by Elizabeth von Pier 

Marrakech was our first stop in Morocco. Founded in 1062 and known as the “ochre city” for the color of the buildings and walls in the old Arab section, we entered the city on wide boulevards teeming with traffic, chain hotels, modern white stucco buildings and palm trees. I felt disappointed; we could have been somewhere in Florida. But then we passed through the old city walls and a park where camels were sitting in a shady grove. People strolled the streets wearing their traditional jellabiyas and “calls to prayer” were coming from loudspeakers on the minarets of the mosques. This was Morocco!

We were staying in a riad, and this one turned out to be a destination in itself. A “riad” is a traditional Moroccan house, located within the ancient medina and designed around a central courtyard, pool or fountain, and garden. The owners had purchased several adjoining houses and combined them so that there are two courtyards and 26 guest rooms, several sitting rooms, two restaurants, a jazz bar, and a spa. The hotelier gave us a tour and showed us to a lovely room which faced the pool and inner courtyard. As I stood on the balcony, I looked out over rooftops of the old city and a minaret a short distance away. Down below was a pool, trees, potted plants, tables covered with white tablecloths, pierced pendant lanterns, and lovely tile work. Each morning at dawn, we were awakened to the “call to prayer” from the mosque. A traditional afternoon tea is offered in the courtyard each day, and we enjoyed typically Moroccan mint tea served with an assortment of tiny cookies. It felt like something out of “Arabian Nights”.

Within walking distance of the riad is the Majorelle Garden, a botanical and landscape garden that was created in the 1920’s by French painter Jacques Majorelle. It is a fantastical delight and beautiful to behold. Special shades of bold cobalt blue are used in the gardens and on the buildings, walkways and pergolas, and are a stunning accent to the greens of the cacti, palm trees, bamboo, bougainvilleas, and ferns. Neglected after the painter’s death in 1962, the property was later restored by fashion designer Yves Saint-Laurent who bought the garden and used it as his residence. After he died in 2008, his ashes were scattered in the garden and a memorial was built in his honor.

At the top of our “must see” list was a visit to the old tannery that processes hides using a method that is almost one thousand years old. Hides of cows, camels, sheep and goats are soaked for three days in stone vessels containing a mixture of pigeon droppings, limestone, water and salt. The limestone helps to remove the hair and the acid in the pigeon droppings softens the hides. We watched workers standing waist high in this mixture as they removed the skins for the next step in the process, scraping away the excess hair fibers and fat. Then the hides are moved to stone vats containing dyes of many colors where they sit until they are finally ready to be placed out in the sun to dry. At this point, they are sold to the craftsmen who will make them into an assortment of leather products you can buy in the souk. The smell in the tannery was offensive and our guide Mohammed gave each of us a bouquet of mint to hold under our noses as we watched the process.

The “souk” is the commercial quarter of the medina and we went there to experience the activity and to bargain for some souvenirs. Colorful stalls line the alleyways, selling everything from carpets to clothing, scarves, jewelry, leather products, olives and housewares. We were on a quest to find a decorative tagine like the ones used on our riad’s breakfast buffet for fruits, nuts and pastries. Mohammed patiently took us from stall to stall until my sister finally found one to bring back home with her. There are no set prices in the souk so she had to use her bargaining skills. It can get rather tense as the seller dramatically tells the buyer that she is “killing” him with the low price she is offering. But in the end, she prevailed and took home a beautiful tagine to use for entertaining in the Moroccan style.

We expected to engage in this type of buying and selling process in the souk. But we did not expect the tactics used on the street to capture the attention of the unsuspecting tourist. Men posing as workers in our riad who had the day off said they recognized us from the riad and shared important information about a special shop a couple of streets away. A co-conspirator “happened” to overhear the conversation and offered to show us the way. We started to follow, but then thought better of it. A sign on the wall in the riad warned about these tactics, but we had not noticed it. And to think we almost fell for it! We probably won’t see these “actors” on the big screen anytime soon, but their performance and timing was so well executed that I feel they deserve every dirham of their commissions.

There also was an interesting specialty shop in the souk where three Berber women were laboriously extracting oil from the nuts of the argan tree to make food products and cosmetics. Argan trees are endemic to Morocco and the oil that is extracted is very precious and has many health benefits. A salesman let us sample some of their special products, and we filled our baskets with gifts for people back home. There was no bargaining here because supposedly this is the only place where the skin products are pure and the oils used for cooking are not diluted.

Leaving the souk, we entered the beating heart of the city, Place Jemaa El Fna, which dates from the 12th century and was designated a UNESCO world heritage site in 2001. This is a large square inside the walled city, lined with restaurants and shops and the setting for performances by snake charmers, musicians, storytellers, fortune-tellers, henna artists, monkey performers, acrobats, and transvestite dancers. It indeed is an assortment of fantastic sights and smells of Moroccan folklore. One photo here will cost you ten dirham.

The Koutoubia Mosque with its 254 foot high minaret is a landmark and symbol of the city. We were just outside the mosque when the “call to prayer” came from the loudspeakers above. Not far away is the Bahia Palace, a masterpiece of Moroccan architecture with its brilliant mosaics, carved woodwork and gorgeous marbles. Like most Arab palaces, it contains charming and tranquil gardens, beautiful patios and rooms richly decorated with tiles. And we visited the tombs of the Saâdi rulers which date back to the 16th century but were only discovered and restored around 1917. These tombs shelter the bodies of about 60 Saadian sultans and their families and are an outstanding example of Moorish tilework and art.

Leaving Marrakech two days later, we transferred to a four-wheel drive vehicle for our trip over the High Atlas Mountains via the Tizin Tichka Pass. Our destination was Ouarzazate, five hours away. Mohammed expertly navigated the vehicle around hairpin turns and over narrow roads that came within inches of steep drop-offs into canyons below. Besides the scenery, the sights we saw along the way are memorable. Donkeys loaded with meat, produce and wheat were led by jellabiya-clad men to village markets high in these mountains. We passed caves used by the Bedouins, nomadic tribes who live mainly in the desert but use the caves when crossing the mountains on their camels. We caught a glimpse of a road worker pausing for prayer on an outcrop of the mountain. And we saw stork nests, shepherds tending their flocks, and tiny villages made out of sandstone and hay that blend into the color of the hillsides on which they are built. No matter how small the village, there’s always a mosque with its minaret towering above everything.

