Dades Gorges

Tough day, another long journey. First stop: Agdz. A large group of young Moroccans are demonstrating loudly against food taxation. Now that the poor Americans have had enough of speculating in precious metals, gold and uranium, they are ruining the lives of the poorest of the poor with their greed. I hope it will strike back one day.

There is a waterfall on the way to Ouarzazate. I quickly find the sign for the Cacades de Tizguin, the track is rough gravel through volcanic rock. Then it goes through large holes and coarser gravel. A few deep washovers, narrow hairpin bends descending at 30% into a narrow valley. At the bottom, for the first time in a long time, I am ready to admit to myself that perhaps that was too much.

The water in Morocco is like the wind. When I’m looking for it (waterfalls) it’s gone, when I don’t need it (desert) it’s there. I drive back along the 10 km track. My fears were correct. I only manage the steepest part after three attempts, before that the tyres are spinning.

150 kilometres further on, I reach the Dadé valley. The entire lower valley smells of roses, which are grown and distilled everywhere here, for another 50 kilometres. The upper valley from Boumalne onwards is amazing. First a wide valley with large fields and green trees. The rocks are redder than anywhere else, the trees greener. A dream for the red-green-blind. Old kasbahs are crumbling on cliff tops or have been lavishly converted into hotels. A hotel every 100 metres for 30 kilometres.

The Dades flows through the centre of the valley. Farmers work in the fields, children play in the streets. At every photo stop, however brief, I am immediately surrounded by crowds. They are more modest here. Normally, the lower limit for begging in Morocco is 10 dirhams, about one euro. Here they want pens, sweets and the occasional dirham. I have nothing more to give. Nevertheless, they are friendly and run after the car waving. People are different here.

The valley is the most beautiful I have ever seen. I only arrive in Boumalne at four o’clock and don’t yet know where I’m going to sleep. The Gorges du Dadés are about 70 kilometres long. I drive to the end. Orchards. Cereals. Village school. Stork nests on the minarets of the mosques. Crystal-clear water, 400 metre high vertical walls, then sunny high valleys again. Crazy rock formations in layers and strange spherical shapes. Looks like the stone biter from the never-ending story. The still absent sun spoils the colours, but even what still comes through is fierce.

Deep gorges, vertical walls. Rapids, parts of the road washed over. Rockfall, cyclists, side valley, sunflowers. Bridge. End of the tarmac road. Another 50 kilometres up the valley there is a big annual marriage market, to which everyone hikes on foot through the Dades valley. Once again, far too little time here. We should be hiking. I’ve had enough gravel tracks for today. Besides, the tank is almost empty, the last stop was 60 kilometres ago.

I turn round and take the best room in the Hotel Tamlalte near the funny spherical rocks. The porter gives me a good price and explains that nobody knows exactly how these shapes were formed. But they only exist once in the world: here. The sun breaks through briefly. My room has an amazing panorama, down the valley to the round rocks that are now glowing red in the sunset. The whole room glows red. The Arches National Park is in Morocco today. The food is like the colours in the Dadé Valley: the flavours glow in the most intense directions. I ask what spices are in it. Salt, pepper, red saffron. Nothing else.