Morocco Part 3: From Imlil to the Sahara

The Altitude Aftermath

The morning after Trekking Toubkal we get up early for breakfast noticing our legs have seized up , mine feel like they someone has been punching them all night while I slept. Known medically as ‘DOMS’ or ‘Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness’ this fun gift from the mountain is short term muscle damage brought on by intense exercise. After I manage to shuffle down the small set of steps outside of our room like a 90 year old man I join the guys from breakfast which is quite simple the highlight being we no longer have to avoid caffeine now we are not at high altitude. When we are done, we finish packing and on go our desert boots, linen shirts, hats and shemaghs. We check out of the hotel to meet our driver outside and I wobble over to the car like a man with two wooden legs. Mohamed waves us off and vanishes in the rear view as we drive out of Imlil bound for Dades and later the Sahara.

Lost In Translation

It’s a six and a half hour drive between Imlil and our overnight stop in Dades around 235 miles (378km) away. I don’t think we had all considering how far we would be travelling to reach the edge of the Sahara. From Dades the journey will be another four hours, around 165 miles (265km) to Merzouga where we enter the North Western Sahara and the Erg Chebbi dunes. We quickly establish that our driver doesn’t speak a lot of English so communication is going to be a struggle which is our own fault really. I don’t think any of us especially me would have imagined that one day they would be bouncing down dusty roads in the Sub-Saharan region of Morocco, towards the largest hot desert on the planet. As they say, ‘hindsight is always 20/20’ and I reflect on this as the driver explains to us he speaks more French than English. Considering my French extends about as far as asking for a steak and saying ‘yes’, I don’t think we are going to be having any long conversations. Dusty landscapes roll past the windows of the car and I start to nod off again, stretching myself out so I don’t curl up like desiccated corpse while I’m sleeping. When I wake again we are driving past dried out river beds , trees cling to their sides living on what hidden moisture exists under the hot gravel where water flowed once. The car tires hum on the tarmac which is hot enough to fry an egg on at this point as cliffs of banded and eroded limestone appear all around us. The road stretches as far as the eye can see into the distance an the often repetitive scenes are occasionally broken by a road side shack, the odd dust caked and battered vehicle passing us and lone shepherds driving their flocks of goats across the baked ground to who knows where.

Eventually we find ourselves on a road above a seemingly abandoned village and the driver suggests we stop for a break and take some pictures. Many old and abandoned villages in this area have been used for filming locations, this may even be one of them and you can see why. Despite my best efforts I’ve not managed to identify which village this one is, so if you know feel free to drop a message in the blog comments! Brief exposure to the increasing heat makes us glad to get back to the aircon of the taxi, and we drive now to the the nearby ‘Hollywood Of Africa’ Hotel and Restaurant I assume that it’s so called due to the amount of film crews that pass through this area. After some great food and a cold beer the hotel manager and driver offer to have us guided around the local area and we think on this deciding that we are all too tired, what’s more at this point I am really struggling to walk. I have to use Google translate to type this into Arabic and explain we just want to get to the hotel in Dades and rest before the desert

Leaving the hotel we soon find ourselves driving through vast rocky plateaus known as Hamadas where the sand and soil has been eroded away leaving basalt rocks and boulders. I can imagine being lost out on these brutal looking barren plateaus would be difficult to survive and Hamadas make up the majority of the Sahara Desert rather than the sand people tend to associate with the area.

Rain In The Desert

While driving down what is known as ‘the road of a thousand kasbahs’ it surprisingly starts to rain in one of the driest places on earth during peak summer. It’s unusual but not unheard of for this to happen being as we are on the edge of the Sahara rather than in the middle of it. The rain gets increasingly heavy, clattering loudly on the roof of the car and when it eventually stops we find ourselves heaving up the steep roads into the Dades gorges area.

We are relieved when we stop for the evening at the Dar Essyaha Hotel, I shuffle into the lobby the manager seeing me and laughing, making the gesture for using hiking poles with his hands. I’m clearly not the first person he’s seen pass through here who ascended Toubkal first. He greets us warmly and the staff show us to our room which considering our budget is very nice. The hotel looks almost palace-like inside and is full of Berber symbols, outside a balcony runs around the edge of the hotel looking out over the gorge with some amazing views and they even serve beer which is great after a long day. I’d love to come back this way again and see more of the Dades region and if I did I would definitely stay here again, it’s a lovely place and a nice bit of luxury after hiking up Toubkal and sleeping in dormitories on previous days.

