Morocco Day 1: Sahara Desert
Ok... I started to write my entries on Morocco but after reading my Ahia's journal, why go through it a second time when Ahia captured everything so well? And so voila, my first featured guest blogger on my site. He writes like an absolute dream but don't expect me to be elevating my writing standards after this!! Welcome to Morocco!!_______________________________________
Ever since I read "Mischief in Fez" by Eleanor Hoffman, I have wanted to visit Morocco. So when my sister Monique needed to go to Casablanca for work, we jumped at the chance to see this magical land of djinns and flying carpets. Joliot and her husband Allan, Wyatt, my Aunt Gloria and her son Lester would all be meeting me in Fez. Monique will join us in Marrakech.
Due to a mix-up in scheduling (Ed: my fault - oops!), we ended up leaving for our excursion into the Sahara Desert one day early. To the credit of all, it took them less than half an hour to get ready for the trip. Our guide Shereef started the 10-hour drive from Fes to the edge of the desert around 8am. Along the way, we would pass little villages and grand vistas, and would stop for pictures at the best ones.
Ahia with Shereef
From Fes, we passed the cities of Imouzzer then Ifrana, which was built in 1929 during the French Protectorate to create a poche de France, a tiny pocket for French expatriates and homesick diplomats. Beautiful tree-lined rues led to Alpine chalets and winter mansions, and another Royal palace. Azrou, from the Berber word for rock, was an ancient Berber capital and secret mountain town undiscovered for centuries due in part to an ingenious cave system designed for concealment.
We stopped at the Azrou cedar forest, where the trees grow to heights of up to 200 feet.
Living among the trees were the tail-less Barbary apes which came out of hiding as soon as we approached, knowing tourists love to feed wild animals.
Guess the ape... :)
As we approached Midelt, the 12,257 foot snow-capped Djebel Ayachi came into view. It was long thought to be Morocco’s highest peak until Djebel Toubkal in the south was measured at 13,668 feet. Djebel is mountain in Arabic. We had our lunch here at the Hotel Kasbah Asmaa, amidst opulent aggressively red Moroccan carpets. The beef tagines came out sizzling hot, and my Atlas trout was fresh. Joliot ordered delicious Berber couscous.
Our drive took us through the Ziz Gorge and the Zaalan Tunnel, where Wong made friends with a lost tumbleweed. There was a date palmery in the area fed by the Oued Ziz, the River Ziz. It was startling to see orange desert sands and mountains of rock suddenly juxtaposed with the deep greens of date palms. Further along was the town of Errachidia, sprung around the military station close to Morocco’s borders with Mauritania and Algeria. Erfoud was the next big town, followed by Tafilelt, whose famous dates have been gloried in countless old tales. The dates do not come to fruit until September when they are honored with a huge festival. Finally there was Rissani, from which came Morocco’s Alouite Dynasty including the currently reigning monarch.
The afternoon sun was merciless yet waning as we neared the Kasbah hotel on the edge of the desert. Our four-wheeled drive vehicle came in handy when the terrain changed from paved to rocky then sandy off-road. At the hotel, we changed into desert gear. Our guide helped Allan tie his white sheish or scarf the Berber way, then tried to help Bei with hers but first tying it on her as a full head covering like a burka, then with both head and mouth covered so she ended up looking like an old nomadic pirate.
Bei the pirate!
We clambered onto dromedaries and formed a caravan into the interior of the desert.
The animals stood up and sat down very distinctly, with the forelegs going up first and coming down last in a rocking motion that makes you feel like falling forward. We plodded into the Sahara an hour before sunset, when the shifting sands were rose-colored and pink-tinged, with only little tufts of green bushes breaking the monotone. It was startlingly quiet except for the soft plop of dromedary feet and the whistling wind, and an occasional sigh from our guide who was following behind us on foot.
The caravan leader was also on foot, and to make sure we had the full experience, he expertly led our caravan up and down sand dunes, and even sideways precariously on narrow hills. The sky was an intense blue, and made a striking contrast with the reddish brown sand.
I have seen deserts, and will visit many more, but being in the largest desert in the world, on a caravan line like the nomads of old, is just impossible to fully describe. What impresses me still was the silence, the communion with the dunes and the wind and the sun – absolutely awe-inspiring.
The whole gang with a black sheisha-clad Touareg princess... ay Bei pala!
Even though it was nearing twilight, the sun was still baking the ergs or dunes, and us, so we were glad to reach our campsite. Berber tents for the many different desert guests were scattered throughout a small plain, in the shadow of a particularly large erg. Our tents had dark brown exteriors but had colorful and heavy rugs lining the interior ground and walls. We sat outside on low wooden tales, with striking striped mattresses on all four corners to form a square, then topped with cushions. As the desert sun set, candles lit the approaching night.
Lester decided to scale the tallest sand dune behind our tents and we all went with him.
I did so reluctantly, because I knew If I started, I would have to finish, and it as very difficult climb because it was as tall as a mountain and sinking into the sands required double efforts. In the end, I was the only one who made it to the top, and I could only do it by focusing on how far up I had come and trying hard not to look at how I still had to go.
I was literally pawing at the sand on hands and knees, and had given up using the wooden staff as it was slowing me down even as it provided extra traction, when all of a sudden there was a cool breeze and no more mountain to climb. The pale orb against a twilight sky of lightest blue had now become a full moon suspended in ebony. In the distance were the lights of our auberge. I slid on my rump all the way down, almost sand-surfing on my butt, actually sand-sitting.
When I got back to base, my back pockets were bulging and I had thought at first that I had stupidly forgotten to take out my wallet. Turns out the pockets were full of red Sahara sand. At least the sand was smooth and powdery, so it did not stick to our hands or clothes like damp beach sand does.
We were served sweet Moroccan mint tea, also called Moroccan whiskey, which is actually Chinese green tea brewed with mint leaves and liberal doses of sugar. It is poured at the highest point at which you are comfortable to release the aroma and aerate the beverage. You are also supposed to pour out one glass first then return the contents to the teapot and pour again.
Tea was followed by assorted nuts and bread with harira or bean stew served with couscous at the bottom. The tagines were huge and included chicken, eggplant, squash and carrots sprinkled with cumin and saffron.
Dessert was sliced ranges and sweet honeydew melon swimming in cinnamon and honey. While we ate, our Berber hosts took out their drums and filled the warm night air with trance-like Berber music. Even when the candles finally blew out, the moon was so bright we could see the etchings on the tagine pots.
Since the night air was so warm and comfrotable, we all decided to sleep outside. Our mattresses were rearranged in a row right outside our tents.
It was such a memorable experience sleeping on the Saharan sands a la belle etoiles -- under the stars -- although truth be told we only counted seven stars. We thought it was because of the clouds in addition to a bright moon, but Joliot said she woke up at 3am with nary a cloud in sight, and yet still with seven stars.
We stayed up talking, because it seemed like such a shame wasting such a precious experience by sleeping. Lester said it was like being in a screen-saver. What my mind could not wrap around was that just one week ago, we were on different continents, caught up in our busy little lives, then one day we are in the middle of the Sahara desert. I love traveling for the priceless moments like this that it provides, and sharing it with the ones you love is icing on a huge pink sand-dune cake.
posted by moan @ 11:47 PM
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