A small part of the exterior of Hassan II Mosque, Casablanca
The Hammam, Hassan II Mosque
Mosques provide good places to play!
Casablanca gentleman.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Casablanca
I was warned about Casablanca being a pretty boring place, and the warnings were correct. Not a lot to do there. The main attraction is the huge mosque, Hassan II, which is one of only two in all of Morocco that non-Muslims may enter. The only way to see inside it is to pay for the guided tour, which is fair enough, because there are a lot of facts and figures that are explained by the guide, without which, it wouldn’t be all that interesting. This is a new mosque built in the traditional style with some high tech inclusions, such as heated floor, 100 meters worth of re-tractable roof, and a laser beam which pierces the night sky, pointing in the direction of Mecca lest the faithful should have trouble figuring out where that is. It is the third largest mosque in the world, capable of housing 25,000 worshippers within and 80,000 outside on the surrounding marble terrace. In the basement of this mosque is the royal hamman (Roman/Turkish bath), which although is extensive and very luxurious, it is only for show. All this and much, much more for a cool one billion dollars, or there abouts.
As for the rest of Casablanca, there were really only a few things to take in and the next best bet seemed to be just trying to negotiate the extremely close confines of the labyrinth of the medina. In this medina, I never ended up where I wanted to be. Invariably when I wanted to get across it to my hostel, I ended up going in a complete circle back to where I started from. Luckily it is a small medina so it was no big deal just to go around the perimeter to find my way back home. The medina was not touristy at all, which made it a little more interesting. For the most part I was ignored by vendors, which was a real treat! I was really just biding my time in Casa, anxiously awaiting my flight to Istanbul. Casablanca offered me a place to enjoy doing some reading, and catching up on this blog.
Would I recommend a trip there? Well, maybe - it depends! I would say go with one or two others and rent a car. Or rent a car to do excursions into the rural areas. You don’t want to drive in any of the big cities, that is for sure. But to get to the smaller
If you asked me “would I go back to Morocco?” I would likely say “no”. There are many other places that I haven’t been, which take priority over a return trip almost anywhere, including Morocco. centres and to the surrounding vicinities (especially in the mountains) a car would be very useful, just the way it is in Canada. Without a car you are pretty much at the mercy of Grand Taxi drivers and the local buses, and you just aren’t going to get to some of the recommended sights. If you have a hard time with ever present garbage and grime - don’t go to Morocco. If you cannot tolerate being harassed and hounded - don’t go to Morocco. If seeing desperately poor people and beggars upsets you - don’t go to Morocco. If you have a passion for big geography and beautiful landscapes - Morocco is a good choice. If you can prepare yourself before you get there, to be kitted up for hiking, surfing, mountain-biking, mountaineering, rock climbing, then Morocco could be a real playground. So, you see - it depends!
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Rabat
Rabat is where most of the foreign embassies and consulates are, being the capital of Morocco. It has a much more cosmopolitan feel to it than any other Moroccan city in that there is an established “downtown” area complete with high end fashion shops, cafés and restaurants. There are also a LOT of black luxury vehicles with smoked windows and chauffeurs. But by European and North American standards, the city is still a mess! Garbage and construction debris litter most of the streets, and ever present grime is just a little less thick in Rabat than, say, Casablanca or Tangier.
The medina is a pretty wild place. Not so much of a tourist haven, it is where the locals go to buy cheap stuff - everything from cell phones to “savon noir”, plastic shoes, gaudy clothes, leather jackets, bedding, furniture, pirated c.d.s and d.v.d.s, toiletries, household items, fruits and veggies, beans, couscous, meat, fish, olive oil, olives, bread, preserved lemons, snacks, toys, and all manner of junk! And it is absolutely packed with merchandise and people. Vendors without a stall simply spread their wares out on the road for people to negotiate around and through.
Somehow, nothing gets kicked or stepped on! The racket is quite something as well, with all the haggling, occasional spats, happy greetings, and blaring ghetto blasters. But, thankfully, no one hassles you!
Moroccan people are very warm hearted, and it is a common site to see them stopping on their way, to share an affectionate greeting with a friend or acquaintance. Always, it begins and ends with a handshake and then touching ones own heart (male) or lips (female). Physical contact is often maintained whilst chatting, and it is not uncommon to see men and boys, and women and girls holding hands or arm in arm while walking together. Much rarer is to see men and women holding hands, but a little more common with young people. Children are, for the most part, adored by one and all, and adorable is what they are! They look after each other, as much as anyone else does, the “older” ones taking the wee ones by the hand and weaving through thick crowds and across insanely busy streets. Frightening!