The sun sets over Dades as we enjoy cold beers while the moon shines incredibly brightly in the sky, below in the gorge the squawks and growls of night creatures travel up to us above mixed with the chirping of insects. The sky is clear and there’s almost no light pollution out here either. In the lamplight we discuss what we think the Sahara will be like before the tiredness from the previous days catches up with us and we head to bed in case we fall asleep on the balcony.

The following day we all awake feeling fresh and have a great Shakshuka and flatbreads while enjoying the view from the balcony in the warming morning air. While enjoying my coffee the realisation I’m swapping this for a sandy tent in the desert sinks in.

Lawrence Of Temu

We drive through more arid landscapes occasionally broken by small traditional villages before our taxi driver stops at a roadside stall selling all sorts of Moroccan trinkets. None of us really want anything but to stretch our legs however the seller actually goes as far as to wrap us in the traditional headscarves he is selling and we just give up resisting and say we will have them. He shows us how to wear them correctly and starts rapidly wrapping us up like Egyptian mummies but lets me honest here we look like a bunch of dickheads, like someone ordered Lawrence of Arabia from Temu. These suit the locals way better than they suit us, and there’s no way they are worth what we pay for them. He also manages to sell me some jewellery though I pass at the one for protection for the evil eye, because at this point I’d quite like an amulet of protection against salesmen! Later we stop again for a short moment in one of the gorges, take in the immense steepness of it and watch the many goats pass us by before our driver tells us he is taking us somewhere to have some tea.

Backstreet Rug Dealer

We already clocked this is an attempt to sell us some rugs before the chap explains what they do here so it’s no surprise when he starts making a huge stack of carpets and rugs in front of us like he thinks we are from Dunelm’s buying department while we drink mint tea. Unlike most mass produced rugs and carpets however he explains that the patterns on the rugs actually have important symbolism to the Berber and the pile of rugs grows considerably as he tells us the story of each rug, that some patterns represent journeys, the sun, rivers, the symbol for protection from the evil eye and much, much more. Who knew rugs could have such a story behind them? It is fascinating and as much as I’d love to pick a rug that had a special meaning to me as a memento, however we all have to explain we really don’t have the room in our luggage to take these back with us. This is an issue they seem to have faced before so they show us their impressive packing technique they have come up with (likely due to other people saying the same thing) , we really don’t have the weight or space to take anything but a few small trinkets each.

Saharan Tarmac Pirate

We leave the house of a million rugs and carry on our long journey to the desert and as we leave the town, passing though a steep part of a gorge we notice a lone police car partly hidden just off the road. Our driver looks concerned and considering what’s about to happen he is right to be, we pass by breathing a collective premature sigh of relief because suddenly the cop stops us. We haven’t done anything wrong, it’s just that this policeman has noticed the taxi has tourists in it so he’s decided to engage in a spot of extortion. First the driver gets called over to speak to him and moments later he comes back looking scared and tells us the officer is coming over to speak to us and he will translate. Turning up at the passenger side window like he thinks he’s in a law and order episode the officer asks to see our passports and Rob has to take his seat belt off to reach his while we are stopped at the side of the road engine off not moving. The officer watches Rob do this and then points and says ‘no seatbelt’ so we know what his game is. He might as well have gone round the back of the car to smash a headlight and tell us our lights out. And then we have to pay him 500dh and still struggle to get our passports off him after that – there’s no ticket and nothing official. A few sources online also point to the official fine being around 300dh and there’s only a fine if you are in the front of the vehicle which Rob is not. If this was the UK we’d fight this obviously however we are in the Saharan region of Morocco and it’s not worth it, it’s scary, frustrating and infuriating. Unfortunately though corruption isn’t a rare thing in Morocco which is evidenced by a long list of articles online, something to be wary of if you come here as a tourist.

Groove Hamada

/After having our wallets lightened by the local PD we continue on our way to Merzouga through Tinejadad, Jorf, and Erfoud through yet more wild and rocky landscapes. The towns become basic the scenery rocky plateaus devoid of sand and strewn with pebbles. Known as Hamada these plateaus make up most of the Sahara and are one of the last places you’d want to get lost in. I’m listening to the many creaks the vehicle is making and wondering if I should have brought more water despite us having about 10 litres between us. Passing a dusty looking herd of camels chewing and looking at us vacantly I think about the story of Frenchman Frenchman Emile Leray. As the story goes after damaging his cars axel Emile spent twelve days rebuilding it into a motorcycle to escape the desert. There’s disagreement about if this was possible and a reaction to the situation or something he’d intended to do all along, however it’s a great story. Here’s a link below to get you going if you want to know more about it.

