Western Cloud Mountains

Over the High Atlas

Somewhere beyond the Tizi-n-Tichka Pass on the way from Marrakesh to Ourzazate. 1997

Great Sand Dunes Part 4

We got to the dunes late in the day just after thunder showers had passed through the area. We had time for a good hike around as the sun went down and the recent rain made the sand easier to walk on.

Tamezmoute? Or Not Tamezmoute? That is the question.

We left Marrakesh early in the morning and headed south east over the the Atlas Mountains. We were looking for a Peace Corps Volunteer named Garren who was living in a village 11 hours away near the Draa Valley. A friend had arranged for us to meet up and head out to the desert together. I had never met Garren before and the directions he had written down for my friend a couple of weeks earlier went something like this: "Go for a few hours past Ourzazate until you cross the river three times, then go past three villages. Ask for me at the cafe of the fourth village." Sounds simple until you cross the first few bridges over dry river beds and wonder "did those count as rivers?" or past a few houses or buildings along the side of the road and try to figure out if they were considered a village or just some houses. So after hours of wondering if we had traveled far enough or gone way too far and pretty much giving up on finding him altogether, we drove through a sleepy, dusty, sun baked little village and heard something unusual. Almost everywhere I had been in Morocco the default musical soundtrack usually consisted of a mix of Moroccan pop music, Algerian Rai Music, Berber folk tunes, or even Adalusian Flamenco guitar which could be heard wafting from cafes, taxis, street vendors, and buses. But here was a different type of sound, both strikingly out of place and yet very much at home at the same time. Filling the air of this seemingly deserted little village was a music that sounded at first to have little form but slowly coalesced into something very familiar to me. The unmistakable little voice, and the oddly beautiful sounds of Jerry Garcia and the Grateful Dead's "Here Comes