MOROCCO
For all we have read about Morocco, none of it really prepares you for the real thing. It’s sensory overload at it’s greatest, the astonishing sights of the infinitely varied landscape, the smells (good, bad and really, really bad), and the people, smiling, helpful and sometimes trying.
It took us 35 mins to cross from Spain to Morocco on the ferry, then 2 hours to get through all the paperwork, forms to be filled out by ‘helpers’ and all for fee of course. Because we had not been to Morocco before, Brian had to take our passports and vehicle paperwork to see the head Police officer and have our particulars logged into their system. Finally we were allowed through the gates and out into the madness of the Tangier streets. Not only are the road signs in Arabic, there are no GPS maps available, so we are on our own to find our way this time.
Not seeing a Tourist Info anywhere, and with the mayhem of cars, scooters and carts pulled by donkeys we decide it best if we just head it right out of town as fast as the throng of vehicles allow.
While stopped for diesel we see a small French circus filling up and ask if they know any camping grounds close by, of course no-one spoke English and although our French can order us coffee, buy bread and a few other basics, it’s not up to explaining and getting directions. Eventually one of the crew was located who not only spoke a little English, he told us about a camp not too far down the road at Larache for our first night in Morocco. MEKNÉS
We decide our first venture into the cities and souks of Morocco would be better in a smaller city, so Meknes with only 550,000 people, small for this country, would be the place.
Our Lonely Planet Guide mentions a great camping spot just outside the walls of the Medina at Bab el-Khemis, hot showers, electricity, shady sites, shop and even a restaurant, it sounded perfect. Well we’re not sure how long ago LP visited here, but it mustn’t have been in the last decade, at least. (we will send an email to LP, when we have time and WiFi)
We knew the camping wasn’t going to be of the standard we had seen in Europe, and believe me not all those were crash hot either, but this was ‘camping catastrophe’ as our French neighbours called it. Power poles were just scary, either lying broken on the ground or with live wires exposed. Islamic toilets, which we are getting used to, but these were overflowing and disgusting, and no hot water in the women’s shower, so we both just used the men’s. But we made the best of it, in fact stayed 2 days (tried to find a toilets elsewhere) and must say really enjoyed our visit to Meknes, the first of the Imperial Cities of Morocco.
The souks were easy to find your way around and we weren’t harassed that much. We are learning how to bargain, although I’m sure we paid more than a local or experienced bargainers would for a couple of things.
In the Museum Dar Jamai, the official guide took a bit of a liking to us, and even opened the bar across the door to the Sultans harem room and allowed us to sit on the Sultans bed, and for me to lay on the harem cushions for a couple of photo’s.
Meknes has much to offer, a royal palace, beautiful ‘Babs’ or gates in the walls that fortify this city, mosaics and the people that often greet you with ‘You are welcome’. VOLUBILIS
This is another interesting place that we had once seen on a documentary, and a must see for any visitor to Morocco.
Inhabited since the 3rd century BC, but really growing into a magnificent city under Emperor Claudius in AD 45. Rich farmland surrounds this area and agriculture is still it’s main source of income.
Remains of a basilica, a triumphal arch, the forum, and of many grand homes in the aristocratic quarter, the line of fluted and twisted columns that marked the way from the grand entrance gate to the forum show the elegance that once must been here.
FES
Fes is a true riot of sights, sounds and smells. It is also the largest living Islamic city in the world. The call to prayer echoes over the medina 5 times a day, then the rush of white clad men heading towards the mosques is astounding to watch.
The Souqs or marketplaces are everywhere along the incredible maze of narrow twisting alleys. Touts and hustlers call you at once from every direction, ‘lady what are you looking for’, ‘where are you from, Germany, Spain?’ ‘come look in my shop’, carpets, rugs, slippers, bags, spices even live chickens and rabbits, they have it all here, and they don’t take no for an answer at all well. You sometimes feel assaulted just by the attention from these men and sometimes teenage boys, all wanting you to buy from them or to guide you somewhere.