During one of our many pee stops we pull up in a small town for Andy sort himself out and having the van doors open briefly turns out to be a mistake as almost instantly a kid magically appears in front of me trying to sell me jars to fill with Saharan Sand. I’m not in the market for any jars and he leaves only to be replaced by another kid who actually tries to sell me sand. Thankfully Andy re-appears and we start driving again back into the wilderness until out of the haze appear roadside stalls and desert outcrops with rocks arranged into words declaring ‘fossil, mineral shop’ making sure you know you can spent yet more Dihram. But this time on rocks. Which are technically free.

The Legend Of The Erg Chebbi Dunes

Signs of vegetation begin to vanish, and in the 40 degree Celsius peak of the Saharan day the flat and featureless land is only occasionally broken by the silvery shimmer of mirages looking like water in the distance. From these shimmers the towering Erg Chebbi dunes slowly appear over the horizon, vast mountains of sand dwarfing Merzouga below them.

The legend goes that a young female traveller needed food and hospitality, and instead of helping the wealthy families of Merzouga turned her away. In another it’s a wealthy couple turning people away and in some versions it is a mother traveller and a child being turned away , either way it’s said this angered god who sent a sandstorm to bury the village under the sand. It’s said that you can still hear the howls of those buried by the wrath of god. Soon we are turning off the main road onto a bumpy track to the desert, through some mud houses and we park up near a riad. The place looks very African maybe because it seems to be mainly constructed of mud and there’s rugs and camel skulls everywhere and I would kick back and relax with the fifth mint tea we have had laid out in front of us today however I really know what the plan is. So I head up to the reception desk to find out and I’m told we can go into the desert by camel or jeep. I don’t think we are going to get the full experience without involving camels so I set it up that we will go into the desert on camels and return in a jeep. I’m told we we leave in an hour and a half but In the mean while we are welcome to use the Riad’s pool. Turning around to look through the doorway I see the pool which is currently about 20/80 sand to water with a small sandstorm or large dust devil whipping across it sand blasting it’s occupants so I decide to pass. Little do I know this would have been the closest I’d have got to a wash in two days.

Andy and I decide to quickly explore outside the hotel around Merzouga and walk through the low mud houses to the edge of the desert. There’s some thunder and the sky becomes grey and dusty, a sandstorm whips through the streets and the call to prayer abruptly blasts from a crackly unseen speaker of a mosque in front of us. It sets a scene and soundscape you would expect from an adventure film ‘middle of nowhere at the edge of the desert. Deciding to return to the hotel and turning back up the street we came down a wall of wind and sand kicks up ahead of us, whipping us around any exposed skin. Despite knowing this would happen apparently we both chose to wear shorts anyway.

Camel Express

When we return to join Rob at the hotel reception the manager rises, announcing ‘we are going’ and leads us to a 4×4. Getting into the vehicle my first thought is of how anything mechanical survives in a place this dusty, I half expect a small sandstorm to whip out of the vents when he puts the A/C on. We take a bumpy ride to where the camel handlers and a group of unimpressed looking camels wait. I suppose camels always look unimpressed and bored, I probably would if I just stared at sand all day. We share an apprehensive look as the camel handler in his long robes and headscarf gets the line of camels to begrudgingly kneel on the ground for us to climb on. Andy’s camel seems very grumpy even though it has the best deal as Andy weighs hardly anything. Despite this he still manages to get on it without many issues besides noises of protest. Rob has no issue with his either so I think I’m going to be the unlucky one, it turns out however the camel isn’t the issue it’s me. After the Toubkal hike I’m still proper seized up and I struggle to get my leg over my camel who I’ve already mentally named sandy. In fact I’m so mullered that I have to grab my right leg that is refusing to bend all the way and lift it over the humps and I have to laugh because the situation couldn’t be any more ridiculous. Desert rat I am not, maybe something else that rhymes with that.

