Riboflavin

This morning I got up with the plan to write my bit about the Ourika Valley for the tour agency, and then settle in and write about my trip to Imlil. Yeah. Got the first one done. Then the hammering started next door and reverberated through the entire building, and that just kinda forced me out. So, having planned to come down to the hostel and the agency this afternoon I figured I would just swap the schedule. Head out for the morning and then come back and write in the afternoon. But then, on the walk to the hostel I got into a funk. No idea why, though it may have been Tom Waites' fault.

It's amazing how sunglasses and earphones cut you off from the world so readily. I do not find myself doing it very often during this trip, but when you're going for anonymous, or at least oblivious, or the ability to fake oblivion, these two accoutrements really add something special to the ensemble. Highly recommended. Sure, in Marrakech that may mean being swiped by a scooter, bit by a bike, crushed by a cab, or trampled by a truck, but sometimes it is just worth it. Sometimes.

But it's not afternoon yet. It's still morning, and I am at the hostel waiting for Hussein so we can head over to the tourist police office to get the official papers required for us to be friends. Yes, we need papers for that. Stamped papers even. I'll tell you about it another time. So yes, it's still morning, and I am still in my unexplained funk. Let's go for missing people. That's what it feels like. Anyway, I figured I would try and write about Imlil, as Hussein seem to be busy right now, and I wasn't interested in what Jack Ryan was talking about with his British counterparts. So here we go. Imlil. With all the grump and none of the pictures. See, I'm not online, I'm just writing in a doc right now, so I can't work the writing around pictures. That's okay though as I'll just dump them all at the end. I won't have much to say other than "pretty" so, heck, why not, let's get the story out of the way.

Apologies if I stay grumpy. It's not your fault.

The thing I will remember most about Imlil is the giant snake eating the guide's assistant. But I'll get to that at the right time. Why skip ahead.

A few Saturdays ago Sabong and I decided to head to Merzouga, in the desert, to stay with a couchsurfing host who had sent us both invitations. We decided to take the local bus, found the station, got the tickets, got on the bus, got two hours on the way, and then turned around and came back because the rain and flooding had taken out roads and bridges and it wasn't possible to get there. Given what the rain had been doing to the rest of the southern part of the country this was nothing. I mean, it was something, and it was inconvenient. But our bus wasn't swept away by the river, or our house brought down around us, or our fields entirely flooded. We just couldn't go to the desert. No biggie. For us anyway.

Saturday ended up being a chill day in Marrakech, which was fine. Sunday was more rain, so definitely a quiet day. I don't think I left my place on Sunday. Let's hear it for Netflix. Sabong was leaving Morocco at the end of the week, so it was important for her to find a Plan B. And a Plan B she found, Imlil. Imlil is in the High Atlas mountains, and is the gateway to Toubkal, which, at 4,167 metres, is the highest peak in North Africa, and the second highest on the continent, right after Kilimanjero, which hits 5,895 metres on a good day. So it's a long way after, but still second.

Sabong had heard about Imlil from someone at the hostel who we'll call Ed, even though that was not his name, I just can't remember it. Ed was planning on going Monday morning, and Sabong had decided to go too and messaged me to let me know and invite me along. After going to the desert, going into the Atlas mountains was the second thing on my list of to do's in Morocco, so, with very little hesitation, but I will admit with some, and for no good reason other and inertia, I decided to go along with this Plan B.

So I got online and reserved a hostel and Monday morning I got my butt to Waka Waka nice and bright and early so that we could go make the 9:30 bus. But no. At the hostel it was nothing but stories about mountain road closures and how it wasn't possible and such. Again, not a biggie given what was going on. So, a new plan was required for the day. Ed had split the hostel with some other folk so Sabong and I headed out into the middle section of my last blog entry with Max and the fellow I was incorrectly calling Alex and will continue to do so for the sake of internal consistency. Sounds like something dietary fibre could help with.

As you may recall from the last blog, Sabong and I got separated from Max and Alex so we continued to wander on our own, and since Sabong was wanting to find a Plan C so she could get out of Marrakech for a few days we headed off to a tour agency. There they told us that the roads to Imlil were open and it wouldn't be a problem, we could leave the next morning.

