It sounds horribly privileged and quite outrageous to come home from the biggest adventure of a lifetime and only be craving another one, but I found myself returning from 39 days of big blue open ocean wanting to be in the mountains. I can’t pinpoint if it was the different landscape or the feeling of being a small person in a huge scene that I was longing for. In the words of John Muir: the mountains are calling, and I must go. So, I booked a trip to Morocco.
Rabat - solo city sightseeing
I’ve done a lot of solo travel around Europe and never really felt alone, however, when I arrived in Rabat in the dark and had to find myself a taxi, I stumbled across a language barrier and suddenly questioned my sense in being there on my own. My Spanish is reasonable and I do like to give foreign languages a good effort when I’m visiting a country, but I will admit I don't know a word of Arabic and my French is extremely rusty. Even the most basic of phrases seemed to escape my memory when I most needed them! Anyway, I managed to share a taxi to the edge of the medina with two German tourists. From where I left the car to my hostel was about a 15 minute walk through narrow streets filled with men sweeping litter, men smoking in doorways, men whizzing down them on motorbikes with no lights on, and cats. The lack of women was quite striking and mildly alarming until I remembered that the expectation is they stay at home with the children.
My full day in Rabat was spent walking around to see every site that the city has to offer: parks, markets, beaches, and mosques. I walked across the bridge to Sale and accidentally ended up with a private tour of the old town there, then got the rowboat ferry back to the capital. I sat by the sea reading my book and went for dinner in a restaurant by myself – two things I very rarely have time to do. It is worth noting that despite my initial anxiety on arrival, at no point did I feel unsafe. In fact, I felt so safe that I went for a long run the next morning (wearing long sleeves) before catching the train to Marrakech.
The Atlas Mountains
From Marrakech I’d booked a five day trip with Much Better Adventures: three days of trekking and a day in the city either side. This was my first trip with MBA, but it was great value and a fantastic time so I’m sure I will book again! (No-one has paid me to write this by the way – my recommendation is genuine!)
Arriving at a lovely riad I met the group. There were 8 of us ranging in age from 24 to 60 and we clicked pretty quickly. One of the group was actually my sister; she’d gotten FOMO when I told her I was going and subsequently booked herself a place too! We had a quiet evening looking at maps and preparing ourselves for three big hiking days.
Day 1: Up to Base Camp | 11km | 1500m up
We drove out of the bustling city to the village of Imlil, stopping at an argon oil factory on the way. Factory is not really the right word to describe it – the setup was simply a plantation and a hut with several women grinding the almonds by hand – but that is how they make it! Packs on our backs and stocked up on snacks, we headed up the hill to the start of the trail. Crossing a wide dry riverbed (so big there was a sandy football pitch built on it!), the Atlas Mountains stood tall ahead of us.
The trail soon became quite steep, weaving its way up through diminishing vegetation and herds of goats. We stopped for an excellent lunch at what is best described as a purpose-built cooking hut for trekkers. At about 4:30pm we reached the refuge at Toubkal Base Camp, standing at 3200m above sea level. It was a very basic setup with giant communal bunk beds, two large dining rooms, and fireplaces that had no fires. At this altitude, the temperature was only just above freezing, so it was layers upon layers! We spent the evening playing cards and getting to know each other more. I love the genuine connections that you build when you’re in these sorts of places, switched off from the rest of the world, focused only on the like-minded people that surround you.
Day 2: Double summit | 10km | 1000m up, 1000m down
I’d booked the winter edition of this trek, hoping for enough snow to need ice axes and crampons, but late April is the end of the winter season and unfortunately they’d had a few dry months so there was barely any snow on the ground. This meant a longer and more challenging climb (since you have to zigzag over loose scree rather than beeline straight up an ice sheet), but on the bright side meant we didn’t need to spend a day learning how to use the equipment, so we gained an extra day to hike. We therefore went straight up to the summit at 4,167m. We set off at sunrise and made it up in about 3½ hours.
Reaching the top, I had tears in my eyes. Happy tears. Not because it had been exceptionally difficult; more because I was overwhelmed with emotion – the gratitude to be there, the awe of the view, the sheer happiness I felt. To the north side lay an expansive desert; to the south side was a range of stunning peaks. Top of the Atlas / highest point in Northern Africa! With plenty of time to spare, we decided to not head straight down but head for another peak: Toubkal West. It was a bit of a scramble at the top but worth it for the view looking back on Toubkal itself.
The descent was almost as hard (if not worse!) than the uphill – thank goodness for my hiking poles! After a fantastic late lunch it was time for another round of cards before another delicious meal and an early night.
Day 3: Bou Ouzzal Pass | 18km | 500m up, 2100m down!
Our final day of trekking was a big one. We woke to find the refuge in cloud, but it started to burn away as the sun came up, and anyway we climbed above the mist. We walked up the valley to the Bou Ouzzal Pass at 3800m where we stayed for a good half hour, soaking up the scenery and munching on snacks. What followed was a technical and challenging descent of about 2100m back down to the village of Imlil where the minibus was waiting for us. The majority of the route down was in rain / cloud / snow, and I felt very lucky that we were blessed by the weather gods with clear skies on our way up! After a short souvenir shop stop, we were driven back to the bustling city of Marrakech for a much-needed shower and our final full group meal.
Marrakech – motorbike madness
If I am to describe Marrakech in three words, I think they are either “chaotic, colourful and alluring” or perhaps “overwhelming sensory stimulation”. It is a city of not many rules, horse carts everywhere, motorbikes zipping around with far too much speed for the size of the streets, snake charmers, shopping opportunities, music, art, culture, and so much more. I found it actually more exhausting to spend a day just soaking up the city’s atmosphere than a day hiking in the peace of the mountains. What a stark contrast!
Agafay – camels, quads and fire-throwing rods
I hadn’t made any plans for my last day in Morocco, and I was glad I hadn’t when three of the group were also staying an extra day and someone suggested a trip to the desert! We paid 30 euros which turned out to be some of the most well-spent euros maybe ever. For what was at the time about £25, we got transport, a quad biking trip, a divine three course dinner, musicians, and a fire show! It felt like a tourist trap and indeed whoever came up with the business idea deserves to have made their millions because it was a brilliant setup, however the number of people there actually made the evening of music and dancing a whole lot more fun. What an excellent way to close off the holiday!
I don’t remember the last time I could say I feel so genuinely calm, mentally stable, and at peace with myself. I still don’t know where I’m heading in career direction, but I really do feel like I know who I am. It’s terribly cliché to say I found myself in the mountains, so I won’t, but something does click inside me when I spend any time in such an inspiring landscape.
“The greatest gift of life on the mountain is time. Time to think or not think, read or not read, scribble or not scribble — to sleep and cook and walk in the woods, to sit and stare at the shapes of the hills.” ~ Phillip Connors
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