Riff-Raff flogging Kif in the Rif

Once again this post is late due to lack of internet.

We’d read about the drug dealers and drug gangs in The Rif but decided that our Mog would protect us, and Lawrence was keen to cross this range to complete our Moroccan mountain experience.

The Riff

The idiots on the side of the road and in cars trying to flag us down were merely annoying, and fairly easily ignored. They were just a pest. It was the idiots driving the ‘grand taxis’ that were the threat to our lives (plus the buses, trucks and general maniacs). The Police are also a real menace with their continual road blocks which don't seem to achieve anything - maybe just collecting bribes.

A typical Riff Town - we didn't feel compelled to stay

I stopped counting the number of near head-on collisions, it was simply terrifying. If I’d been driving we’d both be dead by now. Lawrence was forced off the road several times to avoid collision, but this was fraught as well due to riff-raff on the side. If we’d known how bad it was we’d never have driven that way as the scenery was not ‘unmissable’, nothing near as spectacular as the High Atlas.

Lawrence will post a missive on the driving, so I won’t go on.

When we finally arrived in Chefchaouen we were both completely exhausted, and downed several beers in quick succession. Feeling slightly seedy today, but the town here is lovely and there is no hassle in the souk, therefore feeling relaxed again.

Beautiful Chefchaouen

Tomorrow we head to Martil on the Med before taking the boat back to Spain (which we now think of as home), and back to our lovely camp in El Puerto de Santa Maria.

And you thought WE were mad?

On Piste and piste off.

Leaving the edge of the Sahara and driving back across the High Atlas, internet access has been non-existent.

Day one:

I wrote this at 2300 metres in the High Atlas at the Tizi n’Tazazert Pass, maybe suffering from altitude sickness.

We left our lovely small campsite in Zagora (where there were 3 Unimogs camped!) and went ‘off road’, known as a ‘piste’ here to cross the High Atlas at the Tizi n’Tazazert.

The piste started off quite rough and then got worse, then it deteriorated and then it got worse.  Really it is the worst road I’ve been on and Lawrence has commented that it was the worst drive he’s ever undertaken, more like a goat track. Hats off to Lawrence for driving it without killing us or any goats (round of applause for Lawrence here please), really he was amazing, but spare a thought for me – I had to do all the backseat driving. On one of the highest nastiest pieces there was one man with a pick mending the road – this was not a comfort. 

It took us 3 hours to do the last 40kms.

                  On Piste (this was a good bit) and Piste Off...  The books flew out of the bookshelf!!!

Describing the landscape is really beyond my literary skills, it is so dramatic, almost like some artistic giant has sculptured it with an enormous trowel.  It is also barren, harsh and inhospitable. You wouldn’t want to break down here.

We couldn’t really appreciate the scenery so well because I was scared we were about to become a part of it. I could see the next travellers – “Ooh what’s that yellow speck way down in the ravine?” I’ve tried to capture it all on photo but the really rough parts of the piste couldn’t be photographed because we couldn’t stop and it was too rough for mogcam photography. The photos can’t really do it justice.

The Loo with a View

Finally we arrived at the highest point to be greeted by people trying to flog us stuff – where did they come from at 2600+ metres???? Anyway there was a VERY rustic “Auberge” near the top. I think they have one room for rent and you can have an omelette or an omelette, which we devoured gratefully straight out of the pan. 

The photo illustrates the toilet much better than I could describe it!!

The Dog wondered where his G&T was.

We parked on the edge of a cliff and quaffed our G&T at sunset, accompanied by a dog. How do I attract them? I think the word has spread about the dog blog. This is a really remote area, but the dog wanted to sit next to me, commandeering Lawrence’s cushion.

Day Two:

We left Tizi n’Tazazert quite early not knowing what was in front of us. We only did 30kms on the dirt before wimping out once we hit the black top. We could have crossed this road for more punishment on the piste, but the roll bars on the mog were rattling like nobody’s business and needed attention, not more roughing up.

A Woman's Work is Never Done

We limped into Tinerhir and found some wonderful mechanics, who sized up the problem, worked out the solution and got straight to work. They had to remove one of the fuel tanks and God knows what to weld the roll bars back onto the chassis. They did a fantastic job in about 4 hours flat.  It cost just over 100 euros.

