Dades and Todra Gorges

A whole lot of Morocco reminded me of the landscape of the American west. Canyons and gorges and stretches of deserts and arroyos. I tried to explain to someone (in French) how much like Arizona it reminded me of, but I got a puzzled stare. So I went for "c'est similaire a sauvage ouest Américain" and at least got recognition that yes, indeed, this is the Wild West.

It was beautiful. This area was filled with Berber villages and settlements. Goat herders living in caves in the mountains, and rivers and oasis and huge date palms clustered around them.

The sunsets here were amazing. Sunrises, not so much- the mountains blocked most of the morning light. Lesson learned: sleep in!

It was an altogether wild place.

This shop was carved out of a mountainside. It was a cave inside, with a door installed.

Products with Rose, rosewater, and aragon oil were ubiquitous in this area.

High up a winding mountain road, the Dades gorge.

Not far from Dades is the Todra Gorge, which is popular with rock climbers and pesty pushy vendors.

The river here bubbled up from an underground spring, with frogs and tiny catfish enjoying the source.

It was fairly chilly in the gorges- the sun only hits a couple hours a day. A nice break from the desert heat, but keep in mind that most hotels don't have any way to heat their rooms. Some of them had space heaters, but in general, in winter, plan on wearing a hat to bed.

Tinerhir was a picturesque Berber village close by. Tourist sites were few and far between out here, and where there was something to see, there were busloads of people. It was pretty easy to escape all that- we're not talking about Paris amounts of tourist, but it just seemed like a whole lot because there wasn't too much else there.

Next, onward to where the real Saharan desert begins.

Aït Benhaddou

It was amazing what crazy things you can find in the desert.

Due to its relatively stable government and somewhat friendly attitude to outsiders, they have a booming film industry here. There are a couple big LA-style studios in Ouarzazate, and the nearby village of Aït Benhaddou is a backdrop for many a celluloid scene.

What was once a stopping point for traders on their way over the mountains to Marrakech is now a Unesco site, and the houses and walls and fortifications of the ksar are all made of mud. On close inspection, you can see bits of straw and pebbles in the bricks, but the structures are solid and they stay nice and cool inside. It rains rarely on this side of the Atlas, and when it does it causes the structures to melt a bit, so slapping another layer of mud bricks is akin to freshening up the facade. The town is frequently used in films as a stand-in for old Jerusalem, and it's featured in movies such as Gladiator and Lawrence of Arabia.

There are lots of mud brick villages in this area, but this one is by far the best preserved and most picturesque, with the red cliffs and high Atlas in the background.

Ouarzazate also had a really beautiful old ruined Kasba in the center of town.

Most of the official tourist sites we went to in all of Morocco would be vague on the informational aspect. No pamphlet or signs or historical explanations or self-guided tours. You could usually hire a guide at the entrance of each attraction for a few bucks, but there were always plenty of faux guides hanging out there as well. The guys (never women) with badges were more or less official guides and as long as you gave them a time frame, they would give you a pretty good summary of the place. Aside from the badges, the telling the faux guides apart was easy as they were intent on turning your attentions to the carpet-seller set up next door.

It was off the the "Valley of the Roses" next, which in winter is empty of roses as the bushes are rather dead looking with nary a rose on them, but you can buy a lot of rose-themed cosmetics year-round.

Tomorrow: the Gorges.

Over the Atlas Mountains

Leaving Marrakech, it's not long before you feel as if you are in the middle of nowhere. Once the olive and orange plantations fade into the distance, it's a long, windy climb into the high Atlas.

People on donkey and mule outnumber the vehicles once you leave the city, and you start to see snow and signs that they get a real winter.

The lifestyle of the people here seems little changed from centuries ago.

They still work the fields with oxen or mules hitched to the plow, and beast of burden were as important as ever to their lifestyle. Thankfully, all the animals did seem much better taken care of than their city cousins.

It was amazing to see this unchanged way of life. The dwellings were all built out of local materials: mud and stone. No running water, and few villages seemed to have power. You could see people working the hillsides in the mornings, and coming in to sell their harvest at the local souks.

Oh, the Vertigo. The drive up was not for the faint of heart, and this would not be a good nighttime drive.

Many of the villages up in the mountains were not connected to the grid. This was not an easy lifestyle. The people we encountered up here wore it on their faces.

Finally over Col du Tichka.

While the area north of the Atlas was fertile farmland, the land below the range was notably dry. This was the start of the great desert.

Bahia Palace

I wouldn't say that I was sad to be leaving Marrakech, but it did have its charms. While I got really tired of fending off the entire population of children and men offering to be a guide, show us around, and sell us all the things (hint- if you are really lost, just ask a woman or a shopkeep, and they were generally helpful and didn't try to make you sign on the dotted line to secure holdings in the Brooklyn Bridge in exchange) but once you paid the pittance of admission into a site, you were left to wander on your own in peace with other tourist.

The Bahia Palace was gorgeous, and had surprisingly large stretches of gardens.

The oranges in the garden were ripe. Being a lifelong temperate climate dweller, I had a hard time coming to terms with this. You mean, I can just pluck an orange off the tree, and I can eat it? Really?

Really. Fruit trees are magic.

Pomegranate trees and Jasmine and gorgeous blooms all around.

Stray cats as well. Everywhere. And packs of stray dogs. There does't seem to be well-managed trash removal anywhere in the medina. Not a public rubbish bin to be found, and people just throw garbage on the ground or tie up their household garbage and throw it onto the street. The feral cats and dogs become the garbage management.

A lot of old palaces and private mansions have been turned into a sort of B&B in modern times, called a Riad. I'll have more about that lately as I ended up staying in several. Some of them were amazing- probably the most luxe accommodations I've ever had (and I've stayed at the Waldorf=Astoria).

I was really in love with all the wood, ceramic and stone work. The carved doors and ceilings made out of cedarwood was beyond amazing. In some rooms if the work is fairly new, you can smell the delicious piney odor.

Aside from fresh Orange Juice, mint tea is the drink of choice here- they even call it "Moroccan Whisky" despite not having ever been distilled. It's lovely, and the locals drink it way too sweet for my palate. Syrupy sweet. As long as I was admiate about it being made sans sucre, I was happy to keep drinking.

At the end of the day, a climb up to the rooftop tourist cafes that surround Djemaa el Fna Square to see the action from afar and watch the sun set while drinking as much lovely mint tea as I possibly can.