When I’ve finished embarrassing my camel I finally managing to get on it, when the handler gives them all a command to rise. I’m glad I’m holding onto the big metal handle on the saddle that distinctly reminds me of the handle you’d find on a kids seesaw because a spilt second later Sandy (the camel) stands up and I find myself at a 45 degree angle above the sandy ground then sat straight again about two metres in the air. Falling off at this point wouldn’t be good because falling on sand is like hitting a brick wall, so I make a conscious note not to piss Sandy off. Trotting towards the desert led by the guide the hamada gives way to sand and apart from the wind it is strangely quiet, the silence only broken by the occasional heavy ‘bomf’ noise of a camel hoof and grunt. There’s an otherworldly feeling as as the dunes stretch out in all directions, a vast sea of sand as far as we can see. It starts to slowly sink in that we are now part way into the largest hot desert in the world, putting our trust in a lone camel train leader we don’t even know. The wind and sand aggressively whistles around us highlighting exactly why we all decided to wear face coverings, I’m still in shorts though so I’m still getting a brutal exfoliation anyway. The camels are tied closely together and for some reason the Spanish speaking fella in front of me decides it’s a great time to start patting the head of my camel as we move. I’d tell him to stop, because if the animal doesn’t like this it’ll be me that gets thrown, but the wind is way too loud for anyone to be heard, luckily ‘sandy’ doesn’t seem to mind, in fact doesn’t seem to even register this. I decide maybe I should try bonding a bit being as It’s carrying my fat ass into the desert and stoke it’s head a bit, having never done this before I could describe it as not too far off how it feels touching the scouring bit on the back of a washing up sponge.

Desert Camps And The Universal Language Of Awkward Silence

The further we travel the larger the dunes are get, and the tighter my grip becomes on the saddle as my camel starts walking up them and when we are quite high up our guide calls a break. We dismount and take a few cool photos of the desert together before moving on again. Soon camps can be seen below like small white dots on the horizon before our camels slowly descend the dunes. Arriving at the camp we dismount and I’m looking forward to chilling out, doing a bit of exploring and doing whatever you do at night in the desert. We go to say goodbye and thanks to our camel driver but instead he sits down in front of the lead camel and says ‘I show you’. None of us are surprised when he starts getting stuff out of his bag to try and sell us and he lays out some geodes, sand collecting jars and not the best carving of a camel I have seen on the floor in front of him and looks expectantly at us. We all glance at each other, me and rob, andy at rob, all of us at the Spanish couple and back to the fella sitting in front of his pile of nick nacks in one big international awkward moment in the sandy desert winds. I’m kinda hoping one of the camels lets a fart go to break the awkward silence before any tumbleweed trundles past and makes this feel any more uncomfortable. We have all clearly had too many people try and sell us stuff since arriving in Morocco we haven’t wanted and too often. The guys slowly and pointedly puts the items away, maybe thinking we will suddenly change our minds. I especially don’t need a jar for sand because I’m pretty sure I could sneeze out a full jar of it anyway at this point and I have enough down my ears to build a mini sandcastle.

In-tentsely Uncomfortable

Inside the camp one of the guys running it tells us what time dinner is and we are shown to our tent to settle in, then the staff vanish. It’s quite spacious and fairly impressive as tent’s go with it’s own sink and shower though it is pretty dark in here and we realise it’s because they are struggling to get the generator working so the whole camp isn’t lit. The shower we were all excited to see doesn’t really work very well either it barely pumps out a trickle and though we were expecting it to be hot and a bit uncomfortable out here not being able to wash properly sucks.

Heading to the main tent for dinner we have yet another tagine placed in front of us, and at this point I’m so bored of these I’d rather have had a plate of crispy fried scorpions in front of me for some variety. The staff tell us that tomorrow we should get up at 5am to watch the sunrise then have breakfast so I guess the plan for this evening is no plan. Being as there’s nothing happening I tell the guys I’m heading out to explore the dunes a in the dark and take a few photos, there might be bugger all going on but I’m not wasting my time here so I quickly head back to the tent, grab some snacks and water sling my tripod over my shoulder, set my GPS and head out into the approaching night. Trudging out into the desert I see some movement on the sand and notice a lone dung beetle frantically rolling a bit of camel poop away. Considering the amount of it around here it’ll be kept busy but talk about a shit way to survive in the desert. After a short hike I arrive at the foot of the first dune I start hiking up which is pretty hard work though I’ve had plenty of practice hiking up, before long I’m at the top of the largest few that are closest to the camp. While I’m setting up my tripod on top of the dune I hear Andy shouting to me and soon he’s on top of the dune with me. I guess I was pretty easy to find with a headtorch that’s like having the sun strapped to my head. We get some decent photos and look at the stars a bit then head back to camp.

