Utopian Quest

Spring is usually a time of promise in Iowa, one that the grip of winter death will release you . This was an exceptional spring that was loosing the fight to old man winter. As of a few hours ago, the report said it would snow later today 28th of April. The flowers on the trees are promising though. All of UNI Outdoors’ spring trips were canceled, which basically means I have stayed in CF since January. In March, TJ, Julie and I went hiking out by his house, looking for buck drops (antlers)I have made a lot of new friends who helped me to have the best birthday party, actually my first since second grade.

Winter was a challenge on many levels. First off, adapting to days that the windchill can dip to -40 degrees F. Adapting to being in school again was a challenge too. Also, finding a place to live and…. well I won’t bore you any longer. I kept myself from studying by swimming, climbing, reading, and tons of cross country skiing. I got to do a lot of this with TJ, Meg, and Julie blue. I also started ice climbing again. I happened to have my camera up top when a Sheriff came out to check out the fun.

After spending a pleasant day in Marrakech, we took the train to the Casablanca Airport where we waited for 5 hours for our flight (blah).  I spent the day in Lisbon, using the Travellers House as a home and packing up for the final journey home.  I spent the night in the Lisbon Airport (blah blah).  The next day I tried to board the flight and they said I had no ticket, which was somehow true.  Five hours and $200 later (blah blah blah), I managed to use the Portuguese and German I know to talk a nice lady into correcting the problem by overriding the system.  In Munich I ran to make the flight to Chicago which luckily had one seat left for me (whew).  In Chicago, this was not the case.  I had 12 hours until the next flight to Cedar Rapids, and I slept in the terminal making the total time I had spent in Airports somewhere around 4 days (BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH >>>>).  Back in Iowa the 20 degree temp highly contrasted the 80 degree I had grown used to. (MEGA BLAH).  It was nice to see family.

Back in Marrakech, our indecision finally guided us toward Imlil, a small village in the mountains that the guidebook said you need all-wheel-drive to reach. We decided to test the little fiat. In Imlil after dark, we were persuasively attacked by everyone with a place to stay. We found the newly built Ryad Imlil that was like a medieval castle.

The coolest place I have ever stayed at included huge breakfasts and dinners, they also rented us crampons and ice axes! The trail to the Toubkal Refuge was amazing, like I imagine an approach in the Himalaya to be.

Children walk to the one room School-shack(Left). Supply boy on Donkey(Middle) Pilgrimage Shrine (right)

On the way up we met a Swedish couple, one having been the member of the first Swedish team to complete the seven summits, even sailing from Sweden to Papua for an 8th summit of Carstensz Pyramid, only to be denied entrance. We ate dinner with them at the Toubkal Refuge and you can imagine the interesting conversations that ensued. At 4am we rose and saddled up to the summit attempt. At 6 am Rick met his summit. It was cold and windy, and we were climbing in duct-taped street-shoes. I continued to fight the wind to the summit ridge and up toward the summit. At 8:00 , within a 30 meters of the summit sign, I saw the weather coming in like a jet of death.

Not wanting to stand around the lightning rod, I took a quick shot of the sunny-side(above) and jetted down. The wind knocked me over repeatedly on the way down, you can tell how cold I was in this shot(below left) and a few minutes later the massif was socked in, these Russians and Spaniards were hopeful yet of gaining the summit (below right). I wished them luck, and continued down. Rick and I packed up quick and continued our decent to Imlil. It rained and snowed all night and the next morning it was questionable as to if we would be able to get back to Marrakech. Flash floods had covered the roads in many spots and once again, a taxi had crashed head on into a tourist on a narrow mountain road (scam?).

In Oarzazate, Rick wanted a fancy bathroom (pansy) so we stayed at some lavish swankhouse.   We walked to town the next day through a wide river bed that was running at a trickle (see middle photo).  That day we went to the studios where many famous desert movies were shot: Gladiator, Sahara, HBO’s Rome and a grip of Italian movies about Jesus.  Rick spent the sunny afternoon on the phone with his bank while I sat eating crêpes and ice cream, hitting on some Peacecorps volunteers.  That evening we were pumped for the town square (on which every other night there was tribal performance and crowds of people).  Turns out that New Years in Morocco is a family festival.  At 9:00pm the entire town was free of walking souls (except for us).  We walked around trying to find a bar, which pretty much don’t exist in Morocco because of Muslim majority.  Dumbfounded, we walked home and went to a cafe next door where a 70 year old white hippie was singing to a desert rock band, pretty much sounded like bad karaoke.  The waiter left (I think to search the town) and returned later with a dusty bottle of wine.  At midnight, everyone in the place came over and congratulated us, as if we were celebrities.  I really like the Harira soup (top right), and the Bsara for breakfast.  I felt the drive to Oarzazate was the best though, through old palmeries and dried up old villages (see below).

Safely out of Erfoud, we found solace with several day retreat in the Todre Gorge (below left, note the size of the people). The hiking was amazing, and I am sure the climbing is too, I watched many parties take on long, hard routes. The first night we stayed in a dive, with olive branches coming in our window. There was no electricity and the shower/bathroom flooded the entire building when Rick took a shower. That night Rick zonked out, and I went down to see what the scene we left earlier had turned into. It was a Spanish, German, Polish, Italian, and Berber drum/song/joke circle. I was the American representative. We all took turns having our nationality being the but of some joke and made up songs about Cous Cous and Tajine to drum songs. The second night we decided to leave the swamp behind and moved into a hotel inside the center of the Gorge, built under a huge overhang. Dinner was 4 course in a royal Berber tent. An entire relaxing vacation could be spent at this gorge. Just down the road is the Dades Gorge, which was wider, deeper and spanned a driving distance of 45 minutes. Here is a photo of the last winding section before the pass (bottom right). Most people are hiking up this.