My first morning in the desert, after a five-hour drive at sunset over the High Atlas Mountains the previous evening, found me at the Kasbah Ait Benhaddou. It was the largest of the Kasbahs and one of the most well-preserved until an earthquake around 1958 crushed half of it. The remainder, however, was quite impressive, being on a hilltop surrounded by the reddish desert mountains overlooking a river and large oasis. This river and most others near the ancient Kasbahs are dry, even this early in the year. The rain has been scarce recently, and the snow pack in the Atlas which feeds the rivers has become smaller. The Kasbah Ait Benhaddou had originally been built by Berbers but was taken by force by a powerful warlord. The movie “Gladiator” and a few others (most of you know how Hollywood-inept I am) were filmed here – in fact Morocco has a large movie industry and several studios that I saw later down the road. Although the movie studios that filmed here at Ait Benhaddou put a lot of effort into set-building and improving the area for the movie backdrop, they took every scrap home with them – much to the chagrin of the Moroccans who would have appreciated it to bolster tourist interest.
That’s about it for the history lesson, though my driver Driss (short for Idriss, as in Moulay Idriss, the Mecca of Morocco) talked about Moroccan culture. Like everyone else I’d met in Morocco, one of his first questions regarded my marital status. His response, again like all the other Moroccans, was “not yet!” It was irritating.
We drove on an hour to Ourzazarte, and I took a quick tour of another Kasbah, again having the most fun with interesting and abstract photography. The day’s drive would last another 3 hours, taking us past many more Kasbahs (only one had been renovated into a hotel, although there wasn’t much out there to stay for) and oases. We did happen to come upon the Rose Festival in a small village and stopped to be a part of the fun (well, I don’t know that I really contributed, but I got lots of photos of the fun!). All kinds of pink rose products are sold, including pink rose wreaths to wear on the head or around the neck (like a Hawaiian lei). I wish I’d been quick enough to take a picture of a family I saw all wearing the roses, including the men! While Driss gathered a bagful of rose stuff in one of the shops, I shot my camera at every interesting group walking by. This is a big event here, and everyone dresses up in their finest. The clothes represent the tribe of origin, and it seemed like the nomads had the most elaborate. In the city center, bleachers had been set up in a circle (men on one side, women on the other), and various tribes entertained with music or plays of folklore. I watched for a bit but was too foreign. I enjoyed the costumes, though, and watching the kids – like excited kids anywhere when there’s a 4-day festival with ice-cream and stuffed animal toys!
Back on route, on the Road of 1000 Kasbahs as it’s known, I enjoyed being quiet and watching the desert pass by. Most interesting were the distant mountains which had curving and wavy layers due to their formation by lava flow. Sometimes the layers were wavy and others contrasted by being straight, but at an angle to the flat desert. Unfortunately I couldn’t capture these well in pictures, but they were obviously similar to the lines in my paintings, so my fascination was justified.
Driss wanted to know what I was thinking, which really wasn’t much of anything as road trips and engaging scenery tend to quiet my brain. He told me I’d quickly get old by thinking so much, so I told him I already was an old lady at heart – which is true! Unfortunately this comment was followed by a long conversation about the status of my heart. He asked if it was broken, and I said yes: a little piece of my heart has been left in many places around the world. But has it been hurt, he wanted to know. Is it open, and if so, was there room for him in it? And I’m thinking, why didn’t I wear a ring??? Now, being a rocket scientist doesn’t automatically mean I’m smart, contrary to popular opinion, and I demonstrated this magnificently when I tried to get Driss to drop the subject by saying “yah, maybe” and returning to watching the scenery. “Lehamdolah!” he yelled. “Praise God!” (or more specifically, Allah).
Now he immediately asked me if and what I believed about God, now that I was a potential wife. So this led into an interesting discussion on Islam and Christianity, much heavier, though, on Islam. First he gave me a new name: Fatima. Apparently most first-born Muslim daughters are named this, since it was Mohammed’s daughter’s name. Most first-born sons are named… you guessed it – Mohammed. Then Driss informed me of the five things every Muslim must do: praying 5 times a day, giving 2.5% income, worshipping at the mosque on Fridays, observing the atonement month of Ramadan, and making pilgrimage to Mecca. Of course, if there wasn’t enough money to make the pilgrimage, that could be waived, or a pilgrimage to Moulay Idriss would be a sufficient substitute. We compared the Qur’an to the Bible. Apparently I would “feel something in my heart” when I read the Qur’an and begin to have an overwhelming love for people I wouldn’t normally. (Too bad he didn’t have one in the car.) I told him that I already get that from the Bible. But the Bible’s been changed! See, the Qur’an was written by Mohammed what he heard from Allah, and no word has ever been changed. Well, the Bible differs factually in something like 10 places between the thousands of copies found in the original Hebrew. Plus, both the Old and New Testaments are historically and geographically accurate and most archeologists use it for reference on excavations of ancient civilizations. I told him I’d taken a few classes with professors where I’d learned some of this, which appealed to me intellectually and solidified my faith – it wasn’t just based on “feeling”. He told me that he knew professors of the Qur’an who could tell me things that he couldn’t explain himself and my heart would just resonate with what they say. OK, but heck, why can’t I write a book and say it’s divine revelation from God and I am His prophet and have everyone make a pilgrimage to LA? (Well, a lot of people already do that, so that’s not asking for much.) I asked Driss: if something happened out in the middle of the desert between two men, one giving his side of the story and the other not saying anything but four independent witnesses corroborating his side of the story, who would you believe? I never really got an answer to that one, although I’m sure Driss immediately discounted it since I’m just a girl. Most of my arguments weren’t really heard anyway, or were interrupted, so I gave up, but was happy to have avoided being hit on anymore.
