Solo in the Anti Atlas

Of note for future trips Agadir Airport is very simple and has flights to the off shore non Moroccan Islands such as the Canaries which would enable you to exit Morocco before the 90 day visa expires and then after a few days in 'Europe' re enter for another 90 days. As airport parking is very secure and right next to the terminal building at £3/night this would seem an excellent solution and it appeared by the number of camper vans and 4x4 expedition vehicles parked up that plenty of people were doing just that. Overnighting in vans seemed to be tolerated as well which bodes well for future early departures as strangely vehicles can stay up to 12 months.

Anyway the flight was on time and in fact arrived almost an hour early in Manchester so Mandy was soon home whilst I negotiated the numerous busy roundabouts of the Agadir peripheral road. This eventually splits with the N8 heading inland to Marrakesh whilst I took the N1 coast road passing a large stretch of tourist development that will inevitably destroy the very reason for coming here. Endless apartments in various stages of completion looked across the beach and bay whilst above Taghazoute which caters for the western surfing brigade stands the Hyatt Place luxury hotel whose heavily irrigated golf course stands out surreally on Google Earth in what I personally regard as an obscenity in a country where water is scarce and many of the rural women spend many hours carting water of dubious quality significant distances just to survive.

After passing Cape Rhir I turned inland stopping to pick up an old guy hefting a huge sack of rice and depositing him at the top of the climb to a dramatic limestone escarpment. A stunning road followed this round for miles and I found a place with excellent views across to the coast to stay the night.

Heading east through stunning scenery I eventually crossed under the main Marrakesh road and parked up in Imi N Tanoute to pick up fruit, veg, milk, eggs, yoghurt, bread and meat for the few days ahead. Whilst returning through the back streets I was tempted by the smell of grilling fish so took a seat in a tiny cafe and enjoyed a plate of grilled small whole fish, a lentil dahl, olives, bread and water for the remarkable price of 30Dhm.

Beyond Amizmiz I took the twisting mountain road over to the salt mines at Azegour and then after collecting another local with a heavy sack took a stunning road over to Iberdaten. As we dropped in to his village the tarmac finished and the road narrowed to a rough sandy track between high walls that almost scraped the mirrors. It got worse as the gradient increased before I reached the dry river bed and took a sharp right after which there were houses on one side and a long drop in to the valley on the other. I was very grateful to have such a compact vehicle as there was nowhere to turn and after a few hundred cautious yards things opened out. From the look of the locals - adults and children alike - I was something of a novelty but still received friendly waves and greetings.

A couple of miles of track led to a pass beyond which lay Adassil but I decided the clearing to one side would do me for the night and as dusk fell was surprised to see four different shepherds and their charges returning from what looked like bare grazing higher in the mountains and a group of cheerful young women bent under heavy loads of fodder and firewood. As so many times before I find it hard to comprehend the joviality and friendliness of people living such harsh lives compared with the social media obsessed and apparently angst ridden youth of the Western world who really would have 'issues' if they had to live with even a fraction of the deprivation that these mountain people endure daily. I am well aware of my privileged status and hope that offering lifts, shopping locally, taking the time to meet people, have a chat and just share our lives may do some good in a divergent world.

The following morning I had decided to attempt a distant summit of some 10,600' that as the crow flies lay 3 miles away. Setting off up a new track carved in to the hillside I soon reached a small hamlet where a number of guys were awaiting the 'Berber bus' , those ancient overloaded Mercedes vans that link these remote villages carrying substantial numbers of people and all manner of goods and produce. They were very friendly and indicated a path that led off uphill and was even shown on my GPS, asking as to whether or not they thought I was mad initiated a variety of responses few of which I really understood but there were cheerful comments and smiles as I headed off soon passing a small school room where my presence distracted a group of small wide eyed infants repeating their numbers in unison.

The next four hours took me over rough ground (with a small diversion as a tethered donkey was threatening to bolt if I got too close and the young girl risked severe injury trying to placate him) before the path ended and I climbed up an increasing gradient towards the snow line. It became exhausting and my rate of progress dropped off a cliff, something I felt prone to as the rocky slopes disappeared to my right. By 2 o'clock with only half a mile and 500' to go I had to call it a day as although if I could have reached the ridge my descent would have (probably) been easier I knew that final stage would take at least an hour. Thus I descended carefully across steep screes and finally staggered back to the van after 8 hours, 6000' of ascent but only 5 miles. As I recovered from one of the hardest walks I've done recently the same shepherds returned from the same barren grazing and the same women came in from a different direction with their heavy loads leaving me truly humbled and reflective.

Returning the next day to Amizmiz via the same tortuous track I then began to climb through the ranges that led over to the Tizi n Test pass which I joined at Ourigaine. I had crossed the river by a bridge that when I was last here had stood bizarrely unfinished but was now freshly painted and incorporated in to the road - a sign that however slowly Morocco is upgrading its infrastructure across many sectors. 

Solar powered water pumps are transforming agriculture on many scales, drinking water quality and availability is improving, the cellular phone network is comprehensive and the road network is improving. Many towns are building water treatment works, a few even have rubbish collections but sadly this latter issue seems to me to be one of the biggest facing the rural population and the long term effects of the plastic being left everywhere are likely to be significant. This and broken glass are to me the main problem areas, metal and paper can be absorbed in to the environment with I assume relatively little harm.

