Moroco trip


Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

PART 1

Salam Aleikoum!
  Hello from Morocco, the new destination of Philéas and Heidi. After Iceland, what a change! We have left geysers, volcanoes, drizzle and icy winds behind us. On the menu today are the dunes of the Sahara, mint tea, a Berber marriage, a struggle against heat, scorpions, and camels (or dromedaries to be exact)! So come with us into this hot, noisy and glittering cavern of Ali-Baba, called Morocco
12-14th August : Marrakesh: The start of the adventure.
  After a pit-stop in Paris, between two planes, here we are on our way south, …, more or less, since according to British Airways, the route from Paris to Morocco is via London! However, the stopover lasts less than an hour, and we land in Marakesh in the early evening. Unfortunately, it turns out that Philéas, Heidi, and Bob, the faithful little trailer, have decided to stay and see more of London (along with our stove, sleeping bags, and all the rest, …). Keep cool (a small delay is better than a broken bike …), we decide to have 24 hours to ourselves and profit from the luxury of a hotel, a taxi and a restaurant. The decision is eased by the fact that British Airways is paying! (They should have organised themselves better).

So, it is on foot that we set off to discover Marakesh "by night". We quickly realise that the cursed delay is in fact a blessing: the traffic in the medina (town centre) is a nightmare! A bent (bike) would not find its trailer. We ease our way through hundreds of pedestrians, honking cars, mules loaded with sacs bigger than themselves, zig-zagging bikes and suicidal motorcycles. There are even horses and carriages (the horses are zen, very very zen, they must put tranquilizers in the oats here!).

The crowd converges towards the principle attraction of the medina: the Jemaa el Fnaa square. UNESCO has classified it as a World Heritage Site for its unique atmosphere, and we quickly understand why: it is an immense pedestrian esplanade invaded by an impressive crowd. In the centre are dozens of vendors of grilled food, take-away tajines, fresh fruit juice, dates, almonds, and also snake charmers (but you must pay to take a photo!), henna tattooists, Berber water-carriers, in short everything a tourist could look for. Despite the late hour, the activity is intense. For only 3 dirhams (30 centimes d'Euro), we savour an orange juice pressed before our eyes, . What a pleasure after all the privations we suffered in Iceland! We discover "pastilla" (almond flaky pastry stuffed with meat), delicious. The change of atmosphere is total. We are in Ali Baba's cave. Hundreds of lamps, teapots, plates, potteries, …, glitter in the lights of the stalls. Carpets, cheichs, jewels, marquetry, … It's a succession of minute stalls, each with its own speciality, filled from floor to ceiling: we can hardly believe our eyes.

On the other hand, we are constantly solicited by the merchants, the vendors, and also by the children: "give me a dirham!" very direct. We quickly learn to say "no" in Arab ("la") … but we give many smiles and we get plenty back. That also is a change from Iceland! The following day, we return and continue our pedestrian visit of the medina and the souk (market). We taste the delicious tcharak (sweet almond pastries, there's no resemblance to the stuff they sell in France), almond milk, prickly pears, and moreover we do not exceed our budget of 5 euros per day!

In the evening, our five senses still full of the marvels of the town, we return to meet our bikes, which are now prudently awaiting us at the airport … with nothing broken, super! We fix our program for the days to come: a bus to the Atlas Mountains, a large loop to the south and the east to visit the dues of the Sahara, and then return to the coast at Agadir. "Yallah" (let's go).

14-16th August: The Atlas Mountains and Berber hospitality.
  We take an early morning bus, and we have an easy day progressing towards the Atlas: Ouarzazate, Boulmane, Dadès, Tinghir, Er Rachidia, that's our stop! In fact the Atlas is not a mountain range here, but a vast desert plateau, a "reg" or "desert pavement", regularly dotted with oases: no resemblance to the Alps! In Er Rachidia bus station we are a sensation, the kids want to touch our bikes, ask for a dirham, worm their way between us and our bags, … not easy to keep our patience!

We do some shopping in the covered market, fill up with water, and set off for the desert. We do not get far. The night falls quickly and takes us by surprise: we are not in Iceland any more. We dress our bivouac in the desert, with dry earth and thorny bushes as far as the eye can see. It's good to see the stars again. However, the night, which should have brought some refreshing cool, remains hot and sticky. In the following days, we quickly find that it is impossible to keep to our planning, and the number of kilometres per day is inversely proportional to the number of encounters. Here people say that destiny decides what is best for us, so … "inch Allah" as they say.

