MOROCCO # 3 - A little house in Agdz

17th -19th June 2008

We crossed the Tiz n Tichka pass to Ouzarzate, it was easy, the road was good, no mud slides at this time of the year. By late afternoon we were in Agdz the start of the of the Draa valley palmeraie, we had crossed 100kms of moonscape barren mountains from Ouzarzate to reach this dusty little town but somewhere around here was the little pisè house in the palm trees that had seemed so enchanting in the photo on the internet announcing it was sale.

We wanted to stay at the Casbah Caid Ali apparently a Kasbah being slowly renovated by a French/Moroccan family and inherited from a great grandfather, Caid Ali.

http://www.casbah-caidali.net/hotel-agdz-gb.html

The kasbah looked impressive, a rambling pisé structure with high towers and a traditional format including the riad, a hollow square surrounded by arcades. It had an atmosphere of abandonment, maybe there had been some renovations to secure the structure but it felt neglected and uncared for. The riad was scruffy and desolate with a broken fountain the middle, no sign of orange trees or aromatic herbs mentioned in the web site. It was melancholic. Our room appeared to be the only room in the riad, it was long and narrow with badly renovated high painted ceiling, or at least the colours seemed too paintbox bright to me. An ugly modern wardrobe had been pushed in front of a traditional alcove, pity. The door to the room had been beautiful once, now patched and disfigured by chains and padlocks, but at least it was in its original painted colours, not touched up. The surrounds were very beautiful with 100s of soaring palm trees growing in rich clover pastures irrigated by the overflow from the pool.

The owners were very simpatico, they made us very welcome and gave a lot of information about the history of the kasbah and the great grandfather with his 6 wives and hundreds of Haratin black slaves, no wonder he had to make such a sprawling kasbah. The village scattered around the Kasbah walls has a predominantly black population and there is a theory that the Haratin were the original inhabitants of the S.W. Moroccan oasis villages and were made into slaves by the invading arab traders who were tempted by the enormous wealth of dates from the the valleys of the Draa and Dades.

After dinner we were escorted through labyrithal passages to a clearing in the village where a celebration was going on. Several huge drums and tambors pounded out rhythmic beats accompanied by the clapping of the women and small children of the village all dressed to the nines in gauzy turquoise and pink, beaded and sequined. One woman was dressed in white lace and with her elegant little figure, mantilla like headdress, small pointed slippers and tiny waist she reminded me greatly of a dusky version of Goya's portrait of the Duchess of Alba in white, strange but true.

The celebration seemed set to go on all night so we slipped away back to our peaceful room in the abandoned riad, it was a full moon and the kasbah looked magnificent, easy to imagine its former glory.

Next morning up bright and early to make arrangements to meet the guardian of the house for sale. Turned out he was a cousin of the Kasbah owners so he turned up to meet us there. Full of anticipation we left the Kasbah and dived into a winding trail through the palm trees to the small pisè house with a view of Jebel Kissane set amongst some groups of large mature palms .

The plot of land was small, about 1000m2, the house was traditionally built, thick walls of brown mud and straw, flat roof of rough beams and mud, a squatter loo, no running water in the house but a deep well and pump in the garden. It was peaceful, just a few people passing on their way to tend their land. We had permission to spend a night so went off to the souk to stock up on a few things we could eat without cooking. Another beautiful moonlit night and just the soft rattle of the palm branches in the coolish breeze. Something to think about but the area around Agdz does not enchant me, no interesting excursions and I suppose walks through the palm trees pall after a time so probably not my dream house, needs a lot of work to make it comfortable for any length of time........still it exists and apparently building is strictly restricted in the palmeraie now as it is on the verge of becoming a unesco world heritage protected area.

Spent one more night in the Agdz area at the Kasbah auberge in the village of Tamnougalte, newly built, basic, good pool and great views of the mountains and the village.

Tamnougalt was once the capital of what functioned as an independent republic in the Draa. The republic was ruled by an assembly of families, such as Caid Ali's family, who controlled both exports and imports as well as taxation of local agriculture and small industries thus amassing wealth, prestige and plenty of power.

We were at a bit of a loose end at this point, thought we would visit the other great palmeraie of the Dades valley and then took the weird decision of going even further south and into the desert at Rissani, we had fond memories of Rissani but maybe not the best decision considering the great heat that was building up by the day.

Dades was very changed, huge amount of building, Todra Gorge unrecognizable and unbearable with convoys of tourist buses, hundreds of people distracting from the splendour of the gorge.................old fogey moment.......I remember the first time I went 20 years ago, just one simple auberge and a walk through the river to get into the gorge.......ahhh. So despite the madness of driving into the hottest part of Morocco we felt we might just be able to find some respite from all this heavy tourism, I know we are tourists too but.............

