This week we started our Moroccan adventure and it was a great antidote to Ibiza. We stayed with Mohammed Idahli and his family in a Berber Guest house. Berbers are the indigenous people of North Africa and pre-date the arrival of the Arabs. The guest house itself is in a village called Aguer Sioual high in the Atlas Mountains and is situated firstly up a long dirt track and then up through a series of roughhewn stone stairs and alleys. The only way of getting Fran’s sizeable luggage to the house was via mule. These beasts of burden are used in the mountains for carrying literally everything, including, people, wood, bricks and food but I think even they had met their match. The guest house and the people were truly amazing, especially Mohammed’s cousin Hassan who was the go-to for everything we needed. Unfortunately, Fran arrived with some sort of virus and spent the first two days held up in bed, which left Stuart to scope out the area. Getting anywhere involves tracks and steep hills, so you really regret getting lost and with Stuart’s legendry sense of direction many hours were spent going up and down hills for no appreciable gain. He did manage to get to Imlil, the last sizeable place before the mountains and the vast Sahara beyond and where a lot of scenes from “7 years in Tibet were filmed”. He also managed to get stung into buying an appreciable sum of tat from local traders that were obviously taking advantage of his being at altitude (Imlil is at 1800m) and not yet quite getting to grips with the currency exchange. On Fran’s return to health we once more took the 45 minute trek to Imlil to see one of the popular local attractions, the waterfalls. With our previous experience of finding water in August, our expectations were pretty low. However, there was water and also people, absolutely loads of them. It’s easy living in the UK to take water for granted but in Morocco people are drawn to it and are probably have a keener sense of its necessity for life. The place was mostly full of Moroccans from Marrakech escaping the 45C of heat. Fran did manage to “make friends” with a 60 year old man called Mustafa who showed us the “quick route” to the waterfalls and whilst the hours we spent with him were enjoyable and whilst he also hadn’t lied about not being a guide, Fran now has a lot more jewellery than she had before.

As well as having a virus, Fran had also picked up an ankle injury from an Ironman event, a bit of a problem because almost everything to do in mountains involves walking. This includes, the one thing you must do whilst you’re here, climb Mt Jbel Toubkal, at 4167m North Africa’s highest mountain. So despite a severe case of diarrhoea that he was hoping Diacalm would fix, Stuart left his trusty side-kick and headed out. The hike took two days and started with 5 hours of steady walking uphill, gaining about 1300m from Imlil. The destination was the “refuge”, at the foot of Toubkal. Externally, it didn’t look to dissimilar to a large Swiss Alpine lodge. It was very basic but did contain toilets, showers and a small shop selling chocolate. Food was supplied by the various guides who clubbed-in to make everyone’s meals. Sleeping arrangements were interesting, with a number of dormitories each sleeping about 30 people on mattress’ placed next to each other. When everyone has settled and all the lights are out you do not want to be that 55 year man with an enlarge prostate and an urge to pee! Regardless of being woken up by Stuart clattering around in the dark, sleep is difficult and a 04:00 breakfast didn’t help matters. The second day is long, so the assent on the peak starts at about 04:30 in the pitch black with head torches. Some of the slower groups had started earlier and it was amazing to see a train of lights reaching out into the blackness. On the way up a number of people were passed coming down, unable to complete the climb due to fatigue or the altitude. It’s not full on mountain climbing but neither is it Snowdon, it’s a difficult but the reward is the most incredible of views of the  surrounding Atlas range as the sun comes  up. Stuart would never admit to having a “moment” but……..

With Stuart away, Fran was getting herself into mischief. Without her time keeper, she turned up at 09:45 for breakfast much to the concern of the family who weren’t even aware people could physically sleep that long. Then having nagged about getting involved in local day day life she got invited to the local community house, only to completely fail to show up at the allotted time, blaming it on her returning hero. However, with a beauty of spirit that we’d met at every turn whilst here, a teenage girl came and found her and dragged her along to  see the girl’s auntie hastily drag out the oldest Singer sewing machine in Morocco. That young girl is doing a degree in English and that day made a friend for life.

We can’t complete this week’s blog without a thanks to Hussein and his roadside/riverside café. A place we visited often to watch the world go by. A great sofa to sit on and for small price he’ll even set you up an umbrella and some carpets by the river. More importantly, he also sells biscuits very similar to Rich Tea.