The culture "tick" in Fes now complete, we left early on Friday (25th March) to make a start on this. First things first, though, and we needed a resupply of essentials. There's a Marjane supermarche - the equivalent of Tesco - not far from the campsite which we'd attempted to recce the previous afternoon after returning from the medina. One of the problems of having a rooftent is that once it's up and sorted, your transport becomes a static caravan. Not good for shopping trips, so we'd decided to walk. After 40 minutes we decided that, even if we found it soon it was too far to carry anything heavier than a bag of oranges back to the camp. As we retraced our steps a car pulled up, 2 blokes inside, who had obviously recognised that 1. we were tourists, 2. that we looked scruffy enough to be campers and 3. the only campsite within walking range was 3kms up the road. Would we like a lift? We accepted with some enthusiasm. An educated chap at the wheel, he was pleased to find that we spoke English, which he wanted to practice. He then rooted about in his glovebox and proudly showed us a copy of of the equivalent of Bert Weedon's Play In A Day - English Language. The cover design was straight out of the 1950's and the first chapter was guidance in how to commiserate with people who'd had a bereavement...He was very kind, dropped us off at the site gates and looked pleased that we could thank him in Dharija even though we'd spoken French up to then. In fact even though we were in a French language dominant area, making the effort to speak Arabic was clearly appreciated, even if it was only a few words.
The night was interesting...prior to going to bed there'd been a proper dogfight going on in the near vicinity of the tent -within a hundred metres or so, I reckon. One participant got rather closer and was making a real nuisance of himself, so before climbing the ladder to bed I lobbed a rock -well, a large stone - into the darkness and the dog's general direction. As we were the only one of three occupants of the site I had no worries about whacking someone who might complain. A yelp followed by rapidly retreating barking suggested that I'd scored a hit. Didn't stop the buggers carrying on for several hours more, though. Once they'd finished, one of the 272 mosques in Fes started the early call, a cry rapidly taken up by the other 271. We'd forgotten it was Friday....As dawn broke, so was the silence broken by gunfire. I've heard enough of that to recognise a shotgun from a rifle, and these cracks were from something high-powered and close. I suppose we should've been alarmed, but only if you believe that you'd really be in danger in one of the largest towns in Morocco at 6-30 in the morning. We went back to sleep for an hour, when more shots woke us. Enquiries of the guardien later revealed that it was a hunting party, raised to take care of a pack of noisy feral dogs that'd been annoying the neighbourhood. Oh, really? Somebody'd reported that some of them were injured and hence the cull. We did wonder whether.....nah, I'm no good at ball games so the chances of me hitting anything with a thrown rock....couldn't hit a barn from the inside.....wasn't me, guv!
Anyway, I digress once again. We stocked up on some "fresh" for the days ahead and invested in a Maroc Telecom dongle to get us some internet while off-grid. We've found that these work well but only within about 5 to 10 miles of a mast. Plenty of those around, but where there's a mast there's people..and dogs...which together add up to a disturbed nights sleep. We'll do our best though, even if it means parking up on the outskirts of towns for an hour or two to upload our stuff. We're sending tracking messages out using the satphone, so it's really only the blog which needs regular attention.
Next stop - the Rekkam Plateau. It's quite a trek from Fes to Guercif where our route began so we took the peage autoroute to speed things up a bit. Guercif is on about the same latitude as Fes, so our aim of going from the top of Morocco to the bottom "off road" we could argue wouldn't be compromised by heading east on tarmac for a while....right? The toll was 60 Dh - about £4.50 - for 160kms. Sue has difficulty with numbers in French, though, and the toll booth chap got quite patronising - just like a Brit in the same position, I thought. Personally I don't find it difficult remembering the difference between "soixante" and "neuf"....perhaps its because of the company I've been forced to keep over the years.
Stopped for fuel in Guercif and did the chat in Arabic with only one glitch, as far as I could tell. The Arabic for 5 is khamsah, and the "kh" sound comes from the back of the throat and top of the chest - not a sound we English make except when hawking up a throat full of phlegm, so I've become lazy and just pronounced it from the back of my mouth, lie the "C" in "car". Needless to say that "kamsa" means something quite different than "five".
