Todra Gorge and Skoura

Squished in the middle of the back seat of the old Mercedes grand taxi enroute to Todra Gorge, I didn’t see all that much of the passing scenery, but much of it was flat and monotonous, until we got to the junction at Tinerhir, where we headed north into the mountains. This is approximately where the Middle Atlas Mountains become the High Atlas Mountains, and the route to Todra Gorge follows a long, long Palmeraie which fills the valley and provides a stunning contrast of dark green palms set against the stark red mountains rising and crumbling, directly above. The Palmeraie is dotted with small villages and ancient abandoned Kasbahs, and as we climb higher into the mountains the palms give way to almond and cherry trees, just starting to bloom, as they were back in Chefchaouen about a week earlier. I’d like to point out here that the date was about February 16th.

We finally arrived at the village in Todra Gorge and thankfully exploded out of the taxi to be completely dazzled by the vertical landscape surrounding us. The walls of this gorge must rise about 300 metres off the deck, thus cutting off all direct sunlight, except for that which is directly overhead - rather like Manhattan! The centre of this wee universe is the foremost mentioned hotel in the Lonely Planet guide, which is the cheapest place as well. It is where we decide to settle in for the next couple of days, despite the fact that it really is a crappy little place, wanting some simple but serious improvements. It always strikes me how these small hotels could be so much nicer with the occasional (dare I say “regular”?) application of detergent and water and elbow grease. (Dare I suggest “pride of ownership”?) But no, that would require leaving the comfort of the idle tea table and missing a little gossip… I won’t go into explicit details about the shower facility, only to say that it shares exactly the same space as the squatter toilet, and thus requires a good sense of balance. And humour. Ahem.

This gorge and another one to the west, the Dades Gorge, are a big attraction to climbers, especially from France, Spain and Quebec. There were three Quebecois there, and several French and Spanish climbers, enjoying the long routes on high quality rock. As they returned from the day of climbing, it was easy to tell that they were happy campers, so to speak.

Until the next day, that is. It had rained very heavily overnight, and thereby rendered the routes too wet to climb. In fact the river was in flood and had made the road impassable at the next main village, downstream. Incredibly this is a regular occurrence, yet still the river crosses over the road in many places, leaving behind mud, rocks and debris, and taking with it pavement and road bed. As mentioned in an earlier post, there doesn’t seem to be any attempt to install culverts allowing rivers to flow unimpeded UNDER the road, rather than across and through it. So, as a result there was no traffic coming or going to the main supply outlets on the other side of the washout. But nobody seemed terribly bothered by this, and it was the main source of entertainment for several hours, as folks from all around gathered to watch the muddy river have it’s way with the road, until the flood waters subsided enough to allow the adventurous and brave among them to start wading thigh deep, and eventually for the local heros with SUV’s to drive across. Once it was established that these vehicles forded with no apparent difficulty, the crowds dispersed and out came the shovels to start the job of cleaning up and filling in the gaping maws where a few hours earlier had been pavement.

Next morning, Cath and I said our good-byes to our two Canadian friends. They were going to attempt the hike that crosses the pass between the Todra Gorge and the Dades Gorge the next day, and being equipped with a tent a sleeping bags it seemed like a very good idea and I wished that I was also so equipped. But we hopped a bus for the town of Skoura, which according to the Lonely Planet guide, has “architectural marvels”. We opted to stay overnight in Skoura, rather than the ever popular Ouarzazate (like I said, Moroccans seem to prefer lots of vowels), based on what we read in the LP bible, deciding on the less touristique, more “authentic” destination.

A typically dusty/muddy small town with some interesting, and lovely Kasbahs was what we got, including our accommodation, which was also a Kasbah, down a dusty/muddy road. These kinds of establishments offer a wonderful refuge from the traffic and dust/mud and grime, and also the heat of the summer. They feel quite luxurious, compared to the likes of the hotel in Todra Gorge, and are completely traditional. But, it wasn’t summer, and it wasn’t hot, and so the terrace was no place for lingering to read or write, and inside rather dark and chilly. We were offered to be guided through the palmeraie to the main attraction, which is the Kasbah Amerdil. An interesting walk lead us to a tributary of the same river that two days earlier was in flood in the Dades Gorge, and was now impassable downstream at Skoura. Kasbah Armedil was, alas, unattainable on the other side. But indeed, it did looked fabulous! We turned our backs to this iconic “architectural marvel” (it is featured on the 50 dirham note of Morocco currency), and walked through the palmeraie, stopping at another fancy-schmancy Kasbah for the view from the roof-top terrasse, from whence we could see the beautiful Atlas Mountains in the distance and the very distinguishable Jebel M’Gouan, which tops out its’ beautiful snow-clad summit at an impressive 4071 metres.

Refusing to buy stuff at another artisans cooperative, which our guide just happened to take us past, (“just to look…”) we located the bus depot, where we purchased our onward passage for the next day to Marakkesh.