Ouarzazate, nicknamed “the door of the (Sahara) Desert”, was built as a garrison and administrative center by the French, but today it serves as the Hollywood of the Kingdom. This is where “Lawrence of Arabia”, “Jesus of Nazareth”, “Gladiator”, “Indiana Jones” and many other films were made. While it is in a lovely setting, the town itself is somewhat tacky. There are several movie studios that you can tour and new housing developments are springing up in the otherwise beautiful landscape.

There are some interesting and beautiful casbahs nearby that have also been the setting for movies. Mohammed led us through the old rooms of the Kasbah de Taourirt and the alleyways of the more famous Ait Benhaddou, both sandstone in color and very picturesque. They show how tribes lived and protected themselves in former times. The pathways into Ait Benhaddou are filled with shops and artisans working at their crafts. A woman sitting on her stoop invited us to see her home. She showed us her “old” kitchen with its bee-hive oven, her “modern” kitchen with its fifties-style sink and tile backsplash, and a small room open to the sky where the sheep were housed in very tight quarters. The living room was full of carpets that she supposedly made herself and would sell for a good price. So the tip we gave her was really for the privilege of visiting her shop. Fooled again!

Leaving casbah Ait Benhaddou, we drove for miles through the foothills of the mountains and the rolling sand hills of the desert and started to wonder where we could possibly be staying for the night. Hopefully not in a Bedouin tent! But when we finally came upon our riad, we drove through a large sandstone arch and entered a typical Moroccan courtyard, set in an oasis with palm trees and beautiful plantings around a central pool and fountain. You’d never expect to find a place like this here in such a remote location. But it does make sense—a Frenchman opened it to cater to the movie industry.

In order to get to Casablanca, our next and final destination, we had to drive back over the High Atlas Mountains. Casablanca is very busy and teeming with traffic but it has a beautiful new mosque. Hassan II is one of the world’s largest and it was built over six years from “contributions” made by every family in in the city. We also drove by and took photos of Rick’s Café made famous by the film “Casablanca”, and toured the medina with its maze-like streets that are almost impossible to navigate in a car. Everywhere in Casablanca, the driving was terrifying, partly because people play “chicken” as they maneuver in and out of traffic. Unfortunately for us, Mohammed was very good at playing “chicken”.

The Islamic month of Ramadan had just started and Mohammed had fasted all that day as we made the long journey from Ouarzazate. Ramadan is a time of spiritual reflection and increased devotion and worship which is observed as a month of fasting from sunrise to sunset. So early that evening, we arrived at the hotel very hungry after the long drive and had to wait until the sun set for food to be served. We were the first ones in the restaurant when the sun hit the horizon!

If You Go:

♦ Riad in Marrakech, La Maison Arabe in the Medina
♦ Riad in Ouarzazate, Riad Ksar Ighnda
♦ Hotel in Casablanca, Sofitel Tour Blanche

About the author:
Elizabeth von Pier is a retired banker and photojournalist who travels extensively throughout the world. In her retirement, she has written and published articles in travelmag.co.uk, WAVE Journey, Travel Thru History and hackwriters.com. Ms. von Pier lives in Hingham, Massachusetts.

First photo by danyloz2002 from Pixabay
All other photos are by Elizbeth von Pier:
Minaret
Majorelle Garden
Tannery worker
Tagines
Women extracting argan oil
Snake charmers in Place Jemaa El Fna
Village in High Atlas Mountains
Movie studio

Browse Morocco Tours Now Available

Fes El Bali, Morocco

by Rick Neal 

“Balak!”

A stout man shrieks this single word as he slams me against a stone wall. Before I can react a donkey cart laden with white pomegranates whooshes by, missing me by centimeters. As I catch my breath, I guess that balak must mean something like “Look out!”

I’m in Fes El Bali, Morocco, or the medina as it’s more commonly known. My tour group and I have entered through Bab Boujeloud (The Blue Gate), one of fourteen gates that lead into the old city. Swarms of people haggle over tables of leatherwork and silverware inside the horseshoe-shaped entranceway. This is one of the few open areas we’ll encounter today. Steps away an endless maze of slender roads and enticing alleyways will carry us back in time.

Tracing its origins to the 9th Century, the medina is a winding labyrinth of over 9,000 cobblestone alleys, some of which are barely wide enough for two people to pass. The ancient walled city occupies 540 acres and comprises 187 quartiers, each of which contains a mosque, Koranic school, fountain, and a hammam, a traditional bath house. In spite of the recent appearance of satellite dishes and the tourist invasion its 150,000 inhabitants pretty much live as they have for centuries. This is the Morocco of one’s dreams, a place of teeming souks, tantalizing odours, and venerable mosques, a place where the Middle Ages are alive and well.

We amble down Talaa Kebira, one of the medina’s principal roadways, and soon come to Bou Inania Medersa. This is the most awe-inspiring Koranic school in Fes, and one of the few open to the public. Every room has lofty, sumptuously detailed ceilings with carved cedar beams and stunning onyx marble floors. The walls are covered with handcrafted tiles adorned with dazzling gold and turquoise geometric motifs. Intricate lime-coloured geometrical designs are also on display in the courtyard, where the 14th Century fountain still gushes today. In a corner an imam, a priest, kneels and chants verses from the Koran.

Back on Kebira we continue past mosques, hammams, and fundouks, medieval merchants’ stalls arranged around a central courtyard with overhead sleeping quarters. A myriad of single vendor stalls hawk everything from carpets to herbal remedies, from fake Rolexes to babouches, traditional leather slippers often yellow-coloured and usually with pointy toes. A wrinkled woman crouches by the roadside and sells nougat and bunches of fresh mint from a blanket. A smiling elderly man in a jellaba, a traditional men’s robe, tries to lure me into his antique store with promises of “the best prices in all of Morocco.” In one square, men hammer copper and brass cookware beneath the shade of a sprawling tree as American rap music blares out of a nearby radio.

As we descend further into the bowels of the medina, our guide urges us to stay close together. She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I would love nothing better than to wander the zigzag of avenues on my own, but finding my way out would be nothing short of a miracle. I’m told that even the best maps are unreliable. The streets are swarming with humanity today; the thrum of voices is omnipresent. Since none of the roads are wide enough for cars to navigate, donkey carts and scooters are the accepted modes of transport, making this the world’s largest urban car-free zone.