It’s hard not to notice the high incidence of blindness in this country. The number of completely blind people is staggering, as is the huge number of maimed and crippled folks. While I have no idea as to the reasons for blindness, it is all too obvious why so many people are seriously physically handicapped. The hazards of living here are too numerous to imagine, what with faulty vehicles, archaic machinery, broken infra-structure and non-existent safety measure. Throw in child labour, largely unregulated traffic, and 1001 distractions and you have the basic recipe for an accident waiting to happen.
There is a place in Rabat known as Chellah, which is high above the river Oued Bou Regreg. Originally a Phoenician settlement, in about 40AD it was taken over by the Romans, who named it Sala Colonia, but was abandoned in 1154, in favour of Salé across the river. In the 14th century Sultan Abou al-Hassan Ali built a necropolis over top of the Roman site, surrounding it with the towers and defensive walls that remain today, and re-named it Chellah (Sala - Salé - Chellah). It is a remarkable place for many reasons, not the least of which is its historical significance, which makes it all the more remarkable that it hasn’t been more scientifically excavated and developed as an important monument. Inside the walls there is a beautiful garden through which you pass on the way to the ruins, which include the remains of a typical Roman city - a triumphal arch, forum, temple of Jupiter, Pool of the Nymph, and water distribution system. There is precious little information on site, and what there is, is in French and Arabic, but even I could get the gist of it! As for the Islamic complex, those remains are more intact, but still sadly neglected and overgrown. They include a minaret (now topped by an enormous stork nest!), the tombs of Abou al-Hassan Ali and his wife, still with beautiful tile work (zellij), and the remains of the medersa (religious college) with student cells and scalloped pools. The colony of storks that have made Chellah their home have a flight path that takes them right overhead, on their way to collect more nest building material and food for the hungry young-uns. They are a sight to behold, with enormous wingspans and bills. I didn’t see any bundled babies, though.
Speaking of young-uns and babies, I read that, as of at least a couple of years ago, 55% of the almost 35 million Moroccans are under the age of 25, and almost 1/3 are under the age of 15. Less than 5% is over 65 and most of them are women, often working widows. Urban unemployment rates for 15 - 34 year olds is a staggering 34%. The good news is, the birth rate has dropped from an average of 7.8 births per woman in 1971, to 2.7 currently, with lower infant mortality rates and longer life expectancy.
In addition to the Chellah, there is an archeological museum which houses a nice collection of Neolithic rock carvings, and artefacts from Roman settlements of Lixus, Volobillus, and Chellah. There are a few very beautiful carvings and some examples of (my favourite) glass objects, as well as jewellery, ceramics and the like. It’s really pretty mind-blowing to think about the ancientness of civilizations!
The Kasbah is mostly restored, and contains a lovely, quiet, and restful garden. The 17th century palace is now a small museum with mostly royal jewellery of gold and precious stones, elaborately decorated clothing, and ornate firearms and daggers. It’s a nice place to wander up through the residential area of the Kasbah, where it appears are some very wealthy residence of whom, I believe, many are ex-pats. It is a clean, sunny, and calm enclave for the lucky few who live there.
I walked a lot in Rabat, and pretty much covered all there is to see there as a tourist and a bit more, I think! It was a pleasant three days of my count-down to Istanbul. From there I took the train to Casablanca.
El Jadida
From Essaouira I headed north up the coast. I had my flight booked to Istanbul, and ten days to kill before leaving for Turkey. I wasn’t sure how I was going to fill all those days given what there was to see between Essaouira and Casablanca, my departure point. In fact there were really only a couple of places along the way that seemed worth any trouble. I was thinking about Turkey more than Morocco, and the intervening days just seemed like a waste of time. I wished that I could have made my departure date sooner.
The first place that I stopped at and spent a couple of nights was Oualidia, (say Walidia) another beach town that for the most part was devoid of tourists. Well, not quite - there was a convoy of motor homes parked in the trailer camp. The beach there is really quite lovely, there being a huge lagoon for safe swimming and wind surfing. On the other side of the lagoon the waves crash up against the rocks dramatically providing the more thrilling aspect of the ocean’s attraction. The rocks are highly eroded and convoluted, with blow-holes and sink holes and all manner of challenges for walking.
