capn_n_pye (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
capn_n_pye) wrote2013-12-08 02:20 pm
capn_n_pye) wrote2013-12-08 02:20 pm
Caravan of Courage
Finally our caravan of courage headed out to the proper Sahara desert - but on the way we stopped in a village to check out a library of eleventh century books in Tamegroute. If our guide in Fes looked like Denzel Washington (and he did), then our Tamegroute guide was Samuel L Jackson.
We were a bit disappointed when he didn't talk like him, because a spiel like "These monkey-fluffing books are fluffing old and I don't want no monkey-fluffing tourists taking monkey-fluffing photos of them" would have been pretty good. He also took us around town, giving us an idea how humans can live somewhere where it's so hot for most of the year without dying. Turns out the secret is thick, mud-brick walls and to go underground where possible. If you can't dig out a cave, just dig down and that should do the trick.
The local pottery cooperative took care to milk us before we left, which was thoughtful of them.
Down the road a bit we really got our Tourist on with a camel ride. You know the locals must think it's ridiculous that we softies will pay to perch on a grumpy beast and be lead around the edge of their village for an hour, but it is not an opportunity we would forego.
The hour was about fifty-five minutes too long for a couple of our band...
...but we really bonded with our beasties. Stinky named hers Pebbles, in honour of what kept coming out of his back end. Pebbles is a gentle soul, easily frightened by traffic, a lover, not a fighter. Pye's was Nutbar, because it took three men to hold him steady for her to get on. Nutbar has an unhealthy obsession with rubbing his face on the tail end of the camel in front of him and is surprisingly racist against donkeys and mules.
We named this one Ballsey Macgee, but we don't know why.
With that taste of the desert to whet our appetite, we swapped the mini-bus for four wheel drives and left civilisation behind to get some dessert. We didn't realise until later how near to the Algerian border we were, just as we were surprised to find that giant sand dunes were the exception, rather than the rule.
Swimming through the sand was fun and mixed up the bumpiness a bit. It was way, way rockier than television and movies had lead us to expect and any time we stopped to get out, someone would find a rock with a fossil in it. Eventually we came to the Erg Chigaga sand dunes and our camp, tucked in between a couple. It was okay, we suppose.
It was very relaxing, as there was nothing else to do except hang around on the top of a giant dune...
...and stalk the neighbours.
We supervised the sunset from there, reluctantly coming down to have dinner.
Normally when Pye is camping it's with school, so her favourite bit was how someone else cooked the food, gave it to us, then cleaned up afterwards without her having to tell them to re-clean the pot and put the rubbish in the bin. We both like the asparagus soup we had with dinner, especially since it allowed for asparagus-wee jokes later. The women had all agreed that the privacy tent that was serving as a toilet was not the greatest place in the world (the ground was very hard and the sand was very slidey, so they'd only managed to scrape out a hole about 25cm deep. The surrounding tent was very small and if that dribble down the back wall was mud, we'd be pleased. It wasn't mud). We took it in turns to helpfully add to the moisture content of the greater desert, coming to the conclusion that new asparagus plants would grow there by the morning. Issam helpfully assured us we were quite correct, that is the asparagus they will use it to feed to the next group.
The young folk chose to sleep out under the stars, but we haven't acquired brain injuries on the trip so opted for the slightly less-chilly tent option.
They were surprisingly comfortable and sand-proof, while still being bloody cold. Moose had just learned that phonetically his name means 'knife' in Moroccan, so he stayed up outside to protect the children from feral donkeys. He must have done a good job, because they said they didn't see any at all.
Another reason Moose stayed up was because after watching the sun set, he lay awake wondering where it had got to. Then it dawned on him. We greeted it from the top of the dune and the young folk celebrated it by rolling down while the neighbours watched.
We didn't go back the way we came, which pleased us, because we would have recognised too much of the scenery. The trail continued to provide rocks, a couple of trees, the occasional nomad hitchhiker or camel, a rarely-seen Dorcas gazelle and this well:
There is a dry lake that is really smooth that the Dakar rally dudes must really enjoy fanging it across. We thought it was fun, too.
We started to see more palm tree oases and shimmering mirages on the horizon, but Bugs Bunny cartoons have lied to us, as no one hallucinated dancing girls and deep pools of water.
Then there was this rock formation that gave us the finger. Rude!
Before you could say 'sand people walk in single file to hide their numbers' we were out of the desert and back on the mini-bus. We had a pretty long travel day to get to Taroudant, weaving around the Anti Atlas Mountains. Issam kept us awake with the promise of goats hanging around up the Argan trees that only grow in this region, but we only caught the briefest of glimpses.
Our reward for one whole night away from civilisation was to stay in Riad Hida. Formerly an eighteenth century palace, it is quite beautiful (and its gardens would be quite Balinese, were it not for all the citrus and cactus). Here is what we think it sounded like when arrived:
"There's a group coming in from the desert, get the water tank ready!!"
*sound of doors slamming*
*sound of ten toilets flushing*
* sound of ten showers running*
"Hey, when I washed my hair the water came out reddish brown!"
