Morocco, Day 3 (Bring Sensible Shoes)

On our third day, Saturday the 20th of August, we devoured our breakfast quickly and headed out before 9am to get to our pre-booked excursion to the Ourika valley. We had no idea whether this tour would be any good, or whether anyone would turn up at all to take us. This seemed increasingly more likely as 9am came and went, but we were waiting with one other chap from Uruguay, which made it bearable.

Eventually a man came by and told us the guide would be arriving shortly as he was picking up some people from the other hotels and within a few minutes, we were greeted by our very friendly guide (whose name escapes me at present). We were bundled into the back of a van with a bunch of Spanish people (there were 7 of us altogether) and we were on the road.



We drove for a while along the flat and barren semi-desert landscape past the royal palace with its many uniformed guards and past the new luxury hotel super-complexes, some of which are only half finished. On and on we went, not really knowing which direction we were going, only that it was vaguely into the sun, so eastward. We passed dry riverbeds and empty fields and a massive water themed fun park.

Eventually hills started looming before us and we pulled over several times to take in the breathtaking views (I'm going to try to pace myself on adjectives here, lest I run out. Please forgive me if I re-use some). There was a very mysterious fog-like haze that obscured any long distance view, even though it was approaching 30 degrees. You can see it in these photos of a Berber village on the other side of a river valley:





Onward we drove into the hills, which became mountains. The roads became windier and steeper and we couldn't help but notice the soil and how red it was in these parts. I'm not sure how long we drove for, but it can't have been more than 2 hours.









We stopped off at one of the Berber villages where they produce argan oil by hand. It was a little bit touristy and they tried to sell us their natural perfumes and handcreams in the shop at the end. Having said that, they really did live in a collection of brick and mud-plaster houses in the middle of nowhere, so you have to appreciate that just a little.







We carried on and found ourselves on a very narrow road running alongside a quite substantial stream. This water was the lifeline for a string of properties that lined its banks, rickety rope bridges connecting them to the road. We followed this along for about half an hour, at which point we reached a bit of a settlement and the paved road ended. This is where we parked the van and hopped out, still quite unaware of the true object of our trip (other than the vague notion of a waterfall).







And so began our ascent. We finally understood the instructions of the man who booked our excursion the day before. "Wear sensible shoes" he had warned us. Our choice of Converse sneakers did the trick for me, but Kristen's left her feet a bit blistered and raw. It should be noted at this point that our guide was leading us up the mountain having had absolutely nothing to eat or drink all day. Onwards and upwards...



Now, stop for a minute and admire the scale of things here. Those jagged peaks are far up and high and surrounding us on all sides, enveloping us as the cruel sun beats down on us from above, as we in a gesture almost mocking climb higher towards it. Our one and a half litre bottle of water has dwindled to less than half, but this doesn't worry us too much as the locals have a cunning solution:



Berber fridges! Using the cool mountain stream to keep drinks cold. However, still more marvellous sights await as we climb upwards.





I don't think the photos capture the full awe and majesty our heat addled brains were experiencing at the time. We even arrived at the first waterfall to rest for a few minutes and our guide told us that this was the 'tourist' waterfall and that we would be going higher. This involved climbing up a rickety ladder put in place by an old man when we approached, scrambling up slick, wet rocks covered in loose shingle with no hand-holds and negotiating narrow ledges with a sheer drop on one side. Here is me looking intrepid:



I don't think you're fully appreciating the scale at this point. So here's a picture looking up the waterfall. You'll notice that I've circled a climber in red:



There are not words enough to describe the feeling on being on the side of that mountain looking down at the valley below. Photographs tend to flatten out and lose depth and the sense of mind boggling hugeness goes away.







Finally, we made it to the top of the track, where a cascade plunged down the steep cliff and into a shallow pool. I don't know if it's possible, but humour me and imagine how that icy cold water felt on my sore feet after climbing for an hour up a rocky cliff face in 35 degree heat with no shade.







Absolute bliss. Heaven on Earth. I sat there for half an hour, my back against the rock face, my feet dangling in the water, giddy with happiness. It was sad to have to pack up and head back down the mountain, as forever would not have been long enough there.



Once we reached the bottom of the mountain again, we were taken to a restaurant while our guide had a well deserved kip and had another beautiful tagine meal. We were bundled back into the van and driven of back towards Marrakesh by our half delirious driver. We stopped off to be dicks on a very dodgy bridge along the way.









I could go on and on about the beauty of the countryside. It's not at all the desert I had assumed it would be.



We arrived home, tired and spent after having been passed by the King himself in an insane motorcade. I will leave this entry with a sunset. No matter where I am now, when I see a sunset, I will always be reminded of Morocco and the strangeness and wonder I felt there.