The weather turned REALLY nasty there, making it a good place to leave, so I caught the bus to the next destination - El Jadida. It is a much bigger centre, of at least 150,000 people. It was quite a long hike from the bus station to where I hoped to find a room at the Hotel Bordeaux. I finally found the place deep in the medina, and took a room. This was the cleanest hotel I stayed in in Morocco, and it was really reasonably priced! Eureka!
The main attraction is the Cité Portugaise, the walled fortress which dates from 1506 built by the Portuguese (who called it Mazagan) as one of a string of trading posts along the Atlantic coast. The tiny fortress is really a gem, and an island of tranquility (tranquille!) away from the hustle of the rest of El Jadida.
One of the most interesting features of the Cité is the Citerne Portugaise, a vast vaulted cistern used to collect water, it is illuminated by a single shaft of light. There remains a thin film of water over the floor providing a mirroring of the ceiling and pillars to great effect. Good enough for Orson Wells to use the space in his 1954 film version of Othello - the dramatic riot scene. Very cool place.
The fortress walls are 2 metres thick and provide a great walkway from which you can look out to sea, and across the city. I had good weather for the most part, although it looked pretty threatening for a while. The enormous beach was largely uninspiring in March, but apparently it becomes a real attraction in the summer months.
I liked this place and felt good about my decision to check it out. But I still had 5 days to kill, and was dreading Casablanca. Everything that I had heard and read about the place told me to avoid the big sprawling mess of broken down city. Rabat was my last choice before deferring to Casablanca which I ended up transiting through. And yes, it did look grim….
Monday, March 15, 2010
Essaouira
After returning the car to the agent in Tiznit, Yves and I headed to the dreaded Grand Taxi rank to find a shared ride to Agadir. From there we would find another grand taxi going to Essaouira. Yves only wanted to go half way to Essaouira (say Esweera), because his hike would take him along the Atlantic coast the rest of the way to that tourist hot spot. I was going all the way. We quickly hopped in the front seat in order to have a bit more space than when crammed into the back seat. Remember, these so-called Grand Taxis leave when they have six passengers - two in the front and four in the back, in a car that is really meant to hold a maximum of 4 passengers. You can forget about seat belts and window cranks, which have been removed in order to create a little more room for passengers. The driver has one which gets passed around according to the needs of the passengers.
So, it was somewhere along the highway between Agadir and Essaouira that Yves and I parted company, agreeing to keep in touch, and possibly meet up in Essaouira, where he expected to arrive in 3 or 4 days. He had an 8 km walk down a side road to get to the coast, and just missed a ride going that way, which the taxi driver tried in vain to flag down for him. The sky was looking variable with dark clouds and sunny breaks…
About another hour with the front seat to myself (luxury!) put me in Essaouira, and as expected I was immediately approached by someone offering accommodation. As usual “tranquille” was the operative descriptor. Since I had no reservation, I agreed to have a look at it, on my way to one of the hotels suggested in the Lonely Planet. Once again the medina seemed impossible to navigate and I had no idea where I was when we got to the riad. It was swell enough and not too expensive so I decided that I would settle in for a few days. Then off I went to get lost and explore the medina.
There is a section in fortification walls separating the medina from the sea where there is a wide ramp up to the ramparts. If you have seen the Orson Wells film version of Othello, you will know this spot because he used it in the opening scene for a panoramic shot where Iago is suspended in a cage above the rocks and sea. It really is a spot with tons of style, and I can imagine how Mr Wells would see it as a perfect location. Not having seen the movie myself yet, I am now determined to when I have access to a dvd player again. While he was in the vicinity he filmed another scene in the town north of here, called El-Jadida, which I went to a few days later.
Essaouira is another surfer destination, although technically speaking the waves aren’t all that good, I guess. There are beaches nearby which offer better quality waves. There are tons of tourists here, most of whom certainly don’t look like surfers though. Mind you the water was very turbulent and full of stirred up mud, perhaps a seasonal condition that improves later in the year. The beach is very, very wide with not too much of a slope, and serves the local lads as multiple soccer pitches at low tide. Sunday seemed to be league soccer day, as there must have been at least 20 games in progress, with what seemed to me a high degree of expertise in ball handling skills. Soccer is played everywhere in Morocco, and rarely with the advantage of a proper pitch or even a proper soccer ball. Kids are always at it, sometimes even the young girls get to take part, down any street or alleyway, with whatever substitutes for a ball. And of course, the t.v. stations are always tuned to the game, if not the imam.
