Merzouga - Mediterranean Backpacking Trip - Day 5 (Part 2)

After a another short drive, we passed through the Draâ Valley and the town of Agdz. I had contacted a Couchsurfer in Agdz before our voyage, but didn't think I would be in the area. The Draâ River, flowing from the Atlas Mountains to the Atlantic Ocean, cutting across Southern Morocco, is Morocco's longest river. The valley it carved now contains important population centres in South Morocco. Along the river there were lush fields of green, accompanied by a wide swath of a dense, dark green palm jungle maintained by the residents of the valley for the production of dates. It was an amazing sight to see the thick canopy of the palm trees against a barren and dusty background. The villages and old, abandoned kasbahs were located behind the palm trees, climbing up the shallower walls of the valley below tall, rocky cliffs.

After leaving the Valley, there was not much to see, as there were no significant water sources for a long while. At one point, Mohammed pointed to a house in a tiny village we passed and told us he was born there. Mohammed got into a long discussion of Islam, as well as Iraq and the US invasion with Felix as he was from the US. He explained to Felix that Iraq actually had a good quality of life, health care and education before the invasion, but American propaganda made it look like a horrible place. He told us that other countries the US did not invade are just as bad, if not worse than Iraq. As an example, he told us that in Morocco, anyone, especially Berbers, who speak against the King would be flown to a prison and had his tongue cut off. He even pointed us to the supposed site of the prison later that day as we passed it. At first Felix believed some of it, but as his opinion of Mohammed became more negative, he started believing less and less of what Mohammed said. In my opinion, the American media did make Iraq look like a much worse place that it actually is. Coming from Canada, I saw many scenes in our media that were not shown in the American media. I had even seen a documentary comparing the American media's coverage of the Iraq war with media coverage from other countries. I had been very surprised to learn that even iconic moments, such as the toppling of Saddam Hussein's statue, had been staged and strictly controlled by the American military. However, I did not believe everything that Mohammed said, as I am sure the media in Morocco is also very biased and painted Iraq in a more positive manner than it actually is.

Throughout the long drive down the dusty road, we saw many hills, mesas and the deep scars of water erosion from torrential floods that occur once in a while in the area due to the lack of vegetation to catch the water from the rare rainstorm. We stopped once for a flock of sheep that a shepherd was herding off the road as he saw our car approaching. This scene, viewed from inside Mohammed's car, reminded me of scenes from movies such as Babel and Syriana. We stopped in Tazzarine for lunch. I ordered brochette served with fries, as brochette was of the three main things to eat in Morocco, the other two being tagine and couscous. As we ate on the balcony on the second floor, we heard the calls to prayers. Under the scorching midday sun, the town was nearly deserted, only to become even more desolate after the calls to prayers. Even the restaurant staff dissappeared. I felt bad that we were eating during the calls to prayers when everyone else was praying. After enjoying the view of the oasis town from the comfortable couches and pillows, we paid and went downstairs to wait for Mohammed. I realized that Mohammed probably stopped at this town specifically to make it in time to pray, even though he claimed that he was napping.

We passed a few more oasis towns on the way. It was amazing to see a field of green pop up in an otherwise barren landscape, surrounded by a town that would begin and end very abruptly. Leaving such an oasis town, I felt as if we were leaving behind civilization, and I would watch the swatch of green palm trees in the rear window disappear into the distance until we were once again surrounded by an empty rag desert. To pass the time, we made a hobby out of searching for dust devils. Most dust devils, being relatively weak, left only light traces of dust streaming dozens of meters up into the air. It took a certain skill to identify them. However, we did see a few powerful ones, including one that was a few metres wide that sent thick plumes of spinning dust high up into the air. This one passed in front of our car, which prompted Mohammed to roll up the windows. I imagined how much fun it would be to jump into once of those, but then realized I would probably just end up curled up into a ball on the ground as soon as I was inside as I would get sand all over me, in places that I probably didn't even know existed.

Shortly after, we reached a road sign written in Arabic and English. The sign indicated the fork in the road would lead us to Erfoud and Errachidia to the left, and Er-Rissani and Merzouga to the right. The large Arabic letters on the sign, the dusty road and terrain around us, and the palm trees of yet another oasis town in the background really made me feel like I was someplace very exotic. We took the right fork, and stopped at a gas station to refuel. We also bought a few bottles of water to drink and to use for the night in the desert. While Mohammed was fuelling, I took a look around at the landscape. It was exactly like something out of a movie. It was blindingly bright as the landscape had turned much lighter in colour. There was some sand drifting in the breeze, and the mud buildings stood in the midst of numerous palm trees feeding off of the water from the oasis.