After a few kilometres, destiny manifests itself through an ominous cracking from Amanda's luggage carrier, which has not resisted the combined cocktail of the Icelandic jolts and Moroccan heat: it needs to be welded back in place! And while we are doing a temporary repair, destiny comes again in the person of Lahcen, a charming and cultivated Berber, most friendly, who invites us to lunch in his village, and then to spend the night with him to participate in a Berber wedding! His village is just a few kilometres away, in an oasis, hidden from sight that springs into view at the end of a canyon.

We meet Youssef and Youssef, two friends of Lahcen, who are teachers in the local schools. After eating a delicious couscous with Lahcen, we are lodged for the night with Youssef number one. Our new friends could not be friendlier, and make us feel really at home!

They translate our "Just Married" sign into Arab and into Berber. We now travel multilingual! The village is in fact a "ksar", an assembly of adjoining houses (or "kasbahs"), delimited by fortifications. The houses, built out of red mud, strike us by their poorness: the rooms are empty with little or no furniture, but they are remarkably cool. Nevertheless Youssef number one has an Internet access! What an amazing contrast in this little village lost at the end of the world …

In the evening, Amada is invited by Youssef number two. His wife and his daughter lend her their finest Berber clothes for the wedding! She is draped in multiple layers of cloth, which double her volume. Oliver can scarcely recognize her! We participate in the festivities of the wedding ceremony, each of us on our side, since men and women remain separated until the end of the evening.

Amanda sings and dances. Olivier listens to the Imam reading the Koran, but the two of us are invited to share the couscous which we eat in a circle, around a low table, with no cutlery, and just one big dish. Then the men and the women group together for the henna ceremony: it is the first day of the wedding, the bride has not arrived yet, and the groom is being prepared. His mother coats his hands and feet with henna, the men surround him, and the women sing rounds, a small distance away. This ceremony is followed by the "game": boys and girls face each other, singing, they advance and retreat slowly to the rhythm of skin drums. Adorned in Berber dress, they invite Amanda to participate, but her height and her almost non-existent talent to speak Arabian gives her away immediately! The following day it is difficult to take leave of our hosts and the little village.

17-18th August: Sahara, dunes, and tourista
  Our next stop is Erfoud, where a small operation restores the solidity of Heidi's luggage carrier. But the following day destiny hits again, Olivier is ill … We manage to pedal a few km, but he collapses at the first service station. Luckily for us, it is the most fabulous service station in Morocco, run by Mehdi, a Berber, who hosts us for a day, and treats us like kings: meals, a bed, some herbal tea to help the patient recover, and above all, an immense smile … we learn the real meaning of Moroccan "hospitality"! (from the word "hospital"!)

Once Oliver has recovered from his sickness, we take leave, almost with regrets, and set off on a new adventure towards the dunes of the Sahara. We can feel that the real desert is close, for the heat is building up … The next kilometres are difficult: the road is burning hot … but our efforts are rewarded by the sight of our first dunes in a gradation of ochre, magnificent on the horizon, and also our first dromedaries! Contrary to the sheep of Iceland, they are not at all scared by the sight of our bikes! But who has seen a scared camel?

We make a stop close to Merzouga, a pleasant palm plantation, in which there is a cool spring … we spend the rest of the afternoon there, what else could we do in the desert heat? Date-palms above our heads, our feet in cool water, and sand dunes in the background: Viva Morocco! In the evening we dress our tent at the feet of the dunes. However the sky has clouded over, and the sun declines in a mist of dust and heat.

Unfortunately, the night does not bring much rest. It's Amada's turn to be ill, certainly heat-stroke. So the following morning Olivier sets off alone to watch the sun rise over the Sahara … magnificent, despite the dusty mist.

So, it is with our water bottles well filled, and at slow speed (Amanda is still not well), that we turn back, and we arrive at Mehdi's service station just in time for the evening meal! His smile works wonders on Amanda's state of health, and the following day, we can set off again to seek to coolness in the heights of the Atlas.

19-20 August: Some pedalling and Berber families
  Once again, it is difficult for us to go far: after the necessary halt under the palm trees from midday to 4 p.m., we are greeted by a young Berber man who tempers our enthusiasm: "Be careful, it is going to rain very hard in less than an hour, and Moroccan storms are to be taken seriously. Moreover, in the following villages, some of the youngsters can be aggressive". So it's decided; we will not go any further today. Youness, the young man, invites us to his home, and we discover a family full of smiles, who welcome us like kings. Songs, couscous, mint tea (the tea here is the Berber's whisky!), and when the storm breaks, the size of the hailstones makes us bless the destiny that halts us continuously.

When the night falls, we install ourselves on the terrace to sleep. Youness's two sisters and his sister-in-law offer to decorate Amanda's hands and feet with henna. They draw superb decorations, and so it is orange-decorated fingers that are typing these words on the keyboard.

