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By Melissa Shaw "Beaucoup de Tea, tagine? Come meet mon famile!" insisted Sayid, who comfortably perched himself on our 'diy' bench, which we erected from materials of a nearby abandoned shop. He took casual sips from his cup of freshly brewed coffee whilst we engaged in general morning chit chat (well, as much as a french/Arabic spoken gent and an English couple can, that is). When I offered our new found friend a top up he thrusted the cup back into my hand and patted his tummy with satisfaction " no merci, plenty de thé à ma maison", kindly returning the offer. Sayid left pointing in the direction of a stretch of quarry stone to his maison, insisting that we pay him a visit later. Naturally we were unsure of what to make of this offer, as kind as it was. Should it be another offer (like many) to lour us to his home to feed and water us then demand an amount of money. We just simply didn't have the patience. However, for all we know this could actually be quite genuine and he could be just offering us some welcoming berbere hospitality. We just wont know until we burst our cosy bubble of security and venture down there. "How about we wander down to his house, and if he's there will pop in and say hello and if he's not then no worries, I guess" we pondered to each other. Finding this maison of Sayid's was a task in itself. Sure, he pointed in the rough direction of his home, but what about the other twenty or so homes in the village? After a sheepish wander throughout the village and turning down the offer of some rather woolly and expensive babushcas (Moroccan slippers), we decided to wander back to camp without a hope of finding our friend or returning his invite. Until we passed the last house of the village. To our glee, our friend popped out from behind one of his newly built sheds. Sayid also overjoyed to be reacquainted with us, immediately inviting us into his sizeable house to enjoy "Whisky Morocain" (sweet mint tea) and to look at photographs old and new. Thanking him for the tea, he urged us to come camp down here, demonstrating the space he had to offer. So we moved our tortoise like home down the hill from our previous camp of one week into Sayid's drive way. Without even setting up our home, we were greeted by Sayid's daughter in law and two grandchildren, peering through the windows. Seated very comfortably on what felt like a never-ending sofa, we then met the rest of the family including Hammal, Sayid's wife and one of his three sons. Sammy, the five year old grandson found it very amusing to do as all five year olds do to show off in front of visitors which cause his poor mother some challenging moments, whilst also chasing after a very busy toddler. Before supper, Sayid introduced us to the rest of the family, the furry relations of the clan. Arms full of fodder which we layed down for the donkey and her adorable new foal. Meeting also the cow that lives in the barn, the dog who guards the front of the yard and we also worked as a team to round up the chickens into the barn to roost for the night. On our way back to the decorative front door we sampled some of the succulent berries, herbs and seasonal vegetables growing in the garden plot, whilst exchanging Arabic and English vocabulary. Mouth-watering scents of spices pouring out of the kitchen and along the corridor filled our noses and rumbled our hungry tummies as it churned over to 10pm. A quick wash up after feeding the animals and we were seated for supper. A huge bowl of chicken tagine greeted us situated in the centre of the table, side dishes of salad and chunks of bread to use as the main utensil to scoop up from the bowl of chicken, potato and vegetables. Hmm, how am I going to explain that I'm a coeliac sufferer and can't eat gluten, without speaking Arabic? Somehow I managed to get my issue across without causing any offence, I think? Ben of course thrilled that he yet again gets to eat my portion of bread, as in many situations. After a refreshing dessert of oranges, I assisted the women in the kitchen washing the dishes whilst the men watched the Moroccan news. Much like home I guess? The evening came to a soon end with everyone yawning in synchronisation and ready to hit the hay. Situated in the comfortable driveway we continued with usual routines, making a pot of coffee and breakfast also chatting with Sayid (minus the bench this morning though). He mentioned that he would be away for the morning, but would be back during the afternoon, instructing us to go into the house for some breakfast. Hammal and Sammy soon appeared across the yard, herding us into the house, "cafe morocain" (freshly ground, home made coffee) and freshly baked bread with homemade jam. Eyes beamed with delight from my travel companion, as I yet again had to try to explain the gluten curse of mine. Sayid had arrived home by the time we returned from our hike through the mountain pass, in search of interesting rocks, crystals and fossils. We explained that we will be heading off shortly as the time had come, once again to feel the roll of Kaerus's wheels beneath us. Hammal shouted to Sayid in Arabic, which he then turned to us with inquisitive eyes, "Cous, cous?" This lady is a true cooks inspiration! A huge bowl of cous cous with lamb and vegetables lay on the table which everyone tucked into. With our departure Hammal grabbed the collar of my cardigan sniffing my neck, smiling. I'm sure this is perfectly normal? Of course, the rose oil that I am wearing must have caught her nasal curiosity. Once we eventually left, I offered her a spare bottle that we had as a souvenir which made her a very happy lady, I'm sure. By Ben Ade A wild, mountain top loch sitting around 2000 metres up in the Middle Atlas range. Sounded worth exploring, maybe we will even have some luck with the old fishing rods. A few kilometres of rough tracks brought us in sight of loch d'afennourir, a more modestly sized body of water than we anticipated. Several shepherds were tending flocks of sheep on the easily accessible shores, we spotted a clear side in the distance and manoeuvred off road, close to the waters edge. Immediately I noted that fishing would be impossible, thick pond weed stretched well into the depths with no clear water in sight. It was, however a very scenic place to spend an evening, not unlike the fine hill lochs back home.