That night at dinner we met some great fun American guys who were travelling across Morocco on big BMW road bikes. One of them was fascinated with the Mog. They had the grand tour in the morning, and crawled all over it. I tried to sell it, but no go! We drove through the Todra Gorge next day with them and then sadly waved them goodbye.

Ewen and Charley? No! Bob and Randy.

Day Three

We drove through Todra Gorge which was of course amazing, but to me looked very much like the Kimberely – but maybe on a bigger scale. Coming out of the gorge, the landscape was incredible, ever changing, dramatic, barren but with fertile valleys, which were cleverly irrigated to make the most of the water.

Our lunch stop at Camping/Auberge Ibrahim was sensational, one of the best meals we’ve had. If it had been later in the day we would have been happy to stay. It was a really lovely spot, clean, neat and friendly. We met another American, Ryan, who was doing 2 years in this remote spot working with the Peace Corps.

The bitumen wasn't much better than the piste

We camped in a gravelled area that night, as I was spooked by the lovely place by the lake. You know how sometimes somewhere will give you the heebie jeebies??? Poor Lawrence had to drive an extra hour and a half on a really bad, steep, winding road, then find a place without the local urchins begging for money and pens.

Day 4

Easy day into Azrou. This is an Alpine style town with a ski area nearby, the steep pitched roofs look strange after the flat roofed mud brick villages across southern Morocco. 

More work needed on the Mog. Once again we have been blessed by fantastic mechanics, who came to the camp, took the exhaust pipe away, repaired it and are now fixing it back to the truck at 8pm. All this whilst we ate our Mog delivery tagine. We bought our own tagine today at a local souk. Cost a whole 4 euros. Please send recipes.

We are down to our last bottle of wine. We are hoping to find a ‘Marjane Supermarche’ on Saturday near Fes so we can restock…

Spain beckons… we just need to cross the Rif without being hijacked by the local drug gangs, and we’ll be back at Tanger Med and across the sea.

It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

As we are on the edge of the Sahara, we thought we should do the obligatory Camel Trek. If there is a more uncomfortable way to travel, I don’t know of it. Those damn animals should come with an OHS warning.

The Bloody Camels

The saddles are clearly made of concrete, cleverly disguised with a blanket for the unwary tourist. My arse was screaming within 10 minutes, but I bravely soldiered on. The guide, who was sensibly on foot, kept turning around and saying Ca Va? Bien? We grinned back Ca va!! After 30 minutes of this torture, he’d call out “CaVa?” and not knowing how to say “no, you jerk, my arse is killing me” in French, I’d groan “Ca Va!”.

Lawrence and I made the decision that we could not possibly endure 3 hours of this torture but held on until we got the sand dunes. “No more” we cried and dismounted with very little dignity. We were led into a mud hut for mint tea, which cruelly had small hard uncomfortable stools to sit on but even they felt like velvet compared to a camel.

The Dunes

We walked the hour back to the campsite with the camels looking well pleased with themselves for having got rid of us. Large stiff gins were required.

I’m sure we’ll have a good laugh about this one day – when the skin grows back.

Wonderful Campsite

The campsite however is quite lovely. We have our own little mud brick courtyard, furnished with a large rug and some outdoor furniture, we even have our own dog, a small puppy who came to visit when our lunch was delivered. The home/mog delivery service at Moroccan campsites is going to be the thing we miss most about this country.

The air here is so dry that when I put any kind of moisturiser on, my skin makes loud sucking noises. The days are still warm and sunny, getting hotter, nights are still cool.

Home Delivery

The town, M’Hamid is a scrappy little affair, with little to recommend it other than access to the pre-Sahara and a Nomad Festival. We could hear the music last night but just didn’t have the heart to leave our wine glasses and stagger into town after our camel experience. Interestingly we could hear the distinctive haunting sound of the didgeridoo – we might go in tonight, if they can get the power supply sorted.

Resident cute dog

This is the furthest south that we’ll venture. We are at 29º 49.2 N and 5º 43.2 W (for the geeks) and so far have travelled a total of 4,813 kms – which is a bit pathetic when you consider we’ve been on the road since September 26. We did 4,500kms in 10 days when we went out to Lake Eyre.

We’ll probably head north tomorrow and back over the High Atlas via some interesting roads that Lawrence has been researching. I hope my backside it up to it by then.

