Where to Next? Back to Iframe and Marrakech!!

During the night, Alan and I discussed some realistic options considering the distance we had to travel to get back to Marrakech to see him off. One of them was to rent a car and drive back via another route, up and over the Atlas Mountains, coming into Marrakech from due east, via the Dades Gorge and some of the most scenic high passes in the country. The only problem was that this would add significant drive time – because it’s the only other road option – and because those roads are less maintained than the main one that took us to Fes. And, because they were mountain roads, the speed levels would be limited and the route much more circuitous (although more picturesque). Not to mention the inherent danger, with sheep and goats ranging the countryside, of driving in this area at night.

So, we decided to rent a car, with air conditioning, and drive back part way the way we’d come to Fes. Then, we’d take an eastward tack to go up to Azilal and Denmante in the High Atlas, which loops back down to Marrakech. This offered us some cooler mountain temperatures and a variety of scenery for the second half of the drive.

But first, we met with Tony and Mohammed in the morning at the Riad El Yacout. They had a few errands to run, and Alan and I were going to roam the medina somewhat before meeting them at a pre-ordained destination. I think they seriously doubted that we’d be able to find the place to meet them and, since Alan brought his mobile phone, they were likely expecting a call from us for directions. The medina in Fes is reputed to have nearly 10,000 “streets”, though tiny, snaking, labyrinthine alleyways is a more apt description, and to date, it has never been thoroughly mapped. It’s one of the only medinas in the world (other than Cairo’s) where, unless you have a day to find your way back out, you often do require the help of a local or guide to get you to your desired destination. Unless you’re strictly wandering.

Alan and I started off in and around the medina, knowing that the further downhill you go, the deeper you get. We walked by horse stables, bakeries, tanneries, tailors, butchers, weavers, metal smiths, carpet shops, vegetable and spice markets, clothing markets, and general bric-a-brac and knick-knack stalls. Then, we tapped a local on the shoulder, asked him to take us to the ordained destination, and got there without a hitch.

Here’s the interesting part. We beat Mohammed (the Fes native) and Tony to the meeting place. When we did call them, is was to flaunt that we were ready and waiting….what was taking them so long??!

Errands completed, Alan and I needed to head back to the Riad, collect our bags, and pick up a rental car. Mohammed expressed some concern about being able to rent a car on a Sunday, almost guaranteeing us that it couldn’t be done. But I like a challenge. Back at the Riad, with a mixture of French and English, I was able to contact a local car rental service – because, indeed, the majors like Avis, National, Budget, Alamo, etc were closed on Sunday. The car rental industry in Morocco is different than that in many other countries. It’s almost expected that you’ll rent on a one-way circuit, and the agency sends someone to meet you at the end of the drive and take the car back to the point of origin. Also, most rental cars are standard. So, when Hassan showed up, bringing the car to the Riad, I was quite pleased with myself. I was able to negotiate a rate better than the range indicated by Lonely Planet, and in French. And, lucky for me, I can drive a stick shift.

When Tony and Mohammed showed up, they were a bit surprised about my accomplishment. They don’t know me so well, apparently. At any rate, Tony still had some free time on his hands, but Mohammed had to go back to New York, so we thanked him and wished him well, and accepted some money from Tony for a shared ride back to Marrakech. I wanted to keep the car and head to Essaouira afterward, one of my favorite spots in Morocco, before heading back to the Casablanca Airport where the agency rep was to meet me and retrieve the car.

By this time it was late in the afternoon, the car was almost out of gas, and we didn’t have much daylight for driving. So we decided to go as far as Iframe – after our descriptions of it to Alan, he was intrigued by seeing something so different, yet Moroccan.

We headed out into Fes traffic, and this was the most difficult part of the driving. Having said that, the roads are well signposted and cared for, and the first part of the drive is 4-lane road up into the mountains. We had beautiful end of day, golden-light…and arrived in Iframe just in time for a few rounds of beer and a trip to the market. Tony went back to the same apartment folks that we’d rented from previously – by renting directly from the owners we could save a little money that would normally be the samsar’s cut. They had a bigger unit with more bedrooms available, so after securing that, we decided to cook up a meal and crack open the Vodka that Alan brought, having a night in, with good company.

Then things got very silly. In my journal, I repeated myself 3 or 4 times – but am still surprised I had the discipline to write at all that night. We knocked off several beers and a few bottles of wine before getting into the vodka. Tony was again cooking, this time a Spanish Tortilla.

Being from Texas, I had my doubts about how a big tortilla was going to feed all 3 of us. Near Mexico, this is essentially flour or corn flat bread that’s used as a wrap for other ingredients. Apparently it’s something completely different in Spain. And Tony loves to cook. So, this was going to be like a big potato and vegetable has, that in theory, you can flip in a saucepan like an omelet. Unfortunately, the saucepan was not up to the task, and the handle bent under the weight of the food. Tony was getting more and more animated in his frustration with the lack of quality kitchenware, and Alan and I were getting the giggles. Tony got so frustrated in the kitchen that we’d often hear a string of rapid-fire Spanish echoing from around the corner.

As the night and the hilarity wore on, the men engaged in discussion of physical fitness – I suppose as men are wont to do. It became quite funny, then, when Tony was demonstrating a kind of all-body type of push up (more akin to yoga’s downward dog pose), and then some kick-boxing squats, which Alan was dutifully trying.

After a late night, we started our drive south in the morning. I started driving, and literally after 8 hours behind the wheel – because it was so much fun – it only felt like 4. The roads were narrow, incredibly windy, and immensely fun to rip through.

We again passed by the dammed lake in the center of the country, where we got out, again, for the obligatory leg-stretch and view. There is a young boy who haunts this pullout. He plays a home-made stringed instrument made from a rusted out can. It has two strings, but this boy can make that squawk box sing. We gave him some snacks and dirham to play an Irish Jig, which I tried to jig to, and Tony belly danced to. It was good fun.

By afternoon we had reached Azilal, an incredibly picturesque town in the High Atlas, that strangely, is not hugely touristified yet. It’s got the best of what I love about Utah and Wyoming – mountains, red rock canyons and cliffs – supported by systems of artesian wells and year-round water. The only thing missing were bears and moose. I felt as though this was the place I’ve been looking for over the last decade.

Later, I needed a rest stop, so we pulled off at a small village gas station, only to find a field mobbed with people on the other side, partially blocking the road. We went over to see what was happening, and learned that this village was having its annual celebration of the locals having turned back nomadic tribes, centuries ago. The demonstration included outfitted men riding equally outfitted horses, and toting musket-like guns with abundant silversmithing. Various bands of the riders would start from one side of the field, allowing their horses to dance and trot forward a bit, before charging the other side – guns raised, women ululating, and finally, guns firing as they approached the opposite side. This continued back and forth for some time. Men on the sidelines were betting on various horses (or riders). It was a thrilling, completely serendipitous moment.

Beyond that, it was a relatively uneventful drive back into Marrakech. We wanted to get an easy-to-get-to hotel, because traffic there is unreal. Tony drove the last portion of the stretch, because I didn’t want to try my luck in Marrakech.

After finding a hotel in the Ville Nouvelle (new city), we settled in for a few beers. Tony had another friend from Spain, another Mohammed, who lived in Marrakech, and he joined us for drinks and a game or two of pool before heading home. Alan and I were kind of wiped out from the day (Tony frequently catnapped in the cool comfort of the back seat of the car), so we opted to have a night in and catch up on news, gossip, and all the other good stuff to know that’s happened since we last saw each other a year ago in Singapore.