On to Ouarzazate

                       On to Ouarzazate

Morocco Part Two

The French couple is driving off on the road that we have named “The Road to Hell” toward their doom in the Atlas Mountains, we think, as we head on to Ouarzazate. In twenty minutes we’re driving into town on a road lined with tall eucalyptus trees planted by the French, and a little later we’re checking into a nice hotel in the center of town. We note a group of what looks like Americans having drinks in the bar, and after a short conversation, we find out a movie is being shot in town with Tommy Lee Jones as the feature actor.  

It’s the next morning, and we’re driving to the edge of the Atlas Mountains to visit the ancient casaba of Ait Benhaddou, a World Heritage Site. It’s a walled village that has been used many times as a movie background. Several of the Jesus themed movies have been shot here, and it’s like a step back in time as we wander through the streets. The old village has been preserved without any changes, and it is truly a breathtaking sight. We’re only staying a few days in Ouarzazate, and we’re spending them just nosing about the old city, going to the souk, and in general just enjoying our vacation. The hotel is good, and the food is much the same as we’ve had everywhere in Morocco. It’s called Tagine, which is similar to a southern pot roast with potatoes and carrots.

            It’s the next day and we’re heading to Zagora, an old caravan jumping off town right on the edge of the Sahara Desert. I’m pulling into town, when I see a sign, ‘Road to Timbuktu, 52 days by camel.” Zagora, a town of around 35,000, sits between the desert and the mountains. It’s getting dark and since there are no streets lights, I’m easing down the main street, trying not to run over anyone.  Our hotel doesn’t look that bad, but as we settle in, we realize it is the worst hotel any of us have ever stayed in. The beds are awful and the food is about as good as the beds. However, we aren’t going to spend a lot of time in town. We have arranged a camel riding tour into the desert, and we’re going to camp out under the Sahara Desert skies.

 I’ve been riding this camel for nearly four hours, and I’m aching. The best way I can describe it is to think of strapped to an erratic rocking chair without any padding for several hours. I don’t have much fat on me, and my bottom is just bone on hard saddle. Finally, we ride into camp and about that time the Camel Tour folks drive up in a Land Rover to fix dinner.

            Actually, the dinner is pretty good, and of course it’s Tagine again and the meat, I’ve just found out, is camel, but they did say it was young camel. Well, I’ve been hot all day, but as it gets dark it’s much colder. The Tour folks who prepared dinner have built a large bonfire and a rather plump belly dancer, who could use a trip to the dentist, has just appeared. A couple of our bunch---who I suspect have had a drink or two---are dancing with the belly dancer, but I’m ready to lie down, and Vertis and I are heading to our tent where we have a backpack of clothes and some necessities. I’m tired, and I know it won’t take me long to drift off to sleep.

            I guess I’ve slept several hours, but I’m awake and about to freeze to death. My gosh the temperature drops like a rock at night in the desert, and I’ve got to put on some more clothes. Where are they? Okay, found something. I’m putting on everything in the backpack, and it’s enough to warm me up and let me go back to sleep.

            It’s daylight and I need a cup of coffee in the worst way, and I’m about to leave the tent when Vertis looks at me. “For God’s sake, Richard! You have on my clothes.” Yeah, I’m a little embarrassed, but I’m thinking at least I was warm.

            Breakfast is mostly hard rolls and jam, but it’s filling, and I’m ready to head back to Zagora, and I hope it’s not on the back of a camel…but I think that is wishful thinking ‘cause I see our camels being saddled up, and I know it will be another four hours on the back of one, and my bottom is already sore.

Finally, we’re back in Zagora, and I can’t believe how good this sorry bed feels. Tomorrow, we’re driving from Zagora to Taroudant a larger city that still has its old city walls. It is an ancient city and its history is pretty amazing. During the inter-tribal wars centuries ago all 30,000 occupants of the city were killed when the city fell. It’s the easiest drives we’ll make. I’m looking at some scraggly trees along the road, but not at the trees. The trees are full of goats, and not on just the low limbs. Heck there are goats grazing thirty feet off the ground.

            We’re staying at a well-known hunting resort on the edge of town and the room, restaurant, and hotel itself are first class. Well, this is the end of the together part of the trip and one couple will leave in a couple of days, and then we’ll leave a day after that.

            It’s the next day, and one of our group made the mistake of drinking tap water. He has diarrhea.  “I thought this was such a nice place that the water would be okay.” He broke the cardinal rule of “Never drink the tap water in a third world country.”

            Vertis and I are driving to the airport in Marrakech to fly out and connect with our flight home, and we’ll be crossing the Atlas Mountains further west, but the road is paved and certainly not anything like the Road to Hell shortcut.

            I’ve been driving about two hours with two hours to go, and we’re into the mountains when a red light flashes on the dashboard of our Renault rent car. It’s not just a warning. It say Emergency! Service at once! Well, when you are half way through the mountains that causes a panic, and I’m pulling over to check the oil. I’m thinking oil pan was damaged on The Road to Hell and is leaking oil. It’s thirty minutes later, and I can’t figure out how to raise the hood.

I’m driving on with the emergency light flashing and in a small mountain town, I manage to find a garage service station. Twenty minutes later and the mechanic can’t figure out how to raise the hood, so it’s cross your fingers and head for the airport.

            I’m breathing a sigh of relieve as I pull up to the rent-a-car place in our somewhat beat-up Renault with its flashing emergency light, turn in parking slot, drop off my keys, and head to check in for our flight home.