Gorgeous Rocks

Todra Gorge towers above us. The road through starts busy, market stalls selling all sorts of touristy things and tourists buying all sorts of touristy things.

The river, creator of this magnificent natural cathedral is dry, just a trickle. As we drive through the gorge it becomes quieter and we find a barely used parking area to stop for a walk up to a view point.

We are rewarded, the views are stunning. Continuing further until the gorge peters out we find the new dam, the answer to why the river is just a trickle now. We camp at an auberge over night. We’re using more campsites than we thought we would, but the levels of litter and broken glass make wild camping unappealing in many areas.

Additionally, especially in this area, we are finding the hospitality of the camp owners very appealing.

We are welcomed with the best tea we’ve had in Morocco so far, sweet dates and salty nuts. We sit and chat with the owner for a while, he is happy to discus all things Moroccan. In the morning he brings us fresh bread and pancakes, again, some of the best we’ve had.

Of course, he has a workshop where his mother puts on a display of making rugs and other woven products. Honestly, the cost of this campsite was so ridiculously low by Moroccan standards that we finally do some shopping and buy a rug for the van. We wanted one and his prices are considerably better than in the cities. He’s happy. We’re happy. Mother looks happy.

I don’t find Dades Gorge as spectacular as Todra, but it has some fascinating rock formations and some great steep, tight, twisty and turny roads. Rosana takes photos of the rocks and keeps here eyes closed on the serpentine roads, it stops her from screaming.

We find a small campsite, find the Swiss again, drink more mint tea and get hemmed in by a large tour group. The tour groups are beginning to annoy me and are a downside to using campsites. 

We’ve been avoiding the coast, our Canadian friends have reported that it is very busy, full to bursting in fact and we hear the same thing from other people we meet along the way. It had been our vague plan to return north via the coast and that may need rethinking so we decide to go and look for ourselves. Sidi Ifni is very busy, but there are a few large campsites so there is a little space.

The beach is dirty but the town in pretty and there’s a good market. Being an old Spanish enclave we are able to communicate more easily and purchases go more smoothly. Our fears of overly busy camping spots confirmed, we decide that we’ll take an inland route north, but first we’ll head just a little further south.

I would have liked to reached the disputed area of Western Sahara, but it’s still a long way and we don’t think we have time so Guelmim marks our turning point. The town is famous for its camel market and we camp just outside the walls of the market and head in first thing. Around €1000 will get you a fully grown camel and €600 a juvenile. Rosana tells me to not even think about it.

The market is a reminder that animals are viewed very differently here to what we are used to in western Europe. It’s not only camels that are traded here, but also sheep, goats and cattle. The handling of the animals seems almost cruel, young kids bleating in terror as they are carried away from their mothers, dangling upside down, held by bound legs.

It’s such a tranquil place that we, and many others, come for a night and stay for longer. Nestled under the walls of an old medina, the palms are irrigated using an old fashioned system of rocks and trenches. The water supply is used by a local school during the week but on the weekend the rocks are moved and the water flows into the campsite.

The blue theme continues in Tafraout, where an artist painted a number of large rocks blue (and a few other colours, but the majority are blue). We camp near some ancient rock art from a time when gazelles were more common and drive out into the desert to find the rocks.

The tracks are dusty and corrugated, but easier going than those in Merzouga and M’hamid and with the tyre pressures slightly lowered we are within Godzuki!’s limits. The rocks are bizarre yet beautiful and manage to add to the dessert scene, something I would not have put money on.

Our route back north takes us through Ouzazarte, famous for its movie sets and back up into the Atlas mountains and the world heritage site of Ait Benhaddou. Once an important stop on the caravan route between the Sahara and Marrakech, the hilltop fortified village is now an important stop on the Moroccan tourist route. Consequently it’s busy with visitors and traders, but that’s not so bad, the ancient town feels alive with the bustle of people.

Ouzoud waterfalls are quite spectacular and topped with more badly treated Barbary macaques. The weather is starting to get worse now and we are undecided where to go next. Our choices are to return the eastern roads we took down, or chance the coast again. We meet a Welsh couple who tell us the coast is not so bad at the moment, so we head to Casablanca for the waters.

It doesn’t matter a hill of beans that we are underdressed for Rick’s Cafe (not the original, because there is no real original, but it is run by the usual suspects). It’s the slums on the outskirts of the city that are the real eye opener and the stark difference to the wealthy city with its massive and ornately decorated mosque is sadly striking.

Still not enthralled by the coast, we head back inland via a vineyard. I never pictured Morocco as a wine producer, but here we are, in the company of some young Germans, enjoying a delicious tagine and drinking fantastic wines.

Turns out I do like rosé after all. Life is full of surprises.

After two months of being in the same country, we finally cross paths with our Canadian friends near Meknes and take in the Roman ruins at Volubilis.

There are some fabulous mosaics, but the site has a generally unloved feel.

We camp under the city gates in Meknes and find it a smaller, calmer version of Fez. Strawberry season is in full swing and we buy by the kilo from street vendors. We hold back munching on them until we return to the van as it’s Ramadan and we don’t want to torment the locals.

Constantly battling the weather, there seems to be no good direction to head. At a loss we try the coast again and actually enjoy Asilah. The Medina with its winding lanes and fortified walls is laid back, with pretty street art. The coast seems a little cleaner than most, and I even enjoy probably the worst coffee I’ve ever had.