There are thousands of small shops offering all manner of Moroccan handicrafts. There isn’t too much hassling from the vendors, but there are always a same few who can’t resist pestering tourists. A lot of what is for sale is of fairly high quality, and there seems to be a lot of variety of styles and colours in any given item. Leather goods, wood furniture, metal work, clothing, et cetera.
There are a lot of restaurants as well, all offering the exact same fare that is offered all over Morocco, no better/no worse. It’s the standard couscous, tagine, kefta, rotisserie chicken, salads, fried fish, and often hamburgers for those who crave. Frankly, it’s all pretty boring food, and I have only eaten one couscous that I found to be tasty and well prepared. Mostly, tagines and couscous consist of overcooked vegetables and/or meat with very little spicing. I’ve had ‘way better at home with certain friends (you know who you are!). And the harira (Moroccan soup) is awful. Cheap but awful. Every single bowl that I have had is exactly the
same as the last. I have a much better recipe! Bread is served with everything and is the sold everywhere. And every morning there are piles of day old bread torn up and lying on the sidewalk in a heap. Can someone explain this to me?
Some of the my best bets for food have been salads and fruit smoothies which at least have no starch and provide some minerals and vitamins. The tea is variable, but always sweet, and coffee is generally good.
I was starting to weary of Morocco by the time I reached Essaouira, and after finally having some decent internet chats with my daughter about meeting up in Turkey in May, I decided that it was time for me to head to that country well in advance of her tentative rendezvous with me.
I had pretty much seen what I came to see, and so since I had found a cyber café with a reasonably reliable internet connection, I took advantage of that to search out and book a flight. After a few sessions, I had it figured out - I would fly from Casablanca to Istanbul on March 18/19. With that date now fixed, I planned the remaining days of my time in Morocco to wind up in Casablanca for a couple of days before flying east.
Tafraoute
Upon returning to Tiznit, I immediately embarked on a search for a car rental agency, and within about an hour I was signing the necessary paperwork and forking over cash for an older economy model, for four days. In Morocco the deal is, you pick up the car with an empty gas tank, and return it with an empty tank. Hmm - that’s a good one! I reckon that this is a bit of a scam in order for the agent to be able to syphon off whatever is left, and put back about a teaspoon, or just enough to get to the nearest gas station. Good thing the gas station was close-by, because I wouldn’t have made it very far on the gas that was left!
My plan was, instead of returning to Mirleft and through to Sidi Ifni, I would go to the mountains (surprise!) about 130 kms directly east of Tiznit. The town of Tafraoute I had heard to be very beautiful and likewise the surrounding area. From past experience I knew that it would be next to impossible to see anything outside the town without a car, and giving myself four days would be ample, and perhaps enough to take in Sidi Ifni before the return deadline.
It felt SO good to be driving a car myself, instead of at the mercy of a hell bent taxi driver in a clapped-out, hay-wired,, ancient Mercedes! It was such a pleasure to just take as much time as I wanted, stopping when I wanted. THIS is the way to see Morocco! The route is truly beautiful and I was blessed with very fine weather for this trip.
There is a lot of agriculture across Morocco, especially in oranges, olives, and a huge variety of vegetables. Along this route I saw a lot of vegetables growing as well as olive plantations. Another crop, which is unique to Morocco, is argan. Argan trees produce a fruit that looks much like a green olive, but it is more of a nut. It has an outer husk, a shell, and an inner kernel which is crushed for its precious oil. It is a very labour intensive process to produce the oil which is highly favoured by Moroccans for use in beauty products and for cooking. Argan grows well in the region of Tafroute. The trees are big and beautiful, providing shade for goats, who also happen to enjoy eating the fruit for their husks.
Driving into the Anti-Atlas mountains was very scenic. I enjoyed the broad expansive views of the approaching the highlands and distant peaks. Up and up I continued, past tiny villages, goat herds, argan and olive groves, and palmeraies. Very young children who live along the route stand next to the highway waving bunches of thyme that they have picked from the surrounding hills, offering it for sale to passers-by. I picked up a couple of hitchers along the way. Distances between villages is often too far to walk, and so I had no problem picking up a young man and dropping him off about 10kms down the road, and a little further on a grandfather and his grandson, who were going to Tafraoute. All were very grateful for the rides, and the youngster made a special effort to thank me.
I found the hotel mentioned in the guide book and took a room there, though it was tres simple. Literally just a bed and a chair and a window and door, but it was cheap and I didn’t need any luxury - I had the car to provide that element!
