Chez Belkecem, Drâa-Tafilalet, MoroccoMonday April 14, 2025
What a difference a night can make. A stark blue sky, no clouds anywhere, the sun shines gently on the apple orchard, where the first purple blossoms are appearing.
After breakfast we walk a little down the road and see that along the river the fields are still under water. The river itself is a brown gurgling stream. But there is definitely less water.
After saying goodbye to the inn keeper, who has been very nice to us, we reverse course and head back into the mountains.
This is really a poor village; there are hardly any cars and the berbers work together in the field. Near the village they carry branches to clear a small field.
There is no gas station and they only sell gasoline by the bottle.
According to our inn keeper we have enough gas to reach Tinghir where there is a gas station.
In the sunshine, and without hurry, the mountains seem a lot less formidable. They are nevertheless very impressive: tall, bare, giant piles of rubble they seem. On the upper ridges are tiny specks of snow. The temperature is 8 C and everything seems to be hard, cold and cruel.
Nevertheless some poor souls seem to survive amidst the rocks. I see a piece of dirty plastic that must act as a tent - hunderds of meters (yards) away on the other side of the rock strewn river bed.
We slow down for a picture of the mountains and a dark clad person appears and starts to run over the rocks and stones toward us. From far away he already starts to make gestures of money. Whoever has taught this person to beg?
Far before he can reach us we continue our voyage over the mountains.
Again we reach the Todgha Gorge. It is much busier now. Buses with tourists stop in the gorge. We see people doing rock climbing. The metal pins are already in the rock, and the tourists climb and attach the ropes, while at the bottom of the cliff one person holds the controlling rope in case the climber falls.
We work our way through the crowds and after filling up in Tinghir we start to head south.
The sun is sharp and the airco is not keeping up with the heat, so the windows are open often.
We stop at a road side restaurant where - to my surprise - I don’t see any moroccans eating, but more than a hundred foreigners. Next to me are three belgian girls. Like us they have rented a car and travel around. I ask and they indicate they have not had any trouble traveling as three girls in shorts and miniskirt. Except several times that the car is stopped by young boys demanding money.
As they didn’t have any all they could give was a cookie. They warn us of a village we will have to pass through where the road is partially closed and you have to slow down.
When we reach the village there is a giant puddle blocking the road. And indeed all kinds of boys direct us to stop. Stand in front of the car, tap the windows. We pass several until we can go no farther.
I open my window and talk to them, and they are really not bad boys. They tell us the obvious: the road is closed, and they point to a narrow dirt track next to a house that we should take to go around it. Several already go in front to show the way.
But I don’t trust them enough to follow a whole group into an unknown muddy tight alley and I catch the eye of an older man.
When he approaches the boys become quiet.
We end up turning around and taking a different side road and bypassing the puddle. Still chased by some boys who insist on telling us where to go.
Then the desert begins. Women here wear a black cape with on the back a band of bringt red decorations.
The temperature increases. In the desert are hunderds of mini dunes. As if trucks have dumped there load everywhere.
An hour later there are advertisement signs fossils everywhere. It’s written on hillsides with stones, and shops appear in the desert.
Later again it is empty waste land, until on the horizon large sand dunes appear that are distinctly red in color.
This is our destination.
A town appears. We see quad rentals, and fourwheel drive off roading. A group of camels is shepherded over the plane.
In the town we find our inn. Mohammed, the owner, is very talkative. He used to be a camel driver, until he had saves enough to build this inn. And now he is making so much money, he can’t believe it himself. He also organizes trips and visits to the desert, he keeps talking, but it’s entertaining, and I like the business aspect. Everytime I see tourists here I realise how their money is allowing the locals to improve their lifestyle. This man is a good example.
We relax in our room, Didi reads, I write, Sisi listens to podcasts.
Soon it’s dinner time. Nice local food prepared by Mohammed’s wife. We also contribute our little bit to the local economy.
PS: it’s evening now. The sun has disappeared behind the sandy orange horizon. The first stars are appearing. Just talked to Hassan. Through arched doors and narrow stairs he has brought us to the highest roof of the inn. All roofs are flat in the desert. We can spend the night here to take pictures of the stars. What a chance!
Nasjat
2025-04-14
Tinghir is where I originally come from and every year it is nice to come home. Even though I am not there I am proud that you were there :-)
durieux
2025-04-14
And we are happy and proud to have been there. Now we know you a little bit better.
Anne
2025-04-15
Loved your descriptions, observations and photos. So nice that you are making memories while also leaving the place knowing you had an impact. Nothing like exploring and seeing the world. Happy for you, Robert and family!
durieux
2025-04-15
Thanks for your nice feedback. It makes me happy that you can join me on the trip by sharing my journal.