The sun was quite hot, but the altitude and the occasional breeze kept the temperature reasonable, and I found the walking to be very pleasant. I walked along the main road between the two towns, keeping to the shoulder for shade and protection from vehicles.
I ended up going all the way to Ifrane, and the exercise and time in the hinterland was everything that I hoped that it would be. To be honest, I have found myself at times on this trip wondering why I have returned to Morocco. The places that I visit no longer hold the same mystery as they used to, as my familiarity with the country and many of its towns and cities have robbed me of a bit of the old excitement that I used to feel.
This walk, however, reminded me of my reasons for returning, refueling my desire to learn more of this country and to meet more of its inhabitants. At one point, about five kilometers into the walk, I crossed the road to sit outside a shop. Some locals were there, enjoying the shade as I was, and we began to talk a bit. They asked where I was going, where I was from, etc. I ate a bit of bread and drank some water and said goodbye, commencing once again my walk to Ifrane.
About a minute down the road, I turned back, called by one of the men with whom I had been sitting. He waved me back, and I returned, wondering why he was calling me. As I approached, I saw a silver platter sitting in the shade. Bread, butter, and tea sat there, and the man told me, "Eat, eat."
I sat back down and followed his instructions. Soon a woman came out, her young son clinging to her skirt. She gave me more tea and said hello, smiling at me. She made her son say hello to me and kiss my cheek. He then ran to hide shyly behind his mother's leg, peeking out on occasion. Each time that he did so, I would make a face at him, and he would hide again, laughing.
I continued to walk, passing little stores, school children, and other people walking. The air became slightly thinner as I moved farther up in the mountains. Suddenly, after passing rather humble houses, I came upon a spot where construction workers were busy building what appeared to be a palace. They worked on both sides of the road, building turrets and towers, walls and irrigation ditches. The place was huge, and extended far up the mountain and down into the valley. After asking a number of people (French only goes so far outside of the big cities), someone finally explained to me that someone from Abhou Dhabi was building some sort of resort there. Truly a strange contrast out there in the middle of nowhere. I took a photograph, but it was impossible to do justice to the place.
Down the road I went, passing a grouping of touristy shacks selling fossils (quite a common item for sale in Morocco) and other trinkets. I took some pictures of the monkeys that were hanging around the place, spoke with some guys in the area, and continued down the road.
Ten kilometers or so later, I reached Ifrane, a beautiful, strange town. Ifrane is home to an elite university called University Al Akhawayan. The University is based on the American system, and classes are taught in English. From what the Lonely Planet Guide Book tells me, this is place for the Moroccan political and economic elite, and the town and its inhabitants give the same impression.
It was bizarre, leaving the wooded mountain landscape and entering Ifrane. There, the roads are wide and lined with huge, shade-providing trees. A massive park takes up much of the town, and sprinklers and gardeners alike hydrate the vegetation with intensity. Children with book bags passed me by, looking at me, one occasionally saying, "Hi!" before nearly falling down laughing, seemingly amazed by their own courage. At one point, I stopped someone to ask for directions to the town center. "Do you speak English?" he asked me in response to my own question in French, "I speak English more fluently than French." This alone is an anomaly here in Morocco.
Even stranger than the presence of English in this small town was the architecture, which betrayed the town's history as a creation of the French "Protectorate" in the 1930's. Nearly all of the houses resembled nothing so much as Swiss chalets, complete with gardens and fountains. It should come as little surprise, then, that only 20 kilometers away lies one of the premier Moroccan ski resorts.
I finished my tour of Ifrane with an espresso, sore and tired. Some men at the cafe asked me how my walk had gone, and responded to my questioning look by explaining that they had seen me many miles before, at the site of the tourist shacks and the monkeys (Barbary apes, actually). The taxi ride back took only fifteen minutes, and in that short time, I saw all that it had taken me three or four hours to walk.
Tonight: calm relaxation, a nice dinner, and an early bedtime. Tomorrow: Midelt.
Ah! And one more piece of exciting news. I will be returning to Europe and the Iberian Peninsula earlier than expected. Ellen arrives on the 21st of June in Lisbon, and we will spend six days soaking up the sun of the Portuguese beaches, before I need to head to work in Southern Spain. After she leaves, I will have one week to kill before work begins, and I hope to visit some of the weirdo hippie encampments in the mountains outside of Granada.
More soon.
No comments:
Post a Comment