Our pedal pushing starts again, and well fed with delicious couscous and "harira" (a Moroccan soup that we exchanged at breakfast against our pancakes, exchange of cultures). Our pedalling takes us to Tinghir (pronounced "Tinerir"), and there we find the real Atlas, that of the mountain ranges and cool winds (hum, well, 41 degrees C, but that's much more tolerable than the desert). Tinghir, is at the entrance to the Todra canyon (which is spelt Todgha), and which, apparently is magnificent. Will we go through? Find out in the next notebook!
Some details of daily life
  Eating It goes without saying that after Iceland, Morocco is a gastronomic festival! Melons, watermelons, prickly pears (a cactus fruit), dates, oranges, tomatoes, it's a feast of fruit! It is difficult to pick out specific specialities, but let's try:
  • Almond milk: in Marakesh they served it to us with a ball of almond ice as well, deliciously refreshing.
  • Freshly pressed orange juice: we found it difficult not to re-order five times.
  • Couscous, the semolina is incredibly fine. No harissa here, the dishes are not spicy at all, we are all the happier.
  • Pastilla, (see above).
  • Bread: much better than Icelandic bread, there's no doubt, in the form of flat cakes that we break by hand.
  • Prickly pears, opened by the vendor and deliciously fresh.
  • Traditions related to meals. Here people eat sitting cross-legged on the floor, around a low table. There is just one big dish and one goblet between everyone. No cutlery; we eat picking up food with bread and with the three fingers of the right hand. Not easy for Amanda, and when she used her left hand she shocked everybody, since the left hand is used to … how can we explain … well, toilet paper doesn't exist here, but of course we wash our hands and face before the meal! Before the meal, or taking a drink, one says "Bismilah" (In the name of Allah), and at the end of a meal, "Amdullah", (Allah be thanked).
The worst moments
  • The heat, difficult to endure and impossible for pedalling.
  • Intestinal problems
  • (and the lack of toilet paper!)
  • Trash and rubbish bins on the roadside … and almost anywhere in fact!
  • To have to refuse an invitation because it’s the third and we have only done 10 km since this morning.
  • Our very very slow progression: will we have time to go through Mauritania ?
  • The kids who ask incessantly "Give me a dirham!"
  • Remarks to Olivier: "I would never let my wife be seen dressed like that, showing naked legs on a bike" Cultural shocks! (Amanda learns to keep a scarf round her head, and leaves her sleeveless tops at the bottom of the side-bags).
The best moments
  • The discovery of Marakesh.
  • The discovery of Moroccans.
  • Long discussions with Lahcen and Youssef 1 & 2.
  • Medhi's smiles.
  • Berber hospitality.
  • The sand dunes of Merzouga.
  • Fresh fruit!










PART 2

Sent from Dakhla (pronounced Darla!)
  Here is the second Moroccan notebook, from a town lost in the heart of Western Sahara: so be prepared to wipe the sand from your monitors…

At the end the last notebook, we left you as we pedalled towards the Todra canyon. Since then we have come a long way! Come and discover how Globicyclette crossed the Atlas Mountains and landed on a deserted Atlantic beach…
21-25th August: A trip through a canyon, and how Globicyclette became temporarily Tricyclette!.
  Here we are in Tinerir, which unfolds itself on a sunny morning, and for once it is not too hot. Tinerir is a pretty town, full of ups and downs, all in shades of ochre, against a background of palm plantations… As we said, it is the gateway to Todra canyon, "The" Canyon they call it here… So, we have to visit it!

So, we climb a little higher into the mountains, and find ourselves in beautiful narrow valley. We meet a friendly young man called Driss, who guides us through the palm plantation. We have our lunch with him, our feet in the freshness of the river… a foretaste of paradise! We have a long discussion about the present situation in Morocco, and we discover that the young Moroccan generation has a negative and disillusioned opinion of its country: corruption, inequities, and lack of National Health Service, nothing to be proud of. Driis dreams of leaving his country for somewhere better! It's the dark side of Morocco, the side that is hidden behind the magnificent landscapes, the tajines and the oases…

Nevertheless, we take advantage of the bright side, and resume our pedalling down to the end of the canyon: two gigantic ochre cliffs, just either side of a narrow gurgling river… it makes us wish we had brought our climbing equipment, apparently there are already "spits" anchored in the rock. We promise ourselves that we will come back one day with ropes and harnesses! However, we are not the only people who have had the idea of visiting the canyon. In fact it seems to be the favourite destination for Moroccans on holiday, and how should we explain it …, Morocco has not yet mastered the art of management/preservation of beauty sites. The canyon is completely invaded by a continuous stream of cars; their exhausts reverberate from the canyon walls. Part of the riverbed has been cemented and is occupied by two big hotels that have squeezed themselves between the two cliffs. It's a shame; the original site must have been fantastic! Nevertheless, it is still superb, and we leave as the sun sets, our eyes full of stunning landscapes.

