Drive south into the Atlas Mountains!Originally Posted by mikksmix
Awesome. Thanks Marsilius & Brad!
Does anybody else have any recommendations? One week until I go, very excited
In 1976 when I was in Morocco, gathering the music of the Berbers for BBC Woman's Hour, two friends, and I headed out of Marrakech and drove south towards the Atlas Mountains. As we left Marrakech, I saw quite plainly the walls of the old town and the sandy red colour of the stone. Marrakech, incidentally, is known as the red city because most of its buildings are constructed using a red sandstone.
We motored out of the town, past the famous La Mamounia Hotel where Churchill used to stay; he often painted in the beautiful grounds of this place.
About five kilometres outside Marrakech the great Atlas Mountains loomed ahead of us: not very clearly though due to the heat haze. The road was dusty and narrow and as straight as any Roman road. We travelled along it at a steady pace, passing the peasant folk working in the fields, the olive groves and groups of Moroccans sitting by the roadside who just seem to do nothing but talk and watch cars go by.
The landscape of Morocco, as I knew it, was changing. I had only known the towns and cities and had seen little of the real Moroccan countryside. As we began to climb, leaving the great plateau behind us, we saw some of the world’s most beautiful scenery and people. Small villages consisting of equally small houses made of mud and stone became very much part of the countryside. So did the Berber people, who are the native inhabitants of Morocco and basically a mountainous people. The Berbers look slightly oriental with narrow eyes and pale yellow skins; they are good-looking. In every village we passed through, crowds of children and adults alike waved and chased the car along the road. Many held up pottery and polished stones for us to buy. There were bazaars and stalls, the great majority selling pottery. Very often, clouds of dark smoke could be seen rising high above the houses in the villages. This was smoke from the primitive kilns used to bake the clay pots and plates. We travelled on into some of the beautiful countryside, with deep valleys and meandering rivers. There were women washing clothes along the river banks and children bathing.
Something very interesting happened as we travelled through one of the smaller villages of the lower Atlas Mountains. A young boy ran after the car and sang something through the open driver’s window. My friend, Charles, immediately stopped the car and shook hands with the boy, who was equally delighted to see Charles. They spoke for a while in French and eventually we drove off leaving the little boy waving after us. Charles explained that, three years ago, he and a friend had been driving through the same village when they had the boy with whom he had just been talking. Charles’s friend had taught the boy the poem, Hiawatha and he had remembered the poem ever since for, as he ran alongside the car, this was what he was singing to Charles, whose face he had remembered also. The Berbers are renowned for their incredible memories. This was amazing.
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