When we get back we have just been left to our own devices there’s not a even a campfire, Rob is talking to a young Irish woman who’s apparently just been stranded here without here original tour party who were placed in another camp. When she got here she tells us there were three male camp staff in her tent which sounds awkward and strange so for obvious reasons being a lone traveller she doesn’t feel safe. We say she is welcome to join us if she feels better though she befriends the Spanish couple in their tent, which may be the best idea. After a bit of chatting and wishing I’d brought a big bottle of whiskey from the duty free on the way here we decide to turn in, hang all our boots off the ground by the laces from the coat rack just in case there’s any scorpions around and try and get some sleep. Trying to get some rest is difficult even with my earplugs in, the sound of distant drums surround us like we are trapped in Jumanji or something. Apparently the other camps are having a party we are not invited to and as cool as the atmosphere from the drumming it doesn’t help us sleep.

Dawn Over The Desert

At 5:30 having barely slept I get myself ready to head out again as it is pointless waiting for any prompt from the guys running the camp. I decide to make the best of the situation, leave the tent which feels like an actual sauna, grab a load of water my shades and Shemagh (face scarf) and run off into the dunes to catch the sunrise and some time by myself in the desert. In the light blue of the approaching dawn the moon still shines in the sky and I set off for the highest dune I can get on top of without the camp completely vanishing behind me. Sand dunes here can reach up to 150m the largest being Lala Lallia, which means “the highest sacred point” I don’t think I’m anywhere near that one however. The sun slowly rises and the sands turn golden in the dawn light and I take a couple of decent photos.

Its at this point I spot a camel train moving below which is not properly in the shot though so I make a snap decision to run over a few dunes in the hope I can position myself better. It’s hard going and I just about make it over the dunes in time before the camel train vanishes behind some more. The effort of running over the dunes totally pays off.

When I get my breath back I look out at the dunes thinking of my own mortality because staring at this landscape that’s millennia old, I realise I’m not really bothered by the idea of dying eventually as such as I am by the idea that there’s no way I’ll do all the things I want to do in my lifetime. On a less philosophical tip I’m pretty sure sand has blown down my butt crack during my run over the dunes. In Arabic the desert is Al-Ṣaḥrāʾ al-Kubrā which means ‘ the great desert’ and it is largest hot desert on earth and though we think of sand when we think of the Sahara actually only around a quarter of the Sahara has sand dunes and sand sheets.

But Is It The Actual Sahara

Erg Chebbi is the North Western Region of the Saharan desert, and though some seem to voice the opinion it isn’t the ‘true Sahara’ if you spend a bit of time looking at research papers, it is part of the Sahara. It’s not the dead middle of the desert but if you take a good look on Google Earth if you were lost out here – I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be arguing over the geography. If it really matters to you then there’s always papers like this one from the University of Heidelberg – Institut of Geography who I’m 99.9% certain can define a desert area that describe it as “Erg Chebbi, one of the smallest ergs in the Sahara”

Erg Chebbi And The TafilaltTaouz Region SE Morocco_-_A new study site for star dune development

Leaving my vantage point atop the larger dunes I see in the distance a group of figures I recognise including Andy and Rob sitting on a small dune watching the sun rise further in the sky so I do what any good friend would do and start sneaking through the dunes to come up behind them and give them a jump scare. Popping up behind them I chime into their conversation with ‘Alright dickheads?’ They both seem to be in a better mood today, it’s hard not to be watching the sunrise in such an epic place. Andy saw me heading into the dunes earlier and got a great shot of me , which I’m mega chuffed with being as it’s usually me that ends up being group photographer.

The Journey Home

After a basic breakfast we are packed into a 4×4 and head out of the desert, the way the jeep bounces up and down is like being in a boat on a rough sea, it’s pretty fun though maybe not so for the Spanish couple who opted to sit in the trailer bit of the jeep who look like they are holding on for their lives. I’m half expecting to see one of them fly out of the vehicle at any moment. When we get dropped back with our taxi driver for the huge journey back to Marrakech, and along the way we see our old friend the dodgy cop, now with other officers and we all have a good laugh as he stares us out. We know he probably won’t try and extort us again with so many colleagues around and it’s not a surprise when we drive straight through. We are all looking forward to getting back to Marrakech, having a proper shower and heading to our favourite restaurant to order something that isn’t a tagine. Returning to Marrakech it’s a relief to wash up and get the sand out of my ear holes and it feels almost cool here in about 35 degrees compared to the blistering temperature of the Sahara, it’s been an epic adventure that’s for sure. Tomorrow it’s time to head home, and I’m looking forward to sitting down and writing with a cup of tea in the far less stifling English summer.