After this refreshing halt, we resume our route in more arid surroundings, on our way to Ouarzazate.

On the way, we meet a real phenomenon… who joins us on the road, hailing us as loud as he can: "AAAhh! Oooh! Hééé! Salaam, Lebes, buenos dias !! granda cartera, amigos, aqua, water, Francia??? moi Morocco, pédaler beaucoup, ha ha ha, buen buen!! ". His name is Mohammed, but even he calls himself "El Loco di Marocco" (The madman of Morocco), and in his way, he is unique. He is the only cyclocamper that we have met in this country … and he pedals with a lame foot, on an antique bike, and his only luggage (and only possessions, we learn later) are in two old plastic side bags, falling to bits.

Mohammed speaks no French, just a little Spanish, so we communicate in a Spanish-Arabian gibberish, embellished with multiple onomatopoeia, at full volume, one of his specialities. He wears a immense smile, laughs at all and nothing, serves us some water from the 6 litre flask that he carries permanently, and no matter what the situation, he overflows with enthusiasm. A permanent gossiper, an impenitent smoker, this black gangly beanpole seems overjoyed to meet some cycling friends; he decides to join us for the rest of the trip. We are a little taken aback by his unlimited zeal, but we are quickly convinced by his communicative smile, his candour, and his unbelievable stories (meeting the king, smugglers, trips to Spain, rejected by his family, …) of which we understand only half of what he says. Mohammed was on his way to Marrakesh, but when we told him we were on our way to Agadir, he changed his plans immediately, and decided to come with us. Then, Inch Allah, he will probably sell his bike and return to Merzouga, from where he comes, to make a living out of what he finds. In the mean time, our odyssey has acquired a new member, and for the next 10 days or so, Globicyclette has become Tricyclette!

25-28th August: Crossing the Atlas range.
  We pedal on and on, to the west, and our bikes take us to the Dadès Valley: another beauty spot, and all the more pleasant that we descend it on a gentle slope with a tailwind, for tens of kilometres!

We leave the arid desert, and find ourselves in a cultivated fruit valley, green and ochre. Mohammed says that this valley is "chocolate pedalling"! It is also a rose valley; the famous roses of Marakesh are picked here in May. For the moment, however, we see only rose … water, sold in numerous little shops that smell so good!

After two days of happiness in this enchanting valley, we find ourselves on arid plains again, all the way to Ouarzazate. Then to begin, a long ascent towards the heights of the Atlas Mountains! All right, nothing comparable with the Alps, but we cross over several high passes. Mohammed suffers, and agonising part way up a long ascent, he throws all his cigarettes to the wind and swears he will give up forever this unhealthy smoking that makes him spit heart and lungs: youpi! He says that we will live to be a centenarians, (lucky us!) because we don't smoke, don't drink, and do sport. Ok, ok. Anyway the "tizi" (mountain passes) reward us with superb views of distant summits, in a sunset tinted with shades of blue…

Our last reward is an extraordinary descent during the following days: youhouhouuuu, our daily average speed is over 20 km/h!

28-30 August: Back on flat ground … towards the coast.
  After the coolness of the mountains, we are back on flat ground where the heat hits us again … and we pedal through scenery that is almost Mediterranean. Here, people cultivate argan trees, and produce Argan Oil, which is reputed for its multiple cosmetic and culinary virtues, and which is sold at a high price in towns. There are argan trees as far as we can see, growing out of a soil that is everywhere ochre and dry; seen from a distance, they look like a cross between a pine tree and an olive tree, they exist only in this part of Morocco, and are a declining species, now protected by UNESCO.

And what do you think we see in the branches of argan trees, birds? No, goats !!!! Yes, yes, we almost fall off our bikes when we turn a corner out of a village and see goats, balanced several metres high in the branches of a tree! (see our photos). They feed on argan berries. (Apparently the nuts remain intact in their excrements, and its possible to recuperate them to extract the oil … hmm, we don't ask for more details!).

After the argan trees, we come to a fruit and vegetable region, but it's impossible to see the cultures, they are hidden behind long white walls, that continue uninterrupted for hours. The oranges are well protected in Morocco! Bah, it just encourages us to pedal faster on these flat and torrid arid roads; we can't wait to get to Agadir.

However, before Agadir, we make a halt at Taroudannt, with its mud defence walls that completely surround the old town. To celebrate our arrival Mohammed (who kissed the ground at the foot of the town plan!) gives us a surprise, he is waiting for us on the terrace of a café with three smoking bowls of Harrira, the Moroccan soup. Given the heat, we would have chosen an iced fruit juice! But no, finally, it's hot, perfumed, spicy, nourishing, and delicious! We re-order another bowl each, a perfect cocktail for the tired cyclist! We leave Taroudannt with stomachs well filled, and spend the night in the dunes, where the following morning we awake to see … the traces of a snake… brrr!!