As the night drew in, the peace was suddenly shattered. Insanely loud frogs began chirping throughout the entire loch. I have heard a lot of strange frogs and toads over the past months, but these were something else. The noise was a kin to hundreds of 50cc scooters combined with the sound of electronic car alarms, then amplified. Ah, the good old earplugs I thought to myself. Nope, these critters were so loud that plugging ears made almost no difference. Neither did they cease until dawn broke, my semi sleep state brain began forming rhythms from their chorus of croaking's. Unfortunately the rhythms began sounding very close to that incredibly annoying, amphibian based telephone ringtone from a few years back, 'The Crazy Frog' tune. If you haven't had the pleasure of listening to said tune, look it up on you tube, sorry for introducing you to it! So the night did eventually break into day once more, bleary eyed we surfaced to pack up camp, definitely a single night camp this one. An extra strong cup of 'Bonka' brought the energy back to workable levels. I now hate frogs, for today anyway! By Ben Ade This photograph of a traditional village well was taken in the dead of night. I managed to suspend blue lighting within it for the effect, then climb up a wall nearby to capture the image. All is not what it seems with this watering hole though. No liquid has ever been drawn from here, a 'faux' well. It had me stumped as to why there was bedrock visible when leaning to look in, until I asked a passing shepherd, always the source for all local gossip. He explained, as much as he could with our language barrier, that a Moroccan silver screen production used this location, they constructed the replica well for the required scenes many moons ago. Next time you see a structure built slightly out of place, maybe its just part of a film or TV show you watched the previous evening!
By Ben Ade The 'forets de cedre' (c'est cedre not cedar!) had been mentioned to us numerous times by fellow travellers. These ancient cedar forests, situated within the Middle Atlas mountain range, sounded a great place to spend some time. However, upon reaching the outskirts of the woodlands the prospects were not looking so good. Tour buses parked along all roadsides and loads of stalls selling tacky souvenirs lined the forest paths in sight, not to mention the abundance of 'guardians' waiting to pounce as soon as your vehicle slows. Luckily there were many miles of woodland, we skirted past the tour buses and touts, finding a road less travelled which led us deep into these forests. After a while, a small gap in the woods could be seen off into the distance, we manoeuvred off road through the trees and found this to be a great camp for a couple of nights.
A good bit of hiking was done whilst here, climbing to the top of the highest mountain around provided amazing panoramic vistas. We discovered numerous types of lizards and birds, along with many cheeky apes and ridiculously large pinecones, larger than a rugby ball. An old woodland path led us to a collection of overgrown, forgotten structures. It appeared to be an old 'summer camp', the kind of which I have only seen in American movies. Numerous marked out concrete pitches, a huge communal canteen, kitchens, recreational areas and washrooms. I guess Moroccan school kids would have been sent here in the past, the place has been largely reclaimed by nature now though. An old disused track led up to it, accessible by four wheel drive, we decided to re-locate our base camp. There is an old Moroccan Berbere saying which roughly translates as; 'Sometimes a rusty kettle makes the sweetest tea'. This run down old summer camp felt it matched the sentiment for us. It was virtually mosquito free, had a perfect combination of shade and sun, a gap in the trees gave us a spanning view of valleys below and there was even fresh water on site. The original build of this place must have included tapping into a full flowing mountain spring. Over the years all the taps had been stolen and pipes vandalised or corroded, leaving the water seeping from numerous breaks. A few plumbing pipe repairs and an improvised tap arrangement gave us good water pressure at the site. We also cleaned up the old sinks and clogged drainage systems, thus restoring their use. Our limit to the duration of camps is usually governed by water. We can carry 120 litres in the on-board tanks, which averages about 4 comfortable days of general cleaning and drinking. Finding a camp with good water is therefore quite valuable. A friendly shepherd with flock passed by once every day, he would have been filling his drinking water bottle from the drips of a broken pipe each visit. He seemed quite pleased with the now restored and flowing water system, also the vase Melissa recycled and filled with local wild flowers to place by the sinks! I rerouted the water drainage system and made a dammed pool with an elevated bird table made of scrap planks. There were no streams or waterways nearby so this quickly became a haven for all types of bird life, various other animals also now stopped to drink here when passing. The word was out of a new wildlife watering station. We also collected the abundance of scattered litter and broken glass left by previous vandals, pruned the overgrown plants and worked on various other projects such as a barbeque pit from old bricks. Our stay in these woods lasted about 2 weeks, a very welcome spell of tranquillity. Especially after the many hectic towns and noisy areas we had recently been spending time in or around. With our biological batteries recharged, it was time to move on once more. Although sad to leave camps that we make home for lengths of time, the want to explore further soon overcomes. The beating heart of Kaerus excites with the turn of a key, her rolling feet tread faithfully onwards, the open road beckons. |