My hotel for the evening was in the heart of the Gorge Todra Tinghir. I don’t know much officially about it, like how high, etc, but it was awesome! The river supplies a 14-km oasis, and until I was there, I never realized that an oasis looks pretty much like a rain forest. The vegetation is very dense and tall, and the backdrop of the sheer red desert mountains is fabulous! I hadn’t eaten lunch and wanted a little something to keep me for the 3 hours until dinner. Only the carts near the river had anything, but really only cookies and soda at 3x the normal price. I asked the front desk why the electricity in my room wasn’t working, since it had only a few minutes before when Driss dropped off my luggage (with a request to think tonight if there was room in my heart for him). “Oh, the electricity will come on at 5:30” the receptionist replied. “Meanwhile, sit down and have some tea with me!” I just went and got my book and headed out. I wandered down the road along the river, finally getting to the beginning of the oasis and end of the gorge. I was looking for a quiet place to read by the river, away from the begging children and staring men, but the nicer spots had trash from everyone else who’d sat there. Some children in the river, however, were really sweet and practiced a few greetings in French, and I tossed back my 4 or so phrases in Arabic, which made them smile. I walked back near the hotel, passing a man selling rides on a horse and an old woman and baby wrapped in traditional garb wanting money for a picture. Some young men were beating a tambourine and singing an upbeat spiritual song that stuck in my head for days. I’d tired of being a tourist and taking pictures and decided to just join the mostly Moroccan tourists and relax on the opposite side of the river with my book. I took off my shoes to cross the river, lifted my long skirt to keep from getting wet, and as I navigated the rocks, looked up to see a Moroccan woman taking a picture of me! We smiled at each other, both understanding the irony of it. I enjoyed watching the scene, and a little boy of about 4 years came over to see what I was reading. “Bon jour” he ventured. He didn’t know much more French than that, so I began digging in my backpack for my Arabic notes. He gave me a kiss on the cheek, and I laughed. He was adorable! So his name is Elias, but we didn’t have much further intellectual conversation before he kissed me again. I enjoyed his company but couldn’t help thinking that Moroccan men are trained early…
By 5:30 the electricity wasn’t on, so I took a shower as it quickly became dark. At least I had an excuse for not putting on make-up for my big night on the hotel veranda. I brought my book and asked for tea, which was a measly cup instead of a pot as was normally served. The wind was kicking up, it was almost dark, and I had a headache from being so hungry. It was the receptionist who’d brought me the tea, not the waiter, so I gave him my sob story that I hadn’t eaten since 9am and he promptly brought me out another cup of tea, a basket of bread, and a huge plate of black olives and sliced tomatoes!! It’s nice to be able to sweet-talk my way into something good for a change.
Most of the hotel guests were out on the dark patio now, holding their drinks so they wouldn’t blow away. About 8pm the electricity came on to loud and appreciative shouts from all the tourists. I headed for the restaurant, barely able to keep my skirt from blowing up and away – although the Frenchmen at the next table kindly told me not to worry about it. Dinner was wonderful – tagine again, which I’d eat any day – and I enjoyed watching the other tourist groups and intermittently reading my book. As I was about done, the receptionist asked me if I wanted to have tea out on the veranda, with him. Well, OK. (Well, OK, how stupid am I?) I figured I’d at least get some interesting information out of this situation, since writing this blog has falsely given me the impetus of an undercover reporter. I forgot the poor guy’s name, but he had a university degree and enjoyed learning languages. And yet, here he was working as a receptionist in a hotel at the bottom of a gorge. Like Judy had told me, the middle-class and poor of Morocco have a lot of faith in the current king, and he confirmed that, though he said the progress is very slow. Anyway, I finally said I needed to get some sleep (hey, it was already 10pm!), and he told me I should really look at the stars from the 3rd floor terrace – the view is much improved by being 50 or so feet closer to them…
The next morning I received a kiss on the cheek from the receptionist and a kiss on the hand from Driss. As we drove off, he launched into an inquisition about why I was hiding my eyes from him behind my sunglasses. Well, the sun’s out! Besides, keep your eyes on the road! And we’re not even talking about my heart today – it’s not awake this early. After a half hour I was really pissed off and told him to drop it, which he finally did. I received a call from Dennis and Judy on Driss’ cell phone and desperately hinted that I was going crazy. It was nice to hear from them.