MOROCCO # 4 - Rissani and the Taflilalt

19th - 22nd June 2008

Many places in Morocco are haunted by happy memories but the tendency is to over- romanticize, some places acquire a rose tinted aspect, unhappy memories (few) simply disappear or become so blunted by time they no longer hold a sting. Rissani is a happy memory, we have visited only once before, about 15 years ago. We loved the very authentic souk and bought many battered palm wood bowls, battered but beautiful, gorgeous patina built up through years and years of hard work and constant handling. We had the idea of taking our finds to a cheerful metal worker in the souk and asking him to carefully patch up the worst cracks and chips with some brass, copper or zinc from his old pots, he did a great job, quite rustic but careful, we still have all those bowls, about 12 dotted around the cortijo and a photo of the metal worker hammering away. Rissani was a place of possibilities and we hoped that maybe it still held some magic.

It had been a long hot drive in our rickety hire car, I was zonked by the heat and kept dozing off, towards the end of the afternoon my blurry brain was registering a different atmosphere, much hotter yes, but this felt like South, real South Morocco. The men were all in their summer djelabas, mainly white with the distinctive bright yellow turbans. Lots of bicycle and donkey traffic on the flat shady roads through the palms. Not a tourist in sight!

We remembered that some new kasbah auberges had sprung up between Erfoud and Rissani and thought we would indulge as we needed a little pampering and the memory of the hotel in Rissani was of noise, dust and a particular night of desert wind banging all the shutters, strange cries and whispers, disturbing in a very Paul Bowles way.

We came across Kasbah Ennasra and it looked very inviting with a lovely pool, although it was a bit expensive we decided to recoup for 3 nights, 750 dhrs per night for big double room with a.c., bathroom and private patio......bliss!

Next morning we were up too early for the breakfast staff, searching around we eventually found them asleep on the roof, the coolest place, our room had been stuffy despite the air.con.

Off to discover the traditional villages around Rissani and into the desert, or as far as we dared with our fragile little car.

Very impressive and interesting, the villages were walled, virtually ksars. We didn't intrude through the gates but just enjoyed the scenes of children and donkeys collecting water from the wells, the slow pace of desert villages.

We left the tarmac road and followed a track that led straight into a marvellous desertscape, not exactly an intrepid adventure as there were signs of regular use despite the shifting sand on the track, many marabouts and plenty of palms, but at least there were golden sand dunes not the dreadfully monotonous hammada, stony desert.

Sunday is the big souk day in Rissani and I was looking forward to having a good wander. We arrived early to take advantage of the relatively cool morning but strangely enough no one else was thinking this way so the souk really didn't get going until about noon. All morning heavily laden wagons and trucks had been arriving with anything from bales of wool, fruit and vegetables, household appliances in various states of decreptitude, live sheep and goats but most of all people, lots of people jostling, ruminating and bargaining hard for their various needs and wants.

I knew this time I would only be a spectator, no room in our air luggage for any temptations. An old man was making new bowls out of palm wood stumps, exactly the same pattern as my old bowls, a square flat bottom with deep bowl on top, the new wood seemed so pale, it would take years to achieve a silky golden patina.

I bought 2 (small) clay bowls with a very rustic greeny glaze.........oh and a pair of magenta pink babuche made of leather and robust rubber sole from an old tire, very elegant!

We passed the animal souk, a chaos of milling animals and wily looking old geezers prodding and pinching likely purchases. The animals looked healthy even though the tiny donkeys were terribly overburdened as usual........ I thought of our great hefty donkeys at home never doing a stroke of work . I wonder why the donkeys in Morocco are so very pygmy, I guess they eat less in a land of poor pasture and can obviously still carry a huge load including the robust owner as well.

Siesta time............again.

MOROCCO # 5 - Ait Bougmez - Happy valley in the high Atlas

22nd- 23rd June 2008

From Rissani it was time to head back in the general direction of Marrakech.

Not sure of where we would stop on the way. We were tempted to explore the Ait Bougmez valley in the high Atlas but were daunted by the 80 kms of rough track that showed on our map.

We had read about the valley and it sounded extremely interesting, the river made intense agriculture possible in this high 30 km long valley. Interesting villages were preserved in the traditional style, thick pisè walls, wooden beams and rafters with pounded mud and straw made the distinctive flat roofs.

As we passed the massive barrage of Bin Ouidane we were intrigued by a battered sign for 'Auberge du Lac', it sounded romantic so we dived down the small road in the direction of the lake. The shadows were lengthening, it was very quiet and seemed a good place to stay if possible.

