On our second, or perhaps it was our third visit to Marrakech, I cannot quite remember, I could no longer hold back the urge to do a trek in the Atlas. We were staying with some friends who had a guest room in their garden, Heather and Abdul. Abdul runs a tourism business and sorted everything out for me.
I left very early in the morning in my rental car. I remember being able to make my way through the centre of Marrakech with no traffic at all. It was wonderful. Only a few taxis still around.
Once out of Marrakech the roads were pitch black. I had to be careful of the odd early riser making their way to work on their bike or the various groups of people just wandering along the road seemingly going nowhere. Had I been going too fast I would surely have run them down.
I made it to Imlil which is really as far as you can go on the road into the Toubkal National Park. En route I passed Richard Branson's
Kasbah Tamadot, a beautiful old Kasbah set in the foothills of the Atlas. More of a palace than a hotel, it has some splendid views and impeccable rooms. Well worth a stop of if you have the time.
Imlil is a lovely little village. Very touristy during the day but blissful at this early hour. Apart from one Berber lad and his donkey I was the only person around. The views were magnificent. I could not wait to get started on the trek.
My guide arrived very shortly along with a mule and a mule driver. I would spend the day hiking with the guide. The mule and it's driver would follow not far behind, loaded with all our things.
I wondered why there was a need for a mule. I had a rucksack which I was more than happy to carry on my back and my guide had only a small bag. It turned out the mule was carrying a small kitchen and groceries for a regal lunch.
It was bitterly cold at the start of the day but as the morning progressed layers came off and went in my bag. I knew I had to keep at bay my urge to stop all the time and take pictures if we were to get through the day. At the top of the first big ascent I felt fabulous. It was just me and the guide and all the Atlas mountains. I felt like a real adventurer. A moment later my feelings of greatness were shattered when two twentysomething girls came puffing around the corner wearing shorts and t-shirts and not much more than ballet shoes with their own guide. They were from Manchester. I had thought I was in the middle of nowhere being an intrepid explorer! Higher and deeper into the mountains next time I promised myself!
We passed through several Berber villages before lunch. My guide spoke brilliant English and he was able to explain that these Berbers were still living the lives they have always lived. No roads go to the villages, there is no electricity. They exist by working hard at their land and trading with the other villages in the foothills. There is a market somewhere in the mountains everyday and the villagers walk for miles to trade their goods. I was inspired by their resilience and strength.
We stopped for lunch on the edge of one of these villages at about 1:00pm. I still didn't know what to expect. In 20 minutes a fire was going and a tagine was being made. A salad of tomatoes and mint was served for starters with some berber bread to mop it up - delicious. I had had this several times on the Jemma El Fna and it is a firm favourite. The tagine was one of the best I had had. The setting at the foot of a snow capped mountain with a crystal clear river flowing a meter from me and a Berber village just behind may have had something to do with it!
We were half way round a circular route and although I realise now that this is quite a common tourist trek, I felt like I was a million miles from my normal life. It was the easiest thing in the world to organise and not particularly difficult to do. Hard enough to make me feel like I had achieved something but not so bad that I can't take my wife along next time. I will probably even take my 5 year old daughter!
The rest of the route was equally exhilirating with the same breathtaking views. Going down one hill we were invited by a Berber farmer to go and have tea. We had to decline as the sun was getting low and our guide probably had a date back in Marrakech. The farmer was a toothlesss chap with wrinkles around his eyes that showed his charm and age. I would have loved to have gone and heard his story. Next time.
Back at the guest house by 7:00pm having negotiated Marrakech traffic I felt a little closer to my adventurous spirit.
This is why we are moving to Marrakech I thought. Experiences. Discoveries. To find a world that is fast dissapearing in England.
Popping my SD card into my computer I gazed upon the scenes of the day with delight.