31st August-2nd September: Aaaagaadir, push pedals and drink tea!
  It is under a cloudy sky that we finally enter Agadir, a large modern town, bordered by 6 km of white sand: hurrah for the ocean, which brings us a deliciously fresh breeze! We spend three days on the municipal campsite. On the program: a complete and necessary clean-up at the hammam, intensive activity on the Internet, shopping, an orgy of Arabian patisseries and tajines in the restaurants… with an optional indigestion (kefta not fresh = danger! We will remember!) for Amanda, who unfortunately suffered with a queasy stomach for the rest of the weak. Back on the campsite, another surprise for us, another cyclocamper! Cyrille comes from Biarritz, in the south west of France. We immediately get on well, relating our respective Moroccan adventures, which are similar. What a shame that it's time for him to go back to France, there are people here that have to work! It's true, school term is near, and Amanda's thoughts go to her colleagues, teacher friends, and above all, her students. She wonders what they are doing… Nevertheless, we are not unhappy to be able to continue our adventures.
3-6th September: Pedalling alongside beaches
  After a few days of civilisation, we say good-bye to Mohammed, and set course to the south, whilst he goes up to Marakesh; we will miss his wide smile! As for us, we remain in the cool breeze from the sea and follow the coast down towards distant Mauritania.

We suffer from a drop in spirits: our new suntan cream, which we bought in a small shop, is surely outdated, for we catch violent sunburn that obliges us to pedal fully covered; the kids suddenly seem less cute as they run after us hurling "Give me a dirham!", and grasp at our bags; the roadside is cluttered with rubbish (we had a memorable lunch between rotting fish on one side and a full plastic nappy on the other … horrible!). Philéas does not help, with a set of technical problems; a bulging hernia in the rear tyre, the stand broken again, the protect-derailleur comes strangely loose. Amanda's stomach is still fragile, and on top of it all, we witness the agony of a dog, which has just been overrun in the middle of the road. In short, we have had better days.

But, to conciliate us with pedalling, Morocco offers us another surprise; its beaches! We discover superb stretches of ochre sand, bordered by cliffs and a blue sea, matching the blue and white of the little villages along the coast. We spend a marvellous night next to a beach, for us alone, with a sunset for lovers on the program … (we hadn't mention it, but with our friend Mohammed, it was impossible to have some time alone together).

At one lunch stop, Morocco conciliated us with Moroccans, in the person of Mohammed (another one!), a charming young man, who invited us to eat at his house. He was remarkably gentle and polite, and we found ourselves on soft carpets, in a cool room, in front of a tray loaded with fresh bread, jam, peanut butter, hot omelette, and lentils. A real meal, which we shared in the company of his father, who served us tea with a big smile! Mohammed has succeeded in obtaining his "baccalaureat", and will start university tomorrow; we wish him good luck for his studies.

We are not finished with friendly welcomes. Two days later, we are invited by a Sylvie and Michel, a French couple, who remind us of "home sweet home" with their southern French accent! We only asked them for some water to fill our water bottles, but they invited us to their new house, with swimming-pool, still being built. They offer us potato crisps, coca-cola, French coffee, and a few hours of cool shade… We leave them loaded with fresh watermelon, and "home grown" nectarines. We feel much better! (Hmm, except that Amanda discovers, a little too late, that coffee does not suit her any more…).

We progress and arrive at Sidi Ifni, a coastal town, and we are immediately charmed by its blue and white houses, the nocturnal activity, and above all, the plunging view from the cliff-top onto the beach below. Maud and Mathieu, who had been there on their tandem, were quite right when they advised us to come! We spend a night by ourselves on the local campsite; the tourist season is over, and we have the beach all to ourselves!

