A Day In The High Atlas

  I awoke early and pulled back the ruby  red drapes and opened the sliding glass doors to my veranda.  I quickly realized that the constant   shoooooooh, that I thought was the blower from the heating system was  actually a torrent of water flowing from the high Atlas  mountains next to the riad. Through the milky fog that shrouded the morning, I could see large boulders and spots of white water. 

 

The early birds were singing enthusiastically and I watched as one landed on a branch of the walnut tree directly in front of me.  It was a woodpecker, a black and white beauty with a large spot of red on its face and underside.  It pecked away at the small dark branches, fully consumed by its morning activity. 

  After breakfast I met my guide Rashid Talaoal. He lives in the nearby village that   shares his family name. His father is the village chief and all seventy two residents of the village are members of his extended family.  Rashid is a soft spoken, confident twenty-seven year old man who lives in the family house with his wife, baby boy, siblings and parents.  It's typical Berber, where life revolves around the family. They live and work together for the common good. He described their home as a traditional mud and stone structure built by his grandfather over a hundred years ago. Rashid has never travelled outside of Morocco and said he is very happy and content.  He loaded a backpack with lunch, wrapped his traditional colorful scarf around his neck and off we went.

As we departed the fog was clearing and the sun shined brightly, its rays reflecting off the red and tan rock walls surrounding the valley.  We began our walk at the bridge over the river that leads to the village of Imlil.  Prominently planted there is a house sized boulder.

The boulder at the entry to the Village of Imlil

I found the boulder symbolic, like a monument that marked the entry to the village.   That mammoth rock, just like the waters flowing nearby originated in the High Atlas, the peak being Toubkal.  According to Rashid, the word "Toubkal" translates from Berber to English as "God's will." It reminded me of the saying, "God willing and the creek don't rise." I learned that tragically one day in August, 1995, after a summer downpour,  the creek did rise and so quickly that the monumental rock diverted the waters down Imlil's main street. The powerful torrent swept away forty cars and killed an estimated 150 people including a number of tourists.

 It was a leisurely walk to our first village, Tamatert.  Until recently Tamatert was not  accessible by road.  All goods arrived from Imlil by mule.   As we walked through the narrow lanes between the houses Rashid stopped to talk to a woman.  This is my sister he announced to me. "Whenever I pass, I stop and say hello and we share the latest news', he said. Further along Rashid  stopped again and pointed out the mud and stone construction of the traditional Berber home.  "They're warm in the winter and cool in the summer, much better than the modern homes of block and concrete," he said.  Rashid also explained that in the Berber villages the animals are always kept on the ground level and the family lives above.  Thus, in the cold months, the body heat of the animals maintains warmth in the living space above.  He added that most families own several chickens and a mule which Rashid called the Berber 4x4.  Many families also have sheep and goats.  As we passed one home I thought I heard the moo of a cow.  "Are there cows in the village," I asked?  "Yes, some," Rashid replied.  They're kept indoors and used primarily for milk. Goats and sheep are much more common and are slaughtered for their meat.  Lingering around I saw many cats, but no dogs. When asked about dogs Rashid was quick to reply. "We don't like dogs." 'Nuff said!  

Outside Tamatert large garden terraces covered the lower hillside.  Some were green with plots of wheat and alfalfa, others were filled with rows of apple and cherry trees.  We crossed the terraces walking through an irrigation ditch flowing with water that separated two garden plots. Channels directing the water are everywhere in the Imlil valley.  Some are made of mounded dirt and others are trenches lined with stone or concrete. The labyrinth of channels is impressive and so important to life in the valley.  Several locals told me it rained a few days ago, the first time in over a month and people are happy. Rashid said they are happy knowing the crops will grow, animals will be hydrated and life will come a bit easier.  As we continued along Rashid began singing what I presumed was a Berber folk song. I don't know, but it's my guess that it was something recommended in guide school.

