More Than Meets the Eye

BOUMALNE DU DADES & DADES GORGE, MOROCCO -- April 6, 2006
(a collection of impressions)

...The drive through the mountains -- kasbah fortresses like giant sandcastles rising above the red desert floor

...Mashed in a grand taxi meant to seat 8. We have 13, including two in the driver's seat and one stowed on the roof. The driver pays baksheesh to the police as we pass their checkpoint, and all is forgotten.

...Eating lunch in the shade of the foliage growing along the streambed, which a local boy whose family lived nearby had given us permission to access.

...Smelling the fragrant aroma of rose petals from small vials sold all over the Boumalne area. In nearby El Kelaa, which we drove through earlier today, roses grow plentifully in the Vallee des Roses and are pressed into a sweet-smelling rose water/perfume which is sold from literally every shop and cafe in the area.

...Walking along the Oued Dades on a high snaklike road that switchbacks into the mountains. The color of the red rock contrasting against the deep blue of the sky, the vibrant green of the trees, plams, grasses nestled in the valley.

...Women and children near the river, splashing washing clothing, sipping the cool water that gives life to the villages located here.

...Back in Boumalne, fingers stained yellow from the pigment in a succulent dish seasoned with a plentiful amount of curry.

~Melanie

From the Mountains to the Desert

TINERHIR & TODRA GORGE, MOROCCO -- April 7, 2006
(a collection of impressions)


Palmerae covering the desert floor with its emerald quills...

Women and children walking back from the fields, carrying on their backs bushels of grass gathered under the hot sun...The silence of the mountains in the early morning...

Hitching a ride with an older French couple in their camper van, as the taxis seem to have finished for the day sooner than they told us they would!

A herd of black sheep quenching their thirst alongside the crystal stream running through the gorge...

A long afternoon of travel to Merzouga, to the town on the edge of the sand dunes. On the last stretch from Rissani to Merzouga, looking out at the road ahead of us and doing a double-take at the puddles of water that seemed to appear in the distance. Yes, mirages -- we are in the desert at last!

Unhappy with the lodging there, walking 2km along pistes in the pitch black of night, only the stars above to light the way. Adventure turned to thoughts of danger as we walked deeper into the middle of nowhere...

A man on a bicycle passes to the right, the blinding headlights of an approaching car are a bit unsettling, but both pass without incident.

Fortunately, we arrived on the other side in Hassi Labied, a sleepy little town just north of Merzouga...

Stepping into the Kasbah Sable d'Or, owned by a French and Moroccan couple, and being taken aback by the thick curtain of incense hanging heavily in the air...

Sitting in the courtyard, the sky peppered with brightly twinkling stars, the only sound is a lone cricket chirping his midnight melody.

~Melanie

Rockin' the Kasbah

AIT BEN HADDOU, MOROCCO -- April 5, 2006
(a collection of impressions)

...Crossing a crystal stream to reach the kasbah, with sandbags for stepping stones. Local boys hang around the banks to earn a few dirham as they guided tourists with expensive cameras safely to the other side.

...Sitting atop a donkey with a young local boy, wondering how a little guy so young could be so proficient at riding this animal without the help of anyone else. Surely his mother would send him into town for a bit of grain or milk. And he would be riding right alonside the rest. Young drivers, this country! ;)

...Exploring the ancient kasbah with its winding alleys jutting up rocky ledges and overlooking the palmerae and gentle stream in the valley below.

...Staring out at the vastness of the desert just beyond the kasbah, wondering in awe at the stillness that seems to encompass all. Only the sound of sheep calling softly in the far distance can be heard above the roar of the wind.

...Feasting on a simple omelette cooked in a shanty cafe. Shoeing away flies from the plate holding my lunch. The owner bringing us spices in small bowls for pinching -- salt, pepper, and cumin.

...Walking out to the ridge just outside Ait Ben Haddou. Climbing to the top of the small peak, and feeling myself literally being carried away in the strong currents.

...Hitching a ride back to town with a local Berber man.

...Sitting in the bed of his pickup as he speeds along the piste, sand and dust flying, wind whipping across my face, through my hair, as we snake along the dirt road towards Ourzazate. the kasbah slowly leaving my sight.

