Notes from Abroad

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Day 2 - The Trek to Toubkal Refuge

I would just like to make one thing clear: I am absolutely not the fittest person.

Nevertheless my wanderlustful heart dragged me out into the middle of nowhere in the High Atlas Mountains, resisting every screaming nerve in my body which were convincing me to turn back.

Starting at 9am, we drove from Marrakech for an hour to reach Imlil Village to meet our lovely guide Mohammad, our cook Yusuf, and the King of Mules, Shrek(self named). This was an unstoppable team, I could feel it! After preparations were made, we started off on our grand adventure.

The weather was absolutely beautiful, the sun was out in all its glory, and Mohammad was serving up a good pace which I was proud of being able to match. Little did I know this was a mere warm up for what was about to come...

We eventually reached Shamharoush for some lunch, which we greedily devoured. After some repacking, of which most of what we were carrying was transferred to Shrek, Mohammad made his lunchtime prayers and soon we were off again.

The second part of the day was less fun; the path became less defined and the terrain eventually became rocky and narrow. I began to feel to steepness of our hike too, and fast pace walking quickly became fast pace climbing. It was not unlike climbing a lot of stairs, and there was absolutely no opportunity for a break, so the only way was to keep trodding on.

Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot

The mantra kept me going for hours; all I could do was focus on putting one leg in front of the other. I could feel the sheer exhaustion from the climb creeping in, but there was literally no time or energy to even give it a thought.

Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot

My focus was 100% on my feet. The picture taking and scenic beauty was going to have to wait. My priority was solely on making the right steps in the right place, a mistake or a slip would be costly. I saw pebbles, rocks, stones, earth, water, streams, and sand; I saw good footholds and bad ones, wet surfaces and slippery ones, and several life flashing-me-by moments. As we climbed the weather turned very quickly too, we were at a level where we could see snow.

It was 3 hours of non stop trekking until Mohammad gave me the light at the end of the tunnel.

"It's the base camp! Over there you see it?"

I very nearly cried in joy. I made it! The magnificent building stood proud at 3200m and was truly a sight for sore eyes. The refuge screamed out for me and I was desperate to finally be indoors. The temperature had dipped and our bodies were sore but all that didn't matter now that I had reached our destination for the day.

Stay tune for tomorrow though: The Toubkal Mountain top!

[writenotfight-blog]

Day 1 - Marrakech

"Riiiiiiiiiiiinnngggg" I sat up in bed in surprise. Was it already time to go?? How does 5 hours go by so quickly in the night? There was unfortunately no time for philosophical thoughts, I brushed my teeth and strapped by backpack on, and left the house not before checking the time. 3.00am. An ungodly hour for most, i had no time to dawdle as i rushed to the airport to catch my flight to Marrakech. -------- I arrived at Marrakech sweating, and i loved it. How long had it been since these sweat glands had a workout? The weather as we landed was perfect, it was humid, hot, and not a cloud in sight. Once I was out of the airport, I shed my thick coat (which had become my second skin in the winter months) and was reborn again. Seemingly on cue, the bus shuttle arrives and soon I was on my way to the city. As i made my way into the city centre from the airport, i could see the slow scenic build up to one of the most boisterous and lively city in the world. Palm trees littered the roads at first, but they were soon followed by the slow emergence of pink dusty buildings. Closer to the city locals were zipping by in mopeds, weaving in and out of the usual traffic of taxis, buses and horse carts. What a sight! Eventually the bus driver informs me i have arrive at djemaa el fna, and promptly shoos me out the door to brave the moroccan wilderness alone. What can i say about djemaa el fna that hasn't already been said? It is an experience of the senses, the cacophony of sound combined with the symphony of beautiful smells makes it truly a unique place. I make my way through the juice stands and spice stalls, narrowly avoiding donkey carts and musicians, trying to navigate my way through the maze to find my hostel. In marrakech everyone's looking for a quick buck, the infamous sales people will list everything under the sun to guess what it is exactly you need, and once discovered, will charge you the 'best price' for it. Looking like your average cookie cutter, right out of the box standard model tourist, i was naturally offered many things for the 'best price' and was overwhelmed with compliments of my obvious good taste and style. Eventually it was clear with my luggage that i was seeking accommodation and soon there were whispers of my hostel name (how did they guess that?) and numerous requests to guide me there. I assumed it must have been obvious with the direction i was heading, but i waved them all away and continued on. It felt rather like an espionage mission with clues painted on walls and passerbys whispering the name... I had already been given strict written instructions for directions previously from the hostel (though there were some rather dubious ones like "turn left at the perfume seller"), so I was confident. I eventually came face to face with a bold black steel door with nothing but number 13 painted on it. i knocked. The door creaked open and thankfully i was greeted with the friendliest smile. I made it!