From El Jadida we had a full day's travel ahead, and then some, before we reached our next destination, the town of Tafroute in the Anti Atlas mountains.
We'd hadn't even been entirely sure of our destination and so had ended up taking the next bus to a transport hub in the right direction and seeing how far we got. On the way down to Agadir (or more precisely, Inzegane, said transport hub on the outskirts of Agadir), we saw some nice coastal scenery and an even nicer goat. The area around Agadir is the centre of the Argan oil industry. The Argan tree is endemic to Morocco and, in a process similar to that of southeast Asian civit coffee, produces a highly sought after oil. Goats love eating the trees’ fruit and after they've digested its outer layers they excrete the central nut which is cracked and pressed to produce an oil used in both cuisine and in cosmetics and hair care products. So fond of these fruits are the goats that they've taken to climbing argan trees to get at them. We saw lots on their hind feet reaching up into the trees to get the low hanging ones, and one adventurous goat standing amongst the branches right on top of a large argan tree, queen of all she surveyed.
On arriving in Inzegane it was getting late and we couldn't quite decide what to do. We could spend the night there, but it didn't look like the most salubrious location. Or we could take a bus to the town of Tiznit, our final stop south before heading inland. The fact that we almost stumbled into a share taxi headed there made our decision for us, and had the added benefit of getting us there right around sunset, with a bit of light left in the sky.
A word about taxis in Morocco: there are two types: petits taxis and grands taxis. Petit taxis are used for short trips around town only and are usually small modern cars which, despite having four free seats are only allowed to take three passengers. Grands taxis are typically ancient Mercedes-Benzes, ply intercity routes, often on a price-per-seat basis and, despite having four free seats, take six passengers, two in the front with the driver and four in the back. I still liked them fine for trips of up to 90 minutes or so though, as they're faster than the buses and the pricing is rigidly standardized by conductors at each town's grand taxi stations.
Anyhow, on arriving in Tiznit we walked to the main square and found a delightfully clean, colourful and cheap hotel and went out for a walk around the square and the adjacent Medina.
The main Medina streets were entertainingly busy and our search for a dinner restaurant led us to a little sandwich shop with a queue out the front (always a good sign). The place sold only two items, deep fried sardine sandwiches with a chopped tomato and onion salsa, olives and hot peppers; and plates containing pretty much the same ingredients in larger quantities. The sandwiches were delicious and set us back a mere NZD 0.90. While we were queuing a (trying to be) friendly guy smelling strongly of solvents came and tried to shoo people out of the limited seating while we waited, but was eventually convinced that we didn't mind standing in the queue like everyone else.
On our way back home we grabbed some tooth-achingly sweet (but very tasty in small quantity) Moroccan pastries for dessert.
The next morning we had a further stroll round the Medina during which Sarah picked up a pair of riotously loud yellow embroidered Moroccan slippers to replace her Brazilian parrot-patterned shoes that were rapidly reaching the end of their lives. In another queue-induced food purchase we also picked up some Berber bread. Baked on a bed of hot stones like Iranian sangyk, it was almost as good, with a crispy, lightly charred outside and a delicious soft interior. We got one hot from the oven and finished it before it was even close to cold.
Heading inland from Tiznit wasn't quite as straightforward as it might have been, with travel guides and locals alike giving different ideas about where to find the bus up to Tafroute. We followed a combination of these and ended up spending over two hours waiting on a dusty streetcorner on the outskirts of town. City buses did pass by, but none bearing the correct number or destination on the front. We eventually gave up and walked back into town intent on finding a Grand Taxi when, before we even had a chance to discover where THEY departed from, the number 20 bus to Tafroute appeared in the distance.
It took us on a winding journey through tiny villages and up into the parched landscape of the Anti-Atlas foothills.
Three hours later (longest city bus journey ever?) we'd arrived in Tafroute. It wasn't a big town, but had waaaay more tourism industry than we'd thought. There were literally hundreds of European plated campervan parked outside (Morocco off the beaten track my foot, Lonely Planet!)
We found a hotel and, by virtue of having been treated very nicely by the cafe staff at another hotel that was full when we asked, a lovely place for dinner.
Complaints about Tafroute's business vanished the next day when we went for a walk out around the town. As in Azrou, we followed a mix of downloaded GPS tracks and trails marked on OpenStreetMaps. And were led on a beautiful but not difficult walk over a low pass in the rubble-strewn ochre landscape and into the next valley. From there we did a bit of road walking and then veered off again. We found a picnic spot under an Argan tree with not even the faintest sign of humanity in any direction. Signs of humanity were soon regained as we followed an OSM path through the ugly looking and uglier smelling town garbage dump. But this wasn't near enough to dampen our enthusiasm for the beauty of the landscapes around Tafroute.
Our second day took us on another day walk out into the massive rubble-strewn desert around town, this time taking a loop that led to the Piedres-Peintures, a spot where some of the huge rust-coloured boulders had been painted blue and pink. The first of these had been done by a Belgian artist ten years previously, but copycats had soon taken on even larger sections of the surrounding mountains. It wasn't entirely unappealing, but did leave you questioning the line between art and vandalism.
The walk back into town down a steep, broken valley bottom probably produced the prettiest vistas of all, unless they were eclipsed by the crumbling mud-walled buildings in a mostly abandoned village of a couple of kilometres down the palm-lined riverbed from Tafroute proper.
That night we rewarded ourselves for the modestly difficult and long (maybe 12km on the first day and 17km on the second) hikes with a big dinner, featuring Moroccan salad (tomato, onion, green pepper, parsley, vinaigrette), omelette, beef shank Tagine with prunes and almonds, coffee, some of the best freshly squeezed orange juice I've ever had and a dessert salad of sliced oranges, mint, cinnamon and honey.
We could probably have comfortably stayed longer in Tafroute, following a similar itinerary for several more days, but the road (and our schedule) called. We were headed to the small city of Taroudannt. Less than 100km as the crow flies north of Tafroute, the direct route was through rough Anti-Atlas roads and there was no public transportation of any sort available. So back we went on a bus to Inzegane via Tiznit (at least it was quicker and via a different, equally scenic route than the one we'd taken on our outward journey). At Inzegane it was into another Grand Taxi for the journey back inland again. But I think I'll save that journey for the next entry...
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