Tales of Morocco 5: "Riding Camels in the Sahara"
January 27th!
Ourzazate, Morocco
Trip Into the Desert and Gorges of Southeastern Morocco
After many days touring the imperial cities of Morocco, Mom and I agreed that it was time to finally see more of the Moroccan countryside and the Sahara...a long cherished dream of mine! We booked a three-day excursion (the cheapest three days of our trip so far...only $125/person including everything but lunch) with a backpacker organization to travel through the desert, gorges, and see Erg Chebbi, the only true moving sand dunes of the Sahara in Morocco.
We were fortunate to be with an incredibly jolly group of young Kiwi girls (chronically giggly, under-dressed for the weather but ever jolly), Argentians, two young Italians who were constantly either drinking coffee, chain-smoking, or drinking beer and snapping photos and making jokes, two Americans (only the second Americans we've met here in over two weeks), an Englishman, and a Japanese girl. Mom was the oldest in the group and much respected by the end of our time together. Traveling through remote areas, sharing food together, and camping are a bonding experience for sure and after several days with them, our respect and admiration for them all was only heightened! Traveling seems to create accelerated bonds in ways much more different and intimate than meeting people in our 'normal' lives.
It is true that to know a country, you must really see the landscapes which shape its people. (The landscape is so stunning and magnificent here that several films have all been shot here....Gladiator, Kingdom of Heaven, Kundun, Mummy 1 and 2, Jewel of the Nile, The Ten Commandments, and so on. One movie studio near here has tours of the movie sets and just recently wrapped up a new BBC series based on "The Passion.")
Although we've seen the medinas, mosques, and souks of some of Morocco's famed cities, we have been even more moved by it's incredibly changing landscapes....we journeyed over a high mountain pass onto a high desert plateau framed by several different mountain chains, driving up into gorges and valleys where magic-castle looking villages sprung up from the landscape matching the rocks in gritty sandstone textures and hues. At times, the rocks were a shocking Sedona red and would shift into more subtle shades of cinnamon and toast, more reminiscent of the Big Bend landscape on the Texan/Mexican border. In some places, the sandstone had worn down into giant phallic shapes like the whimsical hoodoos in the Moab, Utah area.
Within these valleys and gorges rose small Berber villages (although Morocco is considered an Arab country, it is largely Berber influenced, over 50 percent of Moroccans proudly claim Berber heritage and many speak one of the several Berber dialects as their first language...some of the most handsome men and women we've ever seen...a mixture of Arab, Berber, and African colors and features). Between small river-irrigated fields of wheat, alfalfa, brussel sprouts, and occasional mint and garlic patches, were orchards of trees and palms. I can only imagine how the valleys burst with color in the spring when the trees are in full bloom!
During the days here, the sun can be mercilessly intense but as soon as the sun descends beyond the canyon walls, we have to wrap ourselves up in layers of long underwear, fleece, and warm hats. The nights are brutally cold. The desert is a land of such contrasts, but especially in its temperature ranges.
On the first night in Dades Gorge, along a small mountain-fed river...which is the lifeblood of these agricultural communities...we feasted on moist and fluffy couscous, bowls of hot soup, and fresh orange slices sprinkled with cinnamon. We discussed the merits of Fanta and how much the Kiwi girls preferred it to any other soft drinks when they travel. They told us stories of riding with goats on a local bus in Mozambique, of getting in mud fights in the rainforests of Kenya, and getting chased by a drugged-out guy who kept squeezing his fingers together saying, "Come here my babies!"
Mom and I were much inspired by the Kiwi clan and how cheerful they always were, they never complained of the cold, being sleepless, hungry, or irritated by harassment. Ellie--who was hospitalized for something like Malaria when she first got to Kenya--has a dream of going to medical school and returning to Africa to work in under-privileged areas (pick about any place in Africa and that'll do it). Mom couldn't imagine the fortitude that their parents must have when they hear their stories from abroad. We're always inspired to see other women taking risks and seeing the world with such idealism and positivity.
Sands of the Sahara
After Dades Gorge, we made our way towards the Algerian Border near the frontier town of Merzouga. Located just outside of Merzouga are the sand dunes of Erg Chebbi, which to me, represented to the beginning of the Sahara which I've imagined for years (although not all of the Sahara is composed of sand and dunes it's what I've most associated with this vast desert).
As we made our way across the desert plateau through these small towns, we began to see small groups of camels foraging for vegetation and beyond them, the sands of the Sahara rising up out of the earth like undulating masses inflamed in the setting sun. I was so excited to finally see them that I was beside myself.
