Monday 11 November 2019

Blog Part 42, Losing Convenience, High Atlas Mountains and Berber Villages, late Oct, early Nov 2019


Blog Part 42, Losing Convenience


On a Day Ride

Most Oudes Were Dry

A Few Wet Oude Crossings

But Most Were Dry

Preparing for the Next Planting

Suburb of Tafraout


Tafraoute sits in south Morocco’s Anti-Atlas Mountains. I used it as a base camp to explore the area on day rides without luggage. Then I began a long arc to the east and north. The route began with a rough road to Taliouine that took a whole day. There were many dry oude (river) crossings where the road had been washed away.  The way to Ourzazate was clear and I arrived in time for lunch the next day. The Dades Valley came next followed by the famous gorge of the same name. It really was as spectacular as people had described. I found a Berber guest house with a locked garage for the night. No one spoke French at the inn, only Berber. In any case, I was the only guest. The language of gestures sufficed, a price was negotiated and I settled in for the night.

In the Anti-Atlas

Palmerie in the Anti-Atlas

Anti-Atlas Palmerie

Anti-Atlas Scene

The Anti-Atlas Range

Desert Highway in the Anti-Atlas

Lower Dades Valley

Berber Guest House

View of Dades Valley from the Terrace

Dades Gorge

Dades Gorge

Dades Valley

Strange Rock Formations

In the High Atlas Range


I was trying to pre-ride famous routes in Morocco; that way, I could be sure that Isabelle would be comfortable riding them when we both returned to visit together. I was also building up a bank of useful places for accommodations along the way. The next morning, I rode back out the gorge the way I had come in. The road did continue to the north, the way I wanted to go but everyone said that it was a rough dirt track after the Dades Gorge. I wanted to check out the Todra Gorge anyway. Its mouth was about half an hour’s ride to the east of the mouth of the Dades Gorge.

Todra Gorge

Todra Cliff Houses

The ride up the Todra Valley was really enjoyable all the way north to the remote Berber village called Agoudal. I checked into the lone hotel, simply called “The Kasbah”. Once again, I was the only guest. What it lacked in refinement the Kasbah made up with its location well off the beaten path; it gave a glimpse of highland Berber life, still unchanged by modernity.

Near Agoudal in the High Atlas Range

Agoudal

In Agoudal


Agoudal was located in a 15 kilometer-long fertile valley at close to 2500 meters elevation. Inside the town there were no roads only dirt tracks between the adobe structures. Roads weren’t needed; there were no cars or even scooters to use them. People walked or rode a donkey to get from place to place. Careful water management and strong sun allowed nearly year-long cultivation in the valley even with cool high altitude air. Everyone was involved in food production. Each morning I witnessed a stream of chatty women walk past the Kasbah on their way to harvest crops. In the fields they sat as they pulled and picked with their hands. A few people rode by on donkeys but walked back to town. The donkeys returned loaded high with the day’s harvested crops.

The Kasbah

Working on the Kasbah

Preparing for Planting


The manager of the Kasbah spoke French well. He gave me route advice for day rides. His routes proved to feature mostly risk and potentially accident free riding. Both Isabelle and I were fed up with riding injuries. There were a few rough sections on those day rides but the routes were filled with scenery that was really worth the effort of the journey.

Highland Scene


A few days later I rode north to Azrou and a wonderful campground called Euro Camping. It was thoroughly modern and well run. It felt strange coming down from the highlands after having spent so much time in Morocco’s south. There seemed to be people everywhere. Huge expanses of cultivated fields spoke of mechanized farming. The city of Azrou was busy and filled with clues concerning its level of secularism, beginning with peoples’ dress. The change from the highlands was a bit like the culture shock Isa and I felt coming down from Bolivia and landing in thoroughly modern Salta, Argentina.

Erosion Patterns


Continuing north brought me past the Royal Palace outside Fez then into the coastal mountains. Isa and I will visit Fez together in the future. The suburbs of Fez reminded me of posh areas on Mont Royale in Montreal. North of Fez, there were many industrial and mining towns. Once I entered the coastal mountains towns and traffic disappeared.

In Forest Near Fez


The air became thinner and colder after climbing for an hour. The road was filled with sharp-edged potholes and tight curves. I stayed in first and second gear for much of the time. The map said the road was paved and technically it was but two hundred kilometers took four times as long as my time estimates. I got caught after dark in a 50 kilometer gravel construction zone that descended toward the coast and to my campground. There was no sign of a hotel or even a private house in the dark. The final 1.3 kilometers to the clifftop campground were over a rough, steep and twisty gravel driveway. The driveway wasn’t especially difficult to ride but any amount of rain would change that.

Interior Valleys of Coastal Mountains


And it happened. I sat up from 3-6 am, during the worst of the storm, with my back supporting the windward corner of my tent. The wind was incredibly powerful. Things began to calm with the coming of daylight. There was a significant break in the weather mid-morning. I took a walk along that gravel driveway. The muddiest sections each had a way around that was clear. I decided to make a run for it before the predicted second storm wave arrived.

I got to tarmac without falling and continued west along the coastal road. It was as much fun as California’s coastal highway. Long and twisty climbs were followed by long and twisty descents; all-the-while revealing dramatic views of the Mediterranean Sea.

Dramatic Views


I camped in the Municipal campground inside Tetouan and rode to the ferry terminal the next morning. The crossing to Spain took just two hours. Culture shock struck hard as I rode away from the ferry toward Camping Sureuropa, beside the Rock of Gibraltar. Traffic was thick, comprised of new looking, modern cars that were speeding everywhere. Advertising billboards and electronic screens told of my arrival back in Europe. I stopped at a supermarket and was amazed at the square footage and selection of products. The campground looked sophisticated; the bathrooms so clean, there were toilet seats and paper in every stall. You could drink the water, right out of a tap!

If you spend enough time in a place where conveniences, even things you might consider necessities like drinking water from a tap and refrigeration, are missing you begin to adapt. You stop noticing a lack, stop thinking about deprivation and get on with living. You adapt to a new normal. You also begin to understand the smiles and happy chatter of women walking kilometers to the fields to work crops with their hands.

Part 43 - Situation: Stuck in Spain, Dilemma: Deadline in Dublin

Situation: Stuck in Spain, Dilemma: Deadline in Dublin All sailings for the week to Ireland, where I planned to store my motorcycle, w...