Under Saharan Skies Photography: Simon & Lisa Thomas
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World Travelers World Travelers Clinging precariously to the northern tip of Africa, Ceuta is the last Spanish enclave in this vast continent Into Africa and the point from which our Moroccan adventure begins. At the border, it’s late November and 100 degrees. We park in the shade, and Lisa has to remain behind, guarding the bikes, because, under Moroccan law, wives are still regarded as ‘property’. The officials won’t deal with her. Visiting the row of low beige offices, I collect an assortment of brightly colored immigration documents and start the process, which is surprisingly fast in this far-flung outpost. Text: Simon Thomas Under Saharan Skies Photography: Simon & Lisa Thomas Border formalities completed, we medina (old town) through a vast stone Bkick up the side-stands and tap through gate of ornate interwoven arches to the gears, launching ourselves into the squeeze our way down a smoky, teem- 20th country on our tour. Riding into ing alley, thick with the din and perfumes the lush green Martil Valley, we begin of North Africa. to acclimatize to a different set of rules. We speed past a bizarre mix of new The Muslim festival of Ramadan Mercedes and old jalopies waiting Thas just started, and we eagerly join while a dusty herd of livestock ambles in the search for food as the day (and across the road unimpressed by the the daily fast) ends. Following the crowd, blaring barrage of car horns. we find two plastic chairs at a small eatery. Abdul, a local silversmith, invites With the warm lapping waters of us to join him for his first meal of the Wthe Mediterranean to our left, the cool day, celebrating the breaking of the sea breeze flowing through the vents fast. The hood of his gray-and-brown in our jackets is a welcome relief. On jellaba covers his head. We watch as the outskirts of Tétouan the air is sweet, he expertly uses only his right hand a piquant mixture of scents from the and pieces of bread to eat. We follow orange, almond and pomegranate suit, devouring a rich mixture of syrupy orchards that encircle this ancient city. sweet pastries and spicy vegetable Dusk is setting in as we walk into the soup, all served with strong coffee. www.roadrunner.travel July/August '09 85 World Travelers lower Rif range spits us out onto the fertile, open plains of Saïss. On a windswept plateau, we pull to the side of the road and take in the majestic view. We are dusty, thirsty and tired. Sprawling into the distance, the mysti- cal city of Fez, and beyond the walled city, on a milky pink horizon, the teeth of the middle Atlas await us. Exploring Morocco’s Imperial Cities We find a small hotel room for $8, chosenW more for its secure parking than its dusty brick walls. There is no running water until 7pm, so we quickly freshen up with wet wipes, lifting the gritty dirt from our sun-kissed cheeks. The first of Morocco’s imperial cities is Caption 3 - Caption 3 - Caption 3 - just begging to be explored. An arid Caption 1 - Caption 1 - Caption 1 - Caption 3 - Caption 3 - Caption 3 - Caption 1 - Caption 1 - Caption 1 - Riding the Rif Mountains breeze massages the fortified ramparts As we travel south of the city, the of Morocco’s’ largest market, or medina, the main road carefully past Meknes, Caption 4 - Caption 4 - Caption 4 - Caption 4 - Caption 4 - Caption 4 Caption 2 - Caption 2 - Caption 2 - bikesA are rumbling contentedly, and and inside we fall under Fez’s spell. the third Imperial city, as taxis weave Caption 2 - Caption 2 - Caption 2 we hug the rugged contours of the Rif Walking through the tangled narrow around laden carts. Street vendors Victorious in our efforts at the con- To the Red City of Mountain range. This is an unspoiled streets and alleys of what many con- vying for our attention leap in front of sulateV and with our visas safely secured, Marrakesh land of interlocking valleys and hidden sider the spiritual and cultural heart us, only to jump back at the last pos- we sit outside our hastily pitched tent, Two days’ ride southwest we sit in gullies. Overhead, craggy limestone of Morocco, we are dizzied by the sible moment. West of the city, we ride sipping coffee from metal mugs and aT small cafe on the periphery of Africa’s peaks tower, their jagged heights pierc- unfamiliar but exciting smells. into open space and vivid sunlight, reflecting on the day. We watch the largest and busiest market square, the ing a bright cloudless sky. We take a feeling at once a more comforting sense aquamarine sky gradually turn indigo Djemaa el