Just a few kilometers from Tafraoute, there are some amazing and dramatic rock formations, consisting of huge boulders perched atop one another and the underlying grit stone ridges. I really enjoyed a few hours of scrambling and exploring a small part of that fantasy landscape, until I noticed a change in the weather heading in my direction looking like it was certain to bring rain.
There are a lot of other geographies to explore in this, the Ameln Valley. Part way up the sides of the crumbling mountains are abandoned and inhabited villages. There is a place where a Belgian artist painted blue some huge boulders in a nearby valley, to an extraordinary effect. Chapeau Napoleon is a pile of boulders, one on top of the other, in an isolated tower that is supposed to look like its’ namesake - I couldn’t quite see it. But I did see the lion’s face in the rock formation not far from Tafraoute. It actually quite resembles the logo for the production of “The Lion King”. It’s a lot bigger though, even bigger that the one in Times Square!
Another interesting side trip was to the Ait Monsoor Gorge. Up and over another pass and down into narrow valley, surrounded by steep cliffs of conglomerate, which seem to shed their red mud and stones during heavy rainstorms. Thus, was the road washed out at the bottom of the valley, although drivers with higher clearance vehicles than my little Kia seemed at ease fording through. This narrow valley is obviously fertile, and receives enough sunlight to provide for crops of olives, almonds and dates.
At my hotel, I noticed a fellow who seemed to be travelling solo, like myself. The day before I was going to leave Tafaoute, I approached him after seeing him at breakfast to ask him, if he would like to join me in an excursion into the surrounding valley. He said he would like to very much and so we set out to explore one of the abandoned villages about 15 or 20 kms away.
Yves is a Frenchman who has lived the past 10 years in NYC, which explained his rather odd accent. He worked as a Pedi-cab (bicycle rickshaw) driver there, all that time, and has been a bicycle traveller for years. He has been coming to Morocco since he was a youngster, with his parents, and has also travelled extensively in Turkey. He has learned a fair bit of Arabic, over the years, and can even read it, so he is well kitted out for travelling in Morocco and much of the Arab world. This trip he wasn’t cycling (though he has done a lot of cycle touring in Morocco), but instead doing some hiking, which he has also done in the past.
We had a good look around at the abandoned village, which had some exquisite but crumbling examples of classic Moroccan architecture. Apparently the inhabitants of the village all emigrated to France and America in the 60’ and 70’s, leaving the village to complete neglect. It was sad to see these once beautiful homes in a such condition that they were irretrievable, and yet the newer village below being constructed some short time was so completely unattractive and charmless. It seems that once a building’s roof starts to fail, there is no effort to repair it and continue using it. Eventually it just returns to the earth from whence it came - stones, mud, wood and straw. Such places are scavenged for the attractive doors and window coverings which are sold to oversees buyers.
Since Yves was heading to Tiznit to begin his next hiking trip, he joined said me for the drive back. I told him that I was actually going to Sidi Ifni which is south of Tiznit. He said that although he had wanted to go there, he still had not made it. I suggested that if he didn’t mind starting his hike a couple of days later he was welcome to join me. By morning he had decided to take me up on the offer. We had lots to chat about enroute, so it was a real treat to have him along. He told me that he was pretty much finished with NYC, and had no desire to return to France to live (“it’s too old and cold and settled in it’s ways, here” - Joni Mitchell) but was very interested to check out his options in Montreal, which is where my son, Colin, lives. In fact he would fly from Morocco to Montreal to do just that, before starting a cross-America bike trip.
We arrived at Sidi Ifni in good enough time to find the hotel and search out the giant rock arches some 10kms up the coast from town. Indeed, these arches are humongous and impressive, miniaturizing everything else in sight. It was humbling to walk under them as they span the beach and reach into the ocean. It was also a little unnerving, knowing that they are also composed of a conglomerate of mud and rocks, which are ever eroding and potentially one could be in the line of fire from a missile at any time with no warning. That would be deadly strike, for certain!
Sidi Ifni is an interesting town in that it is a former Spanish port, and has retained that influence. Here, the second language in Spanish, rather than French, which was no problem for Yves, since he also speaks Spanish, having learned it in New York. It was great having my own personal translator! Actually, the nicest thing about the town was the hotel that we stayed in. It was so pleasant, and clean and pretty, and the owners were delightful. But we could only stay one night, as I had to return the car to Tiznit by noon next day.
Tiznit and Mirleft
Finding the hotel in Tiznit that I read about in the Lonely Planet Guide was easy, and once I settled into my room, I had time to start getting the lay of the land. It was still early in the afternoon and a very pleasant temperature - not too hot, not too cool. As usual, it seemed impossible at first to make sense of the street plan, but after getting myself lost and found once or twice, it all started to come together. As usual too, what seemed to be yet another grubby Moroccan town, quickly became less intimidating, a little more interesting.
It turned out to be a bit of a celebratory day for Muslims in Morocco, a day for visiting with friends and family and strolling about town in their “Friday Best”. I found a nice tiny café where I grabbed a bite to eat and watched the local throngs pass by. It was a good vantage point, being situated across the street from the main mosque. Everyone seemed to be involved and many were dressed to the nines. Young mothers and fathers with their youngsters in beautiful caftans with fine embroidery, the elderly, and groups of teens. There was a group of three or four young men next to where I was sitting. They were obviously the local “boys in the ‘hood” who set themselves apart by sporting slick western clothing and hairstyles that would draw attention in NYC. They were loud and boisterous, having a fine time at the expense of pretty girls passing by. In an instant they targeted an pious, elderly man, snatching his skull cap and playing catch and taunting him with it. All in good fun, if you weren’t the victim - right out of Shakespeare or Dickens!
It was in Tiznit that I really started to notice an ever increasing number of - how shall I say? - used-up looking folks from France. By this, I mean what appear to me to be ex-hippy travellers who never stopped coming to Morocco for cheap kif and a cheap holiday in the sun. Maybe they never left, since the ‘70’s. Anyways, I didn‘t get a warm fuzzy feeling from them, and they appear to have spent ‘way too much time in the sun.
There two other groups of ex-pat French and Spanish in fairly large numbers in Morocco. One group is the motor home travellers. Just like in North America there are convoys of motor homes travelling up and down the Atlantic Coast. There are many sites for them to park en masse, and I didn’t see a single one where I would want to spend even 10 minutes! For the most part the trailer parks are just an empty piece of earth filled with potholes, mud, and debris. Sometimes they have a view of the ocean (big deal!), sometimes they are enclosed by a mud wall. It’s really unbelievably bad, yet there must be something about it that appeals to this group of retirees. Beats me!
The other group is comprised of wealthy French, who have started building villas next to each other, along the coast but away from the actual nearby town. I doubt if they have much of a positive impact on the local economy once they have finished with construction, due to their privileged isolation. The villas seemed to be completely unoccupied during the winter. I can’t imagine how hot it must get in the summer months, but I guess you have the cooling gale force winds off the Atlantic providing a moderating effect to the African summer sun.
One of the great things about my accommodation in Tiznit was that it had the best internet connection I had in all of Morocco. The fellow who runs this place is really savvy to the needs of travellers, understanding that internet access is pretty damned important these days, in planning for the next destination, booking airline tickets, on-line banking, and keeping in touch with friends and family back home. The other great thing about it was the price. Super simple accommodation, but super cheap. And it was clean!!! I wish there were more of the same throughout Morocco.
Internet is rarely available at budget and mid-price accommodation in Morocco, even though the management has a computer for their own use. Somehow, they can’t get their heads around the idea of providing wireless signal for the guests. Sometimes there is one computer available for guest use, but usually the bored staff is using it. There are several “cyber café” establishments in towns and cities, but it is still advisable to use your own lap-top because the keyboards are usually filthy, and almost impossible to use because they are in Arabic and our alphabet (but not qwerty), and each key has up to four options. It can take forever just to figure out how to sign in to your email account! Often the wired connection to the internet is of dubious integrity - everything is old and half broken - so it’s not always a certainty that you are actually connected. And connection speed seems to be variable, from fast to dead slow - you just never know.
After a couple of days of poking around Tiznit, I took a shared taxi south to the town of Mirleft, right on the coast. There is only one beach in Mirleft where the “river” flows into the ocean. Other than that it’s impressive, high rock cliffs against which the waves crash heavily with a mighty back-spray. Apparently one of the “fun” things to do there is to go “surf-casting” for fish from the cliffs above. I saw a few locals at it. Mostly, I think it is just a way to wile away the hours, but give the appearance of being productive. How any fish would survive the power of those waves, I can’t guess. Come to think of it, I didn’t see that any of the fishermen had any bounty to show for their efforts.
