The Vuvuzela Diaries

 Tangounite – 9th Feb

Having arrived in darkness the night before, we awoke to find ourselves surrounded by palms trees and the smell of mint tea brewing.  After drinking tea with the owner of the campsite, he quickly directed us to his cousin’s brother’s uncle who just so happened to organise camel treks into the desert! How convenient…. 

We had previously studied the maps and had decided that we weren’t interested in the meek dunes just outside Magmied but rather fancied going deeper into the desert to tackle Erg Chagaga.  This did mean, however, a serious off-road detour to get to the dunes – the guys weren’t complaining! Thankfully we were accompanied by a guide, Bashir, without whom we would have no doubt wondered through the sandy haze and across the border into Algeria. For two hours we rolled through a sea of sandy dunes as Bahir tapped Andrew on either his right or left shoulder whenever we veered off course! Along the way we stopped briefly to see a truly incredible sight – water bubbling through the sand to form a desert oasis, complete with palms and a few lone Berbers.

The camel station was something out of the set of Lawrence of Arabia – our camels and their masters resting sleepily amongst a few scattered Berber tents in the foreground of Erg Chagaga.

As we rocked back and forth on our camels, trundling over the dunes, I noticed a glimpse of excitement in everyone’s faces: we had truly left London behind us!  We stopped for a ‘rest’ on a crest of a dune- the view was breathtaking. The sun was setting and the giant dunes were casting their shadows on the sand. We sat still, in awe of dunes -the only activity hummed from  a few busy scarab beetles scuttling around the sand.

After a good 2 hour ride, we dismounted relatively unscathed-  a slight groin strain for some, others less lucky (sorry Grant) had a good showering or 2 of camel gob!Yes- they do spit (and sneeze!)

Bashir guided us safely back  home through the darkness to earn a well-deserved tip!

An early, but freezing, start greeted us all in Azrou amongst the cherry orchards. We had to get off early to make up for not getting very far from Fez the day before, and unfortunately it was the coldest morning we had experienced in Morocco as well. Hands were freezing up as we wiped off our dew/ice sprinkled tents and packed them away. But once we were ready and off and the day warmed up, the iciness was quickly forgotten. The drive from Azrou to Rissani was again a beautifully scenic route, winding through the snow capped Atlas Mountains. We stopped for a photograph alongside the road and as per usual a shepherd boy came running up to greet us. He had such a sweet demeanour and so we crumbled and decided he was a worthy candidate of a soccer ball. The poor chap didn’t know whether to hang around whilst we were pumping up his ball or run after his goats that were beginning to get unruly. His persistence paid off and in no time him and his mate were happily knocking a soccer ball between themselves (goat herding long forgotten, hope he didn’t get in trouble that night!).

We continued to the town of Midelt and had a quick run around for cokes and the delicious Moroccon bread for lunch. Our lunch stop was a little further along the road overlooking the Ziz river – a really spectacular vista. Beats a prêt sandwich at our desk any day! The washing (still wet from Fez) came out and dried over lunch, a task that was impossible over two days in Fez – we are definitely heading into a dryer and warmer area. We had the usual watchers at lunch – two local boys on their bicycles – who tried to sell us camels folded out of reeds. They very kindly gave us some as gifts at the end of our lunch stop and they now looking very fitting hanging from our rearview mirrors. We ended up spending the night at Camping Tifina, just short of Rissani. Its a very new campsite on the side of the road which great showers, pool and curios shop and very friendly people and was a good stopping point.

Boot camp kicked in this morning with runs around the campsite and a station of various exercises. After that we were ready to squish into our cruisers and continue into the desert – following the Chris Scott route (backwards MS6) from Rissani to Tamegroute.

Our first stop was Rissani where the weekly market was on. We dipped into the labyrinth of a market and stepped back in time. The usual fare from meat to fresh produce to oils and nuts were on sale. Purchasing the meat was an interesting obstacle and the only way of communicating which type of meat one wanted was to point at the head/body part of the animal strategically placed in front of the vendors store. We steered clear of the camel feet. Our best bet was the guy who had a sheep and a goat-like looking head outside his stall and we pointed at the sheep’s head. Whether he actually gave us meat from that animal is always going to remain a mystery, so we called the meat that had bought ‘sheep/goat’. Or, as Andrew said – ‘We’re either eating Sheep or Goat, depending on what your definition of those two are.’ The fresh produce was dirt cheap and so tasty, and really makes one wonder how some of the locals survive when their entire stock can not be worth much more than 100 Dirham.

Our journey continued after to Erg Chebbi – sand dunes just after Merzouga. Once again we followed the ‘scenic route’, which was well worth it, and wound right around the dunes. We stopped here for our lunch break and it was fabulous to knock off our slip slops and stand in the red sand. The weather has warmed up very nicely, and we all were thinking ‘thank god we are not terrahere in winter’ as the weather has been very agreeable. From here we continued to Taouz, which was the start of the Chris Scott route for us. The terrain was rocky and sandy and it was the first test for our 4×4’s. After about an hour we hit some sand, and as the sun was setting we thought best to leave letting the tyres down for the next morning. Conveniently located at this point was Auberge Tazoult, and so we decided to stay here for the night. The poor chaps from the place had been following us on their motorbikes for the last half hour trying to convince us to stay here. It turned out to be a great evening and it was amazing how the demeanour of the chaps changed once they had welcomed us into their auberge – their slightly threatening faces turned into very hospitable ones and they really gave us an insight into their culture. They played the drums and sang for us in the evening and in turn we gave them some of our dinner (the sheep/goat very well braaied on the fire they made us).

