Morocco 2010, part 9 (Erfoud, Erg Chebbi Dunes)
In the previous sequel, I left off the story at the moment when I arrived in the town of Errachidia in eastern Morocco. This wasn’t my final destination for the day, though – my goal was the town of Erfoud, even further east. However... Despite having a ticket to Erfoud, as did some other passengers, the conductor on the coach we were taking from Fes had issued us new tickets to Errachidia and when we got there, we all had to get off because the coach simply wasn’t going any further.
Since I didn’t know Arabic or the local customs, I was quite confused about what to do next. But I somehow figured out that, at least at that time, there was no direct coach to Erfoud and that what operated here was the so-called “grand taxi,” that is, a shared taxi.
To make a long story short, I sat in the back with a girl and two elderly women, while the driver and two young men were in the front.
It turned out that the girl and one of the young men (Karima and Mohamed), who were high school age and friends, spoke French (better than I did, but far from fluent), and also a bit of English. That definitely made communication easier.
During the slightly less than an hour and a half ride (about 75 km), Karima offered me to stay the night at her place (her parents’ house). I politely declined, explaining that I wanted to go very early in the morning to watch the sunrise in the Sahara and didn’t want to disturb or inconvenience anyone.
When we got to that point, she told me she knew someone named Majid very well (her cousin’s husband, her sister-in-law’s brother, or something like that) who organised exactly that kind of trip. Then she called him and he also spoke English, so I explained to him what I wanted and we agreed to speak again in an hour and a half, since some of his groups were already full and he needed to see if he could fit me in with someone.
Upon arriving in Erfoud, Karima and Mohamed accompanied me to the hotel, where I wrote down their mobile numbers. Then I went to a phone booth to call Majid and see what was happening with the tour, and afterwards arranged to meet up with Karima and Mohamed at 7 p.m. (it was almost 6 at the time). Since there was no space in any of the groups, I arranged with Majid for him to send a private vehicle for me at 4:30 in the morning for 40 euros (400 dirhams). I took a shower, realised I was completely exhausted, but still went to an internet café to wait for 7 p.m.
So, Karima, that 18-year-old girl from Erfoud, showed up, and then we headed to her house. She really wanted me to come and meet her family. Before we got to their home, I insisted on buying something as a gift, so I bought a whole box of pastries. I told her that it’s a custom in my country not to go to someone’s house empty-handed, especially not for the first time, and she said that the same custom exists in theirs.
Thus, in front of their house, I met her father, who ran a small food shop on the corner of their home. Her mother was at her sister’s place on the other side of the town. Her father also insisted that I spend the night at their house, but I explained that I didn’t want to inconvenience them.
After a short stay, Karima and I set off to that other side of town to get her mother, even though I was completely exhausted. It turned out we ran into her mom, who was an exceptionally beautiful woman, and the two of us hugged and kissed in the middle of the street as if we had known each other since forever. Earlier, we had also run into two of Karima’s friends, and I greeted them with kisses too. I got the impression that they kiss four times, although that number seems to vary.
Anyway, it turned out that her mother had been unwell, so she couldn’t walk much. We sat for a bit on the curb, since Karima’s older brother, Rachid, was supposed to arrange a taxi, and in the meantime, we had a lovely chat. Of course, the woman didn’t speak anything but Arabic, but somehow we still managed to communicate. What came through most strongly was a wonderful sense of human warmth. And since Rachid didn’t show up with the taxi, we set off on foot and parted ways at my hotel.
I found that woman very sweet and kind – she warned me that, since it was already quite dark, I shouldn’t go out “like loose women.” Of course, aside from the fact that I had no intention of staying out any longer, I could hardly wait to go to sleep.
What also happened in the meantime was that I offered Karima to come along on the trip with me, if she wanted to. The car was already paid for, so why shouldn’t she join? She gladly accepted the offer.
It was also agreed with her mother that after the excursion the next day, I would come by their place for breakfast. I was thrilled, as that meant I’d get a glimpse inside a Moroccan home.
So, in the morning I got up at 4:15 and got ready, just about to leave, when someone knocked on my door. The driver, as well as Karima and her younger brother, and even the older one, Rachid had already arrived, and the night guard came to call me. Rachid had come just to see off the younger members of his family, but I found it interesting that Majid had told his driver to pick them up first, which worked perfectly for me.
So, once I got comfortably settled into the large 4x4 vehicle, we headed towards the Sahara and the dunes. It was pitch dark, and I tried to doze off since we had nearly an hour of driving ahead of us, but I couldn’t manage to fall asleep. When we arrived – when the driver stopped and parked – I got out and, in the darkness, I could see some sort of desert “structure,” and the outlines of the dunes were just barely visible. At first, I didn’t really understand where we were or what was going on. Then things started to become clearer.
A guy in charge of tourists offered us the option to rent camels to reach the dunes, but the three of us (Karima, her brother, and I) agreed that we wanted to go on foot. And so we did. Always prepared (referring to myself here), I pulled out a small flashlight, but for the most part, we wandered in the dark. It was particularly interesting at times as we climbed the side of a dune and the sand kept slipping, making it hard to climb, our feet would sink in, but it was both challenging and fun.
Eventually, we climbed to the top of a smaller dune and sat down. Then we started to wait…
The place is known as the Erg Chebbi Dunes – a vast sand desert (part of the Sahara) that rises above the flatter areas that resemble more a wasteland.
Here’s a map that shows not only all the places I visited during this 2010 trip through Morocco, but also the approximate spot from where I waited to see the sunrise over the Sahara.
Meanwhile, more vehicles and tourists started to arrive. I noticed they were all heading towards a larger dune, but I had no desire to follow them. First of all, I was perfectly content with where I was. Second, tourists, especially in groups, are always too noisy, and I wanted peace. And third, this wasn’t a competition to see who could climb the biggest dune.
Although the sun wasn’t visible at first, daylight gradually spread, allowing me to see more clearly where I was and what could be observed from that spot.
While waiting for the sun to appear, I had a couple of photos of me taken.
Now that I could see my surroundings a bit more clearly, I realised that, in the darkness, we had actually walked quite a distance and moved away nicely from what you could call human settlement.
In fact, there was a kind of haze above the horizon, so the sun wasn’t visible at the exact moment it appeared. It only became visible once it started slowly rising across the sky.
I could also see other visitors on the surrounding dunes.
As the sun continued its slow ascent across the sky, it was also time to gradually head back towards the vehicle.
Still, I took a few more photos. Karima’s brother had been rolling around in the sand the whole time and although he was clearly enjoying himself, I couldn’t help but think about their mother, who would later have to shake out all that sand and wash his clothes.
Here they are, the younger brother and sister, and here’s a short video from the Sahara.
Needless to say, I had to sit down in the sand at least for a moment, which, in the early morning, was very cold on the surface.
I also captured the very sparse vegetation in the desert, and then we slowly started heading back towards the vehicle. We weren’t the only ones doing so.
On the way back, we passed by tents used by local nomads, and nearby there were also some structures made of sturdier materials. To me, the traditional tents were definitely far more interesting.
As far as I can see on contemporary maps, today in the place where I was, there are numerous "desert" hotels for tourist accommodation and it's quite possible that some of the buildings I saw further away were actually these same hotels under construction.
The people who live here in tents, as well as those who guide tourists on their camels, are mostly dressed in blue clothing, which is meant to show that they are members of the nomadic Tuareg tribe. It’s quite possible that this is just a marketing gimmick, since only a relatively small number of Tuaregs actually live in Morocco.
The term Tuaregs is used for members of related nomadic Berber tribes that have inhabited the areas of western and northern Africa for over 3,000 years (Libya, Algeria, Niger, Mali, and Burkina Faso). They have traditionally been involved in trade, connecting various parts of the Sahara with their caravans. Over time, due to the establishment of modern state borders, they have become somewhat dispersed. They are characterised by their indigo-coloured blue clothing, and are often referred to as the "blue people," not only because of the clothing, but also because the colour transfers onto their skin, giving it a bluish tint.
As for Karima, her brother and me, we started heading back to Erfoud, and as we entered the town, we passed, along with other vehicles returning from the early morning Sahara excursion, the dam or the bridge over the Ziz River. The river had overflowed onto the road, and some locals were there washing their clothes.
Here, Karima invited me (again) to her place, as we had agreed, and so we went. I was indescribably happy to step into a Moroccan home. I felt very special and privileged. They had actually invited me for lunch, but I couldn’t stay for that long since I had to continue my journey and the next destination was once again relatively far.
However, they kept me here for breakfast, while before that, I went into the kitchen where Karima’s mother’s best friend had come to help her bake bread. I deliberately didn’t try to capture the faces of these wonderful and kind women, but we had a great time in the kitchen.
Afterwards, we all sat down in the living room where they served me breakfast and we chatted for a bit.
They asked if I could help them get the oldest brother, Rachid, to move to the European Union. Of course, I couldn’t help with that, but the time I spent with them was filled with human warmth and friendship. Rachid’s little daughter was also there, and I was able to take a picture of her.
In the end, Karima's mother told me I was always welcome and they all insisted once again that I stay for lunch, but I had to continue on my way.
While returning to the hotel, I took a few more shots of Erfoud. It's an oasis town, although you wouldn't exactly guess that from the pictures.
From what I’ve read, due to its proximity to the desert and the beauty of the Sahara in this part of Africa, Erfoud has become an interesting destination both for tourism and the film industry, which occasionally comes here to shoot certain scenes. As a matter of fact, my next destination, the town of Ouarzazate, was even more influenced by its closeness to a place that has been connected to a number of famous films shot here. But first, I had to get there.
So, I first took a shared taxi to the town of Errachidia, located more than 70 km away, while the journey took just over an hour. Since the previous day I had been quite cramped (there were four of us women in the back seat), I decided to give myself a treat and paid for two seats in the front next to the driver. This gave me a better view of the landscapes we were passing through.
It was only when I was leaving Erfoud that I could confirm it was indeed an oasis. The town centre looked too dry.
Irrespective of the type of transportation and the duration, this leg of the journey was extremely interesting to me because I was now ready to pass by the impressive and large oasis along the Ziz River. From what I saw on the map, in the valley of this river, where the oasis is located, there are several settlements (some parts are new, while others are clearly older), but there are also relatively many hotels, most of which are built in the form of traditional kasbahs. In this case, "kasbah" doesn’t only mean a "fortress," but also a smaller settlement, and what’s important is that the buildings are made from adobe (mudbrick or air-dried brick).
The road, therefore, passed by these settlements and buildings, but we didn’t stop anywhere.
Practically, both the Ziz River valley and the Ziz oasis stretch all the way to Errachidia, but the road occasionally veers off, leading through flat and dry landscapes. I call these areas "wasteland" to distinguish them from the "desert," which for me means the Sahara, with its sand dunes.
In one of the places we passed through, I took a couple of photos of women in traditional clothing.
In Errachidia, I bought a ticket for a coach that would take me directly to Ouarzazate, a distance of over 300 km. It was already almost 1 PM, so I didn’t have much hope of reaching my destination soon, but I wasn’t too worried about it.
The journey to Ouarzazate went quite smoothly. It was occasionally pretty hot on the coach, and even though I was sitting in the front part, I was also on the side facing south, right next to the window. From there, I had a good view, but it was also warmer.
Despite that, this journey remained memorable to me because of the pleasant interactions with my fellow travellers.
I was sitting next to a younger man and at one point I took out a pack of cookies from my small backpack to snack on. It’s quite normal for me to offer food to someone sitting literally next to me, even if I don’t know them, while I had also read in my guidebook that this custom exists in Morocco. In addition to offering the young man, I also offered a couple of people sitting in the same row, but on the other side of the aisle. Of course, I didn’t intend to go around the coach and offer the cookies to everyone, but my gesture created a kind of “connection.”
During one of the stops, I was sitting in my seat making some notes in my travel journal, which the young man noticed.
A little later, an older man who was sitting all the way to the right of me (on the opposite side of the coach) was talking on the phone, and then everyone started to get a bit agitated. Of course, I didn’t understand what was going on, but the young man sitting next to me mimed that they needed a pen (probably so the older man could write something that his conversation partner had told him).
I quickly pulled a pen out of my waist pouch, everything that needed to be written was written, and the pen was returned to its place.
These were the only events I was aware of during this leg of the journey, but still... When I was getting off the coach in Ouarzazate, the driver reached out his hands towards me with a clear desire to shake hands and he took mine with both his hands and shook it as if he was congratulating me on something. I never understood why he did that, but the gesture was certainly warm.
Maybe the story reached him that I had “helped” the man write down an important piece of information, maybe the story about offering cookies, or maybe he was just happy that he had driven an obviously foreign woman who, by their standards, was a “decent woman” (long pants and a long-sleeve shirt, though I wasn’t wearing anything on my head). I’ve heard that problems can arise if (foreign) women go to Morocco and start walking around with bare shoulders and short skirts. I don’t do that. Not because I don’t dress that way at home, but because I don’t see the reason to draw (negative) attention to myself when I’m in countries where such dressing is not recommended.
In any case, as a side comment, throughout all my use of public transport on this trip in Morocco, and believe me I did use a lot, I didn’t encounter any other foreigners on those coaches.
On the other hand, it often happened that Moroccans, despite the fact that I came from Serbia, would tell me how I resembled them. This was certainly not because of my clothing, but rather, I think, because of my black hair and dark eyes.
I would then mention that Serbs were under Ottoman rule for about five centuries, and I would jokingly comment that maybe some Turk had some fun with one of my great-grandmothers or great-great-grandmothers. Oh, how the faces of the Moroccans I was talking to would light up at the thought of some Turk with my ancestor. As far as I’m concerned, if such things happened to any of my ancestors, I just hope they all had a good time.