In the Atlas Mountains

After practicing yoga and eating our standard breakfast of eggs and spicy sausages, Mike and I packed our bags and loaded into a rented car for our weekend adventure in the Atlas Mountains. 

Almond trees on the way

One of Mike's Jewish friends in Marrakech knows a guy who owns a beautiful hotel/resort in the mountains, so he booked a room for us. I anticipated that the hotel would be nice, but I didn't anticipate something quite as stunning as this...

We dropped off our few belongings and headed out for a very basic lunch in a nearby village. We bought our meat from a butcher, he ground it up for us, and then we carried our sack of beef to a grill across the street. The Moroccans took our minced meat, added some onions and spices, and presented us with mouthwatering meatballs, cumin, and salt a few minutes later.

I eat really well with Mike. My goodness.

So very satisfied

There are a lot of stray cats and dogs in Morocco. People are generally afraid of the dogs and annoyed with the cats. 

After lunch, we hopped back into Mike's car and drove to yet another mountain village. This village was quite touristic, as it was at the base of several hiking trails leading deep into the Atlas Mountains. It actually reminded me a little bit of Telluride, with all the stores selling hiking boots, ice-picks, and other climbing paraphernalia. I caught sight of some American tourists who were dressed like they bought all their clothes at REI, and I felt very much at home.

I enjoyed the atmosphere of the small mountain villages much more than the small desert villages through which we passed on the way to Essaouira. The people seemed a bit friendlier and things were generally much cleaner. Mountain country is Berber country, so the inhabitants aren't quite as religious as they are in the villages surrounding places like Marrakech and Casablanca. Mike says that television is spreading religion to the mountains though, so as more and more people get electricity, more and more people get themselves some Allah.

On the way into town, a couple of guides waved us down and asked if we wanted them to take us to the waterfalls on their mules. This sounded grand to me, so Mike and I parked the car, browsed around a few local shops, and then met the guides and their complacent looking mules for a short trek up the mountain.

Mike's mule and guide

We had to do our own trekking near the end. The guide tried to hold my hand nearly the whole way. It was quite charming.

This fellow led my mule up the mountain. He knew that I didn't speak Berber, Arabic, or French, so he'd look back at me every two minutes, flash a broken toothed smile, and ask, "Ça va?" "Ca va," I'd happily respond. "Bien?" he'd continue. "Oui, bien," I'd confirm. Every two minutes. He was very concerned with my well-being, that one. 

Our guides. They offered to take us on a two-day excursion up the Atlas Mountains. I think this would be great fun.  

I am creating a very eclectic yoga portfolio. I don't recommend trying this pose in jeans, however. 

As the weather had turned ridiculously wet, we decided to call it a day and return to our hotel. Not very adventurous, but I suppose that running around in the mountains after dark in barefoot running shoes isn't exactly my cup of tea.

As the weather was even more inclement the next day, we decided to drive around for a few hours, enjoy some new scenery, and then cut our mountain trip one day short and head back to Marrakech that afternoon. Not a lot to do in the pouring rain, unfortunately.

A mountain village. All the houses in Morocco used to be constructed out of this mud, but cement is now used in most of the cities. I love how the houses  meld into the mountains.

There's usually a gorgeous view at this ski resort, but the mist was so thick that we could hardly see 20 meters in front of us. There was something really magical about driving up that treacherous road in such god-awful weather, though. 

More rain than Morocco has seen in eight months.