...Villagers milling about the simple shops, catching up with neighbors, chatting with strangers, hoisting a new sack of grain to the side of the donkey they'll ride back home.

~Melanie

Journey Along the Atlas Frontier

OURZAZATE, MOROCCO -- April 4, 2006

My journey along the Atlas frontier, central Morocco's mountain range, begins. Transportation connections prove to be a bit trying. I wait at the bus station until 2:30 PM for the bus to Ourzazate, a town known mostly for it's film studio and for its staging ground into the mountains beyond. Other than that, it doesn't have much going for it. I am planning to use it as a base for exploring the recently restored kasbah of Ait Ben Haddou, only 24 km away.

As I wait for the bus to pull out of the station, a man with no arms slides his way down the long aisle and back, asking passengers for a few dirham. Generous people stick a few dirham in his shirt pocket, as he walks past. It is one of those surreal moments when I think to myself, "Only in Morocco." Then the agonizing bus ride begins. The aisles are so narrow that my legs cannot extend straight in front of my body.

Five hours later, my lower back is screaming for Advil. What remains with me, however, is the majestic scenery that I enjoyed out my unkempt, oil-and-fingerprint-laden bus window. Narrow roads that wind up and up into the mountains, hairpin switchbacks bringing us to the brink of sudden death and then above it, the outline of mountains looming in the distance... there was a new vantage point around every bend. The sweeping views across open desert landscapes, mountains folding over themselves, tiny villages scattered here and there, the boxy outlines of their earthern skeleton rising above the desert floor... these are the images that are burned in my memory.

~Melanie

Humble Hopes in Agadir

AGADIR, MOROCCO -- April 1-3, 2006
(collection of impressions)

...Moisture hanging heavily in the cool, damp, evening air as I get off the bus in Adagir, one of Morocco's key players in Atlantic port cities producing fish for export. The first time my skin has felt anything besides the harsh dryness of Marrakech's air.

...Meeting Aunt Aisha, sixty-something chain-smoker hiding innocently under her jellabah and head scarves. Loves playing Sega Dreamcast and watching kung fu movies dubbed into Arabic. Has a hearty laugh and crinkly eyes. Makes the most delicious traditional Moroccan bread, by hand, as most every woman does.

...Fish heads lying on the kitchen floor in a shallow pool of blood, cat scavenging for remaining bits of a decent meal. Women in the adjoining room prepare the evening meal -- baked fish, a plate of olives, bread.

...Wandering among the meager homes that line the walkways of this small village. Women gathering at the fountain to fill all shapes and colors of containers with water.Standing on the edge of the town, overlooking the ocean. Goats tramping over the boulders near the shore, searching for something to eat -- a fish tossed up on the shore, or some rubbage dumped here by the village people.

...Eating harire (traditional Moroccan soup made of vegetables and chickpeas) at the soup shop in the market prepared by Aisha's husband. Four bowls of soup, two rounds of bread, a bowl of dates, and mint tea came to a whopping total of 16dH, less than US$2. This is where the locals eat. Puts things in context, doesn't it?

...Riding a moped along the coastline, stopping to wander the Europeanized boardwalk and enjoy people-watching among the crowds also out to enjoy the afternoon sun. Basking in the warm Moroccan sunshine from my sunbed at a seaside cafe.

...Stepping carefully into the waves, until I am up to my armpits in the cool, salty ocean water. Suddenly a wave crashes behind me and I am pulled under with its kinetic energy.

...Spending an enjoyable hour playing tag with the frothy waves, jumping into their bellies, and plunging underneath to feel them rushing over our backs.

...Shopping with Bahia, Aisha's daughter, for henna supplies -- dye, a vial for applying the paste, fresh herbs and lemon. Watching her mix the paste and filter it through a scarf before scraping it into the vial. Sitting patiently as she decorates my hands and feet with flowers, symbols, and swirling designs. I ask her to inscribe something in Arabic on my leg, and she does -- the word for hope.

I hope there is happiness for the people in this small village on the upper slopes of this big port city. Their lives are so simple. I wonder what they would think of me if they knew where I came from, what kind of house I called my home, if they saw the bed I slept in, the food I threw away after eating to my heart's content. If they cannot have luxuries, then at least, I hope, they have happiness.

~Melanie