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A 10 years yourney…
10 years have elapsed from the first posts on pmoroni.it.
More than 350’000 people worldwide have visited the site, leaving comments, helping others with interesting information about travels, bioengineering, open source and social projects.
This is the power of using internet in the positive way.
Our mission is to continue in this journey with all of you.
A big, big thank you!
Back to Marrakech
From Casablanca the highway goes fast towards Marrakech, we sleep along the way, only the hot sun beams wake us up, telling us we are back to the imperial city and the big Moroccan south. A final warm greeting to Djemaa el Fna square and to this chaotic and friendly microcosm.
Chefchaouen, the blue village
The few villages give way to extensive pine forests and plantations (many of those kif), we are surprised by the contrast between this lush landscape and the desert we left a few days ago. The atmosphere is one of frontier and past. The night is already coming when we see the sinuous shape of Chefchaouen, Chaouen for its residents, the blue village for tourists. An eccentric musician, philosopher and traveler, Maurice Toulouse known on the road, recommended us the Hotel Goa and there we go with quick walk, accompanied by the usual shadow of Mustafa. We spend a whole day getting lost in the maze of alleyways that make up the Medina. The atmosphere is unique, all the houses are plastered with amazing blue tones. They say to keep away the flies during the summer heatwave. The visual result is brilliant and we are fascinated by this town. We spend the evening in Chefchaouen, together with Mohammed and Abdel Rahim, two friends of Goa.
Al Hoceima, ancient rock
The rain forces us on the road. After a long bargaining with taxi drivers in Saidia, we get a passage to Nador, a very busy port near Melilla, one of two Spanish enclaves on Moroccan territory. Along the way we look incredulous at the results of massive speculation, which affects part of the Mediterranean coast near Saidia: European property developers are building hundreds of terraced houses, according to a now well known scheme. When this sea of concrete is finished, our eyes can enjoy a magnificent Mediterranean landscape, where the low forest that blends wearily to steep cliffs suddenly gives way to sandy beaches and turquoise sea. The road is short from Nador to Al Hoceima, a cliff above the blue sea, an outpost of the Rif mountains.
Saidia, Mediterranean sea
Saidia, the eastern Mediterranean Moroccan beach, just a few steps from the Algerian border.
Some clouds leave us worried, but the sandy beach and emerald waves invite us to take a long walk. Soon comes the night and the whole crowd of Moroccan tourists disappears, there are only curious gulls observing us. We sit at a bar near the beach drinking a mint tea and we immediately know Mimon, which tells us that he spent his life between the Spanish and Moroccan coasts, beyond the Mediterranean Sea, carrying the precious kif.
Sahara and Atlas, towards north
From Merzouga, Nazihr and his cousin give us a lift back to Erfoud, where we take a taxi to Errachidia, we are in full hamada (rocky desert), often interrupted by beautiful palms… the heat is dry and enveloping. Once in Errachidia, we discover that the only bus to our final destination leaves during the night: then we decide to rent a room to rest for a few hours. In the evening, when we walk towards the station, we know a nice Moroccan living in Spain, we have dinner with him. Night falls and our bus leaves, direction Oujda and the Mediterranean Sea. At dawn we see a new landscape, green-gold hills covered with fields of grain and forage.
Merzouga, Sahara dunes
The cool morning breeze that emanates from the palm grove wakes us up earlier than expected. Backpacks on shoulder, we leave from Tinghir and arrive in a few hours by bus to Erfoud, a small and crowded village, from where we soon move to Rissani and then take a taxi to Merzouga. We are welcomed in the hotel of Nazihr’s cousin, the beautiful view beams directly on the golden sand dunes of Erg Chebbi. We are full of energy, despite the scorching sun, and we look forward to Nadir, a boy of Berber origin who will guide us in the desert with Bob Marley and Jimi Hendrix, two beautiful camels.
At sunset we reach the highest dune, the Erg, where we enjoy a breathtaking view. A long descent in the fine sand brings us to the tent where we spend the night. We eat a tasty tajin with hariri, sing and play guitar. In our happy loneliness, we observe the stunned silence of the stars dancing around the moon. We sleep under this velvet blanket until dawn.
Tinghir and Berber people
In the evening, upon leaving our backpacks at Tombouctu hotel, we go out to discover the suq. As frequently happens, we find a new friend, Nazihr: a really nice guy, who tells us about Tinghir and the origin of its peoples, the nomadic Berbers. The next day we go with him to the Todra Gorge, a massive rock formation, up to 350 meters high, from which numerous springs of clear water flow, feeding the palm of Tinghir.
Going beyond the gorge, we clamber up a steep path, which follows the arid slopes of the mountains, foothills of the Atlas towards the desert… Nazihr guides us where we can enjoy a breathtaking view over the valley of Dades. We get to a camp of nomadic Berbers: people still live in simple tents to shelter from the sun during the day and in natural caves to protect from the cold of the night. A woman, confirming the hospitality of this people, prepares a tea of thyme, while her children Lazhen and Youssef play with us and the goats; more distant, her eldest daughter, not married yet, show us timidly the carpet she is weaving for her marriage together with the grandmother.
Then comes the night and, walking in the shadow of the ancient medina of Tinghir, we perceive the presence of ghosts coming from a distant and lost world: they are Berber men, women and children who left the hard life of the mountains, to disappear in the chaos of the city. Their spirits still roam desperate, in memory of their past nomadic life.
Tinghir and Dades Valley
There are moments in a journey in which consciousness is suspended, giving way to the cool morning breeze. In front of the bus station of Ouarzazate stands a fine powder, indicating the way to the Sahara Desert. Silently, we hear the cries of taxi drivers, waiting that they pronounce the name of our next destination, according to a ritual that is repeated from years. Other people appear from nowhere and they seem to be interested in moving to Tinghir along the Dades Valley.
Our Mercedes, a copy of the last century beautifully decked out in tinsel and purple advertising stickers, does not betray his nine hundred thousand kilometers traveled in extreme climatic conditions and, cleverly manipulated by the driver, proceed to tear down the strip of asphalt that is immersed in the arid landscapes of the Dades Valley. Temperature forces us to frequent stops, in the attempt to draw water from numerous wells and deep groundwater. Sudden green corners above tiny shops, where they sell rose water.
Finally, it unfolds by our eyes the glittering green strip of Tinghir palm garden, we are greeted by the smiling face of Youssef, who offers us a Berber tea.
Travel tip: overnight in the charming hotel Tombouctu (near the bus station), built on the ruins of a kasbah.
