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(>Pictures at the bottom!)
…a short trip around Almería and a dip into Moroccan life
Our express delivery with the required spare parts arrived almost on time at the campsite in Spain. The rear brake callipers were fitted that same afternoon and the brake system bled accordingly. After the further maintenance work, the work done of course had to be thoroughly tested. We still had time and the nearby sierras were perfect for testing the new brake calipers.
We spent the next three days on countless back roads and trails in the sierras of Alhamilla, Filabres and the eastern foothills of the Sierra Nevada. It was great to be away from the main roads and the hustle and bustle of the coastal towns. Our brakes also did what they were supposed to, as many descents were steep and exposed. We spent the last evening before the ferry crossing to Melilla, the Spanish enclave in North Africa, at a campsite we knew well, where we once again thoroughly devoted ourselves to our personal hygiene. We could only guess what would await us on the other side of the sea.
We chose the cheapest crossing, which left Almería shortly before midnight on Wednesday and was scheduled to arrive in Melilla before seven o’clock the following day. We did without a cabin and chose the normal reclining seats in the main area. In retrospect, a cabin would probably have been more relaxing for this short stay than spending half the night in an uncomfortable armchair.
When we arrived, Melilla was still fast asleep; coffee shops and shops were closed and apart from the official law enforcement officers, there was no one on the streets. So we patiently queued in the line of cars to leave the ‘EU’. The backlog from the Moroccan side forced us to wait patiently until we were waved goodbye by the Spanish and could finally move forward into Morocco. The Swiss number plate and the red passport made the entry very easy: even the vehicle check was quickly over; the customs officer only asked us about certain things such as drones, weapons and intoxicants. Even the abundant alcoholic beverages did not interest him. In any case, it was soon said; welcome to Morocco and have a good trip.
We had hardly crossed the heavily guarded border when we were already surrounded by hawkers, all trying to sell us something. Well, welcome to Morocco!
In Beni Ensar, the border town just after Melilla, we stocked up on supplies in a supermarket that resembled our idea of a supermarket and had what we needed. But we couldn’t find a map printed on paper. That’s why we tried our luck in Nador, where we ventured into the centre and plunged into the traffic jam of honking taxis and donkey carts. Again, our desired product was not available and we were referred from one shop to the next. Well, we would have stocked up on it at home, where such products are available in almost every bookshop! L
Now we finally got off to a good start and with a lot of euphoria we left the densely populated area on the Mediterranean coast and headed up into the eastern foothills of the Rif mountains. The many street vendors with their dazzling offers had instantly disappeared, but children were waving from everywhere with shouts of Cadeau, Euro, Dinar, Stilo, etc. The requests were very unmistakable and usually began with, ‘Bonjour Monsieur, donnez-moi…’ We were a bit irritated and wondered if some kind of charity was on the way in front of us. Even on routes that are not really used by many tourists, they were there – the children – standing in line and holding out their hands.
(According to the book by M. Brunswig, Reise Know-How; Morocco, everyday life, traditions, encounters, children begging are almost a plague throughout the country. It has become a national pastime for children to chase after tourists and beg for money. Unfortunately, there are still too many people who give gifts without expecting anything in return. Let’s hope that throwing stones won’t be the next national sport!)
We wanted to take it easy on our first day in Morocco and chose an overnight location near the Mohamed V dam, where we hoped to find a quiet place. Since the dam is still under construction and the area was cordoned off for a large distance, we continued our journey, crossed to the western side of the filling reservoir and hoped to find a quiet place to spend the night there, which we soon did.
We enjoyed the sunset over dinner in pleasant temperatures and watched the starry sky before going inside our camper. But no sooner had we settled in for the night than we heard shouting outside and immediately there was a knock on our camper. Something about the police was to be understood from the Arabic. As soon as I was outside, two more men were standing by the negotiator. They were probably not police officers, but they were extremely concerned about our safety. Since none of the three spoke either French or Spanish, they phoned various people who were able to explain the situation to us in a language we could understand. One of them even identified himself as the district chief, and his French was correspondingly understandable. He asked us to drive the men to the village 2 km away and to spend the night there for our own safety.
At his request, we packed our things and drove with a queasy feeling to the village in question, where we were able to set up our night quarters between the school, mosque and the private house of the alleged police officer. We could only guess what the ‘policeman’ was all about, but to our amazement he wanted to photograph the personal details in our passports as well as the entry stamp before wishing us good night.
Despite this exciting moment, we were overcome by tiredness and it was only the morning call to prayer from the mosque that woke us from a deep sleep. We moved out of the camper after the first rays of sunshine. We actually wanted to prepare breakfast. But as soon as I (Tom) was outside to set up the stove for the morning coffee, countless children were already standing around us – the boys quite close to our jeep, the girls at a certain distance. Probably going to school was rather secondary today and everyone wanted something. They were hungry and the first request came that we should give them euros; with ‘donnez-moi’ of course!
At the right moment, our night watchman or policeman came and chased the children into the school. He apologised for his behaviour and stayed behind with us. However, our desire for coffee had vanished in an instant and in a relatively short time we had stowed our belongings in the car. We didn’t feel like being watched from all sides as if we had just descended from the moon.