Our next stop is one of the medina’s many hidden treasures. In a tranquil square a Henna Souk is shaded by two graceful plane trees. Vendors sell dyes, hennas, and henna leaves from tiny stalls. Moroccan women decorate their bodies with henna tattoos to bring good luck and ward off the evil eye. The night before her marriage a bride is adorned with henna tattoos, a rite of passage that symbolizes her transition from a girl into a woman.

Ceramic shops offer a stunning array of Fassi pottery. The clay stoneware vessels produced here are the most highly prized in the country. Shaped by hand and set in the sun to dry, the pots are then painted with fine horsehair brushes in a multitude of designs and colours.

Cosmetic stalls are the perfect place to pick up rose-oil face cream and argan oil soaps, inexpensive items here in Morocco. A gap-toothed man offers me some khoudenjal, a mixture of spices whose main ingredient is galangal, a medicinal plant closely related to ginger. “Khoudenjal will make you strong, my friend,” he grins, “we call it Moroccan Viagra.” I’m not sure if I should be insulted, but I simply reply “La, Shukran” – no, thank you – and continue on my way.

Around the corner we stumble upon the spice sellers of the Souk Attarine, reputedly the busiest souk in Fes. Tables overflow with richly coloured mountains of fragrant saffron, aromatic cumin, pungent paprika, and spicy cinnamon. There are also mouth-watering mounds of black, green, and red olives that just beg to be devoured.

From the Souk Attarine our odyssey continues. Blind alleys that seem to lead nowhere open onto swarming fundouks with gurgling fountains. We pass countless vendors that hawk candles, wood carvings, jewelry, and fresh herbs from shops hardly bigger than a closet. A posse of young boys plays a boisterous game of soccer with two rocks serving as goalposts. The frenetic energy of it all is exhilarating.

Our next stop is one of Morocco’s largest and most important cultural monuments, the Karaouiyine Mosque and University. The university, founded in 859, is recognized as the world’s oldest and still functions as an important school of religious learning and physical sciences. With space inside for 20,000 worshippers, the mosque is the country’s second largest, but it’s so tightly wedged between the surrounding shops and homes that one could easily pass by and not even realize that it’s there.

Like most mosques in Morocco, infidels are not permitted to enter, though no one seems to object as we peer into the courtyard from the street. The floor is covered in multi-hued diamond-shaped tiles, while a series of gigantic doorways lead to the main prayer area which is hidden from view. Two lanky bearded men wash their feet in a fountain before entering to pray.

There is one last stop on our schedule, and we don’t need a map to find it. The rank stench of the open air leather tanneries serves as a guidepost to one of Fes’ most famous attractions. We’re led up a staircase to a leather shop that opens onto a terrace where we view the tanneries below.

Dozens of workers dip animal hides into a giant honeycomb of vats that contain white, yellow, and red softening solutions and dyes. The ingredients, unchanged since the Middle Ages, include salt, lime, cow urine, pigeon excrement, henna, poppy flowers, and pomegranate powder. The dyers wade through it all in shorts and bare feet no matter what the weather. Many are crippled by rheumatism by the time they reach forty.

After we pick up some leather ware, we head back to our hotel in Nouveau Ville, the city’s newest district. However, we’re not done with the medina just yet. That night we head back there for dinner, this time clutching flashlights as we negotiate an endless series of narrow warrens and rickety stairways before we locate the Restaurant Dar Hatim. The dimly-lit exterior looks a bit dubious, but the moment I step inside I know this was a good decision.

We’re seated on plush cushions around hand-carved wooden hexagon-shaped tables. The high ceiling is covered in gorgeous inlaid wood painted in shades of emerald, burgundy, and cobalt. It feels like we’re dining in someone’s home, and with good reason. A couple of years ago owners Fouad and Karima turned their sitting room and courtyard into a restaurant. They don’t have a liquor license, but they have no objections when we bring out cheap bottles of Moroccan wine that we bought at the supermarket.

After a round of appetizers that includes olives, kefta, and stuffed pastries called briouats, we feast on delicious Lamb Tagine. One of Morocco’s signature dishes, the casserole is baked in a conical-shaped dish along with apricots and vegetables.

Hours later we thank our genial hosts and return to our hotel completely satiated, slightly intoxicated, and truly grateful for an extraordinary day that none of us will ever forget.

7-Night Morocco Imperial Cities Private Tour from Fez

If You Go:

GETTING THERE

Royal Air Maroc offers daily flights to Fes airport from Casablanca, London and Paris. Ryanair offers non-daily flights from several other European cities. The airport is about 15 km. from the city center. A taxi into town will cost about 150 Dirhams (US$15). If you’re not packing a lot of luggage, a #16 local bus only costs 50 cents.

The train station is at the northern tip of the Ville-Nouvelle, the modern area of Fes. Trains run every day to and from Casablanca (4 hours 165 Dirhams), Marrakech (7.5 hours 295 Dirhams), Rabat (3 hours 105 Dirhams), and Tangier (4.5 hours 155 Dirhams). Prices quoted are for first class compartments.

WHERE TO EAT

There are endless dining options in the medina. Street food near the Bab Boujeloud gate is delicious, usually safe and less than half the price of restaurant food. Many restaurants cater to tourists and tend to be a tad pricey. The cosy Café Medina serves up tasty Moroccan fare though it can get crowded. Try the Boricuas – deep-fried strips of dough wrapped around meat and veggie fillings. Mains start around 50 Dh.

WHERE TO STAY

The New City is a fair distance from the medina so most visitors prefer to stay in Fes El Bali. Dar Adam Fez offers a convenient medina location, clean budget rooms, rooftop terrace, and free wifi from only 240 Dh per night. Riad Verus has beautifully restored rooms with original mosaic tiles and inlaid cedar motifs, as well as panoramic medina views from their rooftop terrace. Staff are extremely helpful. Rates start around 400 Dh. There are a number of riads (guest houses) in the medina that offer boutique hotel luxury for about half of what North American properties charge. Expect to pay at least 1000 Dh. Most hotels will also arrange medina tours and even trips to the local hammam.