The tanneries are probably one of the cities most iconic sights, you can start to smell the skins and dyes as you get closer. The vats here have been used for centuries, the tanners still using the same method as their ancestors. Skins of goat, sheep, camel and cow are soaked in a solution of ammonia, washed well then passed to the dyers, who mix a certain tree bark for the brown, crushed poppy flowers for the red and for the yellow, the most expensive, they use saffron. We are ushered up a flight of stairs to the top of a building to get a birds eye view of the dyeing vats, but nothing is ever free here in Fes, so on our way back down we were routed through the shop, no pressure he say’s ‘just have a look, try on a jacket, isn’t the leather soft’. We did manage to get out of the shop though, and without buying a single item, but before we could get back on the street, we were told we must pay ‘just a few dirhams’ for our great view of the vats, as I said, nothing in Fes is free.
At our campground in Fes we meet our neighbours, a couple from Germany, Gisela and Werner and their two cute children Leonie and Felix. Gisela an ER nurse and Werner a high school teacher are taking 6 months or so off work to travel and show the children some more of the world.
CAMPING UNDER THE CHERRY TREES
The drive south to Merzouga and the desert will take us two days to drive. So after hearing about a quiet and clean camp near Azrou we make that our stop.
Pulling up at the gates a thirty something guy walks over to us and in perfect English with a strong American accent asks if we need a spot for the night. After hearing only French and Arabic for the past week or so we are surprised as he opens the gate and tell us to take any place we like, and of course to help ourselves to as many cherries as we would like.
Apparently, he spent many years in the southern states of the US, only coming home recently to look after the family business. After a lovely quiet night overlooking the veggie garden and a hot shower in clean bathrooms we are refreshed and off to a early start to continue our drive south and over the High Atlas.
. AZROU and Fatima has mechanical troubles
All seems to be going well we pass through the Forest of Ceders with it’s Macaque apes clearly visible sitting on the road side or sometimes the middle of the road, until on a rather long and steep climb, 2104m, the water light on the dash starts to flash. We pull to the side of the road, open the back and steam and water is coming from the hose and water sensor. Luckily we have plenty of water in our tank so we top it up and continue on along the road. We don’t get too far when the light starts to flash again and we realize we have to head back to Azrou and the garage we saw just outside the village. Coasting back down the hill the engine cools and we make the garage without any more problems.
I have to mention here that the vehicles are mostly very old, Taxi’s are the main source of transport for the general population, but not their not the same as the London cabs or even the clean and well maintained cabs of Australia. The Grand taxi’s will take you anywhere, across the country if you want. There are no meters and the price of your fare must be agreed upon before you get in. They hold 6 passengers and won’t leave until they are full, and then you may end up sitting next to a man who has shared tent a with his goats or sheep for the past 6 months, or a woman that has just gone into the market for her fruit and veg and live chicken for tonight’s tajine. People wait on the side of the road and wait until one comes along hoping for an available seat. The Petite taxi’s are just for short rides around town and only cost a few Dirham’s, a dollar or so. All are old, beaten up and would never pass an emission or safety test in Australia, but the roads are full of them here. This little digression in our story was necessary to explain the motor mechanics, they are magicians who are able to keep the vehicles running with sometimes only rudimentary parts and tools. What better do we need, we say.
The mechanic wanders over to us, looks at ‘Fatima’ (our campers new Moroccan name), takes the offending part from Brian’s hand then walks over to a taxi driver filling his tank for another 1000 or so km day. They chat then shake their heads, then the taxi driver pulls a small bottle of liquid silicone out from under his seat and voila the problem is solved, we hope. After pouring the silicone into the split around the seal of the sensor and holding it for a few seconds, he declares it fixed. Brian pays him 20 Dirham, about $1.60 and we are off. Back up the hill, past the apes until we are nearly at the top and we see a flashing light start on the dash again. We top up the water and turn Fatima around for the third time and coast back down the hill. The mechanic is having his break and we look around for someone that speaks English, the ‘patron’ or boss does and we wait to talk with him. He tries to explain how to get to the motor parts store, even draws us a map, but these ancient towns have so many small streets and hole in the wall shops it was impossible to follow. He then offers to drive Brian to the shop, so directs him to his car, a 1970 Renault 4, and not one lovingly restored. The passenger seat wasn’t bolted in so when Brian sat down the seat fell backwards, and the door wouldn’t stay closed so he drove into town holding the door closed, and hanging onto the dash. Never the less they made it to the shop and Brian held up the part and Monsieur behind the desk say’s ‘Oui’, then hands Brian the correct part, asks for 80 Dirham or about $12 and our problem is solved, we hope. Back to the servo and just five minutes for Brian to fit and we are all set to continue our journey.
