Driving 'The Beast' through Africa
Souqs
by Isabelle Demaeght, November 30th, 2024
We arrive in the sand dunes near Mergouza. We avoid the town itself; through Park4night (a website and app with places to stay overnight) I find a place characterized by peace and quiet. What traveler wouldn't want this: sleeping among the dunes, yet with a brand-new hotel/restaurant close by. The tranquility was beyond Ahmed's reckoning: it's Moroccan Independence Day and so a party is being celebrated among friends, with the necessary nightly decibels.
The sand dunes remain super beautiful, though.
We encounter a lot of police checks along the way. Every handful of kilometers there is a police car. Smartphones are a blessing (for us) because most of the policemen have their heads in their phones, so they can just give us a sign that we can drive on. There are also some with laser guns, which we know see us before we see them. We never drive (intentionally) too fast, but it probably won't go well forever.
We see in the desert, on the way west, dozens of earthen basins (waterproofed with “pond” foil) with a solar panel and pumping system next to them. The water is used to grow date palms. Large lenders are bringing many acres under cultivation at a time. We fear for the water table.
Adriaan likes dates: in Europe we really only see the large, export Mejhoul dates (also written as Medjoul). But on the old trees in the oases he discovers other varieties, which of course have to be tried. It is not easy to talk about date varieties in Arabic (or Berber), but he presumably got his hands on 2 kilos of Halawi dates. Later it turns out that the boxes they come in are also for sale empty in the souks (markets) - we don't know what's really inside. But even the most timid Moroccans immediately grab two or more when Adriaan hands out dates.
From Zagora we drive north through the valley of the river “Draa.” Over hills and through gorges. There is still little or no water in the river at this time of year. On this beautiful route between one of the largest cities (Marrakesh) and the sand dunes, we notice that people here are well used to tourists. Wherever we stop, and child comes asking for “money,” “bonbon,” “stylo” or someone offers to give us a tour.
As we leave the Draa Valley on a Wednesday in Agdz (that's a place name) to find some more untraveled paths, we stumble upon a campsite among the palm trees. Coincidentally, every Thursday in Agdz there is a huge, noisy, chaotic and overwhelming souk, which we visit. No one accosts us there. There is everything for sale: second-hand electronics, canned goods, vegetables, nuts, live cows, sheep and chickens.
We don't cook as much anymore because we usually find a nice little restaurant around 2 p.m. where we can eat something (at a very good price): we eat stews (Tagine) with lots of potato, onion, bell pepper, cumin, turmeric with some lamb or fish, but also sometimes grilled meat.
There are also butchers on this souk, with a “restaurant” in between, which we recognize by the clouds of smoke. We buy fresh (unrefrigerated) sheep meat, which a bystander strings onto a brochette pin and passes it to the man at the grill. While he grills our brochette, we enjoy a glass of tea.
So after two nights of “delay,” we opt for a somewhat longer route to Ouarzazate through the Atlas Mountains. The locals are thickly dressed, while we find the 21˚C sunshine pleasant enough to walk around in a T-shirt. We now see the first snowy peaks, and have to admit that on these cloudy days high in the mountains, we too need extra clothing.
We pass “Aít BenHaddou” (spelling differs). It is a “ksar,” a fortified town that once played an important role on the trade route from the south. (It was a 52-day camel-ride from here to Timbuktu.) It is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
Ben Haddou has been completely taken over by people looking to make a buck. The beauty of yesteryear is gone. Every step we take there is someone with a question. Do you want to see where “Gladiator” was shot, do you want to see my little store, do you know how they navigated and do you want to buy a (counterfeit) trinket that was used with it, have you ever seen the inside of a Moroccan house, etcetera. On this 22nd day of travel, Adriaan engages for the first time in discussions with extortionists who charge admission for a UNESCO site that is generally accessible.
The wild campsite we find nearby is also high in the mountains. Soon, from a nearby village, three little boys appear and curiously linger with us. They have lots of clothes on, but after sunset we all get cold. The little boys descend back to their parents' house.
Our refrigerator had problems after two years of downtime in Mexico; it was worked on last year before the European tour, but now our refrigerator uses way too much energy. Adriaan visits an expert in Marrakesh on Saturday, and together they make a plan to implement on Monday.
It takes a long time, but fortunately we quickly find a super restaurant (at 3:30 pm). We camp north of Marrakesh and take the bus to the center because I have reserved tickets for the museum “Yves Saint Laurent” and accompanying “Majorelle” garden with exotic plants from all over the world (saved by YSL).
I did not sleep this night because I contracted a gum infection. On Sunday, I make an appointment (for the next day) with a dentist with many positive reviews.
After YSL, we walk through the Medina to a palace that I also want to see. Large parts of the Medina are covered (against the heat of the sun), but they are still streets. With traffic. Smoking mopeds, handcarts, wagons pulled by donkeys share the sparse space with many walkers. And by now, every step hurts (in my jaw).
On Monday, Adriaan drops me off at the dentist while he himself goes to the appointment to repair the refrigerator. The dentist (who used to be a butcher, I think) does his job: the inflammation is removed and medication should do the rest. The pain is not yet gone and Adriaan notices a bruise on my cheek.
We leave Marrakesh in the direction of Agadir. We ride the trail over the High Atlas silently because the remnants of the September 2023 earthquake are still so clearly visible. We feel like disaster tourists and that was not our intention. (We don't have pictures because I think it's inappropriate.) It seems degrading that these victims have to spend another winter in a tent.
In Agadir, we reunite with our French friends Nicole and Jean whom we met in 2018 at the beginning of our trip to South America. We drive together along the coast to Essaouira. Again going the wrong way (not south). Adriaan spots a cop with a laser gun too late and gets written up for speeding 10 kilometers per hour. The amount of the fine is not too bad, and the cop hopes it will also be the last. Inshallah!
Arriving, we are rewarded with walking around the largest fish market we have ever seen. We buy Red Snapper, sardines and calamari, which we have grilled in the style of the souk inland.
Jean and Nicole are on their way to their southern French home. They have been intermittently traveling Morocco and Mauritania recently and have countless tips for us. Of course, “driving in desert sand” (which we have never really done) comes up. Spontaneously Jean and Nicole give us their sand plates: “You're definitely going to need those!”.
The bruise on my cheek is now dark blue and measures 2 by 5 cm. I find it embarrassing enough that I said to someone, “My husband didn't do that, you know!”.