Morocco Diary

Morocco Diary - March 10

Friday, March 10

We again rose at 4:30 a.m., this time intentionally, to see the amazing “star show.” The great, sparkling swath of stars overhead definitely inspires awe and wonder. Again, the clusters and gas clouds were visible, and this morning I saw two shooting stars, as well. How glorious creation is, and what a treat it is to see it so undiminished by city lights and tall buildings.

Then back to bed until 7:15, when we rose to pack and prepare for departure. Once again, hot water and tea were brought to our tent by the ever-cheerful Hussein. What fun it has been to start each day this way!

We had breakfast outdoors, then the camp staff gathered to perform a farewell song for us. They played colorful drums, and Hussein danced for us in an exuberantly loose style that suggested that he had the ability to disassemble his skeleton. As we enjoyed this delightful send-off, I noted with some amusement the disparity in the two groups’ attire: we were in sandals and short sleeves, while the staff wore flannel shirts and jackets. “Comfortable temperature” is truly an objective thing.

Performance done, we hit the “road,” hiking away from the dunes across the rocky, flat wasteland. We hiked for an hour, chatting and picking up interesting stones. I think the dual purpose of the walk was to give our drivers time to pack our luggage into the 4x4s and to give us a bit of exercise before we commenced a long day that will consist primarily of driving.

The 4x4s did pick us up after an hour, and we were off. As the day heated up, we saw dust devils whirling nearby—skinny, harmless funnels wiggling and dancing across the rocky, dusty ground. Before long, we stopped by a small field dotted with flat-sided, upright chunks of rock. This was a Berber cemetery, we were told. Everyone is buried facing Mecca. Only a chieftain or saintly person gets a grave that is fancier than a simple piece of rock. The rock shards, almost all less than a foot tall, simply show the presence of a grave. There are no inscriptions. Aziz explained that, for Berbers, once someone is dead, they are gone, and there is no point in identifying which grave belongs to whom. Everyone buried in this cemetery is from the nearby date Berber settlement. (Nomads don’t have specific burial sites.)

We drove through amazing communities of date Berbers: mud brick houses and enclosures the same color as the land and incredible bursts of greenery in irrigated fields. Just wonderful.

We stopped at one of the Berber farms to tour the grounds and learn about all the things they grow. As we strolled along the mud humps that border and enclose the small, cultivated fields, Aziz pointed out the almond trees, many in bloom, cilantro/coriander, alfalfa (for livestock and to sell), fava beans (we sampled the fresh, young beans—tasty), onions, barley, turnips, carrots, dates, henna (for sale), figs, wheat, and pomegranates. All that, plus the handful of farm animals (donkey, skinny cows, goats, sheep) in the small, mud-walled enclosure near the farmer’s house, and you’d be pretty self-sufficient.

Aziz explained that henna is put on the palms of women’s hands to toughen them for work in the field. It can also be made into tea for upset stomachs.

A little farther down the road, we came to a tiny building that turned out to be a school. The diminutive, one-room building was built by four families in 2003. It is the first school in the area. French, Arabic, and math lessons were written on the chalkboards, and maps and posters of foreign lands hung on the mud-brick walls. The children were simply beautiful. There were maybe 20 students of varying ages inside, but there are actually only three grades. A few girls are quite a bit older than the other children, but the teacher (a slender, enthusiastic 24-year-old man) told us that he permitted them to attend, “to correct the past,” when education was not available. We were invited to find seats with the students at their tables. Each of the three grades then gave us a separate presentation: two songs and a recitation. We were then asked to sing a song, and “Old McDonald’s Farm” was requested by the teacher, to save us much debate on what we ought to sing. We gladly obliged, and they children giggled and applauded. Great fun.

Back on the road, we began a long, rough, but interesting ride. Rocky waste and eroded mountains alternated with oases and Berber towns (all fabulously evocative, some half melting into the desert that they match so closely in color).

Lunch stop at 1:30. We stopped in a small, unassuming town with unpaved streets, and entered a modest-looking hotel— Hotel La Gazelle du Sud—at the town’s one intersection. Inside, the hotel was wonderful, with spectacular blue and white tiles covering all walls, ornate ceilings, chandeliers, and traditionally decorated dining room, with wall-hugging sofas and low tables. The table was set with a variety of bottles of olive oil. Aziz pointed out the heavier, locally produced Berber olive oil. It was incredibly fruity and flavorful, and we used it with some abandon to flavor the inevitable rounds of fresh Moroccan bread. The salad course offered carrots with cumin, potato salad with parsley, cubed beet vinaigrette, rice with tuna, tomato with red onion and cilantro, and olives. The main course was a tagine of lamb, fava beans, carrots, and turnip. Dessert was oranges and a sweet couscous with raisins and cinnamon.

The road became increasingly rough and tortuous, and the landscape became increasingly astonishing, as sand and mud brick gave way to rocks everywhere. The landscape was all rocks, walls around properties were constructed of rocks, and houses were built of rocks. Rocks became increasingly massive. There was no part of the terrain around us that was not gray stone. We drove into a narrow mountain pass where rocky walls rose up on both sides and rocks closed in around the road. Occasional puddles showed where water had come through—this road is a river when the snow up north melts or when there is rain. We stopped briefly at the tiny Belle Vue Café, a tiny, unexpected snack shop built of the same rocks as those that made up the mountain that formed its back wall. I suspect the stop was both to give the drivers a rest and to give us an opportunity to photograph this astonishing world of rock.

As we drove on, we found ourselves surrounded by colorfully striated mountains, color changing with mineral content: green of copper, red of iron, and myriad shades of brown.

We ascended and crossed the J’bel Sahro Range, stopping briefly at a convenient overlook. We then continued on in an increasingly moderate landscape (smaller rocks), but with the towering, snow-capped High Atlas ever before us.

Reached Tineghir at 5:45 and checked into an impressive hotel—the Hotel Kasbah Lamrani—which is built of the same mud and straw brick (at least the exterior of the hotel is) of the surrounding shops and homes. Inside, stone floors, wooden beams, Berber rugs, and traditional artwork create a delightfully local flavor, while the fanciful light fixtures, made of green copper and hanging selenite crystals, add a fun, modern note. The rooms are the colors of the desert—beige and burnt red—and our view is splendid. We look out onto rocky hills, where I saw a young man herding goats toward a small, wooden hut with a cooking fire out front. Wonderful.

We showered and dressed and headed downstairs by 7 for cocktails. Barb and I ordered a pleasant little Moroccan Sémillant for about $18—more cost effective by the bottle than by the glass. Then, after a glass of wine and amiable conversation with our always interesting traveling companions, we headed for dinner.

The hotel’s dining room is fabulous, with elaborate geometric patterns on the ceiling made up of different-colored wood rods. The restaurant’s staff was very polished and quite formal—clearly French trained.

The olives we were served  underscored once more that most olives here are cured regionally, and even locally, rather than commercially. The brine, the spices, the flavor is never quite the same in any two regions.

We started with a delicious harira, with chick peas, that was much spicier than any we’ve had previously. Our main course was chicken breast that had been pounded then, rolled in herbs, and fried until the edges were crisp. This was served with carrots cooked with herbs, spices, and lots of preserved lemon, and rice with a drizzle of tomato sauce. For dessert, we had excellent crêpes a l’orange. The crêpes were soaked in a rich, flavorful orange sauce and sprinkled with sesame seeds.

After dinner, upstairs for hand laundry and a goal of getting to bed by 10.