Although it took us all day to fix this problem, we feel lucky that it happened where it did. Not only were we able to make it back into town, they even had a spare parts shop, and a good campground nearby with all the cherries we could eat.
MERZOUGA and the SAHARA
The route south is fascinating. After crossing the High Atlas, with some upper bowls holding snow from the winter we start to descend into the valley, where the mountains meet the desert.
After dropping from an altitude of over 3000m, we descend into the Ziz Gorge, it’s impressive red cliffs and abandoned French Foreign Legion forts line the road. Another amazing site are the oases, one minute you are driving through sun baked, arid ground then you come to an amazing sight, lush green grass, tall date palms and even small crops of tomatoes, lettuce and carrots. Also olive, fig and apricot trees that thrive in the shade of the palms
Supplied with water from melting snow and rain on the mountains, the water is channelled underground naturally and flows to irrigate the oasis. We also pass the Tafilalt Palm grove with over 80,000 Date Palms, the largest grove in this area. Symbols of happiness and prosperity, dates figure in many rituals here, including birth, wedding and burial ceremonies and there are always high mountain like mounds available at the souks.
At the Rissani souk we stock up for the desert, oranges, a few dried items not need no refrigeration, as our camper fridge is not coping well with the heat, and lots of water. From the 7th to the 14th century this souk was famous for other traded items, salt, gold, weapons, ivory, spices and even slaves were traded by the travellers on the Trans Saharan Caravan route that passes close by.
Merzouga and our first look at the Erg Chebbi Dunes of the Sahara. These amazing dunes extend for 30km and reach 250m high, this will be our base for the next few days and the start point for our overnight trek into the Sahara by camel.
CAMELS and BERBER TENTS.
We have spoken about wanting a desert adventure with Gisela and Werner who had been thinking of doing the same thing, so had arranged to meet at a campground they had heard about in Merzouga.
The heat here in the desert is intense, 45 C and it’s not yet summer, when the temperature rises into the mid 50’s. In the heat of the day all you can do is find yourself somewhere cool (not that easy here) and relax. The campground opens it’s restaurant where it’s slightly cooler and there are comfortable couches and chairs to relax in. We book our trip with a local Berber guide for later in the afternoon, leaving around 6pm when it’s starting to cool down and in time to see the sun setting over the Sahara.
It will only be the 6 of us, Gisela, Werner, Leonie, Felix and Brian and myself and I think all the adults are as excited as the kids.
Mustafa, our Berber guide has the dromedaries saddled and ready, we hook our bags with our overnight necessities on the saddle (read bundle of rugs, that we later use on our beds) and we are off over the sand dunes, that are turning pink and gold before our eyes as the sun starts to set. It’s a 1 ½ camel ride to our camp, and I think all of us were happy when it finally came into sight. Set in a small oasis, our tents were already up and our beds made. Mustafa made us comfortable with Berber whiskey (fresh peppermint tea) and went to see how our dinner, a Tajine was coming along. The clear sky was alive with stars and we even saw a magnificent comet dashing across the heavens above us. Mustafa came and sat with us while our dinner cooked on the coals, and told us he had spent his life travelling with his nomadic family in the desert and had only lived in Merzouga for the past 3 years. He now conducts tours into the desert for travellers and in less than 3 years has learnt German, Spanish, English and a bit of Japanese. We also asked his age, he told us ‘about 20 years’, but didn’t know exactly.
After a great dinner, followed by melon and orange slices, we were entertained by the local guides, playing drums, and an orb and singing Berber folk songs. Bed came next as we had to be up at 5am to watch the sunrise over the Saharan dunes.
SUNRISE AND THE RIDE BACK TO MERZOUGA
It’s hard to explain the sight of the sun rising over the massive sand dunes around us. The colours changed from pink and red to gold and I’m sure the many photos we took will still not do it justice. It’s also eerily quiet here, only the snorts and various noises made by the camels. Werner’s camel led our small caravan, and he had the worst gas, the bad smell hung in the still air as we passed through. As you can imagine Werner took the brunt of a few jokes, even little Felix who was riding with Gisela right behind Werner, told his Mum that he wanted to get off and walk, ‘cause it smelt too bad’
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It was soon time to climb back on our dromedaries and have Mustafa lead us back to our campervan for a shower, breakfast and the next day of travels to Todra Gorge.
