El Kalaa des Mgouna, Morocco, Friday January 9th

We slept in a while and then lazed about having showers and typing. It had been a long time since we had had a morning with nothing to do but wait. We had breakfast at 10.30 – a leisurely meal of bread, cheese, jam, juice, tea and coffee. The Kasbah had been built using traditional materials and methods. It was away from other buildings and ringed by mountains. Monayeem had painted a design on the door himself, and efficiently ran every part of the business.

Our couch surfing host arrived a little late, having been on a chat line to a French friend until the wee small hours. He took us to meet his wife and children, since his father was out. His house is enormous, and was recently built once he and his brother each married and produced six children in ten years between them. The old part of the house is now used as a barn for a cow and sheep with lambs. From the rooftop terrace we could see the ruins of the original Kasbah of the village, which had had too many families in it, causing homes to be built outside its walls. Later it ceased to be used at all. The ruins of Kasbahs and mud brick buildings are very picturesque, as they seem to melt away rather than tumble down. Our host’s wife was friendly and gave us some tea and biscuits. We gave the family some apricots and almonds, and showed them photos of our home and family. The three little girls were very sweet, although quite shy at first.

We set off walking to town with our host pushing his motorbike until a taxi with room in it passed by. We were driven off and met our host again at the taxi rank in town. He then found us another taxi, which we all took to the Rose Valley. The taxi driver was called Yousef and was a family connection of our host’s. He was an expert on the Rose Valley, since he lived there, and took trekking tours into it. We stopped along the way to see two Kasbahs, one of which was wanted for transforming into a hotel by some French investors. The locals refused to sell it. Our host had been telling us that we shouldn’t go to Marakesh, that there was nothing much there and that it could be dangerous for us in view of the war. Yousef agreed and they both thought that more time in their area before finishing our travels in Casablanca would be best for us.

Yousef invited us all for a cup of tea at his house, so we ended up there. He showed us how he had been building on more sections to accommodate the tourists who came to explore the valley and go trekking with him. He showed us his book with comments in it and told us of clients who came year after year, and of some who gave him money so that he could continue with his building project. We thought that he was just making conversation, but he put a proposal to us that we go trekking with him for two days in the nearby mountains and gorge, staying overnight with a Berber family and seeing them going about their daily tasks. It was pretty much a hard sell and quite a high price. Our host went over things with him, I think, but we could not understand what was being said. Keith said that we would think about it during the day and Yousef said that if we did that, we may miss out since he would be picking up other tourists and they may take up the offer. We felt that we were being pressured, but it was the sort of thing we would really enjoy and would only take up one extra day. The price seemed high for Morocco, but not unreasonable for us. It was not something that we would ever normally do, and was really stretching our budget, but we did think that it was just the grabbing of the opportunity that was how we had hoped to travel. We were very careful to go over everything that we would be doing, where we would be staying, that all meals would be included, that we are vegetarian and don’t eat meat, chicken or fish, that transport from the Kasbah, and on the final morning to the bus station were included, and that no shopping was on the agenda. I also explained that while I could walk well on the flat and gentle hills, I was not a confident or capable climber.

We left with our host to walk back to Kalaa through the farms and villages. It was a really delightful walk, stepping along the little earth walls that divided the gardens and irrigation channels. Our host is a well educated man who teaches Arabic literature in a secondary school. He told us that the Berber religion, before the arrival of Islam, was a mixture of Jewish and African nature worship, and that the Buddhists that our young guide had told us about could not possibly have been here. He had married his wife after knowing her for three days, and most women have their interests centred on the home, children and animals once they are married. The figs were a legacy of the Arabs, and the Jews had developed a way to distil the figs to make alcohol. He drinks and smokes, as do many Moroccan Muslims. He said that the moderate Moroccan version of Islam does not require them to pray many times a day or to abstain from alcohol and smoking. The Kasbahs were fortified to keep other Berber groups out, but that Berbers were all peaceful. The attacks were made by Berbers desperate for food.

The gardens we walked beside were edged with olive trees and centifolia roses. The petals are harvested over a two month period and sold to a French perfume maker. These days the returns are so low that it is hardly worth harvesting them, however they are the basis of a massive tourist influx for the annual rose festival, so they do bring in revenue that way. The king has recently bought land and planted it with roses, which has led some people to hope that he might be planning to develop a Moroccan perfume industry that could pay better. At any rate, the roses grow simply from cuttings and so the number of plants could be increased quickly if needed.

We scrambled up the hill beside the old Kasbah and walked along the road from that point. It was quite late and cold, and so when a taxi passed, our host hailed it. Back in town, we continued on in the taxi while he collected his motor bike. Unfortunately our taxi driver sailed past our stop, and once he realised it, he told us that he would drop us off on the way back. Once again we thanked our ability to speak French sufficiently to have understood what was happening, because we seemed to drive on and on as night fell. At last the driver turned back and we arrived at our stop. He overcharged Keith, who queried him, but gave the correct change when our host intervened. Our host said it was a case of mistaken calculation ( 8 + 8 = 19).

Keith stayed in the downstairs room at our host’s house, where he was able to use the internet, and our host drove me back to the Kasbah on his motorbike. When we arrived, a Spanish couple, Paula and Ramon, and their guide, Ali, were warming themselves by the fire. They were delightful company and had just come from Marakesh which they had enjoyed visiting. I failed to type up all the days that I was behind on as we chatted and compared experiences. Ali used to be a props man on the movies, and had worked on Mummy 1 and Mummy 2 and other films that I had heard of, but gave it up because of the terrible rate of pay he received. Now he works for a travel company and takes small groups of travellers around Morocco. I didn’t feel quite so guilty at socialising instead of working when Keith arrived and confessed that he had spent a good deal of his time chatting to our host’s brother. Of course, we always prefer to socialise since it is one of the most enjoyable and educational aspects of travel, so neither of us were really feeling guilty at all. We had another delicious meal - soup, a spicy mix of vegetables topped with an egg mix and mandarins – and chatted on with Paula and Ramon. Ali popped in and out and Monayeem was a dignified host, now in western dress, making sure that all was went well.

We set our alarm for quite early, to allow for repacking our bags as we would only be taking our day packs trekking with us and needed to be ready for Yousef, who would come to pick us up at eight a.m.