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Saturday October 10th

Today we are going to the High Atlas Mountains, where we will spend the next three days.

We ride in regions between 2 to 2 ½ thousand meters above sea level on dreamlike gravel roads. In this vast landscape the roads seem like thin rivulets and the lonely villages and settlements are little puddles in a sea of ​​stone.

 

 

Shortly after noon we reach Tinghir. We eat in the new modern area. I am already passionate about what I see and I intend to come back after checking in at the campsite. Not knowing that a stunning oasis surrounded by the city is waiting for me a few hundred meters further.

From the campsite, which is located at one end of the oasis, I walk back to a viewpoint, in very hot temperatures. Almost everyone who passes by stops there. A few kids try to sell dates and figures made of leaves. To be honest, sometimes they can get very intrusive.

I decide to walk back through the oasis. A completely new experience for me. I have never been in an oasis before. The tall palms spend a pleasant shade and the temperature is noticeably cooler. A strong flowing river is the lifeline of the oasis. From the river, there lead channels to different areas of the oasis and from there again smaller channels to irrigate the fields.

 

 

There are a few main roads, not suitable for motorized vehicles, and a lot of paths to find your way.

I only knew the direction, where to go, but some of the paths were dead ends and I had to cross the river two times. Once I had no idea how to cross the river because it was flowing too strong. I run left and right along the bank not really knowing what to do. I did not want to walk back as I was really close to the campsite. What do you do in such a case? You watch what the locals are doing. With wet pants and the shoes in my hand I got back to the campsite.

 

Sunday October 11th

The day starts with a drive through the Todra Gorge (world famous). On the other side of a pass, on the way to Tamtatouchte, the government makes no effort to maintain the road anymore. That’s why we ride the next 20 km and 3 hours not along the river, but in the river bed. A challenge for us and the bikes. Boulders and stones in all sizes are slowing down our progress. The gravel is loose and the track, only able to be guessed, leads sometimes to nowhere.

 

 

Often, very often, we have to stop to find the best path and we have to help each other through difficult passages.

Andi is poor with his large heavy motorcycle. Additionally, the suspension is set very high and the extra large tank sets the center of gravity very high. On uneven places, he barely reaches the ground with his feet. When the center of gravity exceeds a certain point, which is pretty small, he can’t hold the motorcycle. After he has fallen for the fourth or fifth time, has hurt a finger and after an indicator broke, Andi is quite annoyed.

 

Except us, there are two other crazy people –  an Italian couple with an SUV – trying to make it from the other side. A pleasing coincidence, we met them at the border control when entering Morocco.

After this very arduous passage, tempers are also heated. We then got divided for a short time. Andi and I are together and Martin and Ludwig. We meet again on the edge of the Daddes canyon that looks a little bit like the Grand Canyon. It is getting late, so we decide to skip the serpentines (also world famous) and go back up into the mountains to Agoudal.

 

 

We are not far from Agoudal, when I recognise that my front tire loses air. “Is this really necessary? The day was stressful enough!” I stop. Andi did not see that and moved on. Martin and Ludwig, behind me, stop. No hole, no nail or any other damage can be seen. We dismantle the tire. The extreme stress of the morning ride has taken its toll. The tube is broken right on the valve, thus, it cannot be repaired. On a tour like this, there are always spare tubes in the luggage. Quickly indigenous children and adults join us and watch Ludwig and me working. Meanwhile, Martin and Andi, who has returned, are talking with hands and feet with them. It does not take long and we can continue. The last kilometers are a real pleasure. A firm gravel road, long curves and a fantastic mountain landscape. Probably only motorcyclists will understand. 😉

 

I reach Agoudal a few minutes before the others. The city has its own unique atmosphere, rough, gruff, and has a strange effect on me, which I can’t explain. The buildings are made of brown clay and the people, even the young ones, are tanned by the weather. When driving through the village in search for the hostel, children were immediately waving and coming closer in masses. I did not want to stop, otherwise I would have been surrounded with no way out. The hostel is like a fort, where we are led into the courtyard. As soon as the last one of us was inside, the big gate got closed behind us. It is unfortunately too late to take a walk through the city. I would have liked to explore where this unique atmosphere comes from.

 

Monday October 12th

“What a Sh.. day!” That was my emotional response in the evening. Well, to be honest, it was not really that bad. We undoubtedly were riding on absolutely beautiful routes. The only problem was, that it mostly were narrow twisty gravel roads through the mountains, rocky on one side and steep on the other side. For someone like me, who is struggling with a fear of heights, it is not pleasant. I don’t care to go on roads like that for 30, 40 maybe 50 km – slowly and as close as possible to the mountain. Fortunately, there are almost no other vehicles on roads like that. But riding around tensed the whole day is not so funny, and the other three had to wait for me constantly, and I got hurt too.

 

 

From Agoudal we drive to Anergui (the Anergui of three, which is closest to Imilchil and cannot be found on any map). Prior to our departure from Agoudal, one of the guys in the Auberge tells us that there is a beautiful road from Anergui through a canyon, along a river and that it is open for the first time in five years. We said: “Let’s do it!”

Anergui is already quite the middle of nowhere, in a valley surrounded by high mountains. A local person stops us. He is speaking English a little bit and we chatted with him for a while. He says that the road will be doable with bikes, but not with a car.

 

Yesterday’s straining river ride is still in our memory and on the first to three kilometers, again steep passages with deep loose gravel, the road barely five meters wide, sometimes on the same level with the river and sometimes it went uphill 15, 20, 25 meters. “Who takes the lead?” The task of the scout, the person who explores the road? A job nobody wants to do today because of yesterday’s ride.

 

First, it was me who was on top. I stopped sometimes to take photos, so Martin took the lead. At a passage with deeper gravel I hear an unusual grinding noise. I stop and, sitting on the bike, turn around. I did not get off the bike to take a closer look, which was a big mistake. As I could not see anything, I continue. After a few meters the motorcycle suddenly lurches. It is a pretty bad place for an accident on a narrow road, a river 10m below and now fall protection. I do not even really know how to react, but I reduce the speed and try to get the bike towards the rock, which I hit with my box then I let myself fall to the left side. Unluckily, I’m lying on my ventral side and my left leg is twisted and stuck under my box. I can not move and my foot hurts. Andi is right behind me. I scream out loud “Quick Andi, help me!”. He comes running. Andi raises the bike and I can pull out my foot.

Ludwig arrived too. When observing what happened, we saw that a plastic protector on the rear tire broke and got into my spokes.

 

 

The same happened to me already in South America with my other bike. But there it just got slung away. Together we push the bike down the hill to a shady place, where we dismantled the remains. And as so many times before, I had to fix my boxes again with a rock.

Shortly afterwards, we come to meet two other motorcyclists coming from the other side. We stop and talk. They are from Norway. They tell, that they are four. Two of them are waiting a few kilometers further, one of them with a broken rim and they are going to organise a truck.

 

It does not take long, as we see Martin standing on the road. Martin is strapping one of his boxes back to his bike. He took one of the curves too straight and crashed with one of his panniers against a tree stump. The rack and box are pretty bent. Must have been a pretty hard bang.

Considering that we made only around 10 of about 30 kilometers, it was pretty busy.

We meet the two other Norwegians. The broken rim has a large dent. When he tells us and shows how it happened, I just thought: “Pretty optimistic to cut a curve on this road and especially on that part.”

On the last 20km there luckily were no further obstacles and I am reasonably happy when we were out of the canyon.

The day is not over yet. The roads are indeed much better and to a large extent also sealed. However, they are still built in steep slopes. It is freezing cold, fog is coming up, partly it’s raining and the traffic is stronger. Well, my good mood is long gone.

 

 

It is already dark, when we reach Ouzo where we check in on a campsite. This one is led by Dutchman (Dutch people understand how to run a campsite, the place is excellent).

My foot hurts, I do not want to put up my tent and a room is only 20 EUR. I just hobble to the shower and then to bed.

Despite that it is high season, there are only a few tourists on the campground in Ouzoud. The day before in Agoudal, they told us, it is because of the general situation and various attacks on tourists in other Islamic countries. They were disappointed and told us, they don’t understand, because the attacks are far away in other countries and that Morocco is safe. As for my experience, I could not agree more. I have not felt unsafe or in danger – only once, very briefly, a little bit uncomfortable, tomorrow in Marrakech.

 

Tuesday October 13th

It started to rain in the night. Our room was large enough that Andi and Ludwig would have found space to sleep inside instead of outside in a tent. But who thinks of that, if you wake up only for a moment during night time.

The weather is noticeably colder on the western side of the Atlas Mountains and more unstable. After a very very short visit to the waterfalls of Ouzoud, we are … in Marrakech.

Our campsite is just outside the town, luckily it is sunny and hot again and we can dry our clothes. The first time in 10 days we get beer. Each sip, a pleasure trip!

 

 

In the evening we take a taxi to the center. Close to the Koutoubia mosque is a huge place, called “La Place”. A crowd of people from all over the world moves around on La Place. Approaching the court from the mosque, there is first a long line of horse cabs waiting for guests. Then there are jugglers and musicians, entertaining the people or doing drum or other musical workshops, mostly with foreign tourists. Then, there are the snack and food stalls, arranged one next to another and in multiple rows. Around the food stalls, there are several other stalls where you can buy fruits, sweets, souvenirs and other stuff. Surrounded is “La Place” by many restaurants, cafes and hotels from where streets lead in the souk.

 

Food is our first goal. Depending on the size of the food stall, there are working 4 to 6 people in it. 1 to 2 cooks and 3 to 4 waiters. It is a fight for each and every guest. Shouting loud, they try to get your attention and to get you to sit down, regardless of origin, skin color and age. If you sit down, the waiters are clapping their hands followed by a loud “Hurrah!”. Immediately you get a starter. We try all sorts of specialties. The price is about three times higher than in other parts of  the country.

 

After dinner, we walk through the souk. It is literally a maze of alleys and streets. The houses have a maximum of 3 to 4 floors. The lack of reference points makes it nearly impossible to orientate. We inevitably get lost.

Away from the busy main square many of the shops are already closed. We walk through little streets which are barely lit. Here and there sit 2, 3 people in a doorway and watch us in amazement. I pull out my smartphone and start a maps app. But in the narrow streets you can hardly get a GPS signal.

 

 

A young lad is leaning against a wall on one of the corners of a house, looking into his mobile phone. Seeing that we are lost, he talks to us nicely: “The Souk can be quite confusing for tourists. I’ll show you how to get back to La Place. Follow me!” He indicates on the wall, where an arrow was drawn and written in chalk “La Place“. We turn right for the first time. He is walking ahead of us with quick steps, almost running. I do not like that. I try to slow the pace a bit. If I have to run, I can no longer orientate myself. For him, we are too slow, he is always a few steps ahead and always turns around looking if we still follow. We walk through the narrow streets. If we have been in the market area before, we are now in a residential area. We turn right the second time. Every now and then there is “La Place” and an arrow drawn on a wall. It is clear that there is something wrong. I put my camera, which I still hold in my hands into a pocket in my trousers. Just in case, that I have both hands free if necessary – who knows where we are led. We turn right again. Well, the city of Marrakech is not a chessboard, the lanes do not just go straight, but are also bent. But one can imagine where one will get after turning right three times.

 

The lad stops and says: “Around the corner you will get back to the main square. … For my services, could give me a small donation?” I thought: “What for? For leading us in circles?” We dig in our pockets for coins. He then tries to confuse us, by explaining that the 10 Dirham instead of about 1 EUR, is worth only 10 Cents. In the end Ludwig gave him 30 Dirham. Way too much for this experience.