The next step on our program: leave the coast and plunge towards Guelmim, in the mountains, our last halt before crossing the Western Sahara by a bus that will take us down to Mauritania. Will we manage to cross the scorching passes that lie between us and Guelmim? Will we manage to find a bus to take ourselves, and our bikes down to Mauritania? You will find out in the next episode. For us, it is time to leave you and prepare our dinner. We send you all our love from a little lost town.
Some details of daily life
  Eating
  • We realise that our intestines do not appreciate Moroccan delicacies as much as we do! In particular, we must be careful of dishes with kefta, minced meat with spices.
  • Water generally seems drinkable, but Mohammed taught us never to drink from a flask that has been heated in the sun.
  • When the local tap water is too strongly chlorinated, we have a solution: the sachets of "tang" that we had known as kids. Here, any small shop always has a stock, and we love preparing litres of orange or lemon "tang". We fall back into our childhood!
  • Harira, Moroccan soup … see above. A veritable delight for only 3O centimes of an euro.
  • Aah, home cooked couscous and tajines, served by our hosts, we adore …! The steam-cooked semolina has no resemblance to that which is served in France.
  • Chbequilla, Moroccan patisseries, which are served typically during Ramadan, which is coming soon. Fried, sweet and sticky, overflowing with honey and sesame seeds … (slurp …)
  • Safran tea, served in the safran region, of course, in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains; orange and perfumed! (but gosh, they do put a lot of sugar in their tea here, the equivalent of 4 lumps per glass, at least! It is not surprising that there are problems with decayed teeth and diabetes here).
  • Rice pudding: nothing exotic here, but Olivier turned out to have an excellent talent for making delicious rice pudding with cinnamon, when in Agadir, Amanda could not ingest anything else.
  • Pomegranates! For those of you who do not now what they are, a hard yellow fruit that you peel to reveal hundreds of little red juicy grains … very refreshing.
The worst moments
  • See above for the drop in our spirits.
  • Being woken up at 6 am by Mohammed, who wants to get going and who honks our horns with enthusiasm, shouting "Olivia!!, Olivia!! Wake up!!" argh…
  • A scare leaving Ouarzazate, as the night falls, when we are followed by a shifty cyclist who will not leave us alone… We suddenly feel vulnerable and isolated on the road… Finally it was a false alarm, but it taught us to be more wary. We are careful to make our bivouac out of sight, and not to tell everybody where we are going.
The best moments
  • The long descent of the Dadès valley, a gentle slope, all in colour.
  • Our meetings with Mohammed and with Cyrille.
  • Beaches on the coast, and a bivouac in the sand.
  • When we stop in the shade and find a pipe with a tap … a cold shower for everyone, youhouuu!!
  • Moroccan patisseries in Agadir!
  • The view from the passes in the Atlas Mountains.
  • The intoxication of three days of continuous descent, at top speed, from the Atlas on the way to Taroudannt.
  • The sublime scenery, which surprises us on along the roads.










PART 3

Sent from Nouadhibou
  So, direct from Mauritania, here is the last episode of our adventures in Morocco. Does that mean that we have crossed the border? It sounds like it, but if you only knew the problems that we faced... Come and listen to us curse and complain, and also celebrate our crossing of the Sahara!
6-9th September: Going south.
  Well, we've spent long enough being lazy tourists in Sidi Ifni, it's time for us to mount our steeds and grapple with the mountains that lie between us and our next destination: Guelmim "The gateway to the desert"... just the sound of the name is already an adventure. We climb through several passes in a burning heat, steep, but beautiful. A landscape of red hills: here everything is burnt by the heat. Nevertheless, the inhabitants manage to exploit the ground: they cultivate... cactuses, of course.

To be exact, they cultivate prickly pears (or Barbary figs). The fruit is delicious, once you have got rid of the thorns. What we thought were mere wild cacti, by the side of the road, were in fact the cultivated fields of the villages. Regularly we saw men rolling the fruit on the ground to remove the spines. Olivier had tried to pick a cactus fruit a few days ago, without knowing the technique. His fingers are still sore!

Our pedalling through the torrid hills brings us to Guelmim, in the middle of a desert plateau. Our first impression of the town is bad: A dozen kids on bikes come chasing after us, grab at our bags, demand money, try to steal our flags. Luckily we have rear view mirrors. We shout and flee!!

Our goal in Guelmim is to catch a bus that will carry us through the 1500km of desert that still separates us from the Mauritanian border. Why should we want a bus, you ask?

The reason is that it is impossible to pedal on a hot road without water, and we would need another trailer just to carry sufficient drinking water! Moreover, we were very strongly advised not to try to bivouac along the desert road to Mauritania, the grounds are still mined...

We don't want to take risks, and we opt for transport by bus. But it's not as simply we imagined! Destiny does its best to prevent us from taking a bus: They are all full for the next 5 days to come! We've chosen a bad time. It's the end of local holidays, Ramadan is just about to start, and there are elections. Everybody is going back home, and all transport is fully booked. No room, anywhere.

Providence comes to the rescue once again: whilst we are on the roadside, looking for a solution to our problems, we are accosted by a young woman, Rachida, who is intrigued by our bikes: "You are French? My husband is working in France, come and sleep in my house!". Things can be so simple in Morocco! Her invitation is timely, and we are delighted to make acquaintance with her two daughters, Ikram, 11 years old, and Bassma, 9 years old. They do not speak French, but seem to adore French people (perhaps because their often-absent father is in France?), and they quickly adopt us.