Picking up the pink line on the map was straightforward but, once again, we found sealed road where we'd hoped for piste, but the original rough track still existed alongside the new road. Dilemma - do we drive the piste out of bloody-minded determination, or be sensible and use the tarmac? The idea was to use the pistes because they'd take us off the beaten track and into wilder and more remote areas. If the new road went to the same places, what was the point in ignoring it? We didn't, but took the first opportunity to kick up dust at Mahirija and the Plaine de Tafrata. This took us to Rchida and a long climb out of the valley to the plateau. From a distance this looks impossibly steep but as the distance decreases, the obvious weak lines and possible tracklines start to show. As we passed slowly through the village I noticed a young guy make a T-sign with fingers of his left hand and the flat palm of his right, tapping them together. I hoped this wasn't a way of saying "this is a dead end, mate". We started up, once again on brand new tarmac. Boring but easy.
Pretty soon though, we were back on dirt again. Big grins. The cedar forest was pretty dense in places but the track was dry and firm, no rockfalls or fallen trees to cope with, and every indication that this was a well used track but to where, we couldn't tell. It's possible that it led to the comms masts and buildings we could see high above us. If so, it might well be a "route barree" with a military purpose. What the hell, we've got time..let's just poke our noses in and see.
"Tendrara"
"The piste is closed. You cannot go this way. You must go back" was the giste of the conversation, in French.
Assuming that our earlier guess was correct - the army would stop further progress - we turned around and headed back down, following them at a distance and replanning. As we reached the aforementioned fork in the road, they were waiting, we assumed to make sure that we didn't take a wrong turn. "Can we use this other track to get to the top?" we asked. "Yes, but you cannot go that way to Tendrara. There's no water, no food, no hotels, no fuel". Ah! We now see the problem they thought we'd have...Once we'd convinced them that we weren't mad or fugitives from the law, they seemed accept that yes, it could be done...but why would you want to? Nice blokes, and helpful. We thanked them and said goodbye. They drove off shaking their heads and laughing. "N'est pas possible..."
Au contraire...here we are nearly at the top, and still smiling. Note that we've been collecting a little firewood along the way. I did tell you about my acquisitive habits earlier, didn't I? On a related note, you won't have noticed the lack of a bulge under the green cover at the front of the rack. That's where, amongst other things, the side curtains to the tent were stored. Note the past tense. I took them out when we stopped for lunch so I could get at the boxes underneath and change my leather boots for suede "dessies". Put them behind me on top of the tent while I got changed. Forgot they were there when we drove off. Someone on the outskirts of Guercif is now wondering what they are and perhaps they'll be in the souk tomorrow being recycled into underwear...b*llocks! The knowledge of what I'd done came to me at about 3 o'clock the following morning for no reason that I could fathom - I just woke up and slapped my forehead in disbelief....Anyway, we hardly ever use them....
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Here we are then, "topped out" as a mountaineer might say, and making our way towards El-Ateuf. We always travel quite slowly over this type of terrain. Quite apart from the strain that it takes off the truck, it can be difficult to spot big dips or rocks in time to avoid them except by really harsh steering or braking, and that's very tiring for both of us but particularly Sue, who can't brace quickly enough to stop being thrown about. I fitted 4-point harnesses for this reason but they aren't really practical as we're constantly jumping in and out, checking the ground and suchlike, or taking photos. Added to that, I know every inch of Daph's underbelly and drivetrain, and every bang and crunch makes me wince - I can imagine exactly which bit is getting whacked and what it will cost us if it breaks...Being solo on this kind of activity induces a little more caution than many would find fun, but we get a kick out of being self-sufficient and, more importantly, out of someone else's dustcloud. The risks are calculated and accepted.
Enough is enough for one day. We eventually hit the N15 crossroads unexpectedly, and Sue made some masterful navigation decisions which kept us right, but the picture was confusing: there was a metalled road where it shouldn't be, and all the angles were wrong. Eventually Sue sorted out a partial solution to the confusion and we set off in the right direction, but with the wrong picture. This road shouldn't be on this bearing......When it's an hour 'til sunset and you're still mobile, the plan is coming apart. We hadn't found a decent spot of cover for a while so just took a "90 left" off the road, got a klik or so away from it and stopped for the night. Knackered but happy. ...and you have to see these sunsets to believe them!
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