To Marrakech and Beyond: Morocco, Part 1

I recently returned from a trip to Morocco, primarily to visit the Atlas Mountains and climb the highest peak, Toubkal, among others. The planning and expectations for this trip were slightly loose, as we were not sure we could even enter the country until the end of January. Morocco had been closed, even to its own citizens abroad, at least since the latest surge of Omicron around the end of the year. In addition, the requirement to have a PCR within 48 hours of the flight made the preparations a bit loose. However, negative for COVID-19, we buckled ourselves in for a short 1:45 minute flight across the Strait of Gibraltar.

This is the first in a series of posts about this trip.

Although we had been warned of it by our friend from the US who had flown into the country earlier that day, we still thought we had escaped the obligatory antigen test when we were quickly shuttled outside of the airport after picking up our bags. (Moroccan customs seems about as stringent as Spanish customs.) However, we were soon directed toward a series of tents to have yet another teeny-tiny brush shoved up our nostrils. Unlike the nurse who administered my PCR test in Madrid, the nurse in Marrakesh was much gentler. After waiting a scant five minutes for the results, we were released to find the driver we had arranged via our riad. Because he was conveniently holding a sign for the riad, he was actually extraordinarily easy to find.

As we drove through the busy streets, he explained what we were seeing along the way. First, we passed through the modern part of the city, complete with glittering malls and shiny new apartment buildings, before crossing into the old, walled portion of the city via a narrow, one-lane door. Here, the equally narrow streets were filled with activity—people, scooters, and bikes—as well as little store-front restaurants of grilling meats and steaming tagines.

The driver was not permitted to enter the kasbah, which is the area where we were staying. So, he stopped on a nearby street where we were met by the owner of the riad—Miel et une nuit. As we walked to the riad, I noted that there were a LOT of cats prowling around and sleeping on cars and what not. You know, cat things.

On arrival, we relaxed in a little sitting area between our two rooms and drank what would soon become my favorite part of the trip—sweetened tea with mint. Then, we headed downstairs for a dinner of a light salad and a delicious chicken tagine before arranging when we would depart for the mountains the next day.

The next morning, we had an amazing breakfast, which I would learn is quite typical—an array of spreads like apricot and strawberry jam and honey, Moroccan-style crepes called m’semen, thin pancakes called baghrir, eggs, as well as coffee and more mint tea (yum!). We then finished packing our backpacks for the mountains, leaving the extra items at the riad since we would also be staying there on our return.

The day before, we had arranged with the driver who brought us from the airport to also take us to the town of Imlil, about 90 minutes south, which is sort of the gateway to the Atlas Mountains. Again, we wound our way through the cat-filled streets to meet him at the same point he had dropped us the night before.

The scenery along the drive was at first just a lot of open space dotted with large houses in various stages of construction. It reminded me a bit of Northern Virginia—not the terrain, but the houses under construction were like Moroccan-style McMansions sprawling out of the city into the scrubby desert. We also passed olive groves, which looked a lot like some regions of Spain in some ways as well.

For the last portion to Imlil, we finally left the flat area, winding up narrow roads along the mountains until we finally caught a glimpse of the snowy Atlas. We asked the driver to stop in a pullout when he had a chance, where we were greeted by a man selling jewelry. This seems to be quite typical—anywhere a tourist might be, there will be someone selling something.

In Imlil, we set about finding a gas canister for the stove. Although we had paid the half board that includes breakfast and lunch at the refuge, our friend from the US had brought his stove in case we wanted to boil water for drinking or tea or coffee. Imlil has several places that rent and sell outdoor equipment because it is the launching place for trips into the mountains. It is also home to the guide office. We went to two shops/rental locations and neither had a small screw top canister for the stove. At the second shop, run by one of the guides, he even sent out people to scour around somewhere to try to find it. Having failed with the canister, we were able to have him help us fill the re-usable canister with white gas, perhaps from one of the little restaurants lining the streets.

Our next stop was a small nut and spice shop to buy some extra snacks—almonds, walnuts, and peanuts with an orange, crunchy coating covered in sesame seeds. Then, we headed up through town, stopping for some mandarins, cheese, and a lighter for the stove before finding the trail to take us to the next town where we would stay the night.

Although we were only walking about an hour from Imlil to Aremd, every single person with a mule that we passed asked us if we were going to Toubkal and then asked us if we had a guide. Because guides are required to go into the mountains, everyone is super eager to help you find one. We had planned to arrange for one with the hostel in Aremd, but the guide in the shop in Imlil told us this would be difficult. Though after telling him the name of the hostel we would stay at, he seemed to relax because he said he knew them. I’m not sure if this is what it is always like or if the pressure for business has been amplified due to the lower number of international tourists due to the pandemic, but because everyone is so eager for your business and you have a dozen people telling you a dozen different things, it can sometimes be hard to trust what people tell you. But overall, everyone was incredibly kind and helpful.

We passed many people on our way up to Aremd, mostly families out for a picnic and groups with mules returning from the mountains. After walking up a gentle slope out of town and through a large park, the trail continued steeply up into the hills along the river valley, deviating from the pleasant greenness and into the dusty, rocky mountainous environment. After a series of switchbacks, we reached the road to Aremd where we could see the town on the hill across from us on the other side of the river, now lined with little snack shops that looked like nice places to relax and enjoy the day.

We walked a short way along the road, stopping for a quick snack of the nuts we got in Imlil before heading down and crossing a bridge to the base of the town. Here, we met a man dressed in the comfortable- and warm-looking long hooded robe typical of the Berber people of the region. Unsurprisingly, he asked us if we were going to Toubkal and if we had a guide.

After crossing the river, we walked up the dirt road into Aremd, or rather circling up the outside of the town, so we took the first opportunity to turn into the town, as that seemed like it would be more interesting. The town was steep and maze-like, and we took more than a few turns leading to dead ends, needing to backtrack and try again. Finally, as we neared the top, we ended back up on the road again, but heading back down. We started to turn off again, but it seemed like it could be part of someone’s house. As we turned back to the road, a woman clad in a head-to-toe black outside a nearby house motioned to us to come through, so we took a faint path traversing a lumpy, rocky patch of land until we reached her, and she indicated where we could turn to continue. Then, we more or less appeared to be in the town but still had to ask several people where the hostel was until finally, someone kindly showed us the way.

Once we settled in, we were brought that delicious Moroccan tea that I already, so quickly loved and talked with the hotel owner about arranging a mule, which he said he had, and a guide. After a quick call, he told us the guide would meet us at 6. By then, we had about an hour to kill, so we decided to explore the town without the desperation of carrying a heavy pack.

First, we headed up to the edge of the town, on a trail that looked like it went up into the mountains behind. Then, we turned downhill to try to get to the green, agricultural area at the base of the town. The streets were a combination of rocky terrain and what looked like maybe concrete—more like an improved trail than what I would normally think of as a street. After exploring a bit, seeing where our trail for the following day would start, we began a mostly exploratory and completely indirect trek back up through tiny tunnels formed by the houses constructed above, past cats jumping and scurrying along the flat roof tops and rocky walls. We also saw a lot of small stables filled with hay tucked under houses that I imagine were for goats or donkeys or mules. The entire town reminded me of a cave in the open–paths running on different levels and full of twists and turns and dead ends.

Once at the hotel, we were met by the guide and (yay!) more tea and some delicious fried bread. We spoke with him for quite some time about the mountains and his and our experience while we shared the tea and snacks. After about an hour, we finally started talking about the price, which was tense at first because it seems most things in Morocco are negotiated. Or, as they would say, “You have to talk.” After both stating our desired fee, we waited in silence for a long time. I found it incredibly stressful and I kept wanting to offer the original price to make the uncomfortable silence go away. I suppose this is part of this type of negotiation and why we left the haggling to my Spanish partner who is culturally much more adapted to this process. In the end, my partner held firm, and we received our desired price, which was important because we actually didn’t think we would have enough dirhams to cover the originally asked fee plus the mule and the refuge as well as dinner that night and the ride back to Marrakech.

Once settled, we shook on the price and arranged our meeting time for the morning. Then, we had another delicious dinner of chicken tagine with preserved lemon, potatoes, and carrots, followed by more tea. Then, we went off to bed, bundling up in our sleeping bags, even though the bed had sheets and a blanket, because it was just that cold and, apparently, going to get colder.