Claire and I made the drive down to Zagora from Skoura, which took longer than anyone had told us it would. Claire had earlier mentioned that asking Moroccans how far something was or how long something took generally resulted in made up answers. And that's very different from what we're used to in the US. We're obsessed with how far something is from something else, how long it takes to get somewhere, what something costs, etc. So we should have known that the varying estimates we'd received would be inaccurate. And they were. Poor Claire had to drive in dusk on a two-lane highway filled with schoolkids on bikes (schools run late due to long lunches) who have no reflectors, much less any sense that maybe riding five abreast isn't the safest proposition. We made it to Dar Raha and were given the tour of this lovely traditional pise riad. Our own room had its own private outdoor terrace, meals were included, and because it's owned by a Frenchman, there was wine!
Antoine, the owner, is a French anthropologist who started Dar Raha about 9 years ago. Because it's in the desert and in a very drought-prone region, he wanted it to be very eco-conscious, so they have an in-house water filter and put dates in these adorable little baskets made out of recycled plastic in each room. But he also wanted to create good jobs for locals, so he trained some of them as guides and sells local artists' works in the common areas of the riad. It is the guide experience where you really feel the difference. I've mentioned before the official guides in Morocco; it turns out to be basically a monopoly. Even if you hire an official guide, he still gets commissions for taking you to shops, so there can be significant pressure to spend more time shopping and less time seeing sites. The guides are very politically powerful and don't hesitate to make trouble for perceived turf-snatchers, such as high-end personal shoppers working for wealthy Euros. My point is that the history takes a backseat to the commission, and often the history is not backed up by a broad understanding of general and world history. So when Mustaffa, our guide in Zagora, took us through the ksar (basically another word for a medina) and started talking about how Jews and Christians had lived in this part of Morocco for centuries prior to Islam's arrival, I knew we were getting something different from the Moroccan norm. After that, we headed out with Mohommed, Ibrahim, and two camels for what I call our "Desert Sampler." We were to ride for two hours to the edge of the dunes, camp for one night, and head back in the morning. Just a tease, really, but all we had time for. For those of you who may be tempted to ride camels in the future, let me tell you two things:
1. The gait of a camel is naseuea-inducing
2. You will be sore in two of three locations - rear, back or arms. If you hold on really tight, your arms will hurt. If you don't, your back will hurt. Any way you slice it, your ass will be sore.
I walked most of the way back. And that's how the nomads roll too - the camels are primarily pack animals, not transportation. So now you know. But the desert was very beautiful, though quite windy overnight. And I learned a lot about camels. For example, they can live for up to 30 years, only males are used for guidework because they are bigger and don't need maternity leave, and you always put the dominant one in front so he doesn't bite the rears of lesser camels in front of him. Who knew?
Upon returning to Dar Raha, I took one of the most welcome showers of my life, Claire and I had coffee with Antoine at his compound (with cute sheep!) and then Claire and I killed a bottle of Moroccan rose wine while noshing on peanuts and olives before dinner. Good times.
The next day, we had to make an early start to get back to Ourzazate, return the car, and catch the bus back to Marrakech. Thanks to the woman from National car rental, we made the CTM, the good bus line. Lucky, right? The bus was late, and the computer system was down. So we weren't sure if there would be seats for us, but when we found two seats right next to each other and near the front, we were happy and surprised. Turns out someone had vomited there on an earlier leg. But they cleaned it up. I don't deal well with that particular lingering odor, so I had a rough ride, but it was lightened by a very nice, very loud Swiss guy making friends with his companion. He kept talking the entire time, but when he started talking about contracting stomach troubles sometime ago and how he "smelled rotten for two months," it put smelling someone else's vomit for a few hours into perspective for me.
We had one quick night and morning in Marrakech, and then it was off to Casablanca for me to catch my flight to Cairo, which is where I am now. You will here more shortly. I hope you are very well and feeling spring wherever you are.
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