TODRA GORGE and TAMTATTOUCHTE
This great geological fault called Todra Gorge is breathtaking. Sheer cliffs, 300m high rise out of the valley where the wadi or river flows. We had been told they are the most impressive cliffs in Morocco, this area is popular with mountain climbers and it’s easy to see why.
We decide to go a little further up the valley to Tamtattouchte to stay at an Auberge with camping facilities recommended by fellow travellers we had met in Merzouga.
This picturesque Auberge, is run by Monsieur Mohammed, and he greets us when we arrive and has the teapot of mint tea ready for us to have before we complete the registration paperwork, necessary at all accommodation here in Morocco. We order a lemon chicken tajine to be ready for our dinner later that night and settle down relax and to watch the goats and sheep graze on the steep side of the gorge opposite our quite campsite.
Dinner was excellent, instead of taking it to our camper as we normally do, we decide to have it in the restaurant and are delighted to see Mohammed’s brother Abdul (the chef and waiter) has lit candles for us, the only diners in the restaurant that night. Afterwards Abdul joined us for mint tea, and a chat, telling us about growing up in the area, and the changes to the area that progress has caused.
THE SOUTHERN OASES
Our travels west towards Marrakesh take us through the Dadés Gorge, and past more dramatic landscape, geological folds covered with limestone and shaped by the elements to look like fingers of a human hand. Bordered by greenery the Wadi Dadés has groves of fig, almond and poplar trees that line the river bank and stand out against the surrounding desert.
When we arrive at the Ben Morro Kasbah in Skoura, where we had planned to spend the night, to find that it is under renovation and that we must find alternative accommodation, before we left however, the owner gave us a tour of his beautiful 17th century guesthouse and showed us the new pool. Surprisingly, although we are not surprised as easily these days, the pool was being dug by hand, and with the soil being taken from the excavation, mud bricks were being made by hand to be used in completing the renovation.
The picturesque village of Ait Benhaddou, now a UNESCO World Heritage site is our next stop and worth the drive over rough road leading to it. Often used as a film set, this ksar, or fortified village is still inhabited by about 10 families, whose ancestors have lived here for generations. You must cross the river on foot using stepping stones to reach the village, and a stray dog, that had adopted us near the car-park ran ahead of us, stopping to wait as we manoeuvred our way across. He left us at the gate, probably knowing that the guardian wouldn’t allow him entry. We climbed the narrow passages to reach the top of the town for a good look at the earth coloured towers of the Kasbahs, decorated with blind arches and geometric designs in negative relief, on which the sun creates a play of light and shadow.
TIZI-N-TICHKA PASS
The drive from Quarzazate to Marrakech is only just over 200kms, but it is one of the most spectacular drives we have ever had.
We are again crossing the High Atlas mountain range on our way to Marrakech. This winding road, another legacy built by the French in the 1920’s, is the highest road pass in Morocco, and a feat of engineering brilliance.
The deep gorges fall startlingly away close to the side of the road, and the roads don’t have safety barriers as we know them, sometimes, and only if you are lucky, you may get a rock or even two rocks balanced on each other to warn you of the edge of the road. Or if a barrier is there, it’s placed in about 5cms of soil with no cement, and wouldn’t stop a bicycle for going over. Brian expertly manoeuvres Fatima around these winding roads, dodging overtaking traffic that have no regard for the lines on the pavement or any road rules.
We take most of the day to drive this 200km section, stopping many times for photo’s or a cuppa along the way, and occasionally dodging an overzealous mineral rock salesmen standing in the middle of the road holding up his rocks, with stones whose colours are a little too bright to be natural.
MARRAKECH
Once just a place with an exotic sounding name to us, it didn’t disappoint.,
Nestled at the foot of the High Atlas mountain range, Marrakech is a magical city.
Founded in 1062, and once home to warrior monks and Saadian princes, the city has many interesting places to explore.
