Here and there . . . and Finally Fez. (Two Day Catch Up.)

     Good evening readers. This report is brought to you from the Alhambra . . . a.k.a. our riad in Fez.  But I digress.  Let's start at the beginning, as this post is a two-day catch up.

     When we last left off, we were at the amazing Jardins des Skoura.  We had a wonderful dinner with a half bottle of Moroccan wine.  We came to realize that there were only four families in the entire riad . . . one Swiss, one German, one Italian, and then us.  All dined in the interior near the fire, as it was cold and windy that night.  An impeccable meal of Moroccan soup, Tagine (which Ford and Ed ate barehanded at the invitation of the waiter) and wonderful accompaniments and dessert.  All included with the room.

The next morning dawned clear, sunny and perfect and we dined on the terrace -- yet another wonderful meal:

 

 

It had snowed during the night high in the Atlas Mountains above us, but it was already warming up on the desert floor where we would be driving that day:

 

 

We rolled along for miles through canyons and gorges, through small Berber villages that offered the most amazing sights -- there are almost too many photos to choose from, but these are typical scenes -- the valley floor is green and lush but the surrounding area is harsh desert, and it is the valley where the Berbers make their homes:

 

 

 

 

 

We were told that we would need turbans for our excursion into the desert, and this made perfect sense since we had already had a taste of wind and sand.  So we stopped at a shop and bargained for four.  After 15 minutes of haggling, we had our four turbans and lessons in how to tie them:

     We continued driving through settlement after settlement.  There is a sense of semi-poverty pretty much everywhere -- at least to our eyes.  The roads are lined with people just sitting around . . . this seems to be the main activity, followed closely by crouching in the dust or standing in small groups in shady spots.  Children as young as 5 wander freely along the sides of the road, sometimes alone or in pairs and sometimes with older siblings.  Dogs and donkeys are everywhere.   And there are all manner of pedestrians walking slowly, or standing in the middle of nowhere, sometimes miles from the nearest town, presumably waiting to be picked up for a ride and leaving one to wonder how they got there in the first place.  Virtually all women and the majority of men wear traditional dress and as we got further and further into the desert, many women wore full burkas.  There is dust, diesel, grit and half-completed construction of sorts everywhere, much of it appearing haphazard and abandoned.  In town, kids ride bikes to get to and from school, often 2 to a bike, and sometimes you see entire families on a single motorbike.  Here are just a couple of shots taken from the car window as we passed through towns, the first showing girls in their school uniforms on bikes, and the second showing how the animals share the roads with the cars, trucks and motorcycles. 

     We continued to drive into the desert which looks very much like the Great Basin of the U.S.  Think "Middle of Nowhere, Nevada."  The primary feature of the desert, aside from the remarkable geology, is the overwhelming presence of plastic bags.  Millions of plastic bags litter the desert floor . . . blue, white, black, pink . . . like Christmas decorations.  They blow forever, miles from any town or village, until they get snagged on a piece of rock or a scraggly plant.  And there they stay.  They are simply everywhere:

     We were headed in the direction of the famed Erg Chebbi dunes.  At lunch we met some people from Boston who told us of their previous night in the dunes . . . a sandstorm as they described it; windy and very difficult.  We hoped we would fare better.

     Finally, late in the day, near 5:00 p.m., we arrived at the edge of Erg Chebbi.  We pulled up to a ramshackle "hotel" and met our desert guide -- Bekkar.  We later learned that Bekkar is 26 years old and has spent his entire life in the desert.  He has never visited a major city, even in Morocco.  He speaks a Berber dialect, but has been guiding in the desert for 10 years and has picked up a lot of French and English.  So we had no trouble communicating.  Bekkar told us we had 10 minutes to put a few things into our backpacks and then we would set out into the Erg Chebbi dunes with the dromedaries.  He told us we were very lucky -- the weather could not be more perfect.  And he was right.  As we set out, it was as still as could be, about 80 degrees, and the sky a perfect blue:

 

 

     Erg Chebbi is a collection of truly massive sand dunes in the middle of the desert.  They are hundreds of feet high and many square miles in area.  It is just what one thinks of when one thinks of the Sahara desert.  Without a guide, one could be lost in these dunes in an instant where it not for following tracks of the dromedaries. 

 

     The plan was to ride for about 90 minutes into the middle of the dunes, where there were several camps at a small oasis at the base of the largest dune -- more than 600 feet high.  We would camp there that night, sleeping in semi-permanent tents, and then return the following morning.