What a change of comfort! We were fighting away pick-pocketing kids in an overheated dusty alley, and suddenly we find ourselves comfortably installed on a sofa (a real luxury here!) in front of a plateau of home-made bread, tea, jam, oil and butter (yes butter!! Olivier, who just loves fresh rich butter, is in paradise).

Rachida kindly offers us food and lodging for two days, whilst we find a solution to our transport problems. The two days pass quickly, but it was a blessing for Olivier, who suffers from indigestion and spends most of the time lying down, agonising gently, and trying to politely refuse the assiduous attempts of our hosts to overfill him with couscous, tajine, rice and home made bread.

Amanda gets a very different program: a complete re-looking! With the help of a thick layer of make-up, Rachida transforms her into a Berber bride, a Moroccan bride, or maybe even an Indian bride! She is hardly recognisable, but we all have a good laugh...

8-10th September: Desert roads... and difficulties.
  It's time to continue our trip; after long negotiations we eventually manage to acquire bus tickets, at four times the normal price: We are white, so by definition we are very rich, and naturally we pay even more for the bikes than for ourselves! What a swindle! It takes us as far as Tan-Tan, the next town.

Philéas and Heidi try a new means of transport, a Land-Rover taxi! Still furious about the previous swindle, we bitterly negotiate the fare. In other words, we remain seated in the middle of the car park until the driver declares that we are mentally ill, and accepts to cut the fare in half. And we were probably still swindled!

Ah! we discover the delights of travelling 450 km through the desert in an overloaded Land-Rover: jolts and overheating. Amongst the 11 (!!) passengers, we make a new friend, Simo, 20 years old, who is going to visit his father, before starting a preparatory course in engineering in Marakesh. Simo is joyful, spontaneous and full of life. His eyes sparkle when he talks about Tamtatouche, the village of his childhood near to the Todra Canyon (see the previous notebooks). We like his open and intelligent conversation, and appreciate his excellent French! When we arrive in Layoune, the terminus for the Land-Rover, he does all he can to help us to find a bus to Mauritania (in vain!), and to guide us around the town... and we have an invitation to Tamtatouche in 2009!

Despite all the efforts of Simo, we are stuck in Layoune with the same problem as in Guelmim: All the buses are full. We see only one solution not to spend the rest of our days in this town (pretty, and surprisingly lively for a town lost in the middle of a desert): Hitchhiking!!

Despite our reticence for this form of transport (what sort of person will we meet?), it turns out to be an excellent idea. We end up travelling in a 4 star lorry, with all modern conveniences, driven by Lahoucine.

Who is Lahoucine? A guardian angel sent from above! Not only does this young man refuse any form of payment, he does his best to install us as comfortably as he can (he has bunk-beds in the back of the lorry!), and insists on offering us tea and tajine at each halt.

When we arrive at Dakhla (pronounced "Darhla"), his destination, it is out of the question that he leave us on the roadside. We are immediately invited to his flat, still under construction, that he shares with other lorry driver friends. Once again, it is a timely invitation: Olivier has another violent attack of "tourista", and spends his worst night since we left France. The following morning he is white and feeble; impossible to go anywhere in that state... Decidedly, Mauritania seems to remain out of reach! Nevertheless, we have a roof, and the best tajines in Morocco, cooked by Lahoucine (although Olivier is not in a state to appreciate them!), and even a television ("Jaws" in English, with Arabian sub-titles, unique!).

11-12 September: Will we ever make it to the border?
  After a full day of convalescence, the patient feels better, we remount our bikes and set off towards the police roadblock on the outskirts of the town, where we again try our luck at hitchhiking. In Morocco, the density of police roadblocks is inversely proportional to the latitude!

After several hours of patience under a scorching sun (Olivier's front is still peeling!) our second guardian angel shows up: Hassan and his bric-a-brac lorry. Unfortunately, we get racketed... by the police! They explain to us that Hassan (who speaks very little French) is asking to be paid for the trip. OK, we offer a reasonable sum, a little less than the price of the bus tickets. However, once we get on the road, Hassan makes us understand that he did not want any money at all, and that the police pocketed it all whilst we were not looking! Sickening!

In the meanwhile, we again get a V.I.P. treatment. Tea and food offered, despite our protestations, a siesta in the bunks, and we start to learn the rudiments of Arabic (hey, we can count up to ten!). At last the border seems to be within reach.

The road is both monotonous and magnificent, for we are now following the coastline. On the left is the desert, a stony plateau and dunes as far as we can see; on the right are immense cliffs overhanging a blue and windy sea. Sometimes we catch a glimpse of fisherman's tents, in the middle of nowhere... How on earth can they manage to survive here?

