Day 4 -? (what is time on a mountain)
The High Atlas Mountains
It is in the rural areas of a country where a traveller faces his most
real encounters with the people of the land he is exploring, and for
us Morocco was no exception. We left the madness of Marrakesh and drove
due East across the hot plains, passing many strange new developments
involving a horse racing track. We landed at the foot of the high
Atlas in the tourist trap town of Setti Fatma, where savvy middle men
of the ‘tourist business’ immediately settled on our gawky western
trappings like vultures landing on a zebras corpse. It didn’t take
long to shake them off though, and the blood-sucking feeling
diminished as we settled into the grandeur and cold fresh air at the
base of the old mountains. We stormed up the amazing tourist trail
following the descending waterfalls and pools, through a medley of
tagine restaurants and trinket vendors until we had climbed higher and
more daringly than any other tourist and then we plunged in (or at
least I did). In a setting where you are bound to be a neon target for
entrepreneurial businessmen, I think a slight adjustment always needs
to be made after arrival,and for us in Morocco that involved
rediscovering the love of haggling prices. After catching our breath,
and coming down from deeper in the mountain (giving us a kind of
advantage which we lacked on first arrival), we were now ready and
willing to haggle over anything for pure entertainments sake. This
also seemed to be a fair way of getting to know people, and indeed we
found that long bursts of haggling were often interrupted by rests
were all parties sat and drank tea. During this civilized interval no
mention of the business transaction was made, and instead pleasant
small talk sufficed until customer and vendor had regained full
strength and could rise for another ruthless round of price-wrestling.
In this way we took our sweet time in choosing a good lunch spot in
which to lingeringly savour the day’s tagine whilst reclining on
carpeted sofas, our backs to a trickling waterfall. The night found us
more than ready for bed, with a headfull of fresh air and a bellyful of
organic food. Collapse we did, but not before taking one of two puffs
of a sweet hookah bubbly pipe and sharing a few songs and dances with
the hotel owner.
The High Atlas mountains promised immediately to live up to their
name, and our morning trail head soared straight up an orange buttress
into the fierce sky. We wrapped our heads in turbans as a precaution
and followed the curious little mountain guide Ahmed as best as could.
It was soon clear that we were going to have difficulty in keeping up
with him. Although he was a frail looking crooked toothed little
fellow twenty years our senior, he had been born and raised doing
exactly this! His blood was charged with powerful mountain air, and
his legs were buckled and reinforced with iron springs which drove him
skipping up the steep gravel like a 15 year old child playing on a
beach. We watched him disappear in mild disbelief, adjusted our
turbans and exchanged meaningful glances..how high exactly are the
High Atlas mountains anyway? We didn’t know. In fact we were not very
well equipped, only wearing shabby trainers, and I was injured in the
right knee.
“Ya-La” shouted Ahmed and we lurched after him, as we did the
adventure started pounding in our chests and we sucked in more of the
sweet mountain air. Everybody we passed looked pleased to see us, and
refreshingly uninterested in selling things. What they did want,
andwith the same careful observance of ritual which was customary
everywhere in this land, was to have tea with us. Even the lonely
goatherd we met at the first peak made us a brew, boiling the water in
a tiny pot on his fire and toasted us cheerily as we butchered the
Arabic language trying to reply. ‘Bisahaawarraha’ (to your health and
mine). In thanks, we sang and I played a little on my travelling
harmonica. His grinned fiercely, his brown face creasing into so many
weathered wrinkles and I felt somehow privileged in the exchange. Our
man Ahmed cackled and stamped his feet, and from then on demanded
music almost every twenty minutes of the day. A row of children behind
us appeared and made silent hand motions with their hands in front of
their mouths in a silent request for more. Delighted by the good
cheer, we agreed to continue entertaining the people of the Atlas
mountains, and sang for them whenever we met them. We also refused to
give them money, but dispensed small English lessons whenever we
could; we reasoned that this was probably the most helpful thing we
could do for those who obviously were going to get ahead in future.
The tiny villages rolled by, wedged into the side of bluffs or nestled
in beautiful green river valleys below. Exhilarated by the sights, we
picked up speed and smiled all the more. The people of the mountain
were everywhere, poor, but radiantly dressed and always accompanied by
donkeys or goats. We sang for them, and laughed at their surprise, and
Mike began dispensing first aid. Whenever we passed a group of men,
one of them always seemed to ask for aspirin, and in the spirit of
generosity that had overcome us at the sight of such pleasant and hard
working folk he opened his first aid kit and began doling out large
square tablets which he thought were painkillers. It was only later to
his horror, that he realized he had actually been handing out nicotine
flavoured chewing gum for his patients to swallow whole with clear
water! There were many tears of laughter over that one, and a wonder
at how many troubling headaches had disappeared only to be replaced
with belly aches as he night came on.
The drive to the summit was relentless, with endless sun, high
gradients, more tea ceremonies, more goats, and more tagines. We slept
in small mountain shelters called ‘Jittes’ of variable quality. We
didn’t care and always slept gratefully on any surface available. We
struggled a little to fully adapt to Arabic toilet traditions and
experienced a lingering attachment to toilet paper, which we burnt
afterwards while our guide watched us curiously as if we were making
small strange offerings to the God of excrement. Suddenly, there was
snow everywhere. I instantly regretted my flimsy trainers. With a
delicate right knee awaiting corrective surgery, I really couldn’t
afford to injure it again. I trod gingerly on the glittering surface.
My foot slipped instantly under my heavy pack, almost toppling me in
an instant. I changed tack, and stamped hard hoping to make an
impression in the stuff. Immediately I broke through the crust and
sank up to my knee on the bad leg. What a nightmare! I looked
despairingly around in the ridiculous hope of finding some unused
crampons lying about. In the end I crawled mostly, making short and
undignified dashes up the firmer parts. When the shoulder did become a
ridge, it was like ascending into nirvana.
Mighty snowy cascades of purple peaks shot into a blue horizon,
cloaked in swirling clouds, revealing peaks of emerald green from the
valleys below. Mighty Toupka was on the left, and everywhere was the
gob smacking immensity of time and the eternal beauty of this planet. I
sat down suddenly-stunned and fish-eyed. ‘This is it’, I thought,
speaking my thoughts out loud because there was nobody else there to
hear them. ‘This is why we climb’, and let out a great shout of joy
which soared into the mighty spaces unheard by anyone (but who?) It
was some time before I found my feet and the path ahead of me, and
when I followed it was somehow a new-born spirit which came off that
ridge and into the next valley of life. As I walked I philosophized
happily …’life has valleys and ridges, and steep uphills which are
hard and treacherous. But then every now and then, you get to the top
of a high ridge and then you see God. That’s why we live’. This heady
euphoria lasted on the way down and when we thumbed a lift into the
Ourica valley we were both men of whole hearts again, having burst
free of the sneaking hooks and bindings of the world below, healed the
subtle cuts of our everyday snipes and failures, laughing and strong
and blessed by the mountain.