We passed through a town with a pretty gate, which we were told is a very famous town as it was the birthplace of one of the famous rulers in Morocco. Throughout the trip, Mohammed had been telling us interesting facts about Morocco. One of the interesting things I learnt is that Morocco has a unique style of minarets. All of the minarets in Morocco were square shaped. They were pink in colour, decorated with painted green and white sections, and had a balcony at he top covered by a small domed pavilion. After learning this, I noticed that every single minaret in Morocco followed this basic style and had a very distinct architectural shape and style to it.

Merzouga - Mediterranean Backpacking Trip - Day 5 (Part 1)

We woke up in time for a quick walk to the pâtisserie we saw last night on our stroll. The shop was very simple, with concrete walls, a scale to weigh the pastries, and a simple counter with a few trays of food, some with flies crawling on them. We picked up a few interesting looking breads and pastries for a very cheap price and ate them back at the hotel. At 8am, Mohammed showed up. After loading our gear into his car, we were off for a two day trip to the Sahara Desert. We agreed to take a southern route to Merzouga and a northern route back to see some different sights along the way. Although we had the choice of visiting Zagora for a lower price, we decided to visit Merzouga as it came highly recommended from nearly everyone we met. From what we had heard, Zagora was a town on the southern edge of the Draâ Valley, past which is the rocky rag desert which had only a few small dunes. Merzouga, on the other hand, had some enormous sand dunes which were supposed to be like the ones in the movies.

Our first stop was on a mountain road close to Ouarzazate. Mohammed stopped the car by a curve in the road where he told us we can get a very nice view. As we stepped out of the car and closed the doors, we noticed the car started up again and slowly drove off! We were scared that this was the plan all along, that Mohammed would steal our stuff and dump us in the middle of a desert to give him enough time to escape! After exchanging some nervous glances with each other, we decided to just enjoy the view and hope he doesn't drive away. However, Felix and I were interrupted by the sight of two men, dressed in the traditional robes and headscarfs were sprinting toward from a small mud brick building on the hill above the road. "Are they running toward us?" I asked uncomfortably. Felix responded "... I .... think so..." As you can imagine, we were quite confused and uncomfortable again, as we were standing on a deserted mountain road in the rocky desert of Southern Morocco, with our driver driving off with our gear in his car, and two men running at us full force from a small mud shack on a hill.

We just stood there as the men approached. As they did, we noticed that they were carrying lizards. It turns out that the the men displayed lizards that they catch in the deserts to passing tourists in hopes of getting a few dirhams out of the process. They were quite nice and showed us a chameleon and some spiny-tailed lizards, which had fat bodies and wide, segmented spiny tails. One of the lizards was obviously dead, which they did not realize until after showing it to us. The man looked stunned for a few seconds, then reassured us that is was sleeping and tried to explain that the lizard was a baby who needed his sleep, even though it was the same size as the others. He even petted the dead lizard to try to complete the illusion. The dead body just bounced a bit in response.

After taking some photos with us and putting lizards on us, they asked for a tip. When we asked how much, they said 50 dirhams. I knew this was too much, and luckily, I remembered that I didn't have much money left in my wallet as I carry most of my spending money in a hidden money pouch. I opened my wallet to show them it was empty, but to my dismay, there was a 50 dirham bill sitting right there. We stared each other for a few speechless seconds, then he pointed and nodded his head, saying "... yeah, 50 dirham." I quickly withdrew my wallet, and Felix and I both handed them 10 dirham and started walking toward Mohammed's car, which we were relieved to find parked a bit up the road. Although they followed us to ask for more money, Mohammed intercepted them and seemed to have a friendly chat. He claims that he parked the car up a bit to move it out of the way of the traffic. We are pretty sure that these were his friends and that they had an agreement for him to stop there with tourists. Felix was visibly angry at Mohammed and told him never to do that again.

