The Final Day

Up early in time to watch the sunrise the next morning.  I walked some distance out of the camp.

Sands in the early morning light

Sunlight rising

Mornings are incredibly quiet here.  Sitting, taking it all in, experiencing the peace, for a moment I felt deep in my heart I could be happy and content living in a Bedouin tent.  Like this small one I saw outside our camp.

Bedouin tent with only the basics

The feeling slowly passed, and I realized I could be happy and content if power and WiFi were included.  Of course, that would distract from the peace.

For fun, I took a pic of my footsteps in the sand.  No telling who last walked there or who will walk next.  Or how long before the wind fills them in.

After a breakfast of omelet and fruit, we packed up and were back on the road.

At lunchtime, we stopped in N'aat Ben Haddou.

Aït Benhaddou is a Berber Kasbah or castle along the old caravan route between the Sahara and Marrakech.  No longer occupied, it is still impressive.

Kasbah from a distance showing the lookout post

A closer look

I was disappointed we didn't walk through and up to the lookout point.  It was midday and the Brit ladies thought it would be too hot to walk.  I did find a link to a video that helped give an idea of what it looks like inside.  I would say it's more like a pueblo in the American Southwest than what we think of as a building tiled and decorated with elaborate mosaics.  

We had lunch on a restaurant terrace with a view of the kasbah.

I chose kefta--almost as delicious as Joe made for my birthday.

Then the drive back to Marrakech, a stay in the hotel and the trip to Rabat.  For no apparent reason, the train was delayed leaving Marrakech and very slow for most of the way back.  Joe and I decided the reason was a state secret 'cause we'll never know why.

Back in Rabat, things are back to normal.  Zorro is checking out one of the resident tortoises (at the far left of the picture), trying to be brave.

An awesome trip I won't forget!!!

An Evening in the Desert

We arrived at the Bedouin camp just after sunset.  Unfortunately, the only inside picture I thought to snap is blurry.

"Courtyard" with orange seating area and fire ring in foreground

This is the camp in the distance taken in the morning

The "rooms" were nice, assorted tapestries on the floor (as well as on about half of the "courtyard" and the bed was comfortable.  

Note the cool stand and mirror in the corner

View of the camp from my door

We were served Moroccan tea, hot and sweet with mint.  (The poor British ladies never quite adjusted to tea with sugar.)  In the seating area in the middle of the camp, Muhammad brewed the tea over a small gas stove.  When it was heated, he poured some into a glass, then poured it back into the pot, blending the elements of air, earth and water.  He repeated this three times.  Then, holding the pot high above our glasses, he filled them, making sure there were bubbles on the top.  No tea should be served without them.  Traditionally, the higher the pour the more someone likes you.

The guys joined us in the brightly draped seating area, brought out a variety of darbuka drums and a guitar and treated us to an impromptu concert.  

The crescent moon and evening star hung in the sky.  I would have loved a photo, but couldn't make it work.

Then it was time for dinner.  The dining room was a delightful surprise, more in keeping with an Arabian Nights fantasy.  We were served chicken tajine and fruit.

Me and the Brits

After dinner, we settled on stools around a campfire, listened to traditional songs and learned some rhythms on the darbuka.  With the sun down, the heat of the day disappeared.  The evening breeze was cool and I'm glad Joe lent me a light fleece jacket.

Snapped this right after Hasim wrapped the drape over his face 

Before going to bed, we stared at the brilliant stars flung across the sky.  Easy to do with no ambient light to interfere.

Then off to bed to dream of my sheik.

Continuing the Sahara Adventure

Since my last post, I’ve been interrupted by to Seville, Spain and had several dental appointments.  So, let’s travel back in time to the desert.

The Drâa Valley stretches between Ouararzate and Zagora, a lush, narrow oasis in the dry landscape filled with palms and other trees.

The Drâa Valley stretches almost 125 miles

We arrived in Zagora and met our camel leader, Muhammad.  

Lucky guy.  He got to walk

The camels were nicely behaved, contrary to their grumpy reputation.  They were all lying down when we approached them and climbed aboard.  When they stand, it’s rather like riding a tsunami wave on a surf board.

