Bandiagara Escarpment, Mali by Ferdinand Reus from Arnhem, Holland / CC BY-SA
All other photos are by Emma Jacobs.

Tagged With: Dogon, Mali travel Filed Under: Africa Travel

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