We drove off-road for quite a while to a camp where our camels awaited us to take us deeper into the desert. I absolutely loathe horse-back riding but there's something so magical about being on a camel, they're such other-worldly creatures, the way their knees bend backwards, the way they can crane their necks backwards to watch you like menacing dragons, and the way their feet settle into the sand with each step like bags of pudding spilling outward....I just love them! Many of us had been on camels before except one of the Kiwi girls who yelped as she was pitched forward and back quite severely when they camel 'uncouched' or stood up (it's quite a strange way of standing up much unlike anything you can be prepared for and requires good balance to stay on).
We sang and bantered with one another as we made our way across the sands of the Sahara. The sun was setting and the sands and sky became a brilliant deep rust and turquoise, the shadows deepening with each minute. The sands are so incredibly gorgeous, undulating like the soft curves of a woman's body, always changing in light but never in texture.
That night we arrived in a small Berber camp circled by camel-hair tents. When darkness set in, the sky was brilliant with stars and a few satellites. We all hiked up one of the dunes and several of us witnessed a huge shooting star, sparkling and dissipating like a breathtaking firework. Mom and I sat there blissfully in the dark on the warm sand which now covered our hands and settled into our clothes, below us were the content sounds of camp, a few young children playing and laughing with their parents from a nearby Berber family, birds singing after dusk, and the clanking of pots from our 'kitchen' where they were preparing dinner for us. I could have stayed there for days just watching the sands, walking with the camels, and studying the sounds and smells of the desert, its ever-changing moods.
Our Berber guide, Ali, (a remarkable and rather entertaining polyglot who kept us entertained for hours that night) called us all down onto the communal carpet in between our tents. We wrapped ourselves up in thick blankets to ward off the cold. He and another Berber, Salim, brought out trays of the most perfect mint tea I've yet had, and Ali fashioned wonderful candle lanterns out of cut-up plastic water bottles filled with sand.
As we waited for dinner, we told each other riddles (Ali had about fifteen camel jokes that he consistently cracked himself up telling) and I inevitably fell into 'guide' mode and recruited them all to play one of my favorite SBACO (Santa Barbara Adventure Company...how's that for a good plug, Mike?!) group-building initiatives, "This is a Stick, This is a Stone." Trust me, it's hilarious and great fun and very challenging with adults who all speak the same language, somehow, by some great miracle of patience and laughter, we managed to play it successfully and bust out in stitches in a group that included a Berbers, Italians (whose vocabulary was limited to Bob Marley and drug-related paraphenalia), Argentians, Japanese, and several ADD Kiwis. Great fun!
After an hour or more, Salim brought out baskets of Moroccan bread three huge 'tagines' (ceramic pyramid-shaped pots they cook meat and vegetables in) and directed us to eat in groups of five. I ate with the Italians and one of the Kiwis and without silverware, we dug our grubby hands into the steaming tagine dipping our bits of bread into a mound of saucy potatoes, carrots, and sinfully moist baked chicken with morsels that fell nearly fell off the bone. It was the most delicious tagine I've had in all of Morocco, the potatoes and carrots subtly infused with various spices which seemed to mingle together in a way you couldn't seperate them out ('Was that cumin or cinnamon?' 'Was that pepper or curry?). Whatever it was, we all agreed that it was one of the best meals any of us had enjoyed in Morocco. The three tables competed to see who could finish their tagine first but the Englishman and Kiwi girls won as they practically licked their tagine clean, vying for the last pieces of bread.
After dinner, Salim and Ali made a fire for us from firewood they'd brought on one of the camels earlier that day. Ali played Berber drums (ceramic with a sheep skin and intestines used as the sinew to tie the head to the base) and sang songs to us all as we curled up in blankets by the fire. One by one, we trailed off to bed until only Claire and Damien were left...they never slept that night, they played drums, sang with Ali, and climbed the dunes to watch the full moon passing over our camp.
We slept on the sand that night beneath heavy blankets under camel hair tents. We rose early in the morning when it was still dark and frigidly cold and rode our camels out onto the dunes to watch the sun rise. Above us, the full moon was dimming in the sky but still a presence.
A little after our time on the dunes, we learned that our entire Berber meal had been cooked over a fire fueled by camel dung collected from around our camp. So thanks to some Berber ingenuity and good, dry camel dung, we had one of the best tagines in Morocco and I will continue to dream of that night and of that meal.
When we left the dunes, we were both fatigued and overjoyed from the experience. My hair still smells, several days later, like sand and woodsmoke. I pleaded with Mom to stay a few more days out in the desert before returning to Marrakesh again. We had the group drop us off in the desert town of Oarzazate so we could enjoy the desert and tranquilness that only wide open spaces can bring (mostly enjoying hot showers, the sun, and new pastry shops).
Everyday, Morocco seems to unfold and we discover another one of its infinite layers. In a week, Steve will be joining us for time in Marrakesh and then journeying to the Coast, which has been influenced by the Portuguese.
My love to all of you and hoping that some peace finds you in whatever wonderful form it may come!
much love,
Rachel and Karen
_______________________________________________
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment