Morocco: on the high road in the Atlas Mountains
Morocco's Atlas Mountains are home to awe-inspiring castles, harsh deserts and breathtaking gorges. And at their heart lies beguiling Ouarzazate, says John Gimlette.
One false move here and you're a goner. From the top of Tizi N'tichka, a car could freefall for almost half a mile before reconnecting with the hot, hard surface of Morocco, and then go bouncing off into the wheat fields below.
During those few seconds, its passengers would enjoy the colours of Moroccan geology, from scarlet to crimson, and perhaps the odd trilobite hurtling past: a reminder that this was once below the sea, instead of 6,000 feet above it.
We'd spent all morning grinding gears and wriggling up the pass. Our daughter, Lucy, six, had never imagined roads like this, spiralling into the sky. Our driver, Said (which means Happy), said that there were 99 bends in 18 miles (30km). It was a curious ascent: we came across a tribesman selling fossils in the scrub and a minibus full of rams, off on their last adventure. But, at the top, everything changed.
Behind us lay the Morocco I've known for years; clamouring, raffish and occasionally biblical. Ahead, through this crack in the Atlas, lay a different world. This was where the desert began, with snow and foothills at first, and then thousands of miles of thirst. Here, clouds only appear on 60 days a year, and the landscape looks like embers. Farming survives only in gorges and riverbeds, and huge areas are devoid of life.
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The people, too, are different here. Some are Berbers, others are the descendants of slaves who became detached from the caravans marching north. Together, they're close-knit, tribal and fatalistic. "It's a good life," said Said, "unless you get ill, and then you die."
Soon castles started appearing. These weren't the drab things we have in Europe, but vast patterned promontories, like cliffs with windows. Some have crumbled away, but others are as big and orange as the hills. And they're everywhere. One valley, the Dades, once had more than a thousand kasbahs defending its pitiful trickle of water.
I'd like to think these fortresses are long-since obsolete. Not so. During the great war of 1893, most of them burst into life, and some – like Telouet – were still threatening French rule into the Thirties.
Then came the rule of the Glaoui family, who built the biggest and best of the castles. I noticed at the Kasbah Taourirt that a hint of their vanity had survived, in fancy coloured tiles and a field-gun made by Krupp. The Glaouis, explained Said, ruled with spectacular cruelty, drowning their victims in clay, and only finally fleeing in the Sixties.
So the sieges may have ended, but castle life goes on. At Amerhidil, the most elegant of the kasbahs, I met the owner, who shared it with his goats. "We've lived here 400 years," he told me. "This is where we hid the guns to shoot the French…"
Meanwhile, inside the mighty Aït-Ben-Haddou, people were living much as they had several hundred years before, driving camels and charming snakes. Movie-makers love this place, and it's always popping up in films, from Lawrence of Arabia to Robert Aldrich's Sodom and Gomorrah.
At the heart of this dry, improbable world sat Ouarzazate. It was built for troops in the Twenties, a last taste of France before dying in the desert. But not much "Frenchness" had survived. The entire town was painted desert pink, and there was as much chance of eating squirrel as croque-monsieur. It was here that I bought some cactus soap and a little carved, Malinese door that had somehow crossed the Sahara. But, Ouarzazate still had a frontier feel. Here were the last four-stars and swimming pools before the sands beyond.
From Ouarzazate, like the soldiers, we set off in all directions. Once, we went to the Oasis de Fint, and had tea with a lady who looked just like her dates, and said she was 112. Another time, Said drove for five hours through gorges and wilderness, right to the edge of the dunes. There, in Zagora, we exchanged our car for camels and rode through a long, green slash of orchards and nurseries, known as the palmary. It was a day that changed colour many times, from red to rust, tobacco, green, red again and then a magnificent purple. At one point the road petered out and a sign appeared: "Timbuktu 52 days".
Later, we moved to one of the biggest oases, at Skoura. It's an even bigger palmary, and a labyrinth of tracks and shady fields.
For centuries, people have lived here, on the brink of desiccation. Moisture is so precious that even grazing is forbidden, and all the animals are fed by hand. But the place had a garden-like air, and life was uncluttered and simple.
Once, we took Lucy to the village to buy presents but all we found were goats' heads and camel-hair robes.
Farther west, the landscape was even wilder and redder. It all began gently enough, with the Valley of Roses. Kelaat M'gouna produces 4,000 tons of petals a year and has a street of perfumeries, selling potions such as "Sexy Man" and "Love Port".
But, beyond that, the horizon buckled and cracked as it rose towards the Atlas. Although these gorges were stiff with castles, Said explained that most people here were nomadic and lived on the plateaus in the summer and in caves in the winter. We met a nomad once, knitting slippers by the side of the road. She was a fierce little girl, and wanted £30 for a pair.
