Through Morocco’s Kasbahs and Gorges
Two weeks of driving from Grenoble to Marrakesh, and then over a mountain pass through several kasbahs to Skoura, with a high-altitude trek to Toubkal thrown in, had left my friend exhausted. He drove across the arid land to Boumalne Dadès. I spotted an old cobbler sitting in a tent all by himself by the side of the road. My shoes were badly in need of mending so I took them to him as my friend made coffee. He glued the worn parts and when I gave him 10 dirhams for it, he returned my money laughing. Touched by his sincerity, I insisted so he asked for just half. I let him have the full amount and my friend gave him a cup of coffee which he seemed to appreciate more than the money!
We continued along rural scenes towards Aït Arbi where muddy hills surrounded a green valley with kasbahs niched in. As the road climbed up, the slopes looked like they were covered in dark brown chunks not unlike chocolate truffles!
The landscape began to resemble a gorge but it got more and more dramatic as we began climbing a steep mountain with a number of hairpin bends. It was getting dark but from the top we could still the all the bends we had just scaled with a green stream all the way down.
It was rather hard to find a place to park for the night on such a steep, narrow road but we were in luck — there was a clearing beside the road where we stopped. It had been an unproductive day but I wasn’t too bothered because what’s one such day when you are travelling for nearly a month?
We left early the next morning back down the zigzag curves through the narrowest part of Dadès gorge. I stopped to photograph a crumbling kasbah in Aït Oudinar, which proved to be quite challenging with electricity cables obstructing the view, while my friend gave the van a much-needed wash. We were soon off to yet another gorge. After passing through red and brown hills, we approached a town called Tinghir. At first, there were empty plots of land lined with street lamps. This was followed by unoccupied residences.
It felt like we were in one of those apocalyptic films where the human race had been wiped out leaving just the two of us behind. However, instead of aliens, a real town appeared beyond this ghost town with kasbahs amidst enchanting palm groves and mountains.
Driving above one such magnificent palm grove with seductive kasbahs that seemed to melt in the hot sun, the sun-lit orange rocky cliff walls suddenly closed in on us. The temperature plummeted as cold winds blew across. We were in Todhra gorge through which a shallow stream flowed. We got down to get a feel of the place when a Moroccan guide from the car behind us approached us. He told me that it was possible to do a three-hour hike from one end of the deep canyon to the other over the mountain above. Having sat in the van for so long, I was itching to trek while my friend wanted to rest, read and relax after all the driving. It was a perfect arrangement.
He parked in a sunny spot outside the ravine next to a sheer wall on which several groups of Moroccans were perched with hooks and harnesses. I was impressed by their ability to scale such a high vertical cliff. After a quick snack of bread, jam and cheese, I set off. On my way up, I encountered a tattooed Berber woman with two children who asked for money showing me her torn shoes. I had half a mind to show the state of mine after my trek up Mount Toubkal! When I refused, she proposed that I take a picture of her children in exchange for money. I said I had “walou” (nothing) and walked on, disappointed at the dark side of tourism.
From this point on, I was alone with my thoughts. With no real path, I followed the donkey dung all the way up the red rocky terrain. The ground flattened out and a path became visible. I turned left away from the path but towards the top of the cliff hoping to be able to look down.
Distances were hard to gauge on this gentle slope as I walked on and on past wild thyme shrubs. Not knowing where this would lead me, I decided to be satisfied with a good view of a couple of villages below and the dark mountains in the distance.
I rejoined the path and climbed another hill where I had only goats for company. The landscape was dry and barren as far as the eye could see. I saw a semblance of a path below this hill and discerned two or three men climbing down. I started to follow their tracks but soon lost the path again. There hadn’t been a soul in sight for this long so there was no hope of even asking someone the way. Just as this thought crossed my mind, I came across a Swiss trekker who looked even more lost than me. He was trying to descend down a treacherous jumble of rocks before realising that there was no way to proceed. We stopped for a moment to survey the terrain and eventually found a way down.
At the bottom, we parted ways, him through a kasbah in Tighremt n’Tazgue back towards Tinghir and me to the right through Todhra gorge once again. I had a refreshing wash in the stream and crossed a bridge to reach a green paradise. Broccoli plants, olive trees and dates palms were planted in this oasis all along the waterway. A kid came running to tell me that there was no way through the plantation, a common trick in Morocco to show you the way and make a quick buck. I ignored him and continued along the gurgling water. I went past women working on freshly harvested olives while some men were beating a tree with sticks creating a shower of black olives.
I climbed back to the road leaving this gorgeous garden behind me and walked back through Todhra gorge and its souvenir shops. I wasn’t hassled into buying anything since I blended in with the local populace and was able to peacefully enjoy the place. Admiring this masterpiece of nature, I returned to the van where my friend was relaxing. We were soon on our way to the doors of the Sahara in Merzouga stopping only to satisfy our famished stomachs with a hearty beef tagine.
Hi, I am Prajwal Madhav. I hope you enjoy my posts.