The auberge was set amongst banana trees looking down on to an arm of the lake, it seemed to have been built at around the time of the barrage, early 50s but had an almost art deco look. After banging and knocking on various doors it dawned on us that the place was abandoned, a tattered net curtain stirred in the breeze that rattled the banana leaves, suddenly it seemed rather creepy, it took on a rather more sinister air.
Time to go, leaving the Auberge du Lac to its brooding melancholy.

Unfortunately we had to stop in Azilal for our overnight stay, an anonymous town stretched along the highway to Marrakech. Even more unfortunately we stayed at an hotel that is best forgotten, especially the shoe leather steak. Bad luck but something good came out of it. After chatting to the owner it appeared that the road to Ait Bougmez was now paved at least into the valley, he wasn't sure about the other half of the loop that would bring us back to Azilal across the mountains in order to continue to Marrakech....... we didn't care, even if we had to come back the same way, normally my particular anathma.


Quite exciting to be entering completely unknown territory. Soon after Azilal the road started to climb and wind around the mountains. We passed the barrage again with very impressive views that showed its true extent, apparently it is Morocco's largest barrage and provides 25% of the hydro electricity.

The new road was narrow but well made, probably hazardous in winter, we could see signs of avalanches bringing down tons of rocks which must bounce across the route several times before reaching the valley floor.




Very beautiful wild mountain scenery, plenty of trees, mainly pine and holm oak. We passed women and children herding goats and sheep on seemingly deserted stretches of road, then around the next bend were a few precariously situated houses, very remote from any support, how very self-sufficient these mountain Berbers must be.

Soon the villages started, clinging to the steep sides of the valley, the cubes of brown mud built like steps on narrow terraces, the roof of one forming the front yard of another. Way down below the river flowed, patchworks of neat square fields and mature walnut trees flourished, the small black goats looked like ants from so high up.





It was harvest time for the favoured crop of barley, furious activity on the threshing floors with teams of donkeys galloping round and round to stamp out the grain, the chaff rose up in dusty clouds. It became apparent that this was a totally non-mechanised area, not a tractor in sight just loads of donkeys which was lovely to see. The children obviously had there part to play in the agricultural processes too. There were a few schools which were attended in the morning and then for most children their allotted tasks in the afternoons.

After a confluence of rivers we followed the road which continued to skirt the ait bougmez river, it ascended steeply, we guessed this would be the part of the river where the spectacular gorges were situated considering such a dramatic height difference. The river was now accessible, the area was beautifully cultivated with the towering walnut trees all along the way. Passed some amazing agadirs, grain stores situated on high rock outcrops. These were not only used for grain storage in times of peace but as sanctuary in times of war.

Here are two photos of the granery which is also the marabout of Sidi Moussa, it was a long hot climb to the top, I can't imagine fleeing up there in times of emergency, I guess donkeys were the means of transport for the usual grain storage. Inside the granery each family had its own compartment for their grain with a beautifully carved and decorated door, in times of trouble the grain would become communal.

Time to ask about the road, did it continue or not? Manfred went to ask in a rather beautifully restored house in Itrane.........I sat under a walnut tree and watched the river flow. 20 minutes later he was back beaming with the good news that the house was in fact an auberge and they had plenty of room, in fact no one else was staying.

This was Dar Itrane my favourite place in our whole holiday found by complete fluke, serendipity forever!

We had a complete tour of the substantial building conducted by Ibrahim, there he is above. From the typical insignificant entrance, through the courtyard, the hammam, 3 floors of traditional salons, a library, dining room, enviable kitchen, lots of tempting rooms with a superb open balcony on each floor. Since we had a choice of the whole auberge we chose the top room with its own balcony, fascinating views of village life and the surrounding mountains.

We had always dreamt of a place in Morocco, a place that was simple, using well made natural materials and traditional design..........unfortunately Moroccan style often means some hyped up 'exotic' fantasy created by European clichès and using the tackiest crap from the tourist catering parts of the souk. At last, here it was, a work of art, a labour of love. The perfect balance between comfort, design and tradition. Owned by a Frenchman with an extended programme of integration with the local community......Well done!

We asked Ibrahim to stoke up the hammam before dinner while we had a wander, haunting cries of the women ululating madly and then later rhythmic drumming and chanting from nearby house...... a funeral, a marriage?........a mystery.

The hammam was literally stunning, intense clouds of steamy heat rising from the huge copper heated directly from below by a blazing wood fire, plastered ourselves in thick, gooey olive oil gunge and came out super shiny clean.

Dinner on the terrace, salads , tagine, fruit...........and of course one of our precious bottles of wine.

Later back on our balcony we ended our perfect day and night at Dar Itrane.

 

.............goodbye, we will be back one day to walk the gorges, Inshallah.