Before heading off again, we enjoyed the view of the valley and took some more photos. One can see hills all around the area, rising into rocky cliffs. The terrain was dry and rocky, and had a dusty reddish brown tinge to it. There were some small but scattered plants on the hills. In the valley, one can see a few small towns and villages surrounding patches of green fields and palm trees. These were oasis towns. Although I was very excited to see my first oasis town, these turned out to be extremely common in Morocco, and other than towns surrounding three small rivers and streams, these were the only significantly inhabited places there.

A bit further into the drive, we stopped for another view of the gorges in the area. We saw a deep gash in the earth forming steep cliffs. We did not see any water, but can imagine that any rains in the area must form torrential flows as there were no plants or other obstacles to slow the flow of water. Mohammed mentioned that this was the "Grand Canyon of Morocco." We also noticed interesting rock formations as we drove. In this particular area, any hills or changes in elevation was composed of distinct layers of rocks. The rocks of the different layers all looked the same, but it was stunning to see not a single smooth hill. The layers were so distinct that the edge of each layer looked as if someone had built a rock wall there that had just begun to crumble. The entire landscape were made of slightly slanting horizontal lines, as if some cartographer had drawn close-together lines on the terrain to mark the altitude.

Ouarzazate - Mediterranean Backpacking Trip - Day 4 (Part 6)

Arriving back at Mohammed's car, we noticed that he was nowhere to be found. After about five or ten minutes, Mohammed appeared and we were on our way back. I hope that we did not interrupt him if he was praying, as Southern Morocco is quite strict in its Islamic culture, with most of the people heeding the five calls to prayers each day.

On the way back, we stopped on a hill to watch the sunset in the barren rag desert. It was a beautiful sight. Below us were some scattered villages and green fields in a vast, brown rocky expanse. There were hills and mesas casting spectacular shadows across the landscape.

On the way back, Mohammed suddenly pulled over in a town and told us he will be back. After he left, the radio that he had on was suddenly interrupted, and the chanting of the calls to players were broadcast over the radio. All around us, we can hear the calls to prayers being broadcast through loudspeakers from the scattered minarets in the town. Hearing the calls to prayers for the first time is a powerful experience. It feels that all of society is united in the power of prayer, which is omnipresent in the towns and media outlets when the appropriate time comes. Soon after the calls to prayers ended, Mohammed returned, and we were on our way back again.

Passing through the main part of Ouarzazate, we had to take a bridge to the section of town our hotel is in. This bridge crossed a wide, but mostly dry riverbed. It was built as a raised dike, with stubby painted concrete pilings marking the road. A car could easily drive between them and off the bridge. We drove across it slowly, as this bridge was shared by many townspeople strolling around town. For some reason this bridge reminded me of some places in China I had been in, adding to the feel that we were very far away from home.

After being dropped off, we told Mohammed that we accept his offer of taking us to Merzouga for 2000 dirhams, and paid an additional 600 dirhams each for a one night trek and camping trip into the desert. Although we realize this price was probably a bit high, we didn't really feel like negotiating as we did not know what the fair price was, and we thought they needed the money more than we do anyway. We gave Mohammed a 50 dirham tip along with the payment, which he didn't look at and just stuffed into his pockets. Later on, Felix and I were talking about Mohammed. I wondered if Mohammed even know we tipped him, but Felix was sure he did, and that "he'll look at it tonight and smile a bit." I am always cautious and suspicious, so I thought Mohammed was definitely ripping us off. Felix had a much more positive view of Mohammed. Well, that was going to change drastically in the next few days.

That night, we had dinner at the hotel as it was already quite late and we just wanted to eat as soon as possible. We paid 100 dirham each for a full meal with tagine as the main dish. Although it was a reasonably priced compared to Europe, it was still overpriced, as can be expected in any hotel. During dinner in the courtyard, under palm fruit trees, I took the time to enjoy the stars in the cloudless sky above. There was little light pollution in Ouarzazate, and I had not see this many stars in the sky for a while now. I enjoyed seeing the Milky Way so visible, draped across the sky like silk. After dinner, we took a quick stroll in the streets. We were surprised to find that everyone in town seemed to be out. The streets were filled with people and activity. It turns out that in Morocco, most people come out after sunset because it is much too hot during the day. We had arrived at the airport at exactly the wrong time, during their long noon siesta when all the stores are closed because everyone is asleep at home.

