No need for wake up calls when the sound of the building machinery outside our window begins. It seems every town and village we go through is a big building site; new houses, new roads, all unfinished though. A petit dejeunier and a knackered coffee pump thermos later, we had packed our panniers and we're ready to go. Then the man said "You have just paid for one!" Oops, another 300 dirhams and we set off towards the route we had found from the 'Piste guru' Chris Scott's book and studied on the Michelin 742 map.
Lars led the way, with one eye on the GPS and the other on the map. Maybe that's why he took the wrong turning and had to ask a young man by the road "Salam, El Kebab?" and got the answer "La", which meant a u-turn and after going over a little river, we found the small road leading to the village of El Kebab. The road wound uphill and road had more holes than tarmac, the edges were worn away by the old Mercedes we see everywhere. The village was packed with people, must be a souk day? Slowly we found our way through the crowd and we serpentined our way higher and higher.
We come to villages with low mud houses with 1 or 2 windows each, old women bent by work and age, sweeping the ground outside, men sitting in their traditional robes in rows outside a house in the centre of the village...and the kids. The kids running into the road, hands stretched out towards us for a handslap when we pass at slow speed. They are shouting something we don't understand, is it a game or is it begging? They are all in ragged and dirty clothes, the girls with their cheeks bright red in the Berber way.
The High Atlas is showing us a fantastic view over rolling plains and long valleys, farmers ploughing the stony hillside with their donkeys. We stopped for water and an energy bar just to catch our breath; we are stunned by the fantastic scenery and feel very lucky with the experience. We roll on over high passes and come up to over 2300 metre high, the hairpins never ending. Our Africa Twins just keep going even if they smell of unburnt fuel due to the thin air. The road levelled out a bit and the moon-like landscape around us is contrasted by the green and lush fields following the rivers. Everywhere there are people out on the fields doing....something? We pass many a Joseph's with his Mary on the donkey, old men on pushbikes going uphill like there was no hill, women with their babies in slings on their backs, and children running out on the road when they hear us coming.
Lars led the way, with one eye on the GPS and the other on the map. Maybe that's why he took the wrong turning and had to ask a young man by the road "Salam, El Kebab?" and got the answer "La", which meant a u-turn and after going over a little river, we found the small road leading to the village of El Kebab. The road wound uphill and road had more holes than tarmac, the edges were worn away by the old Mercedes we see everywhere. The village was packed with people, must be a souk day? Slowly we found our way through the crowd and we serpentined our way higher and higher.
We come to villages with low mud houses with 1 or 2 windows each, old women bent by work and age, sweeping the ground outside, men sitting in their traditional robes in rows outside a house in the centre of the village...and the kids. The kids running into the road, hands stretched out towards us for a handslap when we pass at slow speed. They are shouting something we don't understand, is it a game or is it begging? They are all in ragged and dirty clothes, the girls with their cheeks bright red in the Berber way.
The High Atlas is showing us a fantastic view over rolling plains and long valleys, farmers ploughing the stony hillside with their donkeys. We stopped for water and an energy bar just to catch our breath; we are stunned by the fantastic scenery and feel very lucky with the experience. We roll on over high passes and come up to over 2300 metre high, the hairpins never ending. Our Africa Twins just keep going even if they smell of unburnt fuel due to the thin air. The road levelled out a bit and the moon-like landscape around us is contrasted by the green and lush fields following the rivers. Everywhere there are people out on the fields doing....something? We pass many a Joseph's with his Mary on the donkey, old men on pushbikes going uphill like there was no hill, women with their babies in slings on their backs, and children running out on the road when they hear us coming.
We finally come to our resting place for the night, Auberge Agoudal just before the village with the same name. Going up the gravel path to the Auberge, Marks asthmatic bike needs a push from Mike to reach the inner courtyard parking. We believe the carburettors need adjusting, but are lost on how, hope the lower altitude next day will help.
Hassan welcomes us with some Berber whisky and we settle in the dorm. Our only companion in the Auberge is a French carpenter on a 7 month pushbike tour of Marocco, Spain and Portugal, though he sleeps outside in his tent! A fantastic soup and Tajine later, we crash out, happy with our day so filled with new sights of this beautiful country.
Mileage: 172Moonscape
No comments:
Post a Comment