Across the High Atlas: Day 2

Map of region.   Day 2 went from the Dades Gorge to Merzouga and then proceeded via camel into the Erg Chebbi.  (Click on map for an enlarged view)

The next morning, I was the first one up, and I saw Hassan I down in the parking area.  The canyon surrounding us was amazing – blazing red colors in a very notched canyon and a view leading up into the High Atlas.  We’d missed this in the drive in.  I went down and soon saw Hassan II in full Berber garb – the turban, gown and trousers.   He said,  “Now, we go into the desert, my country, I dress like Berber.”    I opened my map onto the trunk of one of the 4x4’s and laid out our days journey.   This was the day of our camel trek to a campsite in the dunes, and I wanted to get there before sunset.   In French, I insisted that we arrive at the place where we got onto the camels no later than 4:00-4:30, and the Hassans agreed that this was readily doable.   

           

I went back inside to grab a quick breakfast, but my fellow travelers were not as driven as I was to hit the dunes and dawdled over coffee.  I got down early to the cars, and re-emphasized the need to get to the dunes by 4:30. 

Hassan I (left) and Hassan II (right, in Berber garb) next to one of the 4x4's. 

We loaded up and drove a couple of switchbacks up to a viewpoint where we snapped photos.   We then headed back down the gorge toward Boumaine Dades.  On the way, we spied a strange formation of eroded sandstone called “Les Doigts” according to Hassan I.   It was indeed strange looking – indeed like fingers.   Evidently they were shaped by the strong winds that bore sand down from the High Atlas. 

The Dades Gorge, looking up toward the High Atlas. 

View down the switchbacks in the Dades Gorge.  Our hotel for the night is located on the left of the river in the patch of green. 

Les Doigts near the base of the gorge. 

Soon, we regained Boumaine-Dades and now took the turn from the roundabout into the center of the town, and beyond.   At a vantage point, we paused for photos.  In the distance, there were words written on the hill behind the town “The Sahara is ours” in Arabic.   It’s unclear to me whether this is referring to the modern day dispute over the Western Sahara Territory or the Berber pride of ownership over large swaths of the Sahara (or perhaps both).  

In the mid-seventies, the Algerian backed Polisario Front tried to assert authority over a region in south Morocco.   This area, now known as the Western Sahara is of interest to Algeria, Mauritania and Morocco.  It is phosphate rich, and may have large offshore oil deposits. The conflict between the Polisario Front and Morocco has burned ever since and is effectively a standoff, where UN and US intervention for a peace process has come to naught. Algeria has painted it as a battle for independence of the Saharawi peoples in the area against colonial influence.   In my cynical opinion, it is simply a proxy war between Algeria and Morocco.  

View of Boumaines-Dades and the Dades River as it enters the plain.

Words written on the hillside above Boumaine-Dades, "The Sahara is Ours" in Arabic.

Continuing on, we aimed for the gorges of the Todra River.   Along the way, the most striking feature was the vast amount of new construction in that area.  A glance at the map showed a large number of gold and lead mines to the south in the Jebl Sahro.   The word “jebl” is a variation of the Arabic “jebel” for mountain.   Sahro is derived from the word for desert.   This range is part of the Anti-Atlas or Lesser Atlas Mountains.  It’s a forbidding region – hot dry and mountainous.  Nonetheless, there is a curious geological mix of volcanic and sedimentary rock, rich in valuable metal ores, including gold, lead, copper, and magnesium.   I don’t know where the capital was coming from for the construction of so many new dwellings, but evidently some people/groups were pouring money in to house workers to exploit the riches of the Jebl Sahro.

            There was a minor stop to pick up wine for the night out in the dunes.  One knows that alcohol is forbidden by Islamic canon, yet the needs of tourists drive the sale of wine and beer.   In a modest grocery store, you ask to step into a back-room to purchase wine, and walk out with your goods hidden in a black plastic sack.

