HOMEWARD BOUND THROUGH RAIN AND SHINE

Due to an excess of wild camping we have not been anywhere where I can update this blog. I am writing this on a campsite some 14 K out of Meknes; the ferry crossing draws ever closer and soon Morocco will be a distant memory; but one that we intend to refresh next year!

To recap on what we have been doing since leaving Merzouga: After Merzouga it rained on and off, quite a bit. Suddenly a green sheen clothed the sandy vistas while previously dry riverbeds flowed with water. We stopped at the famed Source Bleu at Meski where they had had so much rain the whole valley had been underwater. This was a pleasant little camp site, if the tourist outlet touts hadn’t been quite so pushy.

As soon as we arrived we were surrounded by men who claimed to be our ‘friends’; but they weren’t so keen on us the next morning, when we drove away with nothing from their shops. That first afternoon we walked along the top of the gorge with it’s huge palmery below us and an enormous ruined Kasbah above on the other side of the gorge.

Our next stop was at Midelt; a town set in a flat plain between two passes, one going South into the High Atlas; the other Northwards into the Moyen or Middle Atlas. It was a lot colder, but from the campsite we could see the towering white peaks of the High Atlas.

Then on to a wild camping spot by the side of a lake, Agelmane de Sidi Ali; a wild and desolate spot where we were all alone; except, of course for the old lady who came running across the rocks to beg for cream for her poor hands, which were chapped and bleeding. I found an empty jar and gave her a generous dollop of ‘emollient’ from my store.

And in the morning, just as Pete had decided to have a strip wash, a huge pink tourist coach pulled in, disgorged several tourists, who started photographing each other with the lake as the backdrop; closely followed by four 4X4s, full of French tourists who seemed to have stopped mainly for a fag break. The coach party turned out to be Slovenians on a week’s whistle stop tour of Morocco.

They were very nice; all spoke perfect English of course, and were very envious of our three months in the country. To return to an old theme, the ability of Moroccans to appear over the horizon in the most desolate of places never ceases to amaze us. I think ‘la piece de resistance’ occurred when we stopped at a very small lay-by on the road to Meski.

Below the Oued Ziz flowed through the palmeries which line the Ziz gorge. Over the road was a steep boulder strewn cliff face of orange rock, with what looked like a ruined Kasbah on the top; about 200 feet up. I had barely got the kettle on when Pete declared a Moroccan was on his way! Sure enough, a small dot on top of the hill emerged as a young man. coming down the hillside at some speed Not unusual in itself; but this one had one leg, the other being a wooden prosthetic, and was on crutches. He arrived at our side before the water had boiled.

Very smiley but speaking little French. He asked for nothing; just stood smiling and nodding; so I made him a cup of coffee (you can’t offer Moroccans English tea; the last one I gave a cup to, very politely, spat it out when he thought I wasn’t looking) gave him some biscuits; and 10 dirham when we left.

We left our ‘desolate’ lake, where Pete saw ruddy shelduck and lots of ravens, and, later that day, returned to Azrou, after a break of forty years. We didn’t recognise anything of course; the mountain village we remembered had turned into a large bustling town, thronged with people. But it still had that friendly laid back feeling.

We had an excellent meal of fish and salad at one of the many street cafes, did quite a bit of shopping in the souk and, as we were driving out, we saw Phil and Carol; our friends from Tafroute. We all met up on a handy garage forecourt and swapped stories. Sadly, Phil and Carol had not really enjoyed their Moroccan experience; the main problem being they couldn’t get used to the constant, in your face, hustling. They were on their way to Tangier and into Spain. I hope we meet up with them again one day.

We took the back road out of Azrou towards Khenifra; which turned out to be a heart stopping series of spectacular mountain views, along winding climbing narrow roads; beautiful but not good for the blood pressure. We had two wild camp ups along this road. At the first, in the middle of Holm oaks and Cedars, we saw a golden eagle! Pete saw it first, just before dusk, sitting not more than twenty yards away, on a trunk of a tree, tearing at some flesh of a kill it had made.

He had a perfect view of it for some seconds, it’s golden brown neck and head and it’s long yellow talons, before it became aware of him and soared off. And in the morning we both saw it, perched in a tree for some ten minutes, before it took off, circled high overhead and flew off. This has definitely been the bird sighting highlight of our trip.

Our second camp up was almost as idyllic; quiet with a starry sky and views of Azrou way down below us to the Northwest. We had one visitor; a young shepherd girl who spoke no French; just stood and stared at us, smiling. When we tried to communicate with gestures she burst into fits of giggles. She left as suddenly as she had arrived, giving several high melodic screams, presumably to let her Father know where she was.

We heard him berating her later and both pondered on the vulnerability of these Moroccan youngsters, who are so trusting of strangers. The last 40 K of the road to Khenifra was a hair raising experience along roads that were in a very bad state of repair, with several rock falls almost blocking our path; and not helped by the many children who stood in the middle of the road begging for money.

But the countryside more than made up for it. Rolling green hills, Forested slopes interspersed with quite productive looking smallholdings and large modern houses that looked like they might be owned by prosperous Moroccans who had made good. Khenifra is now a town of many dusty orange streets, as compared to the one orange street we remembered from all those years ago.

We stopped long enough to do some shopping and then struck out, across country, aiming towards Oulmes. More stupendous scenery, very reminiscent of the Dordogne we both thought. But, somewhere along the route we lost our way and ended up on a two hour drive, climbing ever upward around steep bends with scary drops into the valleys far below.

Neither of us could really appreciate the incredible vistas that appeared round every corner; Pete because he was too busy concentrating on the road, and I, in my usual wimp like fashion, being petrified with fear! I tried not to groan too much as I know this annoys Piggy; but he didn’t reassure me much, being prone to saying every now and then that this terrain was the ‘one slip and you’re dead’ variety.

Two exhausting hours later we found refuge at a lake stop (Dayet er Foumi) just outside Khemisset. We had had two days of rigorous travelling and were glad to just relax. And yesterday we arrived at this campsite, near Volubilis, a Roman site, to do necessary washing and water top ups, after an almost as gruelling trek round Meknes, trying to find the mythical campsite in that city; and, after failing in that aim, trying to find the road out to this camp site!

We finally made it after several false starts and have had a pleasant relax here; except for the many dogs that seemed to bark all night. Tomorrow we aim for Moulay Bousselham, back on the West coast and then it’s a days drive to Tangier and the ferry. I hope to do one more entry before we leave Morocco. But, if I don’t get round to it, I’ll speak to you all again; from Espagne!