The streets were dusty and the weather was still quite hot, but it had cooled to a bearable temperature. Southern Morocco is still surprisingly traditional. Nearly everyone was wearing the same outfit. The women had covered heads and wore long robes. The men wore flowing grey or light blue robes, sandals, and many of them sported long beards and the traditional Muslim caps. Walking down the street, I made a mental note of a bakery which I would stop at tomorrow morning for breakfast before heading off to Merzouga. I also bought a cheap nail clipper off a street vendor selling wares from a tarp for 3 dirhams. This was a horrible purchase as the nail clippers, which I would use for the rest of the trip, pinched my nails more often than clipping them.

After a cramped shower, we went to bed. From our window, we can still see people walking up and down the main street in this section of town. A Exxon Mobil gas station was also visible from our window. What I found amusing about this is that in English, the 'o' in Mobil is red with the rest of the word blue. Similarly, in Arabic, we noticed one connected letter was painted in red while the rest of the word was blue. I found it amusing they forced the same colour scheme into the Arabic version of their name and didn't spend the extra effort to come up with a more suitable logo.

Aït Benhaddou - Mediterranean Backpacking Trip - Day 4 (Part 5)

On our first drive through the South Moroccan countryside, we got a glimpse of the barren rocky desert. Mohamed informed us that there were two words for desert in Arabic, "rag," which is the rocky desert we are travelling through, and "erg," which is the sandy desert we plan on visiting. Along the way, we see small streams surrounded by green fields, trees, and small villages in an otherwise barren landscape. The terrain was a dull reddish brown colour, scattered with rocks. In the distance, one can see cliffs, hills, and mountains. Every so often, there would be a road marker that looked like a white tombstone on the side of the road with a coloured top below which is painted in black the number indicating the distance, and the Arabic and English names of the place it was indicating. These appeared regularly and seemed to alternate among the next few destinations on the highway.

We stopped once to look at a rock hill with three colours, which Mohamed explained to us was very rare and caused by the presence of three different minerals and metals. We passed many small villages and saw many mud buildings, some crumbled and abandoned, and some well maintained and new. At least a few times we passed small villages on hills which we thought might have been Aït Benhaddou.

Finally, we stopped in a small village, which we were told is the new village of Aït Benhaddou. Mohammed gave us directions on how to get to the old village, and said he was going to go spend the time at a friend's house. We told him that we would watch the sunset from the hill and agreed to meet later.

Walking through town and passing a few gift shops, we reached the banks of a dried up river. I had read that if there is water in the river, one must be very careful not to step in the water due to parasites that will burrow in you skin. Luckily for us, the river was completely dry, and to get to the old site of Aït Benhaddou, all we had to do was walk across the dried riverbed. The view from this side was breathtaking. Following the banks of the river, there were green fields, bushes, and date palms. Rising above it was a collection of majestic kasbahs forming a magnificent ksar that covers a quarter of a steep hill rising out of the rag desert. Near the top, there is a cliff and a crumbled wall following the upper lip of the rock face. At the very top of the hill was a badly crumbled tower which used to function as a granary.

After walking across the dried river, we entered the gates into old Aït Benhaddou. There are currently still ten families that call old Aït Benhaddou home. We spent our time exploring the village, climbing ups and down stairs, going from roof to roof via connected passageways, and exploring small nooks and crannies. We found a few donkey stables, a few family homes charging admission for a tour, and found that most of the families that still live there now also own small gift stores. We chose not to visit anyone's home since we were afraid that it would be too touristy, but in retrospect, it would have been interesting to see anyway. In any case, we were able to explore some abandoned kasbahs which used to serve as family homes. As forewarned, there were many childern acting as touts. We ignored them and decided not to have them show us around, but again, in retrospect, for a measly 10 dirhams, perhaps they would have show us some secrets of the ksar. However, that was not guaranteed, as we have had very varying experiences with official and unofficial guides in Morocco.

Following a path leading out of the upper side of the village, we came to the top of the cliff we saw from below. There were two boys drumming on tin cans, and as they were making quite a catchy beat, we were tempted to give them some money, but we were out of change. The view from the top was amazing. At this time, the sun was low in the sky, bathing everything in a reddish orange glow. It seemed very appropriate on the reddish brown earth and the similar coloured buildings that seemed to grow out of the earth full of life before ending its life cycle and crumbling back to dust. From the top of this hill, we can see that we were surrounded by vast stretches of rocky hills and plains, well weathered into repeating patters due to millenia of erosion, untouched by humans. We also climbed around to take a look into the collapsed granary, which by now is hardly recognizable. We noted that there were different compartments in the structure which was probably used to store different foodstuff or used by different families.