About the author:
Rick’s travel career began as a college student when he impulsively signed up for an international student exchange program and spent that summer working in Turkey. “Don’t go there!” the naysayers said, “it’s not safe!” Luckily, Rick ignored their advice and discovered that the outside world is a place of wonder worth exploring. Since then his wanderlust has taken him to Central and South America, England, Vietnam, Morocco, and China, where he spent an unforgettable year teaching English. Rick makes his home in Vancouver, Canada, where he writes for various travel publications.

Photo credits:
First photo by Vince Gx on Unsplash
All other photos by Rick Neal.

by Ana Ruiz 

During one of my annual trips to Spain, I decided to expand and enhance my adventures by visiting the exotic land of Morocco. There are numerous ferries departing daily from southern Spain in Algeciras or Tarifa that cross the Straits of Gibraltar to Tétuan or Tangier in northern Morocco. Both Algeciras and Tarifa are located in the Andalusian province of Cadiz. Tarifa, situated at the southern-most tip of mainland Europe where the Mediterranean meets the Atlantic, is named after the Berber officer Tarif ibn Malik who disembarked here in 710.

Algeciras, located 25 kilometers northeast from Tarifa, was the first settlement the Moors established in 711.

The first time I traveled to Morocco, I decided to book my hotel and depart from the port of Algeciras. I reserved a few nights here as I was also planning to visit Gibraltar that was a short bus ride away on the other side of the Spanish town of La Linea de Concepción. Upon checking in to the Al Mar Hotel, the hotel arranged my day trip to northern Morocco with a guided tour group departing the following day.

I was delighted to wake up the next morning to a clear view of the Rock of Gibraltar from my window and knowing that I would be spending the day in Morocco. Arriving at the Port of Algeciras just 100 feet across the hotel, I was instructed to wait for my guide as soon as I off-boarded the ferry in Ceuta. Ceuta is one of the two Spanish autonomous communities in North Africa along with Melilla located about 390 further east. Ferries also depart to Melilla on the northern coast of Africa from the ports of Malaga or Almeria that can take over 9 hours across the Alborán Sea.

I boarded the vast two-story high-speed ferry jammed with passengers, cargo, and automobiles and visited the duty free shop then peeked into the executive lounge. When I returned to my seat and gazed out my window, I thought about Tarif ibn Malik crossing the Straits of Gibraltar from Morocco with his army of men over 1300 years ago.

My historic yet bumpy 14 kilometer ride to Ceuta lasted about 40 minutes. As soon as I stepped off the ferry, I immediately recognized our guide by the travel logo pinned on his clothes. An imposing man he was, over 6 feet tall with a thick grey mustache wearing a full length traditional hooded tunic known as a djellaba. Once the other passengers in our group arrived, he identified himself as our local guide and we followed him to the private mini bus that was waiting for us.

Ceuta resembles most other small Spanish cities until you approach the chaotic and overcrowded Moroccan border that is a short bus ride away from the city center. Our guide quickly checked us through customs as we observed the hectic commotion from the comfort and safety of our bus. Lines of cars and at least hundreds of locals were standing in line waiting to cross the hectic border on foot carrying goods, suitcases, large packages, and even their pets.

As soon as we crossed the border to Morocco, our guide grabbed a microphone and began, “Good morning, my name is Mohammed and I am your tour guide.” Then with a sparkle in his eye he pointed to our driver and said “and our driver’s name is… anybody? …. no?… also Mohammed!” We all laughed as if it was the funniest thing we had ever heard. He continued, “Welcome, we are on our way to Tétuan, but first we will stop at a local BMW plant!”

I looked at one of the passengers with a puzzled look that was immediately reciprocated. Moments later the mini bus suddenly pulled off to the side of the road where locals were offering camel rides for one Euro. At first I hesitated, but it took just six words from one of the couples to get me on top of that camel, “You’ll regret it if you don’t!”

So off I went. The locals spoke only Arabic but with my basic knowledge of the language and their descriptive hand gestures, I understood perfectly. Seconds after I managed to get on the camel, the animal hastily rose up from his back legs and I nearly fell off. Feeling quite proud of myself as I managed to stay on, the camel suddenly raised his front legs and I almost tumbled forward head first but managed to hold on by gripping the saddle for dear life. Just when I was getting than hang of it, the locals motioned to me that the one minute ride was over. The couple had been right!

About a half hour later we arrived in Tétuan, the most Andalusian-influenced city in Morocco situated near the Rif Mountains. We off-boarded the bus and Mohammed swiftly directed us through a maze of winding alleys and meandering streets of the lively medina (city) to the bustling Berbers souqs (markets.) The souqs or bazaars are the crowded and outdoor commercial centers of the medina. The sound of vendors pitching and haggling, the smells of food cooking and incense burning, and the sight of the brightest colors and shiny brass objects abounding, left one with a sensory overload.

After passing through the chaos of the open air food market, we arrived at the fabric and textile market. On display were hundreds of thick fabrics of the most vivid colors for sale hand woven by local Berber women. Lost in my world I was when suddenly one such woman stopped me and grabbed me by my shoulders.

Communicating with eyes only, I immediately looked at Mohammed with a slight look of concern and he just as quickly reassured me with a quick nod and a wink. The woman continued with her mission never uttering a single word the entire time. She began selecting four pieces of fabric of different sizes and colors from the many displayed on her table and proceeded to drape them over my clothes. The first and largest piece of bright stripes was fastened under my arms as a dress; the second was wrapped over my shoulders, and the third piece was draped under my chin while the final fourth crowned my head securing the third piece nicely in place. Meanwhile, I hadn’t realized that I was attracting a crowd of locals and tourists while the rest of my group scattered about taking photos. In under a minute, I was transformed into a Berber as Mohammed stood proudly beside.

The next stop was the carpet demonstration. Here, we were led into a showroom where traditional mint tea was offered while we waited for the ‘show’ to begin. One by one, they rolled out these works of art, each more exquisite and intricate than the last. By the time the demonstration was over, the prices were greatly reduced. No-one in our group had any intention of purchasing a rug yet the vendor instructed us to individually say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to every single carpet that they had rolled out. After these very uncomfortable minutes were over, we quickly departed leaving the disgruntled vendors mumbling to themselves while they hastily rolled back the carpets.

