Moroco trip |
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PART 1
Salam Aleikoum!
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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 |
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12-14th August : Marrakesh: The
start of the adventure.
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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). |
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14-16th August: The Atlas
Mountains and Berber hospitality.
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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. |
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17-18th August: Sahara, dunes,
and tourista
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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. |
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19-20 August: Some pedalling and
Berber families
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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!
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Some details of daily
life
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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!
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PART 2
Sent from Dakhla (pronounced
Darla!)
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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… |
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21-25th August: A trip through a
canyon, and how Globicyclette became temporarily
Tricyclette!.
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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! |
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25-28th August: Crossing the
Atlas range.
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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! |
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28-30 August: Back on flat
ground … towards the coast.
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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!! |
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31st August-2nd September:
Aaaagaadir, push pedals and drink tea!
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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. |
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3-6th September: Pedalling
alongside beaches
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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. |
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Some details of daily
life
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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.
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PART 3
Sent from Nouadhibou
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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! |
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6-9th September: Going
south.
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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... |
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8-10th September: Desert
roads... and difficulties.
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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!). |
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11-12 September: Will we ever
make it to the border?
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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! |
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Some details of daily
life
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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!
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Amanda & Olivier
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“There is nothing, absolutely nothing, quite so worthwhile as
simply messing about on bicycles.” —Tom Kunich |
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