Stinky was quickly clean, dry, toileted and content - so her needs are just like that of a baby!
We were a bit disappointed when he didn't talk like him, because a spiel like "These monkey-fluffing books are fluffing old and I don't want no monkey-fluffing tourists taking monkey-fluffing photos of them" would have been pretty good. He also took us around town, giving us an idea how humans can live somewhere where it's so hot for most of the year without dying. Turns out the secret is thick, mud-brick walls and to go underground where possible. If you can't dig out a cave, just dig down and that should do the trick.
The local pottery cooperative took care to milk us before we left, which was thoughtful of them.
Down the road a bit we really got our Tourist on with a camel ride. You know the locals must think it's ridiculous that we softies will pay to perch on a grumpy beast and be lead around the edge of their village for an hour, but it is not an opportunity we would forego.
The hour was about fifty-five minutes too long for a couple of our band...
...but we really bonded with our beasties. Stinky named hers Pebbles, in honour of what kept coming out of his back end. Pebbles is a gentle soul, easily frightened by traffic, a lover, not a fighter. Pye's was Nutbar, because it took three men to hold him steady for her to get on. Nutbar has an unhealthy obsession with rubbing his face on the tail end of the camel in front of him and is surprisingly racist against donkeys and mules.
We named this one Ballsey Macgee, but we don't know why.
With that taste of the desert to whet our appetite, we swapped the mini-bus for four wheel drives and left civilisation behind to get some dessert. We didn't realise until later how near to the Algerian border we were, just as we were surprised to find that giant sand dunes were the exception, rather than the rule.
Swimming through the sand was fun and mixed up the bumpiness a bit. It was way, way rockier than television and movies had lead us to expect and any time we stopped to get out, someone would find a rock with a fossil in it. Eventually we came to the Erg Chigaga sand dunes and our camp, tucked in between a couple. It was okay, we suppose.
It was very relaxing, as there was nothing else to do except hang around on the top of a giant dune...
...and stalk the neighbours.
We supervised the sunset from there, reluctantly coming down to have dinner.
Normally when Pye is camping it's with school, so her favourite bit was how someone else cooked the food, gave it to us, then cleaned up afterwards without her having to tell them to re-clean the pot and put the rubbish in the bin. We both like the asparagus soup we had with dinner, especially since it allowed for asparagus-wee jokes later. The women had all agreed that the privacy tent that was serving as a toilet was not the greatest place in the world (the ground was very hard and the sand was very slidey, so they'd only managed to scrape out a hole about 25cm deep. The surrounding tent was very small and if that dribble down the back wall was mud, we'd be pleased. It wasn't mud). We took it in turns to helpfully add to the moisture content of the greater desert, coming to the conclusion that new asparagus plants would grow there by the morning. Issam helpfully assured us we were quite correct, that is the asparagus they will use it to feed to the next group.
The young folk chose to sleep out under the stars, but we haven't acquired brain injuries on the trip so opted for the slightly less-chilly tent option.
They were surprisingly comfortable and sand-proof, while still being bloody cold. Moose had just learned that phonetically his name means 'knife' in Moroccan, so he stayed up outside to protect the children from feral donkeys. He must have done a good job, because they said they didn't see any at all.
Another reason Moose stayed up was because after watching the sun set, he lay awake wondering where it had got to. Then it dawned on him. We greeted it from the top of the dune and the young folk celebrated it by rolling down while the neighbours watched.
We didn't go back the way we came, which pleased us, because we would have recognised too much of the scenery. The trail continued to provide rocks, a couple of trees, the occasional nomad hitchhiker or camel, a rarely-seen Dorcas gazelle and this well:
There is a dry lake that is really smooth that the Dakar rally dudes must really enjoy fanging it across. We thought it was fun, too.
We started to see more palm tree oases and shimmering mirages on the horizon, but Bugs Bunny cartoons have lied to us, as no one hallucinated dancing girls and deep pools of water.
Then there was this rock formation that gave us the finger. Rude!
Before you could say 'sand people walk in single file to hide their numbers' we were out of the desert and back on the mini-bus. We had a pretty long travel day to get to Taroudant, weaving around the Anti Atlas Mountains. Issam kept us awake with the promise of goats hanging around up the Argan trees that only grow in this region, but we only caught the briefest of glimpses.
Our reward for one whole night away from civilisation was to stay in Riad Hida. Formerly an eighteenth century palace, it is quite beautiful (and its gardens would be quite Balinese, were it not for all the citrus and cactus). Here is what we think it sounded like when arrived:
"There's a group coming in from the desert, get the water tank ready!!"
*sound of doors slamming*
*sound of ten toilets flushing*
* sound of ten showers running*
"Hey, when I washed my hair the water came out reddish brown!"
Stinky was quickly clean, dry, toileted and content - so her needs are just like that of a baby!
no subject
You are sure looking at a lot of things that aren't European fortresses and/or ruined abbeys!
It's just a shame Henry VIII's destructive ambitious didn't extend any further south! Or actually I bet the sand would just swallow everything in a ruin in these places...
It so does not look like you should be wearing jeans and long sleeves.
no subject