    

        Turning off the main highway to gain the gorges of the Todra, we came upon one of many anachronisms – women beating clothes clean along the side of the river amidst construction equipment that were being used to build a high quality bridge over the Todra.   Somewhat beyond we saw the abandoned houses of a town carved into a hillside just above the rich alluvial plain of the Todra.   

Women washing clothes in the Todra River on the edge of Tenehir. 

Abandoned dwellings on a hillside north of Tenehir. 

The 4x4’s made their way up the Todra valley until we gained the gorges.  This was quite the attraction, with many buses filled with all manner of classic tourist nationalities: U.S., Italian, and Japanese.    The gorges themselves are dramatic, with absolutely vertical cliffs cutting down at least 500 meters from the top of a plateau down to the river.  This is a minor Mecca for rock-climbers and we say a number of groups climbing pitches of varying difficulty.   Up the gorge, a goatherd was tending to his flock and taking it to high country with Japanese photographers in hot pursuit.

Herd of goats in the Todra Gorge. 

Rock climbers on a pitch in the Todra Gorge. 

On the way up, I’d spied a tri-lingual sign that acted as a kind of Rosetta stone for three languages: Arabic, Berber, and French.   For most of history, Berber was only spoken.   Recently a phonetic alphabet was created for Berber, which reads from left to right, unlike Arabic.  The symbols were an interesting combination of semi-random characters, some Greek and orthographic symbols.   

Road sign in Arabic, Berber, and French in the Todra Gorge. 

We now had a long stretch of driving along the edge of the Jebl Sahro.  The greenery of the river valleys gave way to a dry plateau where dust-devils played in the distance.  We stopped briefly for lunch, where the common offerings of tajine and kebab were the only options.  

After lunch we drove toward another river valley that was the easternmost habitation of the province.   As we approached the towns, we noticed little cairns along the roadside painted white.   I asked Hassan I about this, and he told me that there was an imminent visit of King Mohammed VI to the region.  

Soon we saw Moroccan flags and banners spouting everywhere along the road.  

The town of Erfoud was our jumping-off point to the dunes of Erg Chebbi.   Erfoud grew around a French garrison that was established in 1930 as part of their campaign to secure the Oaurzazate Province.   While we were driving east, the shift from the Westernized traditions to Islamic culture became increasingly pronounced.   Erfoud  was the culmination.   If any women were seen on the street, they were covered from head to foot in a gown with their eyes only seen peaking through a small slit.   In contrast, men wandered freely.  

We stopped briefly for coffee at a café, which was a bit uncomfortable.   The toilet was obviously only used by men and its state seemed to emphasize the gender segregation that one finds far from the cities.  No one even thought to post a “men’s room” or a “women’s room” sign – it was taken for granted that only a man would use the café.

In order to reach the Erg Chebbi dunes, we traveled on and off road for some time, when the dunes appeared in the distance.  A number of towns line the edge of the dunes, where ground water seeping from under the dunes feeds the river.   Most prominent of the towns is Merzouga, where Hassan II has his home.   A bit past Merzouga, we pulled up in front of a hotel with camels waiting on the edge of the dunes.   

A view of Erg Chebbi dunes in the distance as we approached overland. 

The Hassans bade us farewell, as they were going to go spend the nights in their homes in Merzouga and Rissani.   

We deposited unneeded baggage in a couple of rooms of the hotel and then made our way over to the camels to saddle up.   Our two guides, Mustafah, and Ahmed, were both Berbers and wore the traditional dress.   The guides got us in the saddles of the sitting camels, and commanded them to stand up, then tied them end-to-end and led them on (bare) foot.

Camels waiting on the edge of Erg Chebbi. 

I should say a word about riding a camel.   It’s really not so difficult.  I had been forewarned that it was going to be a problem, but it’s not bad at all.  The tricky bit is getting used to being high off the ground.   The camel’s stride is uneven, but the trick is to let the arms, legs, and torso to move in a snake-like fashion so that your head remains steady.   The only minor difficulty is when the camels walk downhill.   When this happens you have to lean back so as not to put too much weight as they establish their weight on their forelegs.    The only other bit of trickiness comes when the camel occasionally steps into patches of soft sand.   When this happens, they lose their rhythm and have a small struggle to regain their normal gait, but this is not such a big deal for the rider.