All journeys here seem to end in a canyon. The Todra Gorge is like a crack through the mountains, so deep the donkeys inside seldom get sunlight. Even more magnificent is the Dades Gorge, a dizzying fissure of gullies and shadow. The French army only got a road through in 1933. That same year, they brought the Middle Ages to an end here, with a brutal campaign involving four air squadrons and 83,000 troops.
The last tribe to give way were the Atta. "What happened to them?" I asked.
"You just met one," replied Said, "trying to sell you slippers."
It was an appealing thought. Here, in this desert, foreigners may come and go, begging or stealing its beauty. But when the dust has settled, it's still an ancient people, firmly in control.
Getting there
British Airways (0844 4930 787; www.ba.com), Ryanair (www.ryanair.com), and easyJet (0905 821 0903; www.easyjet.com) offer flights to Marrakesh, from £31.99 (summer) to £80 (winter) return. From Marrakesh's airport, it's a five-hour drive to Ouarzazate. All the big car hire companies operate out of the airport. Alternatively, Royal Air Maroc (020 7305 5800; www.royalairmaroc.com) has flights to Ouarzazate via Casablanca, from around £270 return
Packages
Best of Morocco (0800 171 2151; www.travelzest.com) offers a seven-night package combining the Riad Salam and Sawadi hotels from £1,735 per person, including return flight, half board, car hire and transfers, based on two sharing.
When to go
This is a great winter trip, as the weather is cool but bright. Ouarzazate can be extremely hot in July and August.
Further information
For a good overview, read The Rough Guide to Morocco (£15.99). The Moroccan National Tourist Office in London (020 7437 0073; www.visitmorocco.com) offers very limited assistance.
The inside track
It may be a good idea to break the journey in Marrakesh. Best of Morocco (above) offers a wide range of overnight accommodation.
In Zagora, Caravane du Sud (00212 524 847569; www.caravanedusud.com) offers overnight camel trips into the desert, as well as quad-biking and 4-WD safaris. The same family also runs a modern, beautifully designed hotel, the Riad Lamane Maison d'hotes (see restaurants, below).
The Atlas Corporation film studios in Ouarzazate charge £3.70 admission. Enjoy sets from Gladiator and Cleopatra, and a tatty F16 from The Jewel of the Nile.
Admission to the kasbahs costs around £1.
What to bring home
Excellent dates are on sale everywhere. Other appealing purchases are camel-skin slippers (around £7.50), Malinese carved doors (around £9), and any amount of fossils and antiques, often fake.
The best hotels
Hotel Riad Salam ££
Ten minutes' walk from Ouarzazate's kasbah, set in pleasant gardens; the hotel is built from adobe, around a large swimming pool, and its 124 rooms are quiet and understated (248 83335; www.mahdsalam.com; doubles about £66 per night).
Berbere Palace Hotel ££
Ouarzazate's most expensive hotel is on a bluff opposite the Kasbah. This is where the actors stayed in days gone by (248 83105; www.ouarzazate.com/leberberepalace; doubles from about £175 per night).
Sawadi hotel ££
Situated in the heart of the Skoura oasis, amid orchards and olive groves; comfortable adobe houses, a swimming pool and excellent, friendly staff. The owner, a Belgian called Philippe, is passionate about local culture and the environment, and the French-Moroccan food is some of the best in the region (524 852341; www.sawadi.ma; doubles from about £59 plus £12 for dinner).
The best restaurants
Hotel Restaurant Camping Berbere de la Montagne, Dades Gorge £
Simple Berber omelettes, next to a real fire (at the far end of the gorge; 524 830228).
Le Datte d'Or, Ouarzazate ££
Brasserie-style restaurant, decorated with pictures of visiting film stars (524 887171).
Riad Lamane Maison d'hotes, Zagora ££
A sumptuous tented dining room, surrounded by palm gardens (off the Palmerie; 524 848388; www.riadlamane.com).
What to avoid
Try not to drive to Ouarzazate straight from the airport. Although the roads are good, it's a long, twisting journey through the Atlas.
Do not break the speed limit. The Moroccan police are very enthusiastic with their on-the-spot fines.
Never assume that blackened artefacts are genuinely 'antique'. Attractive though they are, they're usually fake.
Don't worry about the car 'guardians'. Often they're licensed, and only charge around £1.
Be aware that the mountains are very cold at night. Bring a fleece, or, in winter, a thick jacket.
On the road to Zagora, be wary of drivers who've 'broken down'. It's often a ruse for selling carpets.