But first we must find the camp-ground we had been told was good. A wrong turn brings us into the centre of the medina, a warren of narrow streets and gates made originally for horse and cart. Finding ourselves on a road that ends abruptly, we have to turn around, harder than you might imagine, surrounded by strolling tourists and locals driving scooters and donkey drawn carts. Finally we find a gate in the ramparts and escape the masses in the medina.
The road to our camping ground passes a five star resort hotel, and we can only imagine guests arriving at the airport in Marrakech, to be taken by taxi down the bumpy dirt road, past the sheep and goats grazing on the sunburned grass alongside the run down shacks in which many of the locals still live.
After the heat of the desert we are pleasantly surprised to see our camping place has a lovely pool, surrounded by tree shaded grassy areas, and most importantly these days, clean toilets and showers with hot water.
We had planned to met up again here with our new German friends. Gisela, Werner and their children Leonie and Felix, and we are enjoying the pool when they arrive later in the afternoon.
The early start the next morning turns out to be not as early as we originally thought, as once again the clocks change for daylight saving time without our knowing. The world is a different place when you can’t read a newspaper or listen to the news on the radio. The WiFi that we looked forward to having at the campground is also not functioning, a bit like a lot of things here in Morocco.
The six of us head into Marrakech for a day of exploring and bargain hunting, we split up and plan to met later for coffee and to discuss plans for the afternoon. The souks here are a breeze after Fes, organized, cleaner and without the constant barrage of the salesmen trying to sell you things you don’t need or want.
The Place Jemmaa el-Fna, with it’s gruesome past, is the beating heart of the old city. Until the 19th century, criminals on whom the death sentence was passed were beheaded here, sometimes up to 45 on a single day, their heads being pickled and suspended from the city gates. Nowadays fresh food markets, medicinal plants and fresh squeezed orange juice can be found here. But it is in the evening this place comes alive. Traditional story tellers, dancers, (a couple looking very much like men in drag and even smoking cigarettes through their veils), musicians, showmen and snake charmers are here, as well as rows of makeshift food stalls selling everything from fresh fish to something that looked very much like a goats head stuffed with some sort of vegetable. It’s hard to take photos of some of the sights we see, especially the entertainment in the square, they either want money or curse you as you try to photograph them. Werner when asked for money from one of the entertainers that felt he had put on a bit of a show, did a little dance himself and then held out his hand for a ‘donation’, of which he was refused, but it all ended up with a laugh for us all.
VISIT to the HAMMAM
A visit to Morocco wouldn’t be complete without a visit to a Hammam
A traditional bathhouse, it’s a ritual at the centre of Moroccan society, and also a practical solution for those that don’t have hot water or facilities in their home.
Gisela left her children in Brian’s care, and Werner dropped us in town with our special scrubber gloves, natural soap and not an idea of what was going to happen to us when we got there.
Being told it was 10 Dh or about $1.40 entry, with the scrub and massage costing extra, we arrived to find the Hamman workers having a nap on the tiled benches. The cashier shows us coins that amount to 130Dh, which we assume is what the cost is, for us anyway, the tourist price, and we hand over our Dirham’s. The other woman starts removing her clothes, and is quickly naked and gestures for us to do the same. So ‘when in Rome’ as they say, or a Marrakesh hamman, we do the same. Our clothes are put aside and then we are lead along a narrow, unlit and slippery corridor to a very warm room at it’s end. Madame, we never did get her name, points to the floor and gestures for us to sit, she then get two buckets full of very hot water, takes Gisela’s glove and soap and starts work. Now I won’t tell you all about our ‘treatment’, but it did involve being drenched by buckets of hot water, and scrubbed until you think you have no skin left at all. I kept thinking ‘I’ll feel great when she stops”. Then came the massage, and ‘massaged’, not in our sense of the word while lying naked on the hard terrazzo tiled floor. Your hair is then shampooed three times, and head scrubbed with a plastic brush until it tingles, then more buckets of hot water tipped over your head. Now I love going to the hairdresser and having a shampoo before my haircut, but this was a totally different experience.
After two hours we emerged from out experience, shiny clean with skin soft as a babies bottom.
I will try to go to another hammam before we leave Morocco, but not until I grow some tougher skin.