We were now on our way to the spice and pharmacy market; a welcomed relief as the ‘pharmacist’ dressed in a white lab coat was quite the comedian. The small room resembled a medieval apothecary with all sorts of jars and containers of all colors, shapes, and sizes filled with oils, fragrances, creams, herbal remedies, spices, and teas that cured everything from anxiety to hangovers. The pharmacist/comedian demonstrated the wonders of the selected products that we smelled, rubbed on our skin, or whatever we were instructed to do. Each of us bought a few cosmetic and medicinal items as we did not want to offend this vendor as well.

Next on our busy itinerary was a one hour bus ride to Tangier, the “Gateway to Africa” founded in the 5th century BCE. I was especially excited as it was here where my grandparents worked, met and married nearly a century ago. Upon arrival, Mohammed took us through another quick walk through the zigzag alleys and corners of the medina to the Mamounia Palace Restaurant. The restaurant, filled to capacity with other tour groups, was lavishly decorated with crimson and golden tapestries, deep red tablecloths, and plush sofas. I immediately took a photo of the lovely view from the balcony window.

As we were seated to our tables, live musicians greeted us wearing white djellabas and burgundy Fez hats

We each took turns posing with the musicians for a small fee and the quartet began to play traditional Moroccan music with such instruments as the hand drum (darbuka), lute (oud), tambourine (riq), and violin (rababa). Moments later, our lunch was served consisting of lentil soup, a briouat or meat-filled pastry, hummus and bread, chicken with couscous and vegetables, followed by a slice of melon with mint tea for dessert. Halfway through the meal, a blonde belly dancer in a purple and gold costume whirled her way into the center of the room and entertained us to the lively music of the band.

Shortly after our lunch, were once again whisked to the bus and into a department-sized store in the center of Tangier selling the finest Moroccan handicrafts, gifts, furnishings, rugs, leather goods, pottery, clothing, jewelry, and quality souvenirs available. We were told that we had a half hour to shop and encouraged to purchase as much as we could. This would be the last stop on our itinerary and right on schedule, after 30 minutes, we made our way back to the bus.

After all the excitement of the day, I truly appreciated the tranquil and relaxing ride back to Ceuta, gazing out my window admiring the splendor of the Moroccan sunset over the dramatic North African landscape. Fittingly, Morocco is known in Arabic as ‘Al Maghreb”, translated as “The Land of the Setting Sun”.

Full-Day Tangier, Morocco Tour from Gibraltar

If You Go:

Getting to Morocco from Spain:

♦ Your hotel in the Costa del Sol or Andalusia can arrange for you to be picked up at the hotel (or one nearby) by a guided tour bus that will take you to the ferry port in Algeciras or Tarifa. Tours departing from Tarifa arrive in the old port of Tangier while those that depart from Algeciras arrive in either ports of Ceuta or Tangier Med, a new cargo port built in 2007.

♦ Rates are approximately 80 Euros per person that includes the ferry ride and all transportation after, the guided tour, and lunch. The stops on the tour accept Euros so there is no need to purchase Moroccan Dirhams.

♦ For ferry information

5-Day Morocco Tour from Malaga: Casablanca, Marrakech, Meknes, Fez and Rabat

About the author:
Ana Ruiz was born in Spain and is the author of several books on Spanish and ancient Egyptian history. Visit: ana-ruiz.weebly.com

All photos are by Ana Ruiz:
Zastillo de Santa Catalina, Tarifa
The Port of Algeciras
Camel ride in Tétuan
Mohammed and the author
Carpet Showroom
Tangier Medina
Mamounia Palace View
Musicians with the author
Belly Dancer at Mamounia Palace

Morocco, Africa

by Ellen Johnston

Some people will try to tell you that this is not Africa. Morocco, located on the continent’s northwestern edge, is something of an enigma in this regard. Its people are mostly descended from Arab invaders and indigenous Berbers, whose DNA and culture are closer to that of Mediterranean Europe than anything below the Sahara. But when the Gnaoua World Music Festival kicks off every June in Essaouira, on Morocco’s Atlantic coast, its African heart emerges – beating strongly to the rhythms of the drums and three-string basses of the West African slaves who arrived here centuries ago.

It’s no secret that the Arabs were prolific slave traders, even worse, some say, than the Europeans who transported Africans to the New World. And like those who went to the Americas, Morocco’s slaves brought their music with them. Over time, they formed Sufi brotherhoods, combining the trance worship of mystical Islam with the pre-Islamic traditions of their sub-Saharan homelands. Their music is ecstatic, characterized by call-and-response, ritual and repetition. Songs can last hours, invoking spiritual entities, called jnoun, to possess the worshipers. To the Gnaoua, personal connection to the divine is central, so rapturous and uncontrollable dancing is expected. Their music embraces several worlds: the physical and the spiritual, and the Arab and the African – not only through the musicians’ ancestry, but through the music’s flattened pitches reminiscent of the blues, and in the steady beating of the krakebs, metal castanets shaped like the handcuffs of their slave ancestors.

Gnaoua music is alive and well in Morocco today, though its spiritual origins have been somewhat lost through its own popularity. It’s not just the Sufis who perform Gnaoua music anymore. It’s played in clubs by fusion bands, and on world tours by famous musicians interested in cross-cultural connections. But most significantly, it has become the centerpiece of one of Morocco’s biggest festivals, a four-day event that takes place at the beginning of every summer.

Some call it the Woodstock of Africa, while others claim it has become too corporate. Founded seventeen years ago, the Gnaoua World Music Festival (known officially by its French name, Le Festival Gnaoua et des musiques du Monde d’Essaouira) attracts over 300,000 people, who not only come to hear Gnaoua music, but also sounds from all over Africa. A lot of the crowd is European, not just hippie-types but also music enthusiasts, wind surfers, and those on cheap breaks. But there are a lot of Moroccans here too, who can afford to come because most of the concerts are free, running late into the night on the town’s beaches.

