Birthdays and Blooms in the Desert

As May makes its presence known in Marrakech, we are bracing for our first one hundred-degree week and marveling at the watermelon carts popping up all over town. Summer is officially upon us. Time is now being measured in days 'til Ramadan - the fasting month that begins near the end of May which will bring much normal business to a halt. From sun up to sun down, Muslims will not eat or drink. Resting and attempting to stay cool will become the main daytime pursuits.  

April, however, concluded on a festive note as we welcomed Nolan to teenage-hood. Although it seems as though the kid was born a teenager - always trying to catch up with his older siblings - we made it official at the end of April with Moroccan presents, gifts from home, hot medina birthday donuts, and a Ben & Jerry's ice cream cake. Birthday week also included a drive through the Palmeraie to see the baby camels, a road trip to Casablanca to see "The Exchange," an American acapella group, and a long-overdue jump on a trampoline at Project Soar.

Day trip to Casablanca

Oh, and there's still this little nugget of love.

Birthday Donuts

May saw a shift in our home-schooling tactics. As the temperatures started to climb, we decided that P.E. should become a focal point of the curriculum and decided to start including an afternoon swim in the routine. Pomegranate pool lacrosse (with a pool skimmer) and pomegranate basketball (with a trash can) have also been added to the routine.  Andy headed back to Vermont for lacrosse season in the rain just as we invented our new sport.

As I start to feel the clock ticking on the time left in Morocco with Brianna and Nolan, the need to squeeze in some travel before their departure has become more pressing. We took advantage of a long weekend to travel to the Valley of the Roses where Morocco's Damask roses grow in a valley irrigated by the Asif M'Goun river at the base of the high Atlas Mountains. For a 30 km stretch, roses grow in the valley along the river bed on winding pathways through green fields. In the middle of the desert, it's an odd sight. In May, the roses are in full bloom, and the rose-picking ladies are busy at work. If they grow it, we will come. We braved the bus ride from Marrakech to Ouarzazate for the second time (passing over the incredibly scenic and nauseating Tchika Pass). In Ouarzazate, we rented a car for our valley adventure. 

It didn't take long to discover that the air conditioning in the car didn't work as we headed into the desert under the burning sun. The scenery, however, made up for the lack of comfort. We spotted an odd, blue lake in the middle of the sand and stopped to explore. 

Desert Lake

We continued for many more miles through sandy nothingness. As we started to wonder if we should have stocked up on snacks and water, we came upon a restaurant and made the most of the experience. Local tagine, foosball, and a run-down playground made for a memorable rest stop. We carried on to El Kelaa M'Goun, the main town in the Rose Valley, where we turned off the main road in search of our Berber lodge, Kasbah Assafar. We found it without too much trouble and enjoyed tea and some hiking recommendations from the owner before setting off to explore.  

Getting off the beaten path also means that tourists are more of an oddity than they are in Marrakech. As we hiked down into the river valley to get a taste of what it had to offer, we were accompanied by three young boys, intent on shadowing us and giggling for the entire walk. The valley was green, gorgeous, and peaceful. It offered exactly what we had hoped to find for our long walk the next day. 

En route to El Kelaa M'Goun

Even the taxis are pink in the Valley of the Roses

Long. Yes. I didn't mention that word too many times in preparing the kids for our walk. We packed snacks and lots of water and headed off with the intention of walking 12 km and, then, calling our nice lodge owner for a ride back home.

Breakfast at Kasbah Assafar

We followed the meandering river for three hours - pausing for rose smelling, chameleon spotting, river navigating, and endless photo opportunities. There was enough shade to keep us all happy. We wove our way through lush riverside gardens and waved to  women in the fields and donkeys on the trail.

Poppies in the Rose Valley

Chameleon in the wild - made my day!

After a melon break on the side of the trail, we continued onward. Eventually, the trail next to the river disappeared and we found ourselves in a deep gorge - mostly dry river bed, with a narrow stream of rushing water (too wide to cross), and steep red rock walls on either side. Since we were not prepared to walk in the river, the only solution seemed to be to go up and over the rock walls. So, we did. Straight up. In the hot sun. I walked fast so I didn't have to hear the grumbling. When we reached the windy ridge, we had a view over the barren desert. We could see the last town we had left two hours ago just around the bend. We had walked so long and had covered so little ground. We descended to the road and made the command decision to just walk back along the road. Well, that was my command decision. There were a lot of requests to call for a ride, but, you know...this was all part of the adventure. 

This is where the smiles ended...

We walked. A long way. Some would call it a desert march. It wasn't pretty. At one point, as we walked through a town, we accumulated a group of over 15 kids following along. In the end, though, they were smart enough to stop. After we had made it back to the lodge and had enjoyed showers, we could at least acknowledge that the first part of the day had been really amazing. We decided it would be best to just black the rest out.

No love for Mom on this part of the hike

Hot and Dry

The next day, we headed for the Dades Gorge. In a valley scattered with old, crumbling kasbahs and green palm groves, the Dades River carves out a spectacular gorge between the striped red rocks. Having burned all my good hiking juju on the previous day's effort, I promised that this would be a day of sight-seeing and easy walking and swimming. The scenery did not disappoint as we wound our way into the gorge. We found our next lodge and, again, enjoyed a warm welcome. We drove to the end of the gorge with me white-knuckling the steering wheel around the switchbacks as we climbed higher and higher. Berber nomads and their hundreds of goats covered the cliffs. 

