Caravan into the Sahara Desert

It’s over a 12 hour drive from Marrakesh to where we will spend two nights at a camp in the Sahara desert. (The above photo is just a sneak peak of what is to come).

After walking multiple hours per day in Marrakesh, we were ready for a car ride. The tour is broken up into chunks, spending a night in two different local albuerges before entering the dunes at Erg Chebbi at the end of the third day. Charaf, our driver, picked us up from the parking lot near our riad. With little more than a nod and a brief introduction, we were off to begin the trip. Charaf is from in a small desert village but currently lives in Marrakesh when he’s not escorting tourists. Leaving the city, he tells us a little about the land and the history of his country but most of the time, he just drives - windows down.

We stopped briefly to see the Kasbah Telouet in a tiny village with only a restaurant, weaving shop and the aforementioned kasbah. We opted for a walk around the kasbah, rather than touring the inside. Instead, we collected bits of pottery while stretching our legs and allowing kids to do what they do best: Throw rocks. We followed the walk and “rock chucking” with lunch of fig tagine and fresh fruit on the terrace of a restaurant set low in a valley dotted with scrubby brush and olive trees. As usual, cats were our mealtime companions as they sweetly peered up at us begging for some food.

Sleepy from our lunch, we all settled in for a few hours of lazily watching the scenery change from scrubland to towering peaks in the middle of the High Atlas Mountains.

The color of the earth changes from orange, to tan, to gray, and back again, sometimes all of them at once, striated like layers in a cake. Rounding bends in the road that carve their way up the mountainside, we caught glimpses of the massive snow capped peaks that rise about 14,000ft and the little Berber villages in the river valley below. There is no river to speak of at the moment but evidence of water is made plain by the thick trees that grow between the rock faces.

In the late afternoon we arrived at our hotel for the night, Kasbah Ellouze, run by a French woman, Colette and her husband.

What appears from the outside as castle ruins becomes this spectacular setting on the inside. With multiple terraces to enjoy the view of the mountains, cushioned alcoves to hide from the sun, and a take-your-breath-away freezing cold pool, we were stunned. Our pool dip was short-lived, deciding to sit in the last remnants of sun before dark.

A family from London sat near us by the pool and Onora, in her charming way, befriended (aka - hovered over) 12 year old Mary and asked her to play cards with us.

Two hours later in the middle of a mean game of Skull King, Mary skipped the walk with her family to continue playing with us and by the end of the game, the kids were all joking like old friends. This is just the kind of experience I want my kids to have to break out of their comfort zone, even in small ways.

The sun is so strong in the daytime here and yet when it goes down behind the mountains, the chill sets in instantaneously and then the world goes dark. Like really dark.

As night set in, we traded shorts for pants and terraces for toasty lounges in the hotel. Vegetable soup, traditional wedding pasta, and turkey tagine.

I’m not entirely sure how we can continue eating at this pace. After each meal, I panic thinking about how little time I have left to feel hungry before the next spread is laid out before us. And, when I say spread, I’m not kidding. The food bowls just keep coming, leaving no room on our table for a anything else. So, they carry extra side tables that sit adjacent to us for fruit bowls, bread plates, assortments of jams, cocoa powder, warm milk, and kettles for our mint tea. We are going to have to buy all new clothes after this Moroccan experience!

After a cozy night in our room, we somehow managed to eat breakfast on the terrace and met Charaf for the next leg of the trip. We headed to Ait Ben Addou, notable as the location for the film Gladiator and Game of Thrones, among other movies.

We walked through the old medina, and zigzagged up to the kasbah at the top for 360 degree views of the Atlas Mountains, the dry riverbed, and surrounding villages. From there we continued our journey past Oarzazate to the Todra Gorge, a location right out of an Indiana Jones movie.

Sheer cliffs dominate the sky, leaving a sliver of daylight if you crane your neck. Kip and I continued to look at each other and with slightly concerned faces, “Where the heck are we going?” There is nothing but rock and a few caves where Berber families live. The only evidence of anyone living there is the clothing laid on the rock high above and some straggling goats that roam at the base of the cliff.

Yet, back here in this gorge, someone has managed to design an albuerge that looks a little like the result of a marriage between Tuscany and Tibet.

Old stone work and castle turrets, archways and terraces, lemon trees and cypress. We climbed rocks along the riverbed and watched the sun go down over the cliffs above before coming to dinner in the lodge.

Bamboo ceilings, candlelight and ornate carved tables created a welcoming ambiance and the Berber family who runs the albuerge were so gracious and lovely.

After dinner, the men played traditional Berber drums while their babies bobbed to the music and kicked. Its a perfect example of “It takes a village to raise a child.” I have no idea who the babies belonged to because they were held, kissed, and cared for by each person in this 8 person group equally. As Quinn remarked, “What a great way to grow up,” and I couldn’t agree more.

Back to our rooms, walking in the absolute unequivocal dark, we cozied up knowing that the next day was our last travel day to the desert.

Up and out for our final day before reaching the Sahara and we were about ready to be done with the car. It’s clear that Onora has also run out of things to do when her car games now include, “Mom, guess which piece of hair is my ‘good’ one” or “Guess the color I’m thinking of” and when we guessed every color under the sun, she announces that it was “medium gray.” It’s a little like she lost her mind because I don’t think she stopped talking for the last 3 hours of the trip. Either Charaf was thinking about ways to ditch our family and jump from the car or grateful to be learning every single color in the world in English. It’s a toss up.

We stopped to purchase scarves to protect ourselves from the Saharan sun and while we are looking, the shop owner pulled clothing over us, wrapped our heads in turbans and glittering headdresses and sent us out into the cornea scorching sunlight. We just followed along and hoped we weren’t stealing the clothes or being asked to purchase them. Aha, a photo opp with traditional garb! Yes, now we understand! (We didn’t realize Onora was covered almost entirely by the flag).

After a few photos, a quick disrobing, and a “thank you,” Onora and I sat with a girl of about 8 who practices the art of henna tattooing at lightning speed while Kip pays for the scarves.

Back in the car, with about an hour to go. We passed tiny villages just as the men file out of the mosque, congregating in the streets in their finery. In another village, we slowed for a funeral procession made up entirely by the women of the village, wiping their tears with their hijabs. It is always difficult to witness pain and this sight was particularly so.

Eventually, camels start to appear along the road and in the hazy distance…the orange dunes. See you in the Sahara!