Essaouira is known as the windy city, though it bears other names too: the Portuguese, who laid the foundations for the town we see today, called it Mogador, and its Berber name simply means “the wall”. It’s a fortified city with walls that keep out the wind, and also much of modernity. The medina at its centre is labyrinthine and painted almost entirely in white and blue. Gnaoua music permeates the streets, even outside of festival time, and other hallmarks of Moroccan life are there too: traditional hammams (spas), markets, a souk devoted entirely to wood artisans, an old Jewish synagogue (a reminder that Essaouira was once 40% Jewish) and cafés that serve simple, yet delicious fare (always, of course, accompanied by mint tea). These are the best places to eat, especially if you’re on a budget and want to nosh like the locals. Bowls of lentils, spiced with cumin, paprika, and laced with meat, can be bought for as little as 6 dirhams (around 75 cents), and are served with bread, for free. White beans are a similarly delicious bargain, though if you’re feeling a bit more luxurious, fish is the best thing to eat in Essaouira. Kefta, traditional Moroccan meatballs, stuffed with onions and parsley, are delectable too, but sardines, bought fresh from the fishermen down by the beach are even better. Once bought, you can take the fish to a restaurant to be cooked on the spot, often with traditional chermoula sauce (a mixture of cilantro, parsley, chili, lemon, olive oil and spices).

In festival time, the concerts mostly take place on the beaches, but also spill out into the clubs of the new city, located outside the old medina walls. There are events for every taste, though the biggest, most exciting shows happen outdoors on the free stages. Music runs pretty much all night, which not only creates a 24/7 party atmosphere, but also provides a welcome relief to the mid-day temperatures of the Moroccan summer. Essaouira is less hot than Marrakech, thanks to ocean breezes, but high noon temperatures are still nothing to laugh at. The nighttime is cool, perfect weather for dancing to the beats of the Sufi Brotherhoods or visiting world musicians. And dance you will. This is Africa, remember, albeit a much less traditional, more open-minded version of the continent than you might experience elsewhere. Vendors circulate throughout the concert space, selling donuts and other tasty treats. More savory fare can be bought from makeshift stands on the perimeter, selling corn, fish, hard boiled eggs with cumin and salt, and pastries. Alcohol is not obviously easy to procure, but despite what the hustlers might try to tell you (searching for a commission), there are several liquor depots in the new city where you can buy alcohol at a fixed price. It’s very common to see both tourists and locals imbibing on the beach, though usually out of water bottles, often containing the local firewater.

The festival atmosphere pervades the city, and not just at night on the beaches by the big music stages. It’s on the streets in the daytime too, in the official processions of the Gnaoua musicians, and in the unofficial parades of young Moroccan rastas, Spanish girls in harem pants, the old Djellaba-clad (a traditional Moroccan robe) hooked-nose man who haunts the medina and claims to have worked for Cat Stevens, and in the gentle giant dancing manically to the beat of his own drummer. In fact, the festival atmosphere begins the moment you step on the bus to Essaouira. Buses run regularly between Marrakech and the port, and tickets can be bought either directly from the ticket office inside the bus station, or from hustlers outside, who may or may not offer you a better price, albeit probably on a worse bus. But a lower class bus is not a guarantee of a bad experience. In fact, you’re more likely to meet locals that way, locals who, unlike many people you meet on the street, will give you advice for free. Some might recommend a place to stay or eat salty grilled fish, while others will try to convince you of their love for Bob Marley, or may even offer you hashish or wine mixed with cola – both of which maintain various levels of illegality for Moroccans, though each proliferate at the festival. But for most attendees, the music on its own is transcendent enough: beautiful and ancient as it floats above the storied corners of the medina, past the spice sellers and fishing boats, and out to sea.

Full-Day Tour to Essaouira – The Ancient Mogador City from Marrakech

If You Go:

♦ Accommodation can become much more expensive and much harder to find the closer it is to festival time, so be sure to book ahead!
♦ More information about the festival, including the official program can be found at www.festival-gnaoua.net
♦ If you’re planning on taking the bus from Marrakech, the bus station (known as the gare routière) is located just outside the medina’s walls at Bab Doukkala. Depending on whether you buy from the official office, or haggle with a vendor outside, your ticket should cost between 6 and 9 dollars.

Private Day Trip to Essaouira from Marrakech

About the author:
Ellen Johnston is a cultural nomad — a traveller, writer and musician who bounces all over the world. Originally from Vancouver, Canada, she has West Coast roots, a Mediterranean soul and a Chilanga heart, thanks to a recent stint in the Mexican capital. She can presently be found dipping her toes in the Caribbean waters of Quintana Roo. You can find links to her other writing and photography at www.ambiguoustraveller.wordpress.com

All photos are by Ellen Johnston.

by Inka Piegsa-quischotte

The name alone is pure poetry: Essaouira. Let the syllables roll of your tongue then listen to the sound as it is blown away by the wind. Because, you see, wind there is plenty.

Not for nothing is Essaouria called ‘City of the Wind’ as well as ‘The Moroccan Woodstock’. History, culture, art, crafts, music and a sin fin of water sport — all these things define the Moroccan port town on the Atlantic which has fascinated as diverse personalities as Winston Churchill, Orson Welles and Jimi Hendrix.

It’s a straight run from Marrakesh to Essaouira which makes for a great day trip if you are based in Marrakesh. The distance of 105 miles is covered by a nearly ruler straight highway which cuts through shrubs and the desert. This road is no coincidence though, because Essaouira is something of a historical curiosity.

The present city with its much admired walls and Medina is a creation, a purpose built sea port, commissioned by King Mohammed III during the 18th century. He wanted to develop trade with Europe and beyond and to establish a counterbalance to Agadir, whose inhabitants favored a rival of him. For twelve years, the king instructed and oversaw French engineer and architect Theodore Cornut, who designed the modern city, the medina and the international quarters. At the time, Morocco depended heavily on the caravan trade, which brought merchandise from sub-Saharan Africa to Timbuktu, then from there through the desert and over the Atlas mountains to Marrakesh and, finally, making use of the straight road, to the thriving port of Essaouira.

The word ‘highway’ has to be taken with a pinch of salt though. It’s fine for the first few miles out of Marrakesh, but then there are stretches which are so uneven and full of rubble, they make your teeth rattle. Our diver referred to that jokingly as a prime example for a Moroccan

Despite the more recent design which gives Essaouira its present appearance, the city has a long, long history. Excavations have revealed a prehistoric settlement. The Romans left their traces and, most importantly, Essaouira, then called Mogador was already an important port town under Portuguese rule during the 16th century.

The French followed and finally the Moroccans. Although the importance of Essaouira as a sea port has been reduced when the caravan trade ceased, it’s still a fishing port. One of the first things to do when arriving, is to go to one of the many shacks along the waterfront which offer the latest catch. You walk along the display, point at what you want, sit down on one of the communal tables and enjoy eating with your fingers and chatting other tourists and locals alike.