After sitting there for a while watching the colours change with the setting sun, we decided we should not keep Mohamed for too long, so we decided to head back. On our way down, I noticed clear water damage on the buildings, especially around the gutters. In some places the external mud covering was washed away to reveal the compacted straw and the mud bricks, which were also showing clear damage. I wonder how much longer Aït Benhaddou is going to last, seeing that no new residents are moving in to the old village, and the ksar will be slowly ground into mud and dust with each passing wind and rainstorm.

Tifoultout - Mediterranean Backpacking Trip - Day 4 (Part 4)

Mohammed came back at 4pm to pick us up. He had an old tan Mercedes, a car from a previous era. Scrambling into the car, we found some religious knick-knacks around the car and a covering that looked like a faded carpet on the dashboard. We had a full evening of exploring to do since Mohammed was going to take us to a few different sites in the area.

Our first stop was at the kasbah in Tifoultout, one of the residences of the famous Glaoui family, the head of the Glaoua tribe. Their power peaked in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, when they were involved in the overthrow of at least two different Sultans of Morocco. Walking through the front gate, a man sitting on the side took 10 dirhams for admission in exchange for a ticket which says "tea included." It turns out that the Glaoui family had not held onto their power over the past few decades, and the occupants of this particular kasbah had been reduced to charging 10dh for tourists to wander through their home and to serve them tea.

The kasbah was painted pink as with all of the other buildings in the area. Many of the walls were worn and collapsing, while other walls had brand-new sections and decorative elements which seemed like they were already crumbling. We eventually found that all throughout southern Morocco, there are crumbling kasbahs like this one. Almost all of the buildings in the area are built using mud with straw. With each rain, the buildings get washed away a bit. As soon as a building is worn too much to maintain, the families just build a new house to live in. Luckily for them, it rains only about twice a year in the area so a house can last quite a long time with proper maintenance.

As the kasbah was built on a hill, the view from the roof terrace was spectacular. One can see the hills of the Atlas in the distance, and the town below, a cluster of mud buildings ranging from brown to pink. There were a few minarets of mosques breaking up away from the rest of the single and double storied buildings to form dramatic peaks in seemingly random parts of town. The town surrounded an oasis of lush green fields and full, healthy date palms in an otherwise dusty and barren landscape. From the top of the hill, we saw a few people going around town, and a caravan of donkeys carrying bales of hay passed below us. The top of the kasbah was home to many storks, each family with a giant nest of many sticks weaved together. As we walked up to them to observe them, they seemed just as curious of us as we were of them.

To commemorate our first main stop of the trip, we took a combined self portrait. We stood by each other and held our cameras out, taking our photos together at the same time. I'll have one version, and Felix will have the other. After that, we ducked indoors to their main lobby to have some tea. It was much cooler and darker inside. The floor and walls were covered with a patchwork of ornate cloths and rugs, many of them quite faded and worn. We sat on a couch in front of a table covered in what seems to be many layers of cloth. A man started making us some tea in an ornate silver pot. As we waited, Mohammed introduced to us the owner of the property, a member of the Glaoui family. We noticed that Mohammed appeared to know the man. We wondered if this was a tourist attraction at all, or if he was just trying to get our money somehow by showing us his friends home. Eventually, we found out that since Mohammed takes a lot of tourists around, he has gotten very familiar with many of the people these sites and had deals with them.

This would be our first taste of Moroccan mint tea, which would become the beverage of choice for every single meal we would have in Morocco. Morning, midday, and night, we, along with everyone around us, would drink mint tea. The connection between mint tea and Morocco became so strong in my mind that long after leaving Morocco, the taste of mint tea would immediately conjure up visions of sitting at small restaurants in the dusty streets in Moroccan towns, watching as people and donkeys walk past. Our driver told us that mint tea was known as "Berber whiskey" since the Berbers make it so strong that it packs the punch of whiskey in terms of taste. It also looks surprisingly like a shot of strong whiskey when sitting in the small glasses. Moroccan mint tea is made by boiling green gunpowder tea for a while and then adding mint and sugar near the end of the process to flavour the tea. The tea is then poured from a large distance above the glass to create a small foam head, although this isn't done as often in the cheaper restaurants we ate in. The tea is dense and strong in all flavours including sugar. I liked this very much as I usually enjoy my tea extra strong.

After tea, we set off in the direction of Aït Benhaddou. After a short drive, we made a quick stop at the Atlas Film Studios, the most famous of the numerous studios in the area. Films that have been filmed there include major Hollywood blockbusters such as Kundun and Gladiator. Seeing that the admission price was 60 dirhams, we decided not to take the tour and continued on our way. Once again, we noticed that Mohammed seemed to know the people at that tourist stop quite well.

Ouarzazate - Mediterranean Backpacking Trip - Day 4 (Part 3)

The ride in the old rickety turboprop was very different than the jet ride. As we travelled south, the terrain became drier, and the sky contained only a few scattered clouds. We could see dried riverbeds and shallow lakes below supporting clusters of small towns and fields in what was otherwise a flat expanse of dusty, yellow earth. After about an hour into the flight, the earth grew suddenly hilly and the High Atlas range loomed ahead. It was amazing to see a line of clouds in an otherwise clear sky against the northern edge of the Atlas Mountains. There were swirls and tendrils of clouds reaching into the range, but quickly trailed off and the sky because cloudless again. The haze that was visible since our take off from Madrid was still around, enshrouding the Atlas, obscuring the view into the valleys between the peaks.

As we crossed the mountains, we noticed that we were losing altitude and getting closer to the jagged peaks below with each passing minute. As we descended, we got a close view of the magnificent sweeping red cliffs and hills speckled with patches of snow and a few small, blue glacial lakes that stood in striking contrast with the dusty red terrain. After a few dramatic bumpy turns and close brushes with the cliffs below, a vast, flat landscape was revealed before us. The parched landscape was criss-crossed with dried river beds and patches of small, greenish brown plants. Immediately after the final cliffs, we passed over the Atlas Film Studios, which at first I thought was some kind of historical kasbah. Immediately after, we touched down in the small desert town of Ouarzazate. From the plane, the town looked empty and dusty, with many similar mud and concrete buildings, painted and otherwise, clustered together.

Jumping down from the plane, we were greeted by a blast of scorching dry air in a cloudless sky. I noted that the sun we almost directly overhead, so that I cast a very small shadow. I immediately took photos of me at the airport with the Moroccan flag and the signs in Arabic and French. As we walked in the door, we came across a small desk where most people were walking past. Seeing that the desk was marked "Customs," we decided to get stop there. It seems that we were the only people on the flight that are entering customs through Ouarzazate and not some other Moroccan city. The process was strict but relatively smooth except for one issue. Apparently the Moroccan customs needed a contact address of where we were staying before allowing us to pass. Luckily, Felix had a tour book with him which he had been flipping through, we so pointed to one of the listed accommodations we were planning on checking out. After some paperwork and receiving two stamps in our passport, we were finally let into the country.

Entering into the airport and picking up our bags, we found the airport deserted other than a floor sweeper and a security officer. I had counted on finding a tourist stall with maps at the airport from my previous backpacking trip experiences, but I suppose this isn't Europe, so a quick search through the airport yielded nothing. We also found what looked like a few stores and a currency exchange or bank, but they were all closed. Walking outside, we were greeted with the midday sun of an extremely hot and dry day, a few signs in Arabic and another officer talking with someone with a bicycle. At this time, we were at a loss for what to do. The airport was deserted, we didn't have any Moroccan money, and we couldn't understand anything around us. At this time, Felix and I discovered that we had very different travel preferences. Whereas I am most stimulated when I get into difficult situations and find creative ways to work myself out of them, Felix liked it when things are straightforward and all planned out. Felix was visibly distraught, and I was at a loss of ideas. After about ten minutes of wandering around, sitting around, and staring at each other, one of the police officers approached us, and in a combination of motioning and simple French, he told us he would call a cab for us. Although I am always a bit suspicious of strangers in unknown places, especially if they offer us a car which I'm sure we would not be able to identify as a taxi or not, we really didn't have an idea of what else we could do, so we agreed. We waited outside in the heat with the company of some Arabic elevator music until the car came for us.

The car that arrived was a bit beat up... well, nearly all cars in Morocco were pretty beat up compared to the cars in North America. We piled into the car, and after a few words between the driver and the officer in Arabic, pointing at the hotel listing we told the customs officer we were going to, and handing the driver on an agreed-upon ten Euro bill, we were off. Whatever relief we felt was soon gone however, as our driver suddenly pulled over on the side of the road after a few minutes of driving. We saw a beat-up red car, obviously not a cab, pull up right behind us, and our driver told us to get out. As we were removing our stuff from the car, the driver of our car and the driver of the other mysterious car exchanged greetings.

We were told to get into the other red car, and seeing no good alternatives, we decided to play along. After we got in, we discovered that this was a sales pitch. The new driver, who introduced himself as Mohammed, spoke English reasonably well and offered to drive us around. It turns out this is quite common in Morocco. If a foreigner gets in a taxi, at some point in the trip a salesman would appear. By the time we reached our hotel, we agreed to be picked up in a few hours for an evening tour of Aït Benhaddou that would cost us 300 dirhams. We couldn't resist, since Aït Benhaddou was the reason that I decided to extend my trip as south as Ouarzazate.

Our hotel was pretty good, with the exception of a tiny bathroom and shower. We were a bit sketched out by the driver walking us in, chatting with the receptionist, and telling us that we get a discount because he had taken us there. We eventually found out that it was very common in Morocco for people to receive commissions if they brought customers, although we were a bit worried about it at the beginning. In the hotel room, Felix discovered that he had lost his tour book. This was the most stressful moment of the trip for both of us, as we were in a strange land using an unfamiliar language without a guide of any form, not knowing how to get money and where to get food. Although we did get into similar situations in the future, we became more accustomed to it as the trip went on, and I became better at appearing confident in uncertain situations to comfort my travel mates. After a quick break, and getting some money exchanged from the hotel at a cost, we decided to head into town to get some lunch and to exchange some more money.

Standing on the street, we waved a cab down. When we went to enter, we were surprised to find two men already in the cab. After some looks of confusion and some motioning, we realized that we were supposed to get in with them, so we did. We just hoped that the driver wasn't lying when he nodded when we said "Ouarzazate centre-ville." After a short drive, we stopped, and surprisingly, two girls entered the car! There was a man and a girl in the front seat, and the other man and the girl in the back, with us squeezed in the middle. After starting up again, the girls said something in Arabic that sounded like they were dismayed and suggesting something obvious, which caused up to stop again. After some jostling, the two girls ended up in front, with us squeezed between the two other men in the back. We all exchanged awkward smiles as they spoke Arabic and we spoke English.

After crossing a mostly dried river and making a few drop-offs for the other passengers, we were dropped off in a wide, dusty street. The street was deserted and all the stores appeared to be closed. All the buildings were painted pink, which appeared to be the norm in southern Morocco. In town, we exchanged some money at the bank, bought some bottled water, and had our first meal in Morocco which consisted of some Berber and kofta tagine. We discovered that all meals in Morocco are served with this delicious flatbread which had the texture of a very dense loaf of bread. We also tried to rent a car to visit the desert to the south. However, the only cars we can find were stick-shifts. We made a mental note to learn how to drive stick-shifts when we return from the trip, and decided to shell out the money for a cab to take us to the desert. After all, if we were so close, we cannot skip an opportunity to visit a section of the world famous and very mystical sounding Sahara Desert.

After lunch, we returned to Ouarzazate to await Mohammed to take us to Aït Benhaddou. It took us quite a while to figure out how to return to our hotel, but we discovered that the Moroccans have the most ingenious system of mass transit. It turns out that for all travel within a town or city, you hail a petite taxi, which is extremely cheap. A ride in town will cost you only a few dirhams. To travel between towns, you go the grand taxi stop of the town, where taxis are awaiting departure for the surrounding towns as well as some farther cities. The only catch is that you pay for a seat out of a cramped five or six in the car. Departure times are completely unpredictable since the taxi waits until it is filled before leaving. Since we were in a hurry, we agreed to pay a bit extra and be driven back to our hotel in our own private grand taxi. On our way back, we made a stop at a street corner, where we were told we were picking up a "friend." The friend, after gathering that I was from Canada, showed us a Canada pin on his hat and told me he had friends in Canada. What followed was a sales pitch of a tour to the desert that lasted all the way back to the hotel.