GASSING UP
While Gisela and I were pampering ourselves at the Hammam, Brian was in search of LPG gas for Fatima. We have been using the gas for the fridge lately as well as cooking, and need a refill, easier said than done here in Morocco.
Finally we had tracked down a supply place and after a lengthy wait finally the tanker arrived and was able to fill us up.
SOUTHERN ATLANTIC COAST
It is nice to see the coast again and after what seems to be a long time in the arid and dry interior of Morocco.
Essaouira, it’s lime-washed houses set against the brilliant blue of the Atlantic, and the sights of the women enveloped in their voluminous haiks is impressive.
It’s Portuguese history very evident in the buildings and town walls, which once fortified this important trading town.
Now an important centre for the fishing industry, it’s a kite and wind surfers dream place as the trade winds prevail for most of the year and the climate and water are pleasantly warm.
We are looking forward to some fresh seafood, something we have really missed lately and hear about the market and fish stalls where you choose your fresh fish and it’s cooked before your eyes. Unfortunately for Brian, something he ate upset his stomach and luckily a kind French woman camped near us, and seeing him bent over retching, came to his rescue with some pills to calm his stomach and bowels. Brian spent the day sleeping while I played nurse, and managed to do some laundry and catch up on transferring photos from camera to computer.
The next day he was well enough to move about 20km’s down the coast to a small surfing beach called Sidi-Kaouki and a brand new, (3 month old) camp ground where we were the only campers there. The place had the relaxed feel of a small town where, when we wandered down to the beach and sea side food stalls later, the locals all knew we had just arrived driving a VW with German number plates. Brian still wasn’t up to eating much so we settled for soup in Fatima, and the dark and quiet of an empty campground.
The next morning while I was taking my time in the spotless and large new showers, a little old man arrived on his donkey with baskets of fresh bread and filled brioche. After buying our days supply, Brian ran over to the shower block to tell me to come and look, but our bread delivery donkey and master had already moved along, and I missed them
EL-JADIDA and the PORTUGUESE CISTERN
We had missed seeing a Portuguese water cistern in Spain, so after hearing about another on our route north to Casablanca we made it a definite stop for us.
This perfectly preserved 14th century cistern was discovered by chance in the 20th century by a shop-keeper knocking down a wall to enlarge his premises. Fed constantly by fresh water from the rain, and filtered through it’s brick walls, this fascinating water tank was used to supply the towns water in event of a prolonged siege, where lack of water was the reason most towns fell to their invaders.
This setting, along with others here in Morocco, was used by Orson Wells in his film ‘Othello. The elderly gentleman that tried his best to explain in his broken English and easy French for us, the building and how it worked, proudly showed us a photo of Mr Wells, taken while filming here, and the movie’s advertising poster.
CASABLANCA
Another city with an exotic name for us, unlike it’s sister city, Marrakech did disappoint.
Skyscrapers stand next to it’s ancient Medina in dramatic contrast, and the camping area we had planned on staying at is waiting to be transformed into another high rise apartment building, and has been the only place yet we have had to give in and stay in a hotel for the night. But it is the commercial and financial capital of Morocco so we should have expected as much.
However it’s Hassan II Mosque, the reason we have come to Casablanca, was not a disappointment. The second largest mosque in the world, after the mosque in Mecca, this colossal complex covers 9 hectares, 2/3rd ‘s of it being built over the sea. The great prayer hall measures 200m X 100m and can accommodate 25,000 worshipers. The central part of the roof can be opened to the sky, and columns and doorways of marble, pink granite and black onyx are abundant. The Royal door where through the King would enter, has traditional motifs carved into it’s huge doors made of brass and titanium. The minaret or tower where the call to prayer is given 5 times a day, is called the ‘lighthouse of Islam’ as it has two laser beams which reach over 30kms shining in the direction of Mecca. It took 2500 men working for 6 years, 24 hrs a day, 7 days a week to complete the construction. Artisan wood workers from Meknes and Fes carved beautiful cornice and decorative features on railings, ceilings and staircases. You must visit the mosque with a guide, and it is also the only mosque in Morocco that non-Muslims may enter.
RABAT
Morocco’s political capital built facing the Atlantic is an attractive city with a very European feel.