The long stretched island of Mogador protects Essaouira from the strongest Atlantic winds, but there is still plenty around to make the place a paradise for surfers and kite surfers. The wide, white beaches invite to sunbathing, swimming and any other imaginable kind of water sport.

The medina proper is entered through a vast stone gate and then you find yourself in a labyrinth of small alleys, lined with galleries, craft shops of wood carvers, leather shops and tiny cafes. The difference to the hustle, bustle and noise of the medina in Marrakesh is striking. Not only do clocks run slower in Essaouira, they seem to not run at all. Whereas the vendors in Marrakesh run out and shout, sometimes even grab at you, their brothers in Essaouira just sit patiently in their shops, smoke, drink mint tea and generally couldn’t care less if you buy anything or not. Everything is slightly run down, paint is peeling, the odd window pane is broken and the ambience of a favorite hippie hang out it once was definitely lingers. I call it the’ decadent charm’ of Essaouira which, I think, describes the atmosphere.

Small wonder that this picturesque, sedate and slightly melancholic city attracted such divers personalities as Churchill, Welles and Hendrix. Orson Welles even got honored with a statue, although his nose is now missing.

Music plays a great part in Essaouira culture. Each June there is the gnaoua music festival which not only attracts performers of traditional Moroccan music but also international, contemporary singers and bands; hence the moniker ‘Moroccan Woodstock’.

Imdezan explained

If you miss the festival, you can nevertheless enjoy Moroccan music on a daily basis. As typical as the fish, the imdezan are omnipresent in Essaouira. An imdezan is a group of four Berber musicians, with a lead singer and the others playing their drums and one string fiddle. They walk around the medina, from one café to the other and if you throw them a few dirham, they’ll be very happy indeed.

Full-Day Tour to Essaouira – The Ancient Mogador City from Marrakech

If You Go:

The best time to visit is between May and October. Due to the wind it’ll never be too hot and this is the time of year when it doesn’t rain much.

On your way to Essaouira, stop at one of the cooperatives which produce argan oil products. The argan tree is endemic to Southwestern Morocco and the oil is a luxury item difficult to obtain outside the region. It’s used in fabulous crèmes and lotions which you can buy in the cooperative’s shops. You can also observe the labor intensive process of extraction the oil from the fruit.

Bring your swim suit and make time for a spot of water sport on the fabulous beach.

If you want to spend more than a few hours, there are a few modern hotels along the beach and small, converted riads within the medina. Consult a list of hotels on www.tripadvisor.com.

About the author:
Inka Piegsa-quischotte is an ex-attorney turned travel writer and novelist. She writes for online travel magazines and has two novels and a travel guide to Galicia/Spain published. She lives between Turkey and Miami.

All photos are by Inka Piegsa-quischotte.

Morocco

by W. Ruth Kozak

The beautiful Royal city of Marrakech, known as the ‘red city’ because of its pink-tinted buildings, nestles like a rose-quartz gemstone near the rolling foothills of the snow-capped High Atlas Mountains.

Surrounding the walled city, the rock-strewn fields turn into a desert with little vegetation except for patches of irrigated farmland where there are orchards and lots of old olive groves. The nearby villages are walled kasbahs dominated by imposing castles owned by wealthy landowners.

EXPLORING MARRAKECH

Marrakech is a spectacle of exotica. On a recent eight-day tour, I stayed at the enchanting old Hotel du Foucald, which is well situated for sightseeing in Marrakesch’s medina (old town). The hotel is just across from the famous Djamaa el Fna square with its labyrinth of side streets, hammams, caravanserai and bazaars. The souq is a maze of tiny covered walkways where everything is sold from embroidered saddles for camels, to potions for casting spells. On the bustling streets, donkeys are everywhere, some loaded with produce, others with pottery, some pulling carts heaped with mint for tea. The donkeys wear shoes made from car tires to keep them from sipping on the cobblestones. Weavers and coppersmiths work their trades. Herb doctors assure us their products are better than Viagra. You can buy almost any unusual medicine: goat hooves for hair treatment, ground up ferret for depression , and dried fox heads to use for magic potions.

At a spice shop I was given a demonstration of herbal medicines and blends of spices including the world’s most expensive spice, saffron. The merchant at the carpet store explained the distinctive patterns of his wares which are woven in wool and silk. I bought a small rug in the Berber colours of saffron and lapis blue. I call it my ‘magic carpet’ because each time I step on it I am immediately transported back to the souq in Marrakesh.

The busy Djmaa el Fna is a magic world of snake charmers, musicians, acrobats, water vendors wearing distinctive red suits and wide-brimmed hats and jangling bells, story tellers, ebony-skinned dancers in brightly hued costumes, boys with pet monkeys, and other assorted side-show attractions will entertain you — for a price. Don’t try to take photos of these colourful entrepreneurs without expecting to pay, and make sure you only pay no more than five dirham. Once you know your way around and have a feel for the place, it’s fun, and during the day not dangerous to wander on your own.

Marrakech is one of Morocco’s imperial cities, a Berber/Arab fortress settlement nine centuries old. Within its 11th century medina is the Koutoubia mosque with its elegant 65-meter high minaret. The golden balls on top are said to be a gift of a Sultan’s wife who melted down her jewellery as an act of penance because she ate three grapes during the Ramadan fast. There are several elaborate palaces such as the El Badi where storks nest on the ramparts, and the Palais el Bahia with its lovely gardens. I visited the Mausoleum of the Saadiens and the 16th century religious school for students who studied at the nearby Mosque of Ben Yussef. The mosaics and cedar carvings in the richly decorated spacious courtyard are a contrast to the sparse, cell-like rooms occupied by the students.

After a morning of touring the historic sites, I took a calèche (horse-drawn carriage) to the Jardin Majorelle in the European quarter. This beautiful garden estate was created in the 1920s by the French Orientalist painter Jacques Majorelle and is now owned by fashion designer Yves St. Laurent. It’s a tropical paradise of tall cacti and palms set against pink towered buildings and grill-worked gateways. Bougainvillea, hibiscus and flowering potted plants line the cobbled pathways. The colours of the buildings and clay pots are dazzling brilliant blue, turquoise, pink, yellow, and orange, all complimenting the colours of the flowers. Birds twitter in the trees and trellises hang with flowering vines. Many different tropical plants grow in abundance. The artist’s studio has been converted into a small Museum of Islamic art and displays St. Laurent’s fine collection of North African carpets and furniture as well as Majorelle’s paintings.