As we trekked toward camp, the guides pointed out mountains in the distance that inside Algeria.   There is some tension between Morocco and Algeria along the border, and there was a substantial military presence just to our east. 

Me, on camel with Berber wrap on my head. 

When my book came out I was stung by some criticism that I focused too much on navigation on the high seas.   Part of this emphasis was related to the bigger difficulties of navigation in the absence of landmarks, and also was related to my need to introduce the physics of ocean currents and sailing vessels.   Navigation in the desert has its own challenges and has commonalities with navigation in the snow.   Wind typically blows in a direction that can be established with respect to the position of the rising sun.  The wind creates small ripples in the sand that run perpendicular to the wind direction and can be readily followed over the course of the day.   If the wind shifts, the direction can be recalibrated against the stars or the rising/setting sun.  

Ripples in the sand created by the prevailing wind. 

Shadow of our happy caravan in Erg Chebbi. 

Despite my entreaties to arrive at the jumping-off point by 4:30, we only got there by 6:30 PM.   The dawdling at the Todra Gorge, and the extra coffee in Erfoud cost us a fair amount of time.  As it was, the sun set behind the dunes, so we trekked in twilight to the camp, arriving in the dark.    

The camp itself was very well appointed – it was a ring of tents facing inward.   Each tent was lined with Berber carpets, and had beds on frames.  Light was supplied by fluorescent lights driven by a small generator.  The amount of light was minimal so as to not generate much light pollution.  

As twilight deepened, an amazing view of the stars emerged in the sky.   At late twilight, Venus was first visible in the west, then Arcturus, then the Summer Triangle.   Pretty soon, the entire Milky Way was visible, and I was able to pick out the major navigational stars.   Even though I was only 12 degrees of latitude south of my native Boston, the shift to 30 degrees north caused a distinct shift in the position of stars.   Rather than seeing Deneb and Vega pass directly over the zenith, they were much to the north of the local zenith.  I can readily imagine how Pytheas of Massilia was able to figure out the rotation of the earth and the concept of climes simply from a direct visualization of star positions with latitude shifts.

The local crew included a tall cook who was a refugee from the Sudan, and four Berbers, including Mustafa and Ahmed.  Dinner was prepared by the Sudanese refugee and was possibly the best food I’d had during my entire stay in Morocco – a fantastic rice and vegetable salad followed by a chicken-egg tajine.

After dinner was cleared, the Berbers began a drumming-singing mini-concert for us.   As this carried on into the night, Moustafa broke out a hookah (water pipe).   Several of the drummers partook of the smoke, which had a distinct incense aroma to it.   Certainly it did not have hashish or kif (tobacco and marijuana mixed together) in it.   I was offered a pull off the hookah, and tried it.   Boy did it immediately go to my head.   I asked Mustafa what was in it.   Grinning, he replied that he had put a generous amount of vodka into the water for bubbling the smoke. 

Berber drumming after dinner.   Mustafa is on the right, Ahmed is second from left, and the Sudanese cook is between Moustafa and Ahmed. 

The Berbers tried to get some of the guests to drum a bit on their own.   An Australian couple did some half-hearted beats.   Dihman likewise managed to bang it a couple of times.   Probably influenced by whatever was in that hookah, I said “gimme that thing”, and tried to bang out Buddy Holly’s Not Fade Away – with its distinctive Bo Diddley bump-de-bump-de-bump Bump Bump rhythm.   I shouted the lines “I’m going to tell you how it’s gonna be…you’re gonna give your love to me…”   I think I did two lines of it and then Mustafa sardonically commented,  “I think it’s getting late.”   I handed back the drum. Oh well….

I went out of the tent compound and lay on my back looking at the stars.  The Berbers were sleeping under the stars themselves.  I went back to my tent and read The Wisdom of the Desert by Thomas Merton until my eyes got heavy. 

الحكمة تكمن وراء النجوم