We drove on, and as more boys by the side of the road showed roses and fossils for sale, as well as photo opportunities as they were dressed in traditional caftans and head wraps of shepherds, I was presented again with their desperate situation. Most others had given up, and I saw many kids and teenagers, mostly boys, sitting at the side of the road or kicking around a ball as we passed what looked like ghost towns. They really didn’t have anywhere to go or anything to do. At noon, we pulled off the highway into a hotel parking lot and met the 4x4 driver for a ride out into the desert. Although I thought I’d be returning to this hotel, Driss pulled my bag out and put it in the 4x4. I had separated my cool-weather mountain clothes into a separate bag, and Driss said I wouldn’t need anything warm. I was happy to be sitting in the back seat, away from Driss, though he did manage a pat on my knee and informing the 4x4 driver that I was his little “la-la”. I’m really glad I haven’t a clue what that means. It was a fun drive, and I loved the feeling of being out in the middle of nowhere with very few people knowing where to find me. I guess that’s the “free spirit” in me – not necessarily good, but a fact. In the distance I saw huge sand dunes. After about a half-hour drive, we pulled up to a hotel, where Driss, the 4x4 driver, and I sat by the pool and had tea (although I was expecting lunch, but I was getting the impression lunch just wasn’t going to happen much on this trip). Three good-looking young women in bikinis were in and out of the pool, and sitting with these guys, I felt very uncomfortable and decided no matter how hot, I wasn’t going swimming. I went inside to read, but felt unwanted. The hotel guys were chatting and smoking in the reception area, and I tried to disappear into the elaborate sofa cushions and wallpaper in one corner. Driss found me to give me his cell, and Judy was on the line! I was almost crying by this point. I had earlier realized that I was scheduled to do the overnight camel trek out into the sand dunes from this hotel, but all my pairs of pants were in my other bag! Driss had graciously offered me to wear his, and I was ready to call MedJet with some emergency medical condition to get myself helicoptered out of there.
I hadn’t particularly wanted to ride a camel, considering I’d fallen off a horse last summer, had a thrilling ride on an elephant in Thailand, and had almost been thrown off a cliff on a mule a few days ago. But off I went in Driss’ pants into the golden sand dunes, accompanied by Mustafah and 4 other tourists. The ride out was fun, although I realized that I’d left my camera battery in the hotel since I kept trying to recharge it in hotels that didn’t have electricity or outlets. At sunset we dismounted, and I quickly befriended an Australian couple who’d recently moved to London. Jody was taking lots of pictures and said she’d email them to me. Another hour on we arrived at the tents for our overnight stay. Mustafah and his crew had set out a table and cushions, served us tea and peanuts, and prepared a fabulous dinner. I really enjoyed the company and conversation with the others. They were all seeing the same sights I was but in reverse order, so they gave me some information about Fes, the final city I’d be going to the next day and which would mark the end of my tour. The others also had interesting backgrounds: Jody is a flight attendant and is fluent in Japanese, her husband is Persian but grew up in Italy, and the other couple, Terrance and Suko were Japanese (although he is 2nd generation from Canada). Being able to speak in English for the first time in days was relaxing, and I also vented to them about my last three days with Driss.
We set the alarm for 5am, stumbled out of the tents, and stumbled up (some of us crawled up!) a huge sand dune to watch the sunrise. I made it 2/3 of the way to the top and decided that was good enough. I was alone, as two of the others had made it to the top and two were further below me. The actual sunrise was masked by the departing rain clouds, but I still felt insignificant as the sun finally showed itself and slowly threw light on the tops of the dunes around me. The stillness and silence were incredible. No sounds, no movement. My ears strained to hear anything in the silence, as it was auditory vertigo or like being surrounded by fog or water without a sense of place. I now understand “deafening” silence.
Jody and I finally decided to jump in the pool after we returned with the camels to the hotel that morning. I was hoping to avoid seeing Driss and the 4x4 driver, which I didn’t, but at least us girls (and Jodi’s husband!) felt unity in numbers. I may meet up with them when they later pass through Nice, and I felt a bit validated by meeting this couple who are chronic travelers like me.
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| Moroccan Desert Tour |
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