DAY 7 Taroudannt to Tafraout
05 December 2005
Taroudannt souk. Enlarge image
Before hitting the road for the day we wandered into the souk just outside our hotel to pick up some dates, olives, fruit and bread (at prices far below what we paid anywhere elso so far). A tout latched onto us, offering to take us to see something – we didn’t really understand what he was saying, but decided to go along anyway just out of interest. He took us to a place called Riad Argan. Inside the proprietor, a smooth English speaking man, showed us around. In the first room there were two women grinding argan nuts by hand. He explained that the argans must be roasted first to make them edible. The second room was lined with shelves holding a multitude of oils infused various ingredients that are used for just about anything: cooking (claimed to reduce cholesterol), massage, cosmetics, to make you sleep, to stimulate, to arouse etc. etc. – and we’re enthusiastically encouraged to taste and sniff the oils from various bottles whilst getting a back massage from two other women. Andy bought some cooking oil, paradise seeds (used crushed as a decongestant), some mint tea, sandle wood, and we both bought some scented “amber”, which I think is some sort of tree resin that is like a hard wax. Returning back through the souk I bought a long-sleeved shirt, as protection from the sun and also to cover myself more as, particularly in smaller towns and villages, T-shirts may be considered as underwear.
Women grinding roasted argans. Enlarge image
Andy getting a back massage. Enlarge image
Taking the highway (no. 10) to Agadir we travelled along the Souss valley between the High Atlas and the Anti Altas, and then turned South East from Agadir on the coast back inland climbing up into the Anti Altas. Occasionally small groups of ground squirrels lined up alongside the road in the barren-looking landscape flecked with argan trees.
Lunch break, with our trusty steed in the background. Enlarge image
View from car window. Enlarge image
Ruined kasbah perched on a cliff. Enlarge image
Spotting a ruined Kasbah quite close to the road we stopped to take a look around. On closer inspection a small part of the Kasbah was still occupied, though only one man and his wife lived there now. It looked like it would be a strange isolated existence living in a crumbing Kasbah with only the highway for company. The man showed us around, commentating in broken french – there was a channel cut into the rock for water to flow along. An underground room with a roof made entirely of interlaced flat rocks – the ceiling being 10-20 stone spans wide, but without any sort of rafters or beams to support them, each stone being supported by the tension with its neighbours. The buildings of the Kasbah were made of stone with argan tree limbs used as lintels and beams. The man then led out onto the cliffs on which the Kasbah was perched as defence against the neighbours. In the round-a-bout way in which we are forced to communicate, he explained that the disused terracing that covers all the surrounding mountains was once used to grow wheat (“pour pain”). We climb back up hill, where there was a small building next to the highway outside of which the man set out his wares on a blanket to sell to passing cars. Ol took an interest various bits and pieces, and the usual protracted haggling process began. The man's wife was sitting nearby, minding a goat and it’s two kids. She was dressed in strikingly colourful clothes, which covered her head to foot with only a narrow strip for her eyes. She looked a very beautiful sight, at once contrasting with the dry red surroundings but at the same time entirely befitting them. I wandered off to take a couple of pictures, when I returned the haggling was still in full flow. Numbers were written on a piece of paper which was passed to and fro, and various items included and excluded in the offer and counter offers. In the end Ol came away with more than intended: two decorative bottles, a candlestick holder, and a couple bits of jewellery.
Hills outside Tafraout. Enlarge image
We continued on to Tafraout, and on arriving in town a man with prominent, bad, teeth approached the car and introduced himself as Housine Laroussi. He claimed to be in the Rough Guide guide book for organising tours, and also has a shop down the road. After he pointed out the hotel were looking for (Hotel Tafraout) We thanked him, and looked forward to getting rid of him by going inside. After dropping off our things in the hotel went out for a wander in the last of the day's light. Walking south heading out of town we again met the man with bad teeth, this time outside his shop. He invited us inside for tea, but we put him off promising to return after we’ve been for walk. With the sun starting to set we left the road and scrambled up the nearest hill to get a better view. The hill and surrounding landscape was covered with giant, reddish, boulders that made you feel that you’d been shrunk, or that you were on Mars, or in a 1960’s film set. The boulders were very rough and grippy, making it fun to scramble up the steep surfaces. We got to the top in time to see the last colours reflected on the undersides of the few small scattered clouds as the sun disappeared behind the mountains.
Frog on one of the boulders on the hills outside Tafraout. Enlarge image
On the way down I spotted movement in the dim light, which turned out to be a small frog. By the time I’d focused my camera by the light of a torch held in the other hand the frog had managed to creep up a vertical surface into a crack in the rock. Further down I spotted another, and this time with Ol’s aid holding the torch I managed to get a couple of pictures.
Back in the town we stopped off at the shop for tea. At first everything was very relaxed, tea brought in and various carpets shown and stories told about what the patterns meant. And then the inevitable hard sell began – they adopted a divide and conquer strategy, taking us off into separate rooms. After a myriad of carpets had been spread out before me I was questioned about which ones I liked the most. Foolishly I pointed some out, and the next phase began. It started as a hypothetical conversation about what would be the maximum I would pay for a particular carpet. Eventually I said that 300dh is probably a good price for it, but explain I don't want to buy one now, maybe I'll come back to tomorrow and we can talk about it then. Of course this has no effect. After some more chat, and I found myself concededing that 450dh would be a fair price, at which point the conversation lost its hypothetical veneer as my hand was grabbed and shook - I’d bought a carpet despite myself. Going to the counter to get the carpet wrapped up I saw the others, and I gesticulate wildly that I’ve bought a fucking carpet, and that they should run for their lives before a similar fate befalls them. Ol defended himself by only offering 20dh whenever he was offered a carpet. However, the time taken to wrap my carpet was utilised to reel Andy in, who, just as we’re leaving, succumbed and bought another carpet. He was henceforth known as Andy “two carpets” Walker. The shopkeeper tried to shepherd us into a restaurant across the road, probably owned by his brother or some such. It looked nice enough, but we rebelled against the pressure and headed off to look around the rest of town by ourselves. I'd discovered that it takes great strength of character to visit Morocco and not buy a carpet.
After a short walk we bumped into a man who turned out to be the real Houssine Laroussi. He took us to his little room where he kept maps of climbing routes in the area, and showed us photos of trips he’d taken out, and proudly pointed out his name in guide books to Morocco. We explained that someone else had said that they were Houssine Laroussi, and he immediatly asked if it was "the man with the teeth” – obviously not the first time he'd used that rouse to get people into his carpet shop. After a while Houssine recommended a place to eat, whilst bad-mouthing the restaurant opposite the carpet shop. Off we went to Cafe Marrakech, where I had a good, massive, bowl of couscous with vegetables and almonds.
When we got back to our hotel Andy up to his room to bed. Ol and I stayed up for a bit longer in our room to drink one of the bottles of wine we'd picked up in Marrakech. As we did’t have any glasses we made do by using a small mineral water bottle cut in two. Ol, having the top end, was unable to put his 'glass' down anywhere without it falling over. Definately a classy way to drink a decent bottle of wine.