Rashid turned south walking up the steep hillside.  The hill seemed never ending  and after a time I could feel the effects of the exertion, enough that I began to sweat.  I stopped  several times to take photo's (and to catch my breath.)  Up and up we climbed the mostly baron hillside reaching a point where there was a forest of small pine trees scattered about.  The evergreens were only about five feet tall and the hillside was covered with them.  "We're within Toubkal National Park and the government planted the pine trees six years ago," Rashid said.  He explained that the trees protect the hills from erosion and in the event of a slide they can stop or slow tumbling rocks.

We continued up the hill and finally reached the crest of the hill where the landscaped changed.  There was a wide rocky flat area that continued a gradual upward slope into the mountains for as far as I could see.  It was a dry bed of rocks and boulders as wide as the Ohio River.  The backdrop was a panorama of snow covered mountains. Wow!, fantastic.  "That's Jebel Toubkal," said Rashid pointing to a white laced mountain peak. It's a spectacular sight.   

Just ahead we met a couple from the Jersey Islands, their eight year old daughter, a guide and a mule.  She likes riding the mule her mom told me.  "We keep telling her that this is much better than Disneyland," mom continued. The little girl looked bewildered and said nothing.  I stood for awhile in that field of rocks, in quiet splendor, gazing at the mountains.  I felt small, so very small as I soaked in the warm sunshine and the vastness surrounding me.

We began a gradual descent towards the village of Aroumd, but the going wasn't easy. The problem was there was no path through the field of rocks.  Walking over large, loose stones of various sizes was a step by step obstacle course and no fun.  Along the way we crossed paths with a herd of sheep and goats and unlike me, they moved along quite effortlessly. Outside of the village we came upon an area enclosed by walls of rock.  This is where herds of goats and sheep are kept at night.  "It keeps them safe from wolves and coyotes," said Rashid.

Aroumd is a village perched on the hillside above the river that flows down to Imlil.  We stopped at a house in the village where I ate my lunch on a terrace overlooking the valley and river below.  My flatbread sandwich with tomatoes, cucumber and peppers was delicious and filling.  Lunch was accompanied by mint tea of course. 

While I ate, I watched a group of men with long wooden poles and a whole lot of brute force attempt to move a boulder.  It was gigantic, perhaps four foot wide by six foot long. I watched for quite awhile and had my doubts about their endeavor. I envisioned jackhammers  and a backhoe as necessary equipment for this job.  Just as I finished my lunch, suddenly the boulder moved slightly. And with the added motivation the men heaved harder and the rock tumbled into the hole they had prepared for it.   It was quite an accomplishment. 


After lunch as we climbed down the hillside, the sun disappeared, the air turned cold, the fog blew in and a slight mist of rain filled the air. I was surprised at how quickly the weather changed. It was gray and dismal by the time we made it to a waterfall just below Aroumd.  It would have been a pleasing hang out on a hot summer day, but not today.  

As we continuing along, Rashid paused in front of the entry to the Kasbah du Toubkal.  This rustic mountain lodge was built in the late 1980's by two brothers from England.  It's sits "castle like" in the middle of the valley high above Imlil.

Currently listed by the National Geographic Society as one of the "Unique Lodges of the World" it's upscale and billed as magical, remote and peaceful; pure-bliss with 360 degree views of the High Atlas Mountains.  "Do you want to go inside," Rashid asked?  "Sure," I replied.  Of course, all the staff knew Rashid and he said his hello's as we made our walk through.  I climbed the steps to the rooftop terrace crowded with guests finishing their lunch. I attest that the views from the terrace are as advertised.

As we walked though the village of Mezzik on the last leg of our grand circuit, I told Rashid that he should consider a career in politics. I was so impressed by the numbers of people of all ages that he greeted and chatted with.  He knew everybody and it appeared to me that everybody liked him.  He smiled sheepishly and admitted that he gets along with people in all the villages in the Imlil valley. Rashid was eager to please and proved to be an excellent guide. He's a fine representative of the Berber people of the Imlil Valley and I bet one day he will be a village chief.