The weather had turned overcast and dull with even a few flurries of sleet at the top of the pass so I descended to the plains and turned off at Aoulouz intending to see if the back road to Toubkal ws open after the enormous rockfall that had prevented me from passing this way last time. As it was evening by now I had intended to stay at a spot overlooking a new reservoir that had only been partially full last time. However not long after parking up a friendly guy knocked on the door and said he thought I was taking a risk as there had been the murder of two Scandinavian girls before Christmas up at Toubkal's main village Imlil, some 30 miles away. I considered his advice carefully, particularly as on leaving he had given me his cousin's adddress who happened to own a campsite in Taliouine.

I think the constant reporting of bad news around the world skews our sense of risk - when things go wrong it is a personal tragedy of course but most homicides are by a known assailant and the press soon forget for example the horror of the insane Anders Breivik who killed the 69 youngsters on a camping trip in Norway.

However I also felt it wise to respect local advice whatever the possible ulterior motive and decided to trundle round to Taliouine and pull in to a small campground - but not the one suggested.

A couple of enormous motorhomes and a Unimog off roader were in situ but otherwise there was plenty of room and I was soon set up, still somewhat fatigued by the rigours of yesterday.

I had read about a good road over to Agadir Melloul and after a false start by the Tom Tom which put me in a mosque courtyard miles from the actual road, much to the amusement of the local mullah, I was heading in to some seriously impressive but desolate mountain scenery. A lunch stop in a dried up river bed was remarkable for the sense of isolation and after crossing the Tizi N Ousour pass I descended passing dozens of beekeeping camps where a hundred or more hives stood adjacent to each beekeeper's tent. From Tisnassmine the road headed south passing a large group of wild camels to Tissinnt where I turned east to arrive at Foum Zguid for the night. Camping Sable D'Or was a bit run down but provided a hot shower and memorable tiled floor and its walls kept the strong winds that accompanied a grey sky at bay.

Next day the dull atmosphere and strong winds decided me against an 80 mile ride along a piste towards Mhamid as the mausoleum that lay that way may not have been adequate reward for what would be a tough ride. (I believe Heike the German cyclist had done the through route but she was an exceptional character and probably almost half my age). Thus I walked in to town for supplies passing a large military complex as the Algerian border is only a few miles to the south and enjoyed a rest.

Heading north to Tazenakht I took a turning east across to Agdz and came across a camping 'a la ferme' that has turned out to be the best of my many camping experiences in Morocco. Situated a mile west of the town on the R108 which had passed a potash and cobalt mine before descending through a superb valley Ferme Maison Tanssift became my base for the next four nights. Run by Corinne and Sayed with the charming Brigitte a fellow camper it had plenty of level space amongst the palms and the most stylish and well kept showers I have encountered. After settling in Corinne invited the two of us to join her and Sayed for a meal that evening - this was a thoroughly enjoyable experience with delicious food - a chick pea soup, grilled fish, olives and bread served with a bottle of Moroccan rose, and whilst the conversations were entirely in French I understood the gist of things with Corinne filling in the gaps with her excellent English. Brigitte was lovely and full of energy with a passion for travel since her retirement some years ago - she tours in a Fiat Ducato motorhome with a tiny dog and has ambitions to ship the van to Oz or South America at some stage. 

The following day I rode in to Agdz and spent a few hours exploring the palmery located in the Draa Valley meeting women washing clothing and carpets in the fast flowing irrigation channels, passing ancient kasbahs, some intact and providing housing or guest accommodation but many crumbling back in to the stones and mud they came from. 

Twenty absorbing miles put me back at the site ready for a couple of hours in the evening sun with the cat making good use of my solar panel - this seems to be maintaining my leisure battery very well as I don't think I've used a hook up for perhaps three weeks and regularly charge batteries, the lap top and other devices plus run the water pump for showering, lighting for perhaps four hours a night and so on. It is only a 40w panel but of course down here the sun is strong, high in the sky and reliable. Incidentally whilst on practical matters I have for the last five weeks been using two biological washing powder tablets in the loo's waste tank and despite the hot weather it seems to keep things fresh whilst also assisting with the decompostion of the contents - much cheaper and easy enough to find in any country. I use the tablets for extra convenience but no doubt loose powder would do.

Yesterday (Thursday) I passed through town as it held its weekly souk intent on exploring the palmeries to the south and had a thoroughly rewarding day. A good road linked the various palmeries which I explored on the intricate network of easily rideable sandy tracks. In the villages the children were delighted to wave and one lad accepted an offer of a tug and was beaming as we flashed past his mates. I crossed the by now dry river bed of the Draa which appears intermittently until way south of Zagora it is lost under the Sahara to appear 300 miles away on the coast just north of Tan Tan - remarkable. 

The newly improved N9 incorporated a decent cycle lane - the first I have seen in Morocco - so I sped along until spotting on my right a huge kasbar on a prominent hill. I turned off and was soon climbing a rocky track to what I thought would be a posh hotel or private dwelling.

To my amazement it was neither being completely empty and despite its robust exterior very much starting to collapse inside. I explored cautiously in case it was out of bounds and was absorbed by the intricate carved pise decorations, remnants of old wall colourings and the substantial internal gateways and towers. A young lad appeared from nowhere who claimed to be the gardien but he was happy to let me explore unaccompanied so I gave him 20DHm before jumping back on the bike and literally losing myself for an hour or two in the palms on my return. 48 rewarding miles put me on track for an 11 hour kip and although I had planned to leave it was tempting to stay another day and thus this rambling reportage has occupied much of it.

I head to Nekob tomorrow with a ride over to see Bab and Ali planned so until the next post enjoy these piccies by clicking here.