Sahara diary Part I

[dinahsmum]

Sahara Hiking Challenge 28 November – 6 December 1998



Saturday

The group of 52 participants, one leader from Macmillan Cancer Relief and one organiser from the travel company met up at Heathrow on a dull and rainy Saturday afternoon. We were a very mixed group, about 60/40 female to male and ranging in age from mid twenties to seventy-one. Flight AT802 to Casablanca via Tangiers set off without any problems about 10 minutes late. I found myself seated next to an Anglo-Moroccan couple flying to Fez to spend a family holiday. They were very pleasant and interested in the Macmillan challenge but I was a little disappointed not to be sitting next to fellow trekkers. After a brief stop at Tangiers, and some arrival and departure of passengers, we reached Casablanca airport at about 8.45pm. The airport was bright and modern but fairly small and uninspiring and with little to occupy the two hours till the connecting flight. However it allowed the group further time to chat and discuss the adventure ahead. The internal flight to Ourzazate left on time at 10.20pm and arrived at 11.05pm. Baggage retrieval and immigration formalities went relatively smoothly and easily (certainly a lot quicker than getting into the United States at Boston airport!) and a coach and two 4-wheel drive vehicles were waiting to take us to a hotel for an overnight stay before going to the desert the following day. The temperature at midnight was about 9C and the sky was clear and bright. Ourzazate is a modern town built in open semi desert land just south of the High Atlas Mountains. The journey to the hotel took only 10 minutes and it was somehow odd to note that we were opposite a Club Med facility – we were preparing for the privations of the desert but others were holidaying in the lap of luxury just across the road. The second travel company representative who had travelled ahead to Morocco to finalise arrangements met us at the hotel. Bed at 12.30am ready for an early start.

Sunday


The alarm call at 6am was a rude awakening to our first full day in Morocco but there was no time to wonder why we were rising so early on a Sunday morning. It was time to savour our last opportunity to enjoy running water for a week, to wash and dress and to sort out belongings between a small rucksack, to stay with us at all times, and our main bags which were transported separately. Breakfast was continental style, French bread, jams, hard-boiled eggs and, for a truly authentic taste, a flatbread similar to a chappati. At 7am we were introduced to three of our Berber guides, who would spend the next week with us, travelling south to the drop off point, guiding us through the desert and returning to Ourzazate at the end. The briefing continued with an outline of what we might expect in a typical day, the routine in camp, meal arrangements and safety advice…like shake out your boots each morning in case a scorpion has crept in overnight!
We were due to set off at 8am and managed to keep fairly well to that schedule, once again distributing ourselves between the coach and two 4WDs.
The journey to Ourlad Driss, our starting point was long and fairly tiring. However the scenery was fascinating and helped make up for the discomfort of stuffy vehicles (no air conditioning) and winding mountain roads. The first part of the journey, just out of Ourzazate, was reminiscent of walking in the hills in Gran Canaria. There was a dry red terrain with loose scree, dotted with larger rocks and with a sprinkling of plants. We went through one very spectacular pass, in the Djebel Sarhro Mountains, where it was best not to look below at the remains of vehicles which hadn’t made it! After that we found ourselves in a totally barren but utterly fascinating landscape of red rock carved by the winds into an extraordinary landscape which looked like a 3-D contour map, or like a 3 dimensional jig-saw puzzle. The landscape changed as we entered the Valee du Draa, or ‘valley of the thousand kasbahs’. The River Draa, in various forms, ran alongside the road. In places it was just a small watercourse diverted to an aqueduct, in others it was a lively fast-flowing small river and in other places it widened and slowed and was the focus of settlements. We saw women doing washing in the river and hanging clothes in the palm trees and other bushes to dry. Some settlements were tiny and isolated – our guides told us the people were probably engaged in mining for minerals and precious metals – and others ranged in size up to fairly large villages. It was difficult to judge what the inside of the houses might be like. There were a very few houses, which obviously belonged to people who were well off, and which looked similar to villas in the Mediterranean or Canaries but it was mostly kasbahs. These were unattractive from the outside, built of breezeblock and brick, rendered and painted a terracotta colour. There were only small, narrow window openings and heavy doors with decorative metalwork guarded the doorways. However, occasional glimpses through open doors showed a much lighter, brighter picture with people moving around between houses with bright carpets and brasses. There was a fair sprinkling of satellite dishes and the ubiquitous Coca-Cola signs outside the tiny stores.
After nearly 4 hours we reached Zagora, - ‘the gateway to the desert’. Zagora was the largest settlement since we left Ourzazate but was still a relatively small town in British terms, more like a large village with a long main street. The town is obviously a major tourist centre, with a few hotels, cafes, shops selling souvenirs and signs, in Arabic, French and sometimes English, offering desert trips by camel and 4WD. I saw the famous signpost pointing to Timbuktoo - Tombouctou – 52 jours. We were advised to purchase shaash – the cloths which wrap around the head and face – in case of sandstorms and the group enjoyed its first foray into Arab bargaining. My shaash, a fascinating dip-dye concoction in shades of blue, was part of a bulk purchase obtained at a price which left seller and purchasers feeling satisfied with the deal! There was just time to sample mint-tea for the first time before being urged back on to the vehicles for the last part of our initial journey.
We travelled for about an hour more. The terrain became more stony and barren but the road remained good, with a metalled surface and room for two vehicles to pass without trouble. There were few private vehicles but plenty of donkeys, donkey carts and a good sprinkling of bicycles. The convoy was stopped at a police checkpoint which was keen to remind the group that it was only 15 kilometres from the Algerian border…we hoped the guides wouldn’t make any mistakes! The police are getting used to travellers wanting to go into the desert but can’t really see the point!
At long last, when we were finding the journey very tedious, we spotted what we hoped was not a mirage – no, it was a further group of our guides, 6 camels and a small tent in the shade of which was set out our first desert meal, a serve yourself lunch with salad – tinned meat, sardines or cheese – bread and fruit. There was drinking water available, drawn from wells and treated and ready to drink, and carried in large containers by the camels which walked with us at all times. We filled our water bottles ready for the afternoon’s walk. Time was pressing, so as soon as we had finished eating we set off across the sand. I don’t think anyone commented on the fact but that was the last we saw of the road and almost our last contact with other humans for the remainder of the week.
The first part of the afternoon’s walk was over a flat open plain and then later we moved into Erg Lihoudi, an area with relatively small sand dunes. We were led over one dune of about 20 feet, and were surprised at just how tough it was, digging toes in to climb up the dune and then developing a specialised technique to come down the other side without completely filling the boots with sand. Luckily that was just a ‘demonstration dune’ and the remainder of the afternoon walk was over a mixed terrain of low dunes, open plain and rock field. The rock field, or hammada, became the bane of our lives. It is firm sand covered with rocks from fist sized upwards, like you may find at some seaside resorts. There wasn’t room between the rocks to put your feet down firmly so it was necessary to look down as you went along to make sure that you didn’t turn an ankle.
Eventually something became apparent on the horizon – could that be the camp? It looked like tents so we got a new spring in our steps and pressed on towards it. It was difficult to judge distances and it took quite along time until it became clearer…it certainly was tents, - must be camp, so we kept going, closer and closer until we saw…it was a Berber nomad encampment of three tents. Ah well, we just kept walking! Luckily our camp was just a little further on and we arrived after about 3 hours walking, not long before it started to get dark.

to be continued