And that's when I called the hostel in Imlil and asked them for their opinion. I mean, too many conflicting stories. Their response? "Sure, our driver is in Marrakech right now and can come and pick you up wherever you are staying, say, around 3pm?" And that became plan B2 and is what ended up happening. We got back to the hostel, but sadly could not find Ed, but did pick up Oliver, whose name is actually Oliver, and who did decide to come along as well. So, it was that at about 3:30 Monday afternoon we piled into an SUV and headed off for the mountains.

What ensued from there was a great trip, lots of hiking, a very sore knee and a limp that I still blame on Grouse Mountain in Vancouver, and a whole lot of pictures you'll see pretty soon, or even sooner if you just give up on the prose now and scroll down the page a bit of a ways.

It is both a very large and very small world, and travelling is a good reminder of this contradiction. Imlil was a reminder of the "very small" because staying at this hostel was Alex, not the Alex who is not Alex, but the Alex who is Alex. This is the Alex who is from the Netherlands and who Sabong had met in Essaouira a week or so earlier. So upon arrival we were among old friends. 

Steve was the other fellow staying at the hostel. Steve is a professional guide, and was here for a little R&R before leading a trek into the Arctic. Yes, the Arctic. Steve is a guide to tough places. Arctic, Antartic, jungles of Borneo, Everest. Very small groups, very serious places. It's Steve's assitant who got eaten by a snake in Borneo. And it was over one of the best tagine dinners I've yet to have, on the second night in Imlil, that Steve regaled us with this and many other story. Steve has been a guide for over 30 years. In that time he's worked for National Geographic getting their photographers places, he's run the base in the Antarctic that handles all tourism there, and he's taken people to some of the most isolated and intense places on this planet. So you'd imagine he's got some stories to tell. Well, your imagination would be correct. But your imagination will not be able to keep up with the reality. Mine was certainly reeling from it all. And it would appear that all those hours spent riding out massive snow storms for days on end in a tent with a few squirrelly clients has honed Steve's story telling abilities quite finely. The evening was a lot of shut up and listen on the parts of Sabong and I, Ollie and Alex having left that morning to climb, or more accurately rigourously hike, up Toubkal.

The best and not so tough decision I made was to be honest with myself up front and know my knee wasn't going to handle getting to the top of Toubkal. This was proven during the day Tuesday when, after breakfast, Steve said he was going for a bit of a hike and welcomed Sabong and I along to join him. For the record, when a professional guide who knows the area like the back of his hand invites you along for a hike, say yes. Just say yes.

So before all the stories Tuesday was this incredible day of walking up this pass through the mountains, and by "walk" I mean hike, and by "up" I mean up. I'm not quite sure which pass we aimed ourselves at so I can't speak to actual elevations, but looking at the options we increased our elevation by either 1 or 1.5km. It felt like 1.5, so let's go with that. So not rigorous, but not a stroll down the lane either. Our destination was the Tizi Mzik pass, or perhap Tizi n' tamaterte pass, I don't know, I just knew it then as tizi. Both passes lead through the mountains, providing access between the various towns, if you're willing to walk alot. From the top of the pass we looked out over the valleys spreading before us on either side and then after taking it all in for awhile  we turned around and walked/limped back, albeit via a different route, just to keep it interesting. And interesting it was. Beautiful. Majestic. These any many other fine adjectives could be used to describe the scenery. Again, just skip...

Okay, pardon the interuption. It's now 2pm and I'm back at home. Hussein was ready to go so that's what we did. He's a really busy guy so when he's ready to go, it's just kinda time to go. That said, mission failed. For now. Gotta go back. It's amazing how difficult the tourism police here, yes there are police specific to tourism, make it for a tourist to just hang out with someone from Morocco without the person being hassled, potentially taken in for questioning, and possibly put in jail for 48 hours. I am not kidding. Still though, more on that another time.

By the way, still grumpy. If you ever have a day when you just don't feel like dealing with the world and are in Marrakech, just stay inside. Don't leave. Seriously. Marrkech can get in your face, and it's own face actually, like nowhere else I've been. On a fun note, on the way back I got to be part of a traffic jam that was a snarl of mule-pulled carts, loads of pedestrians, guys with push carts, an actual car, and more scooters then that guy over there could shake the stick he was justing smacking his donkey with at. It actually erupted into a fist fight.

But on with the story. I need to get to the calm serenity of those mountain pictures. I was saying you can just skip ahead. Me, I'm just gonna keep nattering on.

Steve invited Sabong and I to join him, and that's precisely what we did. And although I could barely walk by the time I made it back, I'm really happy I did it. But the stories we got from Steve. Well, they're his stories, so just wait for the book, or movie, or whatever eventually comes along to share this man's life with the masses that must assuredly come along, because, quite frankly, it's pretty wild. The Coles notes version of just the little bits I've heard would be:

• Survived a plane crash
• Has been on a plane with someone intent on blowing said plane up - a plane going to Resolute Bay no less. Go figure. The someone got a beat down and was restrained by some climbers who were hitching a lift.
• As mentioned, had his assistant eaten by a snake in Borneo. The fellow had gone for a night swim in a water hole by a river that apparently was inhabited
• Hospitalized by an orangutan
• Climbed pretty much everything
• Been to both poles multiple times
• Worked in Antartica running the tourist base there

And he's got such an amazing attitude about life. And you would have to, given all the crap he has seen. Just frickin' astounding. I really do hope there is a book, or two, or three, or a movie, or something. Actually, I really just hope that next time he's in Canada we get together for dinner.

And then it was time for bed. 

Wednesday saw Sabong and I out and wandering about the village for the morning before catching a taxi back to Marrakech with a couple from Australia that we met while we were walking towards the taxi stand.

Yes, it is that simple sometimes. 

This lovely couple whose names I cannot remember and who I will not be giving false identifications for for the purpose of this story, were recently married and spending a good long time travelling together. She is a nurse, he works in IT. Let's just say that we all had lots to talk about once we'd got past the usual where you've been and where are you going dialogues that generally are the hallmark of the initial conversations you have with travellers you meet while travelling.

I wonder what rides on the GO or TTC would be like if we did the same thing. There you are, getting on the subway at Jane Station, you sit down, and the person beside you says "Hey, where you from?" You tell them you're originally from the Beach but you went to see York University and decided to take the bus down because you'd heard from some other people that it was worth the trip and you could check out Bloor West Village on your way. They tell you they were just in Bloor West, and were now on their way to the Junction. They'd also heard it was a good place to visit, but it seemed kind sleepy, and they were looking for a bit more going on. 

"How long have you been travelling?", you ask them.

"Seems like forever."

And then you'd friend each other on FB just before Dundas West Station as there was a brief moment when you both had cell reception.

See, pretty much the same thing, just a metropass costs more than flying Easyjet.

And with that, here's some pictures of Imlil.

That's Sabong in the middle, Oliver on the right, and some guy we picked up on the road who needed a lift part way on the left. He was carrying a big sack of something. I don't know what the statistics are, but I'm guessing that people who live in, shall we call them "vertical places" have longer life expectancies than those who live on flat terrain. Just a guess.

That's Oliver with Alex at the hostel.

Alex is wearing Sabong's djellaba. I've seen lots of travellers buying these. I have not, nor do I intend to. Charlie bought a nice one, but he went all Star Wars in it.

I was there too.

With introductions out of the way I will now shush.

Oh, those are apple crates. Imlil has got lots of apples, and lots of walnuts. You can walk through groves of walnut trees growing by the river where each tree is owned by a different family, and it's only that family that is allowed to harvest the specific tree.

And lots of apples. The smell of them was everywhere. And remember how Sabong is good at people just giving her stuff. Well, we did not want for apples.

Above you can see some of those walnut trees I was mentioning.

Below you can see the farm terraces cut into the hillsides.

There truly are times when you wish you were a goat.

That's Steve.

And that's Toubkal.

And that's the moon.

Oh, this story has a happy little ending to it. Imlil was gorgeous, the mountains were gorgeous, the hike was amazing, and Oliver, Sabong, and I all had Ed to thank for it. But Ed wasn't there to thank, we hadn't been able to find him before the car came to get us on Monday afternoon. So there we were, thanking Ed aloud, but also feeling kinda guilty, as this was his idea to begin with and now he was missing it.

Well, Sabong and I get back from our walk Wednesday and who is sitting on the terrace chatting away with Steve? Ed. Made it afterall. So as Sabong and I headed off to find that taxi I mentioned, Steve and Ed set off for an afternoon hike somewhere else along the foot paths of Imlil.