 

     It was breathtaking and we were all in awe as we set out on the backs of these dromedaries, which are massive and strong animals perfectly suited to the task.  Ed was in front with the camera, and Bekkar led us on foot:

 



 

Our Shadows in Late Afternoon

 

Another Caravan in the Distance

 

Bekkar

 

     It was awesome to ride those dromedaries into the dunes.  But after 90 minutes our inner thighs were feeling it big-time, and we were only too happy to arrive at camp:

 

Arrival at Camp

 

Camp the Following Morning

 

Bekkar encouraged us to climb the 600 foot high dune behind our camp while he made tea and prepared dinner.  We did it, and somehow we made it to the top.  It was unforgettable:

 

Averil on Massive Dune Above Camp

Ford on Massive Dune . . . Note Camp 600 Feet Below, to His Right

 

Asha on Dune . . . Camp is the Spec in Lower Right of Picture

Ed and Ford Atop Dune Ridge

 

    

     We found a piece of metal -- a makeshift sled -- and Ford used it to sled down the 600 foot face of the dune:

 

 

     That night, Bekkar made an incredible meal of tagine, soup and fruit.  The sky was white with stars.  We slept like rocks:

 

 

     The next morning we woke up early and climbed part-way up the big dune to watch the sun rise:

 

View from Tent on Waking

Sunrise Atop Big Dune

    

   

      Then it was 90 minutes of dromedary-riding back through the dunes.  We arrived on the edge of the dunes about 8:30 to the ramshackle "hotel."  We were given a nice breakfast, Le General had a shower, and we said goodbye to Bekkar and left him a tip of 100 Dirhams.  He was a good guide.  By 9:30 we were on the road to Fez.

 

     The ride to Fez was exceptionally long.  In distance it was about 350 miles.  But much of it was over mountain passes, slow going, along sheer cliffs and windy roads with hairpin turns, behind trucks and through town after town after town.  Ford and Asha slept.  Books were read.  Music was listened to.  We stopped for lunch and a few rest breaks.  Over time, the scenery changed.  The desert greened and became pasture for sheep and goats.  Pasture became forest.  In one section, we saw monkeys by the side of the road.  Forest turned back into pasture.  As it got greener, it was hard to believe we were in the Sahara desert that very morning.  We passed through one town -- Ifrane -- which was designed in the 1930s by the French to resemble as Swiss ski resort.  It was weird!

 

     A word about our driver, Addil (earlier I spelled it with a "b," that needs to be corrected).  We came to learn in our four days with Addil that he can barely speak French or English.  He's been faking it!  He is an excellent driver, safe and courteous and he did a good job getting us where we needed to go without our getting killed.  That was his main mission.  He was always pleasant and helpful.  But he wasn't really able to talk with us . . . we came to learn this over time because, like someone who can't read, Addil was very good at pretending and we were initially fooled into thinking he was just a man of few words.  But we began to suspect he couldn't really understand us and came to believe that his "yes" and "no" answers were largely random.  When Le General asked him how many times he had ridden a camel, and he answered (in French) "50 years," our suspicious were confirmed.

 

     In late afternoon, the radiator problem reared its head again and, as before, luck smiled on Addil as we were very near a stream.  He was able to drive the car to the stream bank and filled up the radiator with about 8 liters of stream water:

 

 

But c'mon Addil!  He has known for four days (at least) that there is a radiator problem.  And he assured us that it was "no problem" after the first incident.  But rather than fixing it (at one of the many towns we passed during our four days together), or even carrying spare water (there was nothing in the car but a couple of liters of drinking water), he just waits until the radiator became completely empty and then hopes to be near a stream?  If this had occurred (on either occasion) in the desert, it would have been a different level of problem.  It's a funny thing.  This habit of not fixing things until they're broken is something we've read about in books about Morocco culture.  Not to stereotype a nation of 30 million people . . . but a little advance planning might be a good idea.

 

     Finally, at about 7:00 p.m., after nearly 10 hours on the road, we arrived at Fez.  We made our way into the new city (very cosmopolitan!) and toward to old medina (ancient part of the city where our riad is).  Finally, our car could go no further.  Not that we wanted it too.  We were done with car riding!  The most dangerous part of our journey (the road) was over!

 

     We reached a dead end in a narrow street at a small alleyway.  Our luggage was put into a cart and wheeled though a maze of alleys. We reached a door.  The porter gave some sort of secret knock.  The door opened . . . and we entered . . . THE ALHAMBRA.  THE TAJ MAHAL.  PARADISE.  A riad that is simply incredible . . . we are speechless.  We again have two rooms, and the room of Le General and Ed has a private terrace that overlooks the rooftops of old Fez.  But the interior of the riad is the most amazing part . . .  and pictures must wait. 

 

      Maybe interested readers can see it online:  www.riadfes.com. 

 

      After the 10 hour drive, Le General decided that a bath and bed sounded better than dinner.  But Ed and Ford and Asha ventured out into the alleys and had a fantastic meal and an even better desert of sweets and nuts purchased from a street vendor.  So far, Fez looks pretty inviting . . . we'll know more tomorrow as we venture out for the penultimate day of our adventure in Morocco:

 

     Fez on Foot . . . .