LASTING IMPRESSIONS

An eight-day tour is hardly enough time to see everything in Marrakech. On my last day, I walked down the Avenue Mohammed V to the Arsenal Artiste craft market. The King was in town, so the ornate lamp-standards of the avenue displayed the royal banners of green, white and red. Unlike the souq, the craft market prices are set so you can make purchases without haggling while watching the artisans at work. It’s pleasant to browse among the little shops where you can buy ceramics, woodwork, metal-work, clothing and even musical instruments.

Later I got a sense of what it would be like to live in a Moroccan home when I visited the Maison Tiskiwin, a 19th century house once the home of a Dutch anthropologist. It now houses a stunning collection of jewellery, clothes, fabrics and carpets. Houses in Marrakech are windowless, with rooms opening to a sun-lit inner courtyard; the walls hung with woven tapestries and floors paved with lapis and turquoise tiles.

That night I dined in my hotel on a delicious buffet of lamb tajine, salads and honey-drenched desserts. Then it was time to pay one last visit to the Djemaa el Fna. The velvet sky was ablaze with stars. The smoke of barbecues filled the air with the tantalizing aroma of the delicious tidbits sold by the street vendors. I sat upstairs in a restaurant, sipping hot mint tea, with a ringside view of the activities below. Few places are as colourful and exciting as this. As I watched darkness envelop the city, I marveled at the things I had experienced: the vibrant, kaleidoscope of colours; the fragrance of spices and mint that permeate the air; the lovely rose hue that enshrouds Marrakech city; the interesting, friendly and gracious people; the souqs and markets, especially the Djmaa el Fna with all its strange sights. For a traveler like me, who seeks the exotic, Morocco did not disappoint me.

Hidden Secrets of Marrakech- Private tour

If You Go:

Currency: Currency in Morocco is the dirham. $1.00 Cdn = 6.71 dirham or $1. US = 8.95 dirham at time of writing. You are not allowed to take dirham out of the country so when cashing traveller’s cheques make sure you cash only the amounts you will need to spend. Prices are cheap in Morocco and you’re sure to get lots of bargains for your money.

Passports & Immunization: Passports must be valid from six months of issue 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. Wear a money belt, and never carry a purse on a strap or a backpack which can be sliced open. In the souq, be firm but polite. Haggling is part of the Moroccan experience. Just say “non, merci.” (Most Moroccans speak French as well as their Berber dialects). If you enter the souqs with either an official 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. Modest clothing is advised for both female and male travelers to avoid hassles. Unescorted women might expect remarks, whistles, tongue-clicking and other unwanted attention. Violent incidents or attacks are rare. Women visitors might consider wearing a head scarf, especially if traveling outside large cities.

Taking photos: Vendors and performers in the souqs expect to be paid. Many Moroccans don’t like having their photos taken so be discreet when doing so. Respect their customs.

Tour groups: There are various tour companies offering group tours and treks. I went with Ramblers Holidays from London Eng. www.ramblersholiday.co.uk. Prices vary depending on season, and include airfare from London Gatwick, hotel, two or three meals, guide and transportation to trekking areas. From $750 up with an additional single room supplement. Tours range from 8 – 11 days. (Fares from Canada not included). See also: City Breaks Holidays at www.leisuredirection.co.ukand www.saharatrek.com

Guides: Licensed guides can be hired for about $30 Cdn a day for sight seeing in the city or trekking in the country. Side trips with group tours or private licensed guides can be arranged from Marrakech to the Berber villages in the foothills of the High Atlas Mountains. For $25 a day you can hire your own guides to take you on these well-trodden routes.

Where to stay: For hotel information : www.morocco.com
or contact: Federation Nationale de l’Industrie Hotelieri
Address: Angle Ave Nado et Rue 3, Quartier Polo, Casblanca 20550
Email: fnih@iam.net.ma
There are well-organized campsites, youth hostels, self-catering suites and hotels of all categories available in Morocco. See travel.yahoo.com for more information on hotels.

Where to eat: For people-watching, sit in a cafe terrace and enjoy a cafe au lait and a fresh pastry. Moroccan food is delicious. Try the food stalls and juice stands. Provided it serves a crowd you can be sure the food is fresh. In Marrakech head for Marche Central, buy a picnic and enjoy lunch with a view. The Cafe de l’Hotel de Paris in the Djmaa el Fna has excellent views at sunset. There are many good hotels where you can dine. Morocco is a ‘dry’ country. Wine and liquor may be bought at the airport duty-free otherwise it is difficult to find a wine shop. Most five-star tourist hotels will serve wine or beer with meals. From the five-star Hotel Mamounia to the food stalls in the Djmaa el Fna, you will enjoy the spicy flavour of Moroccan food accompanied by a steaming cup of mint tea.

Getting around Marrakech: Riding in a hired caliches is a perfect way to see around Marrakech. You might also want to hire a certified local guide through the tourist office, usually for around $15 US for a half-day or $25 for a full day escorted tour. You can easily walk from the Djmaa el Fna to most of the museums and places of interest. A complete tour, starting from the Gate of the Gnaoua near the Mosquee de el-Mansour will cover approximately three kilometers and take five hours.

Museum sites: If you are traveling with a group the entrance fees are usually included in your tour price. Most sites are open from 8.30 am until noon, and from 2.30 pm – 6 pm. Prices of entry vary. There are a few sites such as the Koutoubia Mosque that allow entry to Muslims only. Avoid lunch time when most sites are closed.

Books: Essential Morocco is a small pocket guide published by AA World Travel Guides which I found useful in Marrakech. Both Rough Guide and Lonely Planet also have guide books on travel in Morocco.

Morocco on the Internet: For more information on Morocco see www.morocco.com

About the author:
Traveling to Marrakech was one of W. Ruth Kozak’s most exotic adventures. Her stay there included trekking in the foothills of the High Atlas Mountains and visiting several Berber villages. She’d love to do that trip again and spend a little longer exploring this magical city.

All photos are 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.

My 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

Early 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

The 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.

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

In 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

We 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.