From Dar Hassam's back--a nice old gal

The ride is something else.  Seriously, do not consider this if you want to snuggle with your sweetie anytime soon.  Those saddles are painful.  And a camel's pace is irregular to say the least.  Just when I thought I’d figured out the rhythm, her next step changed it all up.  When I get home, I plan to put together a little video I made of the ride and post it on YouTube.  For now, here’s a couple of pix.

See, I can do it

All 3 of us

The sun, setting behind us, cast long shadows.

This is the terrain we traveled over:

Wind-blown sand

After an hour, we stop for sunset pictures.

Even limping into camp, I wouldn’t trade this for anything.

Tune in next time for a evening at camp.

First Installment of my Saharan Adventure

Last Tuesday, October 8th, I took the train from Rabat to Marrakech, arriving there four hours later.

And guess what?  There's a McDonald's right beside the train station.  Clearly, they're everywhere.  It's the address I give when I want to go to Joe's office:  McDo Agdal, Agdal being the neighborhood.

I spent the night at the Ibis Hotel, conveniently located right next to the train station.  No chance of getting lost, unlike the other way when I was on my way to the dentist.  Fortunately, with my smattering of French, I was able to ask directions.

A lovely garden where I enjoyed fresh-squeezed orange juice.

                           

Just to prove I was there.

Bright and early the next morning, I was picked up by Said, the driver from Desert Majesty tours http://www.desertmajesty.com/gen/tours/tours-morocco.html  There were also two English women along for the ride.

We spent most of the day driving through the Atlas Mountains.  Spectacular scenery.  Switchback roads.  

And Morocco has the world market cornered on rocks.  They grow even more than New England.

We stopped in Ouarzazate at the Desert Majesty offices for tea and cookies.  We then stopped at a Women’s Co-operative where they produce Argan oil.  Morocco is the only place in the world where argan trees nuts grow.  Much of it is produced by hand.  Using a stone, the women break off the husks, then crack open the nut shell, remove the nutmeat, and finally grind the nuts in a kind of mortar and pestle to extract the oil.  I way overspent my Argan oil budget, but will have beeaautiful skin.

Then lunch, a delicious Moroccan salad and chicken tajine.

Finally, on to Zagora.  And the camel ride.  More about that next time.  

Insha’Allah.

My Flight to Rabat

Friday, I boarded a plane (and just so you know, Delta is NOT Air France even if they're 'associated') to fly to Morocco.  It's always been an easy trip.  Leave Boston in the early evening, settle down and sleep 'til I arrive in Paris, hang around for a couple of hours and then fly into Rabat.

Not this time.

I figured things were going well because I was in about the only row of 3 seats with only 2 of us seated.  Until we took off.  And the kid in the row behind started crying.  Not just the whimper or whine of ear troubles taking off.  Nope.  This was full-throated, frantic wailing.  That went on.  And on.  She'd stop for about 5 minutes, then start up again.  For anywhere from 15 minutes to half an hour.  Another 5 minute break and back to wailing.  Mind you, this is a 7-8 hour flight.  All plans of arriving rested flew out the window -- so to speak.

Eventually, the kid wore herself out -- or I was even more exhausted and fell asleep in spite of the racket.  In any event, I got a couple of hours sleep, max.

During the layover in Paris, I got more and more nervous as people assembled for the flight to Morocco.  Kids.  Lots of kids.  Lots of little kids.  I groaned inwardly -- and maybe not so silently.  This flight is only a couple of hours long, but I had figured I could at  least get in a nap.

As it turned out, it wasn't bad.  There were a few cries here and there, but the usual fussiness, not the frenzied crying on the previous flight.  So, I was able to get a couple of hours sleep.

When my son and lovely granddaughters ( 4 and 6) greeted me after I got through customs, I gave them big hugs.  My son asked how the trip went.  So I came to a dead stop, knelt down, beckoned the girls over and said:  "Poor Gramma had a baby in the row behind me crying all night.  Then there were kids crying on the flight here.  So, please do me a favor.  Don't cry today or I'll run out of the house and run screaming down the street, tearing my hair out." 

They are the best girls.  Not one whimper or whine out of them for the whole time since I've been here.

More about Morocco later.

Judi