The next morning we were up and off – still getting the knack of packing up the trucks, showering and having breakfast in under two hours. Will keep you posted on the progress on that one. The route from here to Tamegroute was just over 200km and very varied. Starting with the sandy dunes, we moved onto long flat plains, gravel patches and very rocky, winding passes. It really was amazing and well worth it if you can get yourself and your 4×4 down there. As the sun set we approached Tamegroute, after a long day of driving and managed to find our camp site – Les Palmeries. The girls were so relieved when the host said that he could cook us dinner and we took up the offer without even thinking twice. It take a little while to prepare and by the time it arrived we were so ready to devour the delicious soup and tagine (this time with fried chips – that’s a new one!).

Waving a fond farewell to Chefchauen, we set off, on Andrew’s choice of ‘the scenic route’ (of course!) towards Fes which was to take us via the Rif Valley. What none of us knew however, was that the scenic route was described in our Rough Guide (read later that evening) as a route ‘not to be undertaken by inexperienced drivers’. The road was windy, busy and arduously slow going. But at least the views made up for it.

The Rif Valley also hides a slightly more secretive past-time as the hashish producing region of Morocco. We were constantly flashed by passing cars, while the occupants of the cars gesticulated wildly indicating a smoking sign as they drove past.

At one stage, a black Mercedes Benz with tinted windows and a motley crew within became particularly attentive, driving up our cars’ tails, passing in front of us, then slowing down whilst flashing and hooting and waving and shouting at us to slow down and pull-over. After about 10 kms they finally realized that we were dudds as potential buyers and left us alone.

W pulled into an outer-lying campsite, ”Camping Inernational” in the dark that evening. After a hearty tagine, we stumbled off to our tents.

The next morning, we were awoken by the calls to mosque – exotic an evocative in the still morning. Mohammed, the campsite manager, had organised us a guided tour for the group, as the Medina of Fes can be confusing and almost impossible to negotiate as a non-resident. Hamid, our tour guide and salesman extraordinaire, kick-started his tour with a bird’s eye-view of the old Medina (old town). He explained that in the Medina, life carries on as if the modern world has never existed. He lead us through alleyways, introducing us to the family roles traditionally played for hundreds of years. The father and sons learn a family trade (such as pottery, wood carving, weaving etc) and the mother is then responsible for buying wool from the year’s trade. The wool is the family’s ‘insurance’ and is used to make traditional carpets.

Although parts of the Medina are certainly frozen in time, such as the food markets and donkey transport trotting purposefully through the alleyways, the modern world has managed to creep in, visible as satellite dishes in the hundreds sunning themselves on the Medina roofs and “made in China” trinkets for sale.

Hamid then lead us to a ‘pharmacist’ also known as a glorified spice merchant who managed to sell us spices and musk smelling soap for outrageous prices. Hamid no doubt was chuffed, as he was getting a commission on all our purchases. As Andrew commented later, being with Hamid was like watching a great 30 minute documentary followed by hours of advertisements. The culmination of Hamid’s show occurred when he took us to the ‘UNESCO approved Government Co-op Carpet Sales House’. Here, in an exquisite and restored house inside the Medina, we were separated into couples and herded into separate rooms where we were shown carpet after carpet by relentless salesmen. Some of the carpets were beautiful and Chippy and Richard, Mikaela’s parents, made Hamid’s day by purchasing not one, but two! Chippy, slightly ashen-faced, remarked that she was not even sure the carpets would match their furniture! But such was the charm Hamid had managed to pour over us, to his credit.

One of our last stops on the way out was the famous tannery. Seen and smelt from above, it truly looks like a giant’s paint-box as Michael Palin so eloquently describes in his Saharan documentaries.

It was late afternoon by the time we exited the Medina’s walls into the bright sunshine and breathed in some fresher air. After stocking up on grocery supplies from a swanky supermarket, we headed back to our campsite. The next morning was spent chasing up third party insurance, which we hadn’t managed to get at the border. Paula also spent some time contacting the SA embassy in London in order to follow up on her renewed SA passport. We finally left town around mid-afternoon and spent a freezing night camping near Azrou.

Once Grant had celebrated his second 27th birthday with cake and candles we headed out of Tanger for Chefchaouen (pronounced Shef-Shau-Wen). The town is perched 1,000 meters above sea level between two mountain heads from which the town gets its name meaning “Horned-Mountain”. As welcoming as the town is, up until 1920 Chefchaouen was incredibly hostile towards Christian visitors and in fact until then only three Christians had even been into the town. We found a delightful campsite high up on a rocky hill overlooking the city.  That evening we clambered down the hill into the medina (old town) to explore the bustling labyrinth of blue-washed alleyways. We weaved our way through the crooked streets, which come alive in the evenings with a myriad of spice merchants, barbers, silk-weavers and aromatic tagines.

Looking for a place to eat we found the main square which was full of broad-smiled, wheeler-dealers to rival any Brick Lane wannabe’s. We settled on Aladin’s Restaurant which came recommended by Mikaela.  The waiter, dressed in full Aladin attire served us delicious tangines of lamb stewed with prunes and almonds and tender olive and citrus chicken.

The next day we rose at sunrise to capture the medina awakening in the early morning light.  We were sad to leave but being a day behind schedule we needed to push on towards Fes. On our way out we handed out our first football to some grateful kids as we said goodbye to the blue-stoned village.

Grant’s image of celebrating his 27th birthday was one of crossing the ferry from Spain to Morocco, the ‘first’ day of the trip. Unfortunately the plague from Spain was still lurking, so despite popping some Moet on the ferry, the celebrations were kept to a minimum. We made up for it on the 2nd, by having cake and candles in the morning and a delicious dinner at Aladdin’s in Chefchouen….