Thoughts on Morocco
I remember well the time my friend's uncle captured El Krim and had long wanted to visit the scene of his triumphs. We are of course talking of Morocco, ex protectorate of the French.
The good thing about being an ex protectorate of the French is that the people loathe the French almost as much as we British do (I should say English really as the Scottish have long had a thing for the Gauls). They also produce excellent wine and have a road infrastructure that is remarkably good given the general poverty of the place.
Luckily British Airways flies direct to Agadir. Unfortunately the fact that French airspace was closed meant the journey took almost four hours but when you think Tangiers was four days by steam packet in the thirties that is still a considerable improvement.
Although I am a bit stiff in the joints these days it was still possible to hire a motor car with which to explore the hinterland. On this particular occasion I had the Memsahib with me and she really dislikes camels. Goes back to an unpleasentness near Cairo in 1937. So we hired a French manufacture of motor car.
Of course we could have used the modern road direct to Marakesh but this seemed rather pointless to us as after all it was not our car. Instead we opted for the minor road that passes Taroudant and goes through the Atlas Mountains. This proved to be an excellent decision as the road provided plenty of interest both in terms of driving skills as well as visual delights. The Memsahib clicked away as though she had limitless supplies of film. This digital business amazes me, it really does.
The first unusual sight was some goats in a tree. Goats have never struck me as naturally arboreal yet there they were, quite high in a tree eating the fruit. This was the famous argan nut of course. At Taroudant, our guide Rashid took us to the Argan Oil house where we watched the women grinding the nuts by hand. Said nuts have first passed through a goat's digestive system which accounts for the goats in the trees. The oil takes some extracting. Each kernel is cracked by hand and then ground by hand in a primitive mill. The resulting liquid is then kneaded to turn it into a waxy ball. From this the pure oil is finally squeezed. My question is - whoever discovered such a longwinded process? The oil has many uses, including cooking but the Memsahib was really taken by the idea of an oil which smoothed the skin and took twenty years off her age. Mind you the wrinkle count between sixty and eighty cannot be that different. (Didn't tell her that of course)
We continued on, into the mountains. A road sign said bends for 172 km. Hmm, thought I, that 'll bring the average speed down a touch. The bends were mainly hair pin as the road narrowed to a single lane of tarmacadam with dirt rumble strips either side. Crash barriers were not in evidence, you were obviously expected to drive carefully or not at all. The views were stunning, despite a slight haze. The valley bottoms were lush and green with cultivated land, orchards and cereals. On the steeper ground the vegetation was stunted and clung on like grim death. On the lower slopes villages nestled in the mountainside. How one got to them I could not see. Not by road that was for sure. Probably by mule track. The villages looked as though they were designed with defense in mind and I recalled that it was not till after the last major unpleasantness that the country was properly pacified by the French.
With a certain air of serendipity the Hotel Belle Vue appeared at lunch time. It advertised itself as being 2100m above sea level and an ideal spot for paragliding. Paragliding seems to me to be the aerial equivalent of wind surfing. I have no time for either. If you are going into the sea then get a boat for heaven's sake and if you want to fly at least use a proper glider.
We parked the car and stretched our legs. The view was magnificent, we could see to the far rim of the world as the mountains fell away below us toward the distant Atlantic. We stood for some minutes admiring the vista but then my stomach got the better of me and we adjourned to the hotel in order to see what viands were available. Apparently, for a small sum, we could share a Beerber omelette and this we decided to do, never having tried one before. We sat, drinking mint tea (thoroughly to be recommended), and watching the overloaded lorries and pick up trucks labouring up the pass. All human life was to be observed there.
Our lunch arrived in a tajine. This seems to be the usual way of cooking in Morocco and it looks rather odd. A deeply dished slipware plate with a ponty conical lid. This sits upon a fire and the contents cook gently. THe omelette was quite delicious and rather more than a mere confection of eggs. I won't go into detail but I would thoroughly recommend it as a dish to try.
The good thing about being an ex protectorate of the French is that the people loathe the French almost as much as we British do (I should say English really as the Scottish have long had a thing for the Gauls). They also produce excellent wine and have a road infrastructure that is remarkably good given the general poverty of the place.
Luckily British Airways flies direct to Agadir. Unfortunately the fact that French airspace was closed meant the journey took almost four hours but when you think Tangiers was four days by steam packet in the thirties that is still a considerable improvement.
Although I am a bit stiff in the joints these days it was still possible to hire a motor car with which to explore the hinterland. On this particular occasion I had the Memsahib with me and she really dislikes camels. Goes back to an unpleasentness near Cairo in 1937. So we hired a French manufacture of motor car.
Of course we could have used the modern road direct to Marakesh but this seemed rather pointless to us as after all it was not our car. Instead we opted for the minor road that passes Taroudant and goes through the Atlas Mountains. This proved to be an excellent decision as the road provided plenty of interest both in terms of driving skills as well as visual delights. The Memsahib clicked away as though she had limitless supplies of film. This digital business amazes me, it really does.
The first unusual sight was some goats in a tree. Goats have never struck me as naturally arboreal yet there they were, quite high in a tree eating the fruit. This was the famous argan nut of course. At Taroudant, our guide Rashid took us to the Argan Oil house where we watched the women grinding the nuts by hand. Said nuts have first passed through a goat's digestive system which accounts for the goats in the trees. The oil takes some extracting. Each kernel is cracked by hand and then ground by hand in a primitive mill. The resulting liquid is then kneaded to turn it into a waxy ball. From this the pure oil is finally squeezed. My question is - whoever discovered such a longwinded process? The oil has many uses, including cooking but the Memsahib was really taken by the idea of an oil which smoothed the skin and took twenty years off her age. Mind you the wrinkle count between sixty and eighty cannot be that different. (Didn't tell her that of course)
We continued on, into the mountains. A road sign said bends for 172 km. Hmm, thought I, that 'll bring the average speed down a touch. The bends were mainly hair pin as the road narrowed to a single lane of tarmacadam with dirt rumble strips either side. Crash barriers were not in evidence, you were obviously expected to drive carefully or not at all. The views were stunning, despite a slight haze. The valley bottoms were lush and green with cultivated land, orchards and cereals. On the steeper ground the vegetation was stunted and clung on like grim death. On the lower slopes villages nestled in the mountainside. How one got to them I could not see. Not by road that was for sure. Probably by mule track. The villages looked as though they were designed with defense in mind and I recalled that it was not till after the last major unpleasantness that the country was properly pacified by the French.
With a certain air of serendipity the Hotel Belle Vue appeared at lunch time. It advertised itself as being 2100m above sea level and an ideal spot for paragliding. Paragliding seems to me to be the aerial equivalent of wind surfing. I have no time for either. If you are going into the sea then get a boat for heaven's sake and if you want to fly at least use a proper glider.
We parked the car and stretched our legs. The view was magnificent, we could see to the far rim of the world as the mountains fell away below us toward the distant Atlantic. We stood for some minutes admiring the vista but then my stomach got the better of me and we adjourned to the hotel in order to see what viands were available. Apparently, for a small sum, we could share a Beerber omelette and this we decided to do, never having tried one before. We sat, drinking mint tea (thoroughly to be recommended), and watching the overloaded lorries and pick up trucks labouring up the pass. All human life was to be observed there.
Our lunch arrived in a tajine. This seems to be the usual way of cooking in Morocco and it looks rather odd. A deeply dished slipware plate with a ponty conical lid. This sits upon a fire and the contents cook gently. THe omelette was quite delicious and rather more than a mere confection of eggs. I won't go into detail but I would thoroughly recommend it as a dish to try.
posted by Travelling Man | 3:15 AM
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