Tizi n'Tichka

After leaving Marrakech we headed south via the Tizi n’Tichka pass. We really had no idea what to expect, so were completely blown away by the drama of the scenery. We feel as though we are now seeing the 'real' Morocco. More photos than text this time as they say everything really.

The Tizi nTichka Pass

It’s very spectacular with snow caps in the distance and deep fertile valleys, with harsh dry mountains in between. To me it was a cross between the Pilbara in Western Australia and Arizona, except for the date palm oases and the mud brick villages dotted along the road.  The road was in pretty good condition, but very steep in places with only a flimsy stone wall between us and certain death.

Lawrence wanted this to be 4WD road!!!

We took a minor road after the pass. Lawrence was disappointed that the road had been recently tarmaced as he was keen to do some off-roading. I was not unhappy about this situation, as it was very bendy and steep.

Another Gorgeous Donkey

We stayed overnight in a very basic camp at Aid Ben Haddou, the Kasbah where Gladiator was filmed. Quite breathtaking, and in good nick. Next days drive was also breathtaking.

Heading to Agdz

Kasbah Aid Ben Haddou

Making the Mud Bricks by Hand

We arrived in Agdz and found our camp to be just lovely, right next to an oasis and part of a Kasbah, which is being painstakingly restored by a German architect and his team of volunteers. Proceeds from the campground go towards the restoration of the Kasbah, which has been in the same family for 270 years.

Agdz

I absolutely love the donkeys here. Endlessly patient, knock kneed, and with large sorrowful eyes. We had one just outside the truck in Agdz, but found him to be a cut above. Being a gourmet, he spat out an old turnip I gave him with a disdainful look, but happily munched on carrots, avocado and dates.

Gourmet Donkey

We stopped at the weekly souk to restock the veg (the donkey ate all our remains), it was a real local thing, I had to restrain Lawrence from buying a sheep and goat.

Local Souk in Agdz

We are now camped in Zagora and have a couple of funny dogs to keep us entertained. The owners put out a mat and table and bought us tea to welcome us to the site - that's something you don't see everyday.

The Welcome Mat in Zagora

The further south we go, the cleaner the shower blocks – not sure why this is.

Tinker, Tailor, Shyster, Hustler.

Our 5 days in Marrakech and the luxury of Riad Chi-Chi.

The Riad (www.riadchichi.com) is owned by the friend of a friend, so came highly recommended and we were not disappointed. It’s in the heart of the Medina right of the edge of market souks. You walk down a tiny alley through some very low arches, ducking your head, and round a blind corner, and voila! As you walk into the Riad you are immediately transported into another world. Light, white and airy, and of course very stylish. The staff were marvellous and the food was sensational. We ate in most nights to save the running the gauntlet of the hustlers.

The entry to Riad Chi Chi

Within 24 hours of being in the souk were completely lost 3 times, and got ‘helped’ by the locals who demand money and get really aggro if you don’t give them enough.  They want the equivalent of 5 euros for 5-10 minutes walking and certainly know how to demand it! We really got fed up with them in the end and started getting snappy. You can imagine Lawrence.

Lawrence of Arabia

We hired an official guide for half a day (another Abdul) so we could see the souks and some sites without getting hassled, which was great except of course we did too much shopping. The truck is now sporting a smart, red kilim, we have some lovely argan oil cosmetics (I’ll be wrinkle free shortly!!), argan oil for coking, a cashmere wrap for me, and a scarf for Lawrence. The carpet was bought from a Women’s Co-operative, which appealed to me.

These salesmen should have their own TV show

Once we found our way through the souks to the main square we felt very smug and could tell the ‘helpers’ to bugger off. We found that you really can’t stop to look at anything as you just get mobbed by the store owners and hassled to death, so we just keep on walking, drove us crazy. Not that we could really buy anything, but it’s nice to look as they have some really lovely stuff – but so much of it – how do they sell it all, and to whom???

The mopeds zooming through the markets also drove us crazy, “beep beep attention” every 5 seconds. I don’t mind getting out of the way for the donkeys, but mopeds, scooters, bikes and trucks is something else. One guy on a moped was carrying a roller door on his shoulder!!

Lovely Marrakesh Almoravid architecture - Koran School

I know we are in a 3^rd world country and we must expect the hassle and chaos, but this has really spoilt Marrakech for us. Maybe we are getting too old for it, or maybe we have just forgotten what it’s like, but we’ve decided – no more Moroccan cities. We’ll stick to the smaller towns from now on.

