The High Atlas

The Berber villages in the valleys of the High Atlas of Morocco are lush, shady oases, so idyllic that we found ourselves looking out for the pixies and fairies. This was in contrast to the Yeti-watch that was required in the highest mountains where snow still blocked some passes, and sheltering from glaring sun and dust storms on high, dry passes. The variation of environments that we walked through in our six day trek was a major surprise.

Over time, the Berbers have built complex irrigation schemes to divert the snowmelt streams to water terraces of nuts (we never knew there were so many walnut trees in the entire world), fruit, vegetables, grains and irises – grown for their roots (orris root) – a herbal remedy for various ailments (and added to Bombay Sapphire gin) (thanks Wikipedia). Everywhere there is the sound of water burbling and signs of humans using the environment to survive (albeit by herding goats on the most vertical of hillsides). Berber women get around with babies strapped onto their backs, leading cows on ropes and tending a mixed flocks of human and goat kids. Young girls are already coming back from higher fields at 7am, bent over double under bales of freshly cut greens or with firewood collected from the ancient and gnarled juniper trees. There is an element of the lost world to the place.

For three days we were in valleys filled with Berber life, slowly getting closer to the highest mountain in North Africa, Jebel Toubkal (4167m). We were lead by Mohamed, who had a good CV for the job. A Berber, he began life as one of the urchins asking tourists for bon bons and stylos (they were the days when the French dominated tourism in Morocco). He then spent some time as a muleteer and cook before graduating to guiding.

Mohamed and our other helpers – Ali and his notably well-behaved mule (we called him el presidente, it seemed a bit rough that the Berbers do not name their mules – there is a word for one mule and a word for many mules, so much for individuality) were a good team and looked after us well. Although Mohamed volunteered no commentary, persistent questioning eventually elicited from him lots of interesting information (Arab men coming to villages to choose brides as Berber brides work harder than Arab brides, the market price of orris root, how water is shared in the villages…). We also got to watch flirting happen Berber-style, as every young girl along the way came to him for a panadol. Mohamed said that these requests were because the pharmacy was so far away, but the gender and age grouping of those with headaches was distinct…

The climb up Jebel Toubkal is long and steep, and we shared it with dozens of others. There were a few (non-technical) icy sections, a bit of scree and a fierce wind, but a few hours got us there. The views from the top were fabulous, especially with plenty of snow around. From there it was all downhill (2,500m or so of it!) to the village of Imelil, and time to turn our minds to getting to Fès, a long way north, with many things to see along the way.