Fna, (assembly of the dead) cautious pace, anxiously aware the Soon we are caught up in the tide of freedom. Here and there thick cedar then black, with the haunting song of inside the fire-red walls of Marrakesh. region has a reputation for physical ofS the city’s bustle, the jostle of passing groves flank the parched plains, and at least a dozen muezzins calling the The vast tiled expanse heaves with a violence aimed at passing tourists who mule carts and jellaba-robed masses. several emerald-green date and palm faithful as our evening serenade. heady mixture of orange-juice stalls, stray too close to the drug-growing The rugs adorning dusty brick walls groves cozy up to the road’s edge. dancers, snake charmers and red-robed areas. Fig trees, prickly pear and cacti look ancient, and swarthy, toothless old The next morning we leave the city water sellers, their collection of brass lurk in the shadows of the steeper men squint suspiciously and then slowly Casablanca is surprisingly modern, behindT and ride southwest toward the drinking cups jangling like jewelry ravines. Thick cedar forests and olive smile at as we pass. Life courses through itsC smooth contemporary skyline punc- mountain town of El Bourouj. The land- around their necks. It’s easy to imagine groves blanket the slopes to our left, a web of light-dappled alleys no wider tuated by the “Finger of God,” the scape turns from a beige, dusty gray being in a scene out of The Arabian and the pungency of cannabis and than my outstretched arms – little has towering 656-foot minaret of the Hassan to tangerine as we climb, nearing the Nights. Our base for a few days is the peppermint wafts from the lower ter- changed here in centuries. On Talaa II Mosque. With its majestically faded Atlas Mountains. At d’Ouzoud, the Riad Nora, a quiet sanctuary walled races. Morocco is sensory overload at Kabira, the main street of the market, architecture and worn colonial boule- artisans swarm, offering their arts and off from the delicious commotion that its most intoxicating. hundreds of small stalls spill into the vards, this rough-edged metropolis of crafts when we stop for water, though is Marrakesh. Inside the Riad’s high, street, a seemingly chaotic mix of sellers four million feels familiar to us, more they seem more interested in our bikes seventeenth-century walls, we get the In the uppermost reaches of the plying everything from bath plugs to akin to a forgotten city in Southern than in landing a sale. Guides eager first chance we’ve had in a while to DjibálaI range of the Rif Mountains, we embroidered yellow slippers, kaftans, Europe, than its opposite twin, Fez. for business tug on our jackets, each thoroughly inspect our trusty bikes, pass the blue village of Chefchaouen, and huge bags of ochre and yellow spice. We are not here to sightsee but to pick of them trying to overtop the other in and spend a full day on overdue service a favorite stop-off for the adventurous up our visas for Mauritania, the long a buzz of frenzied yelling, and all of well aware that the yet-to-be crossed traveler. By late afternoon we are The next day, we ride the narrow, war between Morocco and Mauritania them fervently pleading for us to pitch snowcapped summits of the Atlas ascending, swapping ravines and gul- stonyT dirt track up to the main road making it impossible to acquire them our tent at their site. But keen to escape Mountains are almost within touching lies for farmed mountain terraces. The and turn west for Casablanca. We follow on the border. such attention, we push on. distance. 86 www.roadrunner.travel July/August '09 87 World Travelers World Travelers relief. Worn out by the soft sand, we barely have the energy or time to pitch the tent and finish a can of corned beef with crackers before sleep overtakes us. The next two weeks pass quickly, and Twith each day our skill improves. Barreling our naked bikes in and out of the sur- rounding dunes, venturing further from the safety of Merzouga as our confidence increases, Lisa and I grow used to the rear of our bikes sliding to previously impossible extremes. Her whoops and shouts of excitement can be heard over Caption 7 - Caption 7 - Caption 7 - Caption 7 - Caption 7 - Caption 7 the noise of the engines, as she guns the throttle of her rowdy 650 and stands “Salaam ‘Alaykum” (“Peace be upon versation, explaining that this is the proudly on the pegs, enduro-style. you”),S the Touareg man says with a first time his father has eaten in the smile. We reply in kind, “Alaykum As- presence of a female. We are both Problems Near the Algerian Salaam” (“Upon you be peace”).