Morocco's Marvelous Mountain

From Marakech we wound our way up and down through the Atlas Mountains with spectacular panoramas over every ridge to marvel at.

The mud rendered dwellings blended into the landscape. In each area the shade of brown varied to match the local mud.



Along the sides of the road men attempted to sell us what ever their local produce was, through the mountains it was usually rocks, natural or carved. In some places little stalls were set up like this, but in many places they appeared from no where carrying their basket of wares when we stopped to take photographs. I had a few anxious pees hoping no one turned up midstream!!

The top of the Draa River valley has rocky red cliffs as awesome as central Australia.  One area has large fingers of rock reaching up like eroding statues of people.  I mused that Australia’s aboriginals would have had fabulous dreaming stories about how such geology was created. 



This was the view from our hotel. With great interest I watched farming activity in the fertile valley floor. Each plot had an earth border which was opened to allow water to  flow through one small section at a time.

This is taken a lot further down the river where dates are grown and it shows the way they do this much better. (The borrowed camera I am using has limited zoom... the special cord for charging mine is still in Tassie somewhere...) 

  

  

In areas away from this fertile valley the land sometimes looked so arid that I could not see how they grew food or kept animals fed and  I wondered how villages like this existed. Sometimes we saw herds of goats or sheep roaming where there appeared to be nothing for them to eat.  

As the land was unfenced the herds were tended by men or women with a dog or two. I was surprised that we did not see any causing hazards on the road as they even grazed right next to busy 4 lane highways.

As we travelled through the rural areas I was in awe of the women I saw toiling in the fields. Carrying huge bundles tied to their backs or balanced on their heads. Washing clothes in rivers and hanging them over trees or rocks to dry. Riding on a donkeys back or in the cart it drew, or walking beside it as it was too laden to carry her as well. Frequently with one or two small children accompanying them. 

That's clean washing spread out on the rocks under those power lines.

 

It surprised me to see small children, babies really, sitting unaided on a donkey or motor bike, understanding their need to sit still to stay safe. I can’t imagine our children doing this. Or littlies amused themselves in the dirt in the fields. The only ‘toy’ I saw kids with was a ball, others used sticks, stones  or  old plastic bottles  for their games.  Many asked us for sweets, pens or money, often it seemed to have become habit rather than any need. I was concerned to see many kids with rotting teeth. Giorgio said this is seen as a positive indicating wealth or success in Morocco. Married women were encouraged to become fatter to show they were well provided for by their husband.

Each town has a donkey/horse and cart parking area on the edge rather than a car park like ours. Travelling after sunset was dangerous as they don’t fit lights to beast or cart, or neglect to use them on bikes, with or without motors. Many people ride tiny motor bikes that also have pedals to help  get them started and up the hills.

We stopped and talked to a group of young women and children who were rinsing freshly dyed wool in a stream. They seemed pleased with my interest in their work, happily posing for photos and explaining in the little  language they shared with  Giorgio  that the wool was for rug weaving.  It was such an asset that Giorgio is fluent in French and knows enough Arabic to communicate necessities, plus a little Berber, as these are the languages of Morocco.

I love the undisguised curiosity of these kids. The young women kindly invited us to eat lunch with them but we reluctantly declined  as we needed to keep travelling.