Back at the hotel, the receptionist gave Felix his book back. He said that Mohammed had came back while we were out to return the book we had left in the first cab from the airport. Seeing that not everyone was there to take advantage of us, having just been fed, finally having some local currency we can spend, and feeling that we are starting to get a bearing on the area we are in, we started feeling better and finally started enjoying the trip again.

Morocco - Mediterranean Backpacking Trip - Day 4 (Part 2)

Getting on the plane, we heard announcement in English, Spanish, French, and Arabic, which got us quite excited. Taking off, we saw the farmland drop quickly below us. The view was not that exciting as it was hazy that day, giving everything below a dull, grey look. Eventually, I noticed were were over water... then land again. I was excited to think that this was the first time I was over African or Arabic airspace. At first, the landscape below looked green and hilly and I was somewhat disappointed at how similar this looked to Europe. However, as we descended into Mohammed V Airport in Casablanca, I noticed that the earth around us looked drier than when we took off, and had a brownish tinge to it. I could not see any cities, and only saw some farms and small buildings. I was also unable to see the coast. It turns out that the airport is quite a ways inland away from the city. I was also quite excited to fill out the Moroccan immigration cards, which were in French and Arabic. This was the first time I had to fill out any kind of paperwork written in Arabic or had seen Arabic being used as an official language.

As our plane had arrived a bit late we had to hurry to find our next plane. The airport felt large and efficient, but its age was obviously showing in its yellow walls and design. At one point Felix was certain that we were supposed to go through a gate, and just as we walked out the automatic door, I turned to go back in and dragged him with me. It was a good thing that I did since that was the door exiting the security area and if the door had closed behind us we would have had to go through security again. After some more searching and passing through yet another metal detector, we found our gate. Looking outside, the landscape looked dusty and the old bare yellow walls of the airport made me feel like I was in another time period. Still, there were some modern architectural elements to the airport which brought me back to reality. Seeing the red Moroccan star against a green background, the portraits of the King, and letters written in Arabic, I realize that I was in a very different part of the world.

Most of the passengers in the waiting room appeared to be foreign, some looking like businessmen in suits, some looked like travellers, and there was a Caucasian family who looked like they were on vacation. I had also wondered how many people were going to Ouarzazate because of the movie studios there. The Caucasian family looked so out of place I wondered if one of them was a famous actor I didn't know and was brining their family with them on an extended shoot in the area. Because of the people in the waiting room, this place did not feel exotic at all, and I was afraid that with the pace at which the homogeneous global culture seems to be spreading, Morocco would not be much different than any other country. Finding that our plane had been delayed, I took the opportunity to use the bathroom, which I thankfully found very clean for a developing country.

After what seemed to be a very long wait and delay, we were led down a dusty ramp and onto a bus. After a short drive around some large jet liners, we saw we were approaching a small turboprop with the old Royal Air Maroc insignia painted on it. Boarding the plane, we noticed that is was obviously old and had seen better days. Some panels seemed lose, with corners jutting out, the carpet and upholstery was old and peeling in areas. It gave a very cozy and adventurous feel to the plane. The door to the cockpit was open and through it we can see workers loading our bags into the forward cargo hold, down the middle of which was a path from the cockpit to the rest of the fuselage. We kept an eye on the bags being tossed in the cargo hold netting, and were relieved when we saw our bags being loaded.

The take off was one of the most violent and steep take offs I have ever experienced. The acceleration pushed me deep into my seat. I was surprised that such an old plan had such power in it as I had been in much newer turboprops and jets that had never demonstrated such power. Perhaps we had a short runway and needed a steep climb for whatever reason. The ground fell quickly below us and before we know it, we were high up in the sky again. Throughout the violent climb I was afraid that plane would disintegrate under all that pressure, especially after seeing the condition the plane was in. The rest of the flight was comfortable. The announcements were in Arabic and French, so I was able to understand them. We were served drinks in cups with the Royal Air Maroc insignia and some Arabic lettering imprinted in them. I had very much enjoyed seeing this exotic combination. The Royal Air Maroc insignia evoked old days when transportation was difficult and I couldn't help but think I was in one of those old adventure movies such as Indiana Jones.