We left the truck is a secure parking area, which was an adventure in itself. Of course we got lost as soon as we entered the city, but the wonderful Saleh from Riad Chichi came to rescue us. I had to ride in the living area, which was great fun, whilst Saleh and Lawrence navigated through the chaos to the parking. Lawrence got stopped by the police for  allegedly committing 3 misdemeanours at once, each of which carried a  500 dirham fine. Saleh, being used to the ways of Moroccan policemen, managed to negotiate our 1500 dh fine down to a 200 dirham baksheesh (about 20 euros).

Out last afternoon was spent getting scrubbed in a hammam, followed by a massage back in our room. What a lovely way to finish our stay. For those of you that remember the Korean Bathhouse in Sydney, this scrubber made those Korean women look like amateurs. It’s wonder I have any skin left. I’m sure the mitts were made from scourers from Woolies.

We are staying 2 days in a camping park near Marrakesh to do the boring domestic stuff – washing, shopping, cupboard re-aranging etc in preparation for heading south. The campsite is really lovely – even by European standards, more like a resort. As I type this I’m sitting in the sun sipping coffee by the pool. We can see the snowy peaks of the High Atlas beckoning us.

Our Camping Site

We are heading to the edge of the Sahara where there is a nomad festival happening.  Sounds interesting. An Irish photographer who loves in the Czech Republic, who we met in Marrakech told us about it.  www.nomadsfestival.com.

Adds a certain "Je ne sais quoi"

Thoughts From the Driver.

Well, what is Marrakech like? I'll try and keep this brief but probably won't succeed. Firstly, the traffic is a bloody nightmare. We've managed, apart from Tangier, which wasn't too bad, to avoid Moroccan city traffic so far but had no choice in Marrakech. There are bloody scooters and mopeds everywhere and they, literally, appear almost under your wheels from nowhere. The favourite is to come down the inside so close you don't see them in the mirror and then cross in front of you. I must have nearly killed about a dozen this way but, Hamdulillah, I've managed to avoid them so far. It's the sheer number of them that makes it so difficult and they obey NO road rules at all. I'd got used to defensive driving because of the generally random Morroccan style but these things in this volume are nerve-racking. They don't seem to realise that being hit by a big, yellow truck is probably fatal.

The next problem arose because we were staying in the middle of the old Medina among the souks. It quickly became apparent when we arrived that the planned meeting point was impossible and, after a good deal of mutual incomprehension, they finally sent Saleh to meet us and guide us to the parking.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly until I got stopped by the police for, allegedly, (1) running a red light (2) making an illegal right turn and (3) driving a truck where not permitted. This was going to be Dh500 per offence but Saleh did a bit of negotiation and I got away with Dh200 (with no receipt needless to say). We had a bit of discussion about whether or not the Mog was a truck but it didn't seem to matter since the matter was resolved. Wrong!

Next day I went off with Saleh to get some odds and ends done on the Mog: oil change, get a bit of welding done on one of the side rails, have a look at a battery charging problem, get the aircon fixed. We went to an area on the outskirts of Marrakech which was like Desolation Row: blocks of scrapyards, trucks being dismantled in the middle of the road and every kind of vehicle repair shop except for aircon! However, I got the oil change and the welding done. On the way back to the parking I got stopped by the same bloody policeman for allegedly driving a truck in forbidden zone. We then had a long discussion about the status of the Mog. I produced the Rego document which says "Motor Caravan" but he still insisted it was a truck.

It ended up when I offered to take him into the back and show him the living space. At this point he gave up. While this was going on, on the other side of the road passed 3 huge French motorhomes, all of them 3 axle, longer than the Mog and at least the same height!

Now to the non-Mog side of things. We thoroughly enjoyed the pampering and comfort of our Riad after life in 4m x 2.5m. Being in among the souks is interesting but it is a rabbit warren where it is possible to get completely lost and disoriented in 2 minutes. It got to the point where we trusted absolutely nobody and would not even talk to people who may very well have been genuine. It's a shame, but it's self preservation. It's the first time so far we have come across this aggressive hustling as it's such a contrast with all the other souks we've been in. This place is far worse than anything I experienced in my 15 years in Asia, even Indonesia.

It's not just us!!!