Regularly, a more dramatic note appears on the roadside "Beware Danger!! Mines!!" (Gloups) or "Mine clearing in progress" (We see nothing!). In the evening, we stop in the middle of the desert, at the only service station, and we squeeze together to sleep in the back of the lorry: It's hot in there!

The following morning: Youpee! We arrive at the border. Hum, we had forgotten, you have to be very patient with Moroccan, administration, and the organisation of the border post could be better! We spend hours in the sun, waiting for the necessary stamp on our passports, and then we wait again for the lorry to be cleared through customs.

We seem to be lucky, the lorry just in front of us has to unload and unpack all its goods. He is probably still at work! But for us, the police swindling continues: The customs officer demands 200DH for Hassan's merchandise, despite the fact that his permits are perfectly valid, plus 100DH for our bikes! And, of course, no witnesses. A racket!

At last we are let through. On the other side of the border, we are in a strange No-Man's Land, which belongs to nobody and which separates the two countries. Here law and security is enforced by no-one, same thing for the upkeep of the roads. We bounce our way down a track in a pitiful state (worse than in Iceland!), and we see strange piles of carcasses of vehicles...

Suddenly, a car overtakes us and a customs officer steps out and makes us halt. After a long conversation in Arabic with Hassan, he resumes for us "Your chauffeur doesn't have the right license for his merchandise, he only has a license for the lorry, he must come back into customs". Hassan is very sorry for us (apparently more than for himself, despite the fact that it is he who is in trouble with the customs!). The officer explains that the formalities will take a long time, probably until tonight... So we decide to take the officers advice to unload our bikes, and continue alone to the Mauritanian border. Wait; isn't the place riddled with mines?? "Yes, says the officer, but they are anti-tank mines, not anti-personnel, and if you do not leave the track you should have no problems". Oh!, there was certainly no question that we would do that!

Well, anyway we mange to cross the few kilometres of bad track in No Man's Land, and we finally arrive in Mauritania, dripping with sweat, but still in one piece!

Some details of daily life
  Eating
  • Well girls, I warn you, it's strictly impossible to diet in Morocco! For nearly a week now, our bikes have been collecting dust whilst our successive hosts are happy only if we over-eat. They are satisfied to nibble a piece of bread dipped in sauce, whilst they survey every hesitation: "Eat, eat! Have some more! Its good, isn't it?" And so, successively, we have couscous, tajines, bread, oil and peanut butter and various jams... Without speaking of the over-sweet tea! Maybe the women wear scarves to hide their bulges?
  • You should have seen Olivier's face when, scarcely recovered from a violent "tourista" and still green, a friend of Lahoucine gave him an enormous pile of oily doughnuts, something like the "chichis" of l'Estaque in Marseille, but round: "Here, these zeros are for you! Eat! Eat!" (Yes, he did eat some, the hero!)
  • Grilled fish, served in a tajine, a dish that is typical of the Saharan coast, served with chips, delicious!
The worst moments
  • The stealing of Gus: A most unpleasant experience that occurred going through a small village, where we were pursued, as usual, by a gang of kids. But this time, they didn't just ask for dirhams and ballpoint pens, they grabbed at our bags and pushed us off balance. We had to shout to make them retreat, and a kilometre after the village, we found that Gus had disappeared! Gus is our fluffy puppet mascot, our companion, who laughs when you push on his tummy. Up to now, he travelled in the rear pocket of Philéas' saddlebag. The kids had stolen him! Olivier was furious, and did an immediate U-turn. We return to the village in anger, and we explain our problem to the first person that understands a little French. Gus, Gus, where is Gus? Amanda makes a quick sketch, and after some whispering, and questions like "don't you have some more?" (Of course, us rich whites happily let drop our bits of our innumerable wealth and belongings in these poor villages!) Gus eventually reappears in the hands of someone's mother. By gestures she indicates that "it was found on the ground". Amanda demands restitution ("It's important to me, a present from my family..." she has to justify herself!). The woman (with regrets) hands Gus across. Ouf, recuperated! But the woman asks for money! We flatly refuse any sort of recompense and leave at top speed. We are furious, and it takes some time before we calm down. From now on, Gus will stay out of sight at the bottom of a bag.
  • Being racketed by the Moroccan police.
  • Olivier's violent "tourista".
  • The buses, all full!
  • The impression that we will never reach Mauritania.
  • Being left all alone in a No Man's Land.
The best moments
  • Early mornings, and friendly French-Arabian discussions in the lorries of Lahoucine and Hassan.
  • The Saharan coastline, with its high cliffs on which we discovered a colony of Cormorants.
  • The deliriums of make-up and costumes with Rachida.
  • Discussions with Simo.
  • Our arrival, at long last, at the border!




Amanda & Olivier   “There is nothing, absolutely nothing, quite so worthwhile as simply messing about on bicycles.” —Tom Kunich