It also has two sites worth a look, the Hassan Tower, built in 1196, and unfinished to this day was meant to be part of the largest mosque in it’s time. Built to rival the magnificent Great Mosque in Cordoba, now with a Christian Cathedral built in it’s centre and one that we visited while we were in Spain. After the death of it’s founder and builder the unfinished mosque fell into disrepair and an earthquake in 1755 all but destroyed what remained. Horse guards still stand at it’s two main gates and it was here that Mohammed V, the now deceased King and grandfather of Morocco’s present King, Mohammed VI declared Morocco’s independence. His Mausoleum stands at the opposite end to the Tower and the Royal Guard are in attendance night and day. It’s open to the public, Muslim and non-Muslim alike and we were able to see his sarcophagus, made from a single block of marble, and the beautifully carved mahogany twelve sided dome and brass candelabra’s that crown the burial chamber.
Again no camping grounds here so rather than repeating hotel accommodation two nights in a row we move along back to Larache, and the first camp spot we had when we arrived nearly a month ago.
ASSILAH
Our last stop in Morocco and a lovely place to wait the couple of days until we leave by ferry back to the Continent, and Genova to complete out tour of Italy.
Assilah used to have two nice camp grounds along it’s ocean front, or so our LP guidebook say’s. No longer there, both victims to progress and the building of resorts that command more tourist dollars than lowly camp-sites.
A friendly and helpful Policeman veers us in the direction of the parking lot, just outside the medina walls and right alongside the breakwater and ocean front.
For a small charge, a ‘guardian’ will watch over us and Fatima day and night, only problem is no facilities. We hear a new public Hamman has opened in town, which solves the shower problem and the restaurants over the other side of the medina wall will work out the remainder.
Every city and town we have seen here in Morocco have an abundance of cats, kittens and stray dogs. Assilah is no different and Blackie, a mixed breed with a paw that must have been broken at some stage and never fixed properly so as it turns inward and up, but the old dog still manages to get around well and without any apparent pain. She comes around with another brown and white hound that Brian names ‘Bob’, after another dog he once had with similar colouring. They get the scrapes of meat from the tajine I’m cooking us for dinner, and we are thereby adopted as their’s while we are in Assilah.
They sleep under Fatima in her shade and do a great job of scaring away the local kids that come pestering for ‘bon bons’ or sweets or money or whatever you might want to give them. The first two kids that arrived before we had our guard dogs I gave carrots to, I thought they might give them back, being not exactly what they wanted, but they walked away crunching the carrots with smiles on their faces, but never came back.
Assilah is clean, safe and friendly and even after only two days here the locals know we are Australian and a few that have relatives there or have visited in the past come by for a chat. The medina has a nice old-world charm and has the distinctive Portuguese influence of blue and green painted woodwork and studded doors.
We hear the now un-familiar sound of Aussie accents in the Internet café and introduce ourselves to a couple from Canberra, travelling with two friends. Over coffee we offer to give them some tips on places to see as they head south to Marrakech and the desert, hopefully it will them in their travels as much as our conversations with a Dutch couple, Koos and Suzanne that we met in Spain, and had been to Morocco, and told us the must see’s.
OUR LAST DAY IN MOROCCO
We depart from the port in Tanger, the same as where we arrived and stop to see the last place of interest to us here, the Grotto of Hercules. According to legend, Hercules slept here the night before performing one of his twelve labours-picking the golden apples in the Garden of Hesperides at a place called Lixus, that we visited on our second day here. The caves opening to the sea has an unusual entrance, it looks like a reversed map of Africa
So here we finish our Morocco trip.
Morocco really is ‘A Big Adventure’ all in itself, the diverse landscape of lush fertile farmland in the north to the south east’s sweltering heat at Erg Chebbi, the ‘great western sand sea’ with it’s surprising verdant oases, back across the snow capped High Atlas and on to the wind swept beaches of the western coast.
It’s cities, the cosmopolitan Rabat and Casablanca, amazing souks of Fes and Marrakech, ancient Medina’s, adobe huts and desert nomads.
It’s people, the smiling, helpful and sometimes trying inhabitants of this vast land have made our time here incredible.
We hope to come back one day, and find it all still the same.
posted by Brian and Julie @ 2:14:00 AM
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