Escape to – and from – Morocco

by John Light

Free from all commitments, I decided in October that Spring 2020 would be a good time for some exploring, even though I was well into my 70s. The High Atlas looked interesting: a bit different from my Scottish community, both geographically and culturally.

By December, the enthusiasm had waned. However, I had mentioned my idea to my son who then gave me a 4-season sleeping bag for Christmas. It was inappropriately massive so I went to the shop to change it for a more compact version. “Where are you going?”, asked the lovely attendant. “Thinking about Morocco.”, I replied. She handed me the receipt and said, penetratingly, “You’ll have to follow through now.”. I blame her for all that followed.

March 7^th found me on the plane to Marrakesh to meet up with Mostapha who would be guide, plus a group of undeclared number. Of course, I discovered after two days exploring the city that there would be no group. The other participants had seen what was coming and had pulled out, leaving me, the naive Brit who cannot read the writing on any wall.

As it transpired, I was very fortunate. Mostapha drove me to his town, Imlil (~1800m), the base for the week, and to his family home, perched on the sheer slope. Beautifully tiled and equipped inside, it had recently been completed after three years of work by the whole family. I could only shudder at the thought of their carrying cement, concrete blocks, tiles and plumbing equipment up that gradient.

Then followed our days on the hoof, mostly accompanied by Lechlane and his remarkable mule whom I called Horace. Both were handy on the hill, even though Horace was laden with rucksacks, cooking equipment and fodder for him and for us. His calm, even on slippery, exposed ground was remarkable: do not tell me that mules are stupid.

As for the landscape, it was spectacular. The trip up Toubkal (4167m) was not particularly scenic. The uphill work was done in the dark so that we (not Horace) could be at the top at sunrise. Morocco is not all palm trees and desert: my water bottle froze at the summit. Thereafter, we had five days on the trail, mostly in sunshine but occasionally in rain, hail, and snow, overnighting in refuges or very simple guest houses. The Berber traditions were everywhere: pride, generosity, welcome, even in what seemed to be the poorest village.

I got back to Marrakesh on 17^th March to find everything shutting down, and was mightily relieved to hop on a plane on the 19^th, just hours before the airport closed. I felt very aware of the people of Imlil and the surrounding valleys who depend totally on tourism. If you are contemplating a trip, a release once lockdown is over, try a taste of North Africa and Mostapha’s marocuniquevoyages.com. It is not far in flying time, but half a world away in tradition and culture.

Calm before the storm
All photos by John Light

Mostapha and sunrise on Toubkal

Horace and friend

Mostapha at moonset on Toubkal

Storm before the calm

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