Our planned trip for today was to head south into Berber country and hike up the Ourika valley to the waterfalls. A look out our window in the morning showed there had been a significant snowfall in the mountains overnight so we packed a selection of clothing just in case the temperature took a nose dive. Our driver picked us up after breakfast and we drove south with several stops to take photos of the changing landscape. Rachid spoke fairly good English and we stumbled along in a mixture of two languages where necessary. Our first stop was at a traditional Berber home where we were given a guided tour by the owner. These encounters always feel slightly jarring. I know it is a welcome source of income for some villagers but it feels very intrusive to be walking into a stranger's bedroom and encouraged to photograph his wife in the kitchen. To make matters worse, Rachid told us that the family had lost both grandparents and an infant child in the last great flood in the valley.
A few steps across the road was a Women's Cooperative making and selling argan oil products. We were shown the women at work and the different stages of production. The women were very keen to see my henna-ed hands and to show off their own. The Berber women cover their whole palm in henna rather than in patterns. Of course there was a gift shop where profits went to support the women working there to maintain themselves and their children.
In Setti Fatma Rachid introduced us to our guide, Hassan, who would take us up the mountain to see the seven waterfalls. Hassan had lived and worked in the valley all his life and had been a guide for over twenty years so we were in experienced hands. We had survived a climb up Montsegur in France several years ago so we joked that this trek would be a dawdle! Oh how the prideful fall! After the first twenty minutes Hassan was almost pulling me up! He was being very polite and helpful, offering his hand whenever he felt I needed extra support although I think I would have preferred to have been left with both hands free to negotiate the boulder-sized steps.
When we arrived at the second waterfall we took a much needed rest. I looked around at the other exhausted tourists and a few Moroccans. I had on my sturdy walking boots, loose trousers and top while the Moroccan women were in their djelabas and babouche slippers! I felt very useless!
After a short rest and some photographs we were ready to move on. Round the corner of the small cafe at this level, Hassan pointed to the next section of the journey.'Now we have to do some climbing' he said without a hint of humour! In front of me was a solid wall with a ladder tied to it! I looked around hopefully for a path and, being unsuccessful I looked at Hassan in disbelief and squeaked, 'Up the...ladder?' Yes, we have to climb' was the straightfaced reply. The voice in my head said, extremely loudly. 'Fuck. This!' The voice that actually came out of my mouth sadly admitted to Hassan that I would not be going up any ladder. It was tied to a freaking rock! I offer no apologies for putting life and limb before any great photos and stories that would have ensued had I reached the top waterfall.
Even in late October it is a busy site and there were several people jams on the way down. There isn't always a lot of room for people to pass but we made it down safely. There is even a tourist shop on the way, several in fact although Hassan was obviously affiliated to only one. It was the only shop we were stopped at and shown the different wares.
Back at the riad now and I am not sure full function will ever return to my weary legs...
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