2 hrs, 2.3 kms



Next morning I head back up to the roof for an even more breathtaking view . Lush green down below. Jagged cliffs just a few feet behind me that disappear into the mist. Villages dotting the oasis as far as the eyes can see. Wow. Yesterday I had the impression that Tafraoute region is just an inhospitable, dry rockland—but in this area here, it looks like you could live off the land comfortably—and still enjoy giant boulders and rugged mountain landscapes. I bid my host farewell, and set out, eager for discovery. I don't have any clear destination, other than to reach Tafraoute by early afternoon, so I’m just going to wander around and soak in this place.

I follow a footpath to the west toward a mysterious looking gorge—a huge gash in the side of the mountain. There it seems there’s a path heading up it, and a long hose coming down from above—so there must be something up there. The path takes me through cracks tunnelling under gigantic boulders and then… an arrow pointing up the side of a boulder which I guess I’m expected to climb.

These are not like the rough surface boulders south of Tafraoute, these boulders are smooth from milleniums of water erosion and not very easy to climb . I first try climbing up a tree branch, but it won’t hold my weight. There are some toeholds in the boulder which it seems clear other people have used, but I’m not too sure.

It’s a little embarrassing to realize that I may not be able to climb a boulder that clearly other people can climb. I’m pretty sure I can get to the top, but there, if I can’t get a good grip, I’m going to end up sliding down the face of the boulder to the bottom… probably without injury, but not a pleasant idea nonetheless. Getting down shouldn’t be a problem, there’s a tree branch I can grab a swing down like Tarzan…

Finally I decide I’ve got to try it. I decide to abandon my backpack and give it a shot… gripping tenaciously at the slick rock surface… and make it up. Good feeling. Almost makes up for not making it to the top of Napoleon’s Hat yesterday. I’m stunned by what I see: palm trees and a plot of cultivated land! My first thought is: this would be the perfect place to grow something illegal! Nobody’s going to discover it here . My guess though is that there’s an easier route to get up here, I can’t imagine farmers hauling their gear and harvest down the face of a slick boulder.

Here the gorge opens up and there’s a steep, easily climbable flat slope. I’m not really sure what my objective is—as reaching the top of the mountain is probably out of the question, but I decide to keep climbing as long as the going is good. I reach a lookout point where there’s a low wall, as if for a sheep pen a great view of the valley below.   This seems like a great place to hide away during times of war.

On up the slope, I now have a mountain to my left and my right. I follow this semi valley until it flattens… then goes down again… right back into the Amenad valley. This side looks much easier to climb—but I’m still glad I took on the challenge and made it up the hard way. Unfortunately I have to go back the way I came, as I abandoned my guitar and backpack halfway up. A great spot for a video clip with my guitar… I have to settle for taking a picture of myself doing an "air guitar" pose .

What’s Different about Tafraoute

Back down the gorge, I decide to go first to check out a village immediately to my left, right across from Tazgatoudm where I stayed last night. Here there are a number of nicely restored old houses in the kasbah—including one that I’m told was sold to a retired European couple which they restored and use as their winter home. I also notice a distinct design that I’ve never seen anywhere else in Morocco: a checkered pattern on the walls with square blocks alternating with some sort of straw or something that lets air through—and the traditional oriental near circle above it. Here there are a mixture of traditional restored houses, ruins, and big modern homes.

As I leave the village a couple locals heading the same direction join me, one of them seem eager for a chat. Here’s my chance to learn a bit about the secrets of this region. I tell him I live in Casablanca .

“Most folks from this village live in Casa” he points to a large, walled in villa “this guy has a toy store… this other guy owns a shop in Derb Omar… Just about everybody here has a business in the city—and we come here just on vacation.”

“Does anybody live here year round?”

“Just a couple poor people.”

This is different from what I’ve usually seen in rural areas of Morocco. Usually the man goes and works in the city, leaving the wife and children behind. They do it for economic reasons and because they want their children to have a clean upbring, holding onto the traditions and not corrupted by the vices of the city. But here the entire family has gone to the city… which leads to the question: will their children still hold to their traditional culture and values? What about their grandchildren? Will they continue to come out here every summer to spend their vacation in their ancestral homeland?

People from this region are known to be strongly against letting their children marry anyone from outside the region, and now I can see why . See, if both parents are from Tafraoute, then of course the family will remain attached to their region. But if say a Tafraoute man marries an non-Tafraoute woman, chances are she’s not going to be to excited about dragging the family out to the rocky desert to spend the scorching summer months here. And if they don’t do that, their children will lose the connection with their true home.

And why is being connected to your land important? I talked and pondered on that last April when I made my trip to Assaka, where I have a connection by marriage. See, someday cities are going to fall apart. There will be riots, chaos—wars between people of different ethnicities, values and religions. The idea that cities are going to be places of endless prosperity is simply false. Hard times will come again. When things do fall apart, folks who still have a connection to rugged isolated region like Tafraoute will be able to go back there and be at peace—maybe even go back to living off the land again. Folks without that connection may not have anywhere to go . It’s all about having a place where you can go back to where life can go on as it has for thousands of years. In this modern day most of us don’t really value that… but someday a person who has nothing more than a house and a plot of land he can cultivate high in the mountains will be considered very fortunate.

So I have mixed feelings seeing how people from Tafraoute have prospered. They deserve it: for centuries they’ve toiled trying to grown crops in these rocky hills with just little trickles of water, cutting terraces out of the mountainsides. Now they’ve learned to prosper in urban environments, not because they had good connections or inherited wealth and power from their parents, but simply by using shrewd business sense. This is a true Moroccan “success story” if there ever was one, proving wrong the idea that if you’re poor here, you and your descendants will always be poor.

On the other hand, it’s a little sad to see so many traditional homes abandoned and big, boxy cinderblock houses built in their stead . But then again, if people that’s what people prefer, they have the right to build whatever kind of houses they like. Also, I kind of wonder if they really will be able to hold onto their roots for the next 50, 100 years, or if their grandchildren and great-grandchildren will simply be city folks, with just vague memories of the land of their origins…