We continued our journey towards the Atlas, after all, we wanted to cross these mountains before the big winter onset. For our delayed breakfast, we looked for a quiet place next to the country road. But no sooner had the coffee started to bubble in our coffee pot than countless schoolchildren waved at us from a passing school bus. We couldn’t have guessed that the bus would unload these children behind the next hill. We hadn’t even put our coffee cup to our lips when the teenagers came towards us over the hill. I don’t want to exaggerate, but every second one had a smartphone in his hand, begged, no, almost imperiously asked for something. Of course, euros would be the most welcome gift! A passing truck driver defused the whole intrusive situation and chased the teenagers away from us. As soon as he had disappeared, the children were standing around us again, begging. So we went on our way again!
Not even 2 days in Morocco and we looked at each other questioningly; is this what we want? Everyone raves about this exciting and open country; did we just end up in the wrong corner? On the onward journey, we discussed at length how we could approach everything differently and what would be best. Even cancelling the Morocco adventure was up for discussion. Our frustration was great and the mood was at rock bottom!
According to the above-mentioned book, you should engage with the children, which would be very enriching and the children would usually lose interest. But we speak neither their language nor are they proficient in any of ours.
In any case, we decided not to bury our heads in the sand for the time being and continued our journey. From now on, we only chose official campsites for overnight stays, where we could have some peace and quiet, and we no longer responded particularly well to the waving. The little boys know how to thwart the tourists by simply walking right in front of the car, and who wants to risk any kind of incident with a child? We also tried all kinds of tricks to avoid attracting attention when driving through towns, but even behind the big taxis they quickly recognised us as foreigners and the begging words echoed through the area.
Somehow we got used to this and concentrated on the essentials; our journey through Morocco. We enjoyed the low mountain range and plunged deeper and deeper into the first foothills of the High Atlas. Besides the wild valleys and gorges, we were repeatedly surprised by the fertile valley floors, where all kinds of land were cultivated by hand. Of course, we also saw the extensive damage caused by the heavy rainfall last September, which had started with hail and largely destroyed the apple harvest across a wide area. Most of the infrastructure, such as roads, had been cleared again, but here too, enormous efforts are still needed before everything can be restored to its former state.
After another very cold night at 2500 metres, we reached the Dadès Valley with its wonderful villages and gorges, beautifully laid out fields and snow-capped mountains in the background. Begging children were suddenly a rarity and a certain calmness came over us. Apart from the children, the adult men were always courteous and helpful. I am deliberately writing only about men because women were and are hardly approachable for us, and we really were in a pure male society in this rural area.
At the end of the Dadès Valley, we suddenly felt like seeing more and turned north again. We climbed leisurely up the Rose Valley, where the big Rose Festival is celebrated every year in May. But we didn’t see any rose trees or bushes, only many souvenir shops where the coveted and fragrant waters were offered.
After so many fragrant scents, we went up again to high crossings and from one valley to the next. Around us, the mountain ranges were covered in snow, while in the deep valleys the fields were being cultivated by the hard-working farmers. There must be plenty of water available for irrigation here, and in some cases large plantations are supplied with the necessary moisture using the most modern irrigation systems.
Further north, the bare mountain slopes gave way to extensive pine forests, deep gorges and steep rock faces. Driving over these unsurfaced roads was great fun for us, or rather for me (Tom), and so we decided to take the Assif-Melloul track to Anergui. The name was really promising and so we turned off and followed the valley, which was getting narrower and narrower. Anyway, it was really a challenge; pure adventure and driving mistakes were an absolute taboo. Our jeep is really not particularly wide, but it couldn’t have taken more width in certain places, and the silent hope that we wouldn’t meet any other vehicles on the road was fulfilled, thank God.
That evening we stopped at an inn with a campsite, which is run by a former mountain bike and hiking guide. These are always highlights, where you meet people who talk about their lives and share exciting stories over a glass of ‘Berber whisky’ (peppermint tea with lots of sugar). Of course, we were also inundated with tips, and often the locals know before our arrival that we will be coming; exciting. 😉
Through the Todra Gorge, we left the high and snow-capped mountains behind us once again. Actually, you could spend days here enjoying sports, whether it’s climbing or extended hikes. For those who are not into sports, the many souvenir shops in the gorge offer a huge selection of all kinds of goods, and over a mint tea you can discuss the price at length; there is no chance of getting bored here.
Again – more or less flat landscape – we headed for the south-eastern corner of Morocco, where there is a huge sandbox and a well-known area for outdoor freaks. A brief stop at the Khettaras of Fezna was just as amazing as the previous knowledge of the underground watercourses. The Khettaras themselves were also a crazy affair of prehistoric times, where virtually every family dug their own water tunnel through the desert to the respective oasis. Nowadays, the water pipes are laid collectively and the days of individual digging are long gone.
We took a side road and tracks to Erg Chebbi (Merzouga) via Arfoud; a playground for off-roaders and desert freaks from all over the world. We were excited to see what we would find there and whether we would get stuck in the sand somewhere.
Adventure beckoned! 🙂
Pictures Spain
Pictures Marocco
>Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator