Imlil: The High Atlas & the Sand Dunes near M'hamid

After some searching for a departure point that wasn't going to completely rip us off we found a little bus station near the medina where we haggled for a fair price 50km away. An hour later we were in Imlil and checked into the Hotel Aksoual across the street from the French Alpine refuge. This move alone turned out to be a very good one because it turns out that the French woman running that hostel is actually crazy. She yells at her guests when they stay out beyond ten o'clock because she can't lock the door and go to bed and she charged me for wood. That's right. Wood. It was already burning and drying the clothes of her guests by the time I arrived and had a tea near the fire place. My French isn't good enough to argue so I just paid the extra dollar and left. Again, it should be pointed out, that it's not the amount of money that infuriates me but the sheer nerve that this twat had.

We met a group of three travelers and a contingent of the English army that was on a training trip up here. We played cards and learned about army drinking games, most of which are completely gross. The one I remember is called Freckles and involves someone taking a turd on the middle of a table and all the guys putting their chin on the edge of the table. Down comes a shoe and then...freckles. The crazy lady went on a special shopping trip for the Englishmen and brought back some real beer. The twinkle in their eyes and the mood around the hostel made you think it was Christmas Eve.

On that first day in town I saw a rather strange sight: a guy in a djelaba on a mule. He had a row of really beautiful white teeth and dreadlocks. The following day we walked and encountered him and his friend, Manuelle. They had bought the mule, Jebal Yusuf, two months ago and were traveling on foot through Morocco with him for the summer. We walked together for most of the way to the next village of Tachdirt.

Then it was our turn to try and climb the highest peak in North Africa, Toubkal. Despite the hiking shoes we didn't make it beyond the refuge at 3200 metres. That's about as high as I thought I'd get but Chris was really dissapointed. We had a communal dinner and slept the one night up in the refuge in a room with many old men. It's cold up at that height and one night at the symphony of farts and snors was enough for me.

The grey turned into rain on the way back down. Being drenched without central heating left no choice but to go to the local hammam where I encountered a naked crew of young ladies on an organized tour. We were all lathered and shampooed by a rather gentle Moroccan lady. This was nothing like I had heard it would be. I was sort of dissapointed to not have a matronly, big bossomed lady try to scrub with all her might the very skin off my body in the foggy heat on the concrete floor of the bath house.

After the cool mountain air it was back to Marrakech for a night before heading to the south and one of my favorite places in Morocco, Ouarzarzate. The town comes to life in the evenings when the square fills up with tag playing children, prancing teenagers, men, women, and vendors. We made it to the Atlas Film Studios with it's Tibetan monastery (a set for the film Kundun), Egyptian temples, slave market (for Gladiator) and the walls of Jerusalem. Ait Benhadou which is 25km away was largely rebuild by Scorsese and is now a UNESCO site. The pictures can be found here.

Further south in Mahamid we found ourselves on the Chicaga dunes. The town itself is very conservative and neither men nor women are aloud to show any part of their legs (I learned this a little late). The people running the Hotel Sahara were somewhat fishy. There were a few dirt bikers from Spain in the lobby and a strange English couple. He spoke Arabic and was doing translation work. She was really old and when she whispered sounded like a man. They sat in the lobby during the hottest parts of the day and incessantly photographed the front door for some reason.

I was told by some local right on the hotel steps that I was inappropriately dressed in my t-shirt and long skirt. The hotel owner, Habib, told me he was crazy. The crazy man was there again later when we left for the Sahara trek and this time told me not to let the guys touch me. Habib put a hand on my back and then our driver put his hand on my back to stir me into the back of the truck. Each time he had a chance the driver put his hand on my back or wanted to pose for a picture with his hand around my waist. It got a bit annoying and creepy but none of it was threatening.

Pushing the truck out of the sand banks and back on it's track gave me a break from being thrown around the backseat for a while. It took an hour to arrive at the base of the large golden sand mountains. Algeria is just across the sand.

The dunes were beautiful and I don't think I've ever been anywhere so quiet. It was so still I could hear the steady buzz of the blood rushing through my body in my ears. The night was filled with a million stars which dissapeared one by one when the moon rose. The heat in the huts was unbearable that night and I still wonder why they don't build windows in them to allow for a breeze in the night.

The next day back at the Hotel Sahara it was time for a shower and then, a change of scenery. We left despite the warnings of the tout that there would be no buses and that there were too many tourists in Zagora. We had dinner that night in Ouarzarzate near the square.