This is an authorized translation in English of a post in French by Hive account@terresco: D'Abidjan à Carcassonne : Le Haut Atlas

^{As my primary language is not English, there are probably some mistakes in my translation.}

Remember that the person who speaks here is NOT me, Vincent Celier (Hive account@vcelier), but Hive account@terresco, a French guy.

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Morocco was the last country in Africa we would cross to reach France from the economic capital of Ivory Coast, Abidjan. We had known Morocco for a long time, it had been our gateway, our initiation to Africa. We had friends in a valley of the High Atlas, who wanted us to hike to the peaks of the High Atlas. It was the occasion. Omar and his family had often welcomed us to their home at the bottom of the valley. We were looking forward to seeing the whole family again.

* * * * *

On the way to the Atlas

To reach Ait Bouguemez, the valley of the happy people, It was necessary to go through Marrakesh and its famous place Jemaa el-Fnaa, that had become so touristy in recent years. In 1994 it was already a mix of what this place had been and the story of the One Thousand and One Nights they were making. Beautiful and pleasant despite everything, Marrakesh, which some Moroccans in the countryside already nicknamed "Arnakech" (arnaque = scam) for the prices, had entered a new era.

After a farewell evening for our companions crossing the desert who went up north, we took the direction of the east to reach the Ouzoud waterfalls. At that time they were still isolated from the main tourist routes and the locals came there to enjoy family weekends. Diving, swimming, sometimes invasive monkeys, a very friendly atmosphere of simple people who enjoy the simple pleasures of life. I guess that must have changed as well, the waterfalls had to be victims of their beauty.

We had to follow a small road, which wound on the foothills north of the High Atlas. A winding road as are the mountain roads, devilish narrow, aerial, spectacular. The low speed is the price to pay that the pleasure of the eyes compensated amply. This long road cut the valley of the outside world, made it a paradise in the heart of the mountains.

In the heart of the High Atlas

Two passes later, we reached, almost with regret as the road was beautiful, the village of Omar. In the center of a fertile valley, in the heart of the Atlas nestles Aït Bouguemez, a valley where we had been happy at each of our stays. This time was not going to be the exception.

The welcome, in the family of Omar, was always extraordinary, we arrived totally unexpectedly because there was only one phone for the whole valley. We were quickly spotted in the village, the time to stop at the grocery store to buy some gifts of arrival, Omar or one of these brothers never failed to be on the road to welcome us. Not wanting to disturb them we had reserved a room but it never worked, there was no question of staying elsewhere than with our friends who, I suspect, were releasing their best room. What fantastic evenings and nights have we spent in this house of happiness!

The time to greet everyone, to go to wash at the nearby river and settle down a little, the tajine was ready. We were always entitled to party food, yet our hosts were not rich. What emotion, our mere presence was a holiday for them.

The organization

Omar was immediately available to organize our hike. First he had to finish a job in a field, I started plowing to help him, assisted by two recalcitrant donkeys that I was supposed to lead. I do not know if I gained or lost time in this operation but the field was plowed at dusk, after a good day of fun.

The next day we had to stock up. It is always the occasion of a great walk in the valley, immersion of green particularly pleasant when the fruit trees are in bloom. Sugar on one side, pasta on the other, a break at an uncle's house, another at a friend's house, I love these long days of preparation where we just have to get caught up in the rhythm. The valley is irrigated by a system of canals that flow between small plots of land and orchards. The water is abundant in the valley, dripping from the north side of the Atlas.

A cousin had just given birth, the evening we had to go congratulate the parents. We bought a small traditional gift that was nothing but a big sugar loaf. When we arrived it was already dark, the houses were lit only by the dim light of the oil lamps. There were many people in the house around a lady lying in bed. My wife, who was supposed to offer the sugar and congratulate the mother, was desperately looking for the baby. He was hidden and completely surrounded by bandages, a tradition for the first 24 hours of his life.

* * * * *

A last tajine with the family before going to enjoy a good night's sleep. Tomorrow up at sunrise to load the mule that will accompany us with the equipment and departure for a week of hiking. A brother of Omar and his friend had volunteered to accompany us as well.

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-- Hive account@terresco

01: From Abidjan to Carcassonne, the first crossing, by @terresco
02: From Abidjan to Carcassonne: Guinea
03: From Abidjan to Carcassonne: A break in Dakar, by @terresco
04: From Abidjan to Carcassonne: North Senegal, by @terresco
05: From Abidjan to Carcassonne: Mauritania, by @terresco
06: From Abidjan to Carcassonne: The forbidden border, by @terresco
07: From Abidjan to Carcassonne: South Morocco, by @terresco

Encounters with Africa series:

From Cape Town to Mombasa series:

From Abidjan to Carcassonne: The High Atlas, by @terresco (translated from French)