Goats everywhere

After lunch, we hiked in the stream in search of a swimming spot. As the sun dipped below the cliffs, it cooled off quickly, and the stream swimming adventure was short and sweet. We enjoyed a delicious dinner down the road from our lodge and retired early to the sound of bleating goats and croaking frogs instead of city traffic. A good dose of mountains and fresh air is good for the spirit.

The next day, as we sped through the desert to catch our bus back to Marrakech, we laughed to think that leaving a mountain paradise and going to Marrakech felt like going home. We braced ourselves for one last vomit-inducing ride over the mountains before chugging off on the bus. An hour later the bus stopped at a roadside restaurant where we met the watermelon convoy. Trucks piled high with watermelons en route to Marrakech were lined up at the restaurant too. Over the next four hours, passing watermelon trucks became a game. They moved no more than 5 m.p.h. - laden with thousands of pounds of watermelon. Our bus would come upon one, come to a grinding halt, spend the next ten minutes trying to find a safe spot to negotiate around the watermelons on a switchback, speed past and carry on for two minutes before overtaking the next watermelon truck. It was comical and terrifying at the same time. We passed no fewer than 20 trucks over the course of four hours (that should have been three). Fortunately, the scenery in the mountains is spectacular. And, a slowed ride meant less motion sickness for everyone on board. This month, as the watermelon carts continue to pop up on the streets of Marrakech, I will be reminded of our visit to a green and fragrent valley in the desert, and I will have a much greater appreciation for the effort it takes to get those heavy symbols of summertime to the big city.

Carpet Washing Day on the Dades

The Desert Princess Does Morocco

Bearing brown sugar and chocolate chips, the Smurfs and their Desert Princess arrived in Morocco early in April. We welcomed them with open arms and wasted no time immersing them in Marrakech. In contrast to the rainy, cold weather that greeted the Smurfs upon their arrival in Vietnam, the desert sun burned bright right from the start this time around. We got busy cramming all the sights and sounds of Marrakech into five hot days in the medina with brief breaks for kitten playtime and dips in the frigid apartment pool.

The princess set to her Marrakech shopping mission right from the get-go with Papa Smurf and his credit card in tow. If it was sparkly, pink, turquoise, or shiny it needed to be felt, evaluated, and tried on. Two days netted two Moroccan “princess dresses” and ignited the quest for the perfect matching shoes.  The medina is a treasure trove of magical trinkets, mysterious boxes, and glittery gems. It’s a seven-year-old’s sensory heaven. Add the princess vibe to the mix, and it became necessary to strategically plot routes from one point to the next – taking us through residential sections of the medina rarely seen - in an effort to avoid the non-stop tactile temptation presented at every turn. We balanced medina shopping with old palaces, stinky tanneries, and tasty Moroccan treats.

Weaving a Moroccan Carpet

First tajine on the terrace

City Fishing

Princess Palace

Looking down on the Spice Market

Snail sampling in the medina

Smoke  and Lights: Jemaa el Fna at Night

After five days in Marrakech, the Smurf crew took off for a desert adventure of their own to Ouarzazate, Zagora, and the Sahara. Charmed by the enchanting image of a desert camel trek, we were reluctant to burst their blissful bubble. I had hinted at the challenge of riding a camel – possibly even stating that it was one of the least comfortable experiences of my life. Alas, you can’t come to the Sahara and not have the dromedary experience. However, there is no good reason to ride a camel for more than five minutes. Papa Smurf will now attest to that. When the crew returned to us three days later, bubbling over with desert adventure stories, Papa Smurf had a distinctly different gait. For the next two days he grunted and groaned about his camel muscles and the “special kind of pain” inflicted by Wally the camel. Mama Smurf muttered something about trauma to her nether regions and flashbacks to childbirth.

We gave the crew a day to recover from camel related suffering, and then Andy and Nolan led them to Seti Fatma in the Atlas Mountains for a day of cool rivers and hiking. The Desert Princess smoothly transitioned from city shopper to mountain goat - deftly navigating suspension bridges, rock hopping through streams, and scaling a ladder for good measure. The camels grazing near the river now held as little intrigue as a Holstein chewing her cud in a Vermont field.

Lounging by the river

The Smurfs headed off for another adventure – this time to the seaside city of Essaouira – where they enjoyed wind, sand, sunshine, seagulls, and, of course, the requisite goats in argan trees. In two weeks, this crew managed to pack in a lot of Morocco. On their final day in Marrakech, we made time for henna for the princess and a final shopping tour of the medina. It was a full two weeks of adventures, but just a taste of the magic of Morocco. With camels out of the way (and probably forever checked off the list), I can now look for other ways to tempt this crew to come back for another visit next year.

Browsing the henna design catalog

Ta Da!

Reunited with Yoka the lost desert Bunny,
we celebrated!

Three weeks of visitors has provided lots of activity on the home front, and it seemed oddly silent when I climbed to the roof to hang sheets out to dry once everyone had gone. Then, as if on cue, the call to prayer began – first at the closest mosque, and, then, one-by-one, mosques around the city joined in the chorus. I smiled to think that Morocco was taking care of me – reminding that I was not alone. An hour later, when I returned to the roof to retrieve the laundry, somebody scored in the Barcelona-Madrid soccer match that was showing in every café in town. The entire city erupted around me – cheering, clapping, and honking came from every corner. I smiled as the truth sunk in; you are never alone in Marrakech.