The aforementioned beach is a surfing destination, of which there are many along the Atlantic coast of Morocco. There were a few surfer types in town, looking ever so cool in their tight wet suits, just back from a day in the waves. They definitely boost the local economy by spending on groceries, staying in cheap hotels, eating in cafés and buying silver jewellery, scarves and trinkets from the local craftsmen. The season was just beginning, and I understand that it is becoming a more and more popular destination each year, for nearby Euro surfers. Climbing, mountaineering, surfing, mountain biking, hiking, and bicycle and motorcycle touring are all potentially great tourism opportunities for Morocco. Now, if the can just get internet access figured out…
High above the town of Mirleft is the crumbling Kasbah, which looked really cool from down below. I decided to take a walk up to it, and see what I could see. Glad I did, because the views from up there were fabulous. There was a couple of boys just hanging out, who decided to guide me through the ruins. I guess they were interested to speak to a foreigner and show off their home turf, and I didn’t repel their offer. I was certain that they would be asking for money, and lots of it, to pay for their “expertise”, and was very surprised when I turned to go they simply bid me farewell.
From Mirleft I wanted to continue south to the town of Sidi Ifni, which has a distinctly Spanish influence, rather than French. The problem was transportation. Again. There are some dramatic cliff formations about 10kms from Sidi, but one can really only get there if one has a car. I decided that the best thing for me to do for the next stage of my travels would be to rent a car. I met a Canadian woman who is married to a Moroccan and living in Mirleft, who agreed that that would be a good idea, and gave me the business card of the local car rental agency which happened to be right next door to my hotel. In fact, renting a car was not a lot of money, but unfortunately all her cars were rented. So, I would have to go back to Tiznit and pick up a car there. Which I did, the next day.
Imlil and Tizi-N-Test
I ended up travelling by grand taxi, by myself, from Marakkesh to Imlil. It is not a long way, and normally one would go by “taxi collectif” rather than solo, thus spreading out the cost between several passengers (usually six), making it super cheap, but super uncomfortable as well. However, misinformation lead me to believe that it would be much easier than it was, to get a shared taxi to the small mountain village, and so I ended up footing the entire bill by myself. The first of several such episodes of misinformation over the next few days, I had a nagging feeling that things were going to start to go sideways on me…
I ended up in another lovely riad at the upper end of this village, which was truly a beautiful and restful spot. “Tranquille” is a favourite expression in Moroccan French, and that it was, as I was the only guest. Whilst there, I did a couple of easy hikes in the surrounding vicinity, but nothing terribly strenuous or challenging, due to my solo status. It was nice to be in the mountains and wander around in the hills a bit.
Before I left Marakkesh, I had spoken to a few locals about the route that I was planning on taking, to get their opinion. All of them agreed that it was a good plan, which led me to believe that it could be executed without too much trouble. Learn as you go, girl! The route would take me straight south of Marakkesh through the High Atlas Mountains over the pass known as Tizi-N-Test, and ending at the small city of Taroudannte. According to my road map, it was a good road, indicating a fairly regular amount of traffic.
After a couple of nights in the Imlil Riad my next move was to get to the nearby larger town of Asni, which I came through on my way to Imlil. There should have been numerous taxis every day to get there, but of course, there seemed to be something of a hold up or delay, whilst drivers had a conflab. First indication of trouble ahead. I was informed that once I got to Asni, I would be able to get another shared (collective) taxi to a place called Ijoukak, at which point I would take another shared taxi through Tizi-N-Test to Taroudannte. But, isn’t there a bus? I asked. Well, no one seemed to know exactly if there was one or not. Seemed like maybe there was, once a week, but no one could say for sure what day specifically, never mind what time! Second indication of trouble ahead.
So, I finally made it to Asni, and was immediately swooped down upon by a local offering to help me out in getting a taxi to Ijoukak, and that “No, there was no bus today.” After being offered tea (third indication of trouble ahead) and the help of finding a driver willing to take me (no others were looking for transportation in that direction I was told, so it would be just me to pay the whole fare again) I was traipsed around from taxi to taxi with the promise of working something out with a diver. But then everything went into a stall, supposedly because it was noontime prayers. (fourth indication.) At this point I considered bailing out, and just returning to Marakkesh to figure out a new plan, but I really wanted to see this route, so I stuck to my guns. Finally a driver was located, and money was paid, and off I went with the driver grinning like a fiend (fifth indication) and wheeling around each bend like a complete maniac. After too many near misses, I was very relieved to get out of that taxi at Ijoukak, where I started to find the next collective taxi for the remainder of the route through the famed Tizi-n-Test and on to Taroudannte.
It was only a minute or two later that I notice a couple of young travellers get out of a mini-bus. They had obviously come from the same direction as I had, and could only be going the same direction as I was going. I approached them to confirm my suspicions and found that I was correct. In fact they had left Imlil about the same time I had, but managed to find the mini-bus that I was looking for but was steered away from by unscrupulous taxi drivers. We were all given the same information - that there would be no problem betting from Ijoukak to Taroudannte by shared taxi. Obviously it was in all our best interests to team up, and so we introduced ourselves and concurred on details of our destination.
They were Carola, an Austrian, and Marco, an Italian/Austrian. It was her 4th trip to Morocco and his 1st. She speaks a tiny bit of Arabic and Berber, which is often helpful, and really knows what is the score in Morocco which is also helpful. Both of them have had issues with shared taxi drivers and have dubbed them the “Moroccan Taxi Mafia”, which I agree is a very apt label.
Shortly after our mutual introductions, we notice a shared taxi with three people in it, heading back to Taroudannte. We immediately made tracks for it, but the driver waved us off. He said his taxi was full, and quickly departed with his three passengers. (Sixth indication - this was the tipping point.) Full is comprised of six passengers. By the rules, shared taxis are not allowed to forbid you from sharing the ride as long as there are unpaid places available. By the appearance of the three passengers in the taxi it was highly unlikely that they paid for six places between the three of them. This meant that we had to wait for the next taxi to arrive and for another three passengers wanting to travel to Taroudannte. Or for the bus to arrive.
I went to the café where it seemed the bus stop was, and inquired if there was a bus coming that day. Yes, the fellow assured me, it was coming at about 3 or 4 o’clock. Okay, at least we had that in our back pocket, so we waited. And waited. And waited. Two hours turned into three, it was apparent that no bus was coming. It was getting late in the day and looking like we were going to be stuck in this desperate little place.
We now realized that these guys were all conspiring against us, in order to force us, in desperation, to pay a ransom fee for a ride to Taroudannte. We three were disgusted by their dishonesty, and Carola really let them have it. When she asked the coffee shop vendor why he told me that there was a bus coming, he flatly denied it. They all looked on sheepishly as if they were completely innocent and naïve.
Since there were now no taxis available, a private car owner who was somewhat sympathetic to our plight, offered to take us to Taroudannte in his own vehicle for about twice as much as it should have cost us. I was prepared to throw in for all of the excess above what it should have cost, just to “get outta Dodge” and away from these malevolent men. It was agreed that we would pay him, and make no mention of the fact should we be stopped by the police, since it was illegal for him to carry out such a transaction.
So finally we left as the sun was setting and at such an angle as to make it almost impossible to see much of the Tizi-n-Test after all. It was another amazing road down the south side of the High Atlas Mountains with impressive hair-pin turns and steep inclines. What we were able to see, when shaded by the surrounding slopes was very impressive and beautiful. What we didn’t see, due to the blinding effect of the setting sun on the dirty windows, was as beautiful, I’m sure! Within about an hour and a half we were dropped at the taxi stand where we easily found a shared ride to Taroudannte, about another 20 kms down the highway.
I hate arriving in any new place after dark, but such was the case for us in Taroudannte. I was very glad to not be on my own though, and eventually we found suitable enough accommodation for the night. The day had been quite an ordeal. I was happy to put it behind me, but I couldn’t help asking myself over and over - What was the point of those people to do what they did?
Carola and Marco had a plane to catch the next day, from Agadir airport. We arranged a shared taxi ride to Inezgane, which is a main transportation hub just south of Agadir. Enroute, Carola realized that we would pass right by the airport, and so we had the driver stop to let them off just across the highway from the airport, a short walk away.
I got out in Inezgane to find yet another shared taxi ride to the town of Tiznit. I was directed to the appropriate position for Tiznit taxis, and found something of a petit rebellion in progress. The normal price for a shared taxi to Tiznit is 27 dirham. The driver was insisting on 47 dirham, but the waiting passengers refused to pay. There were about a dozen of them holding out for the next taxi to take them, and there were three passengers in the taxi willing to pay the extortion rate. I was of two minds, not wanting to be party to more taxi mafia blackmail, but also not wanting to be left stranded for untold hours waiting to be ripped off in the end after all. Having no appetite for another such episode, it easily made sense for me to pay an extra couple of euros for the assurance of my timely arrival in Tiznit. The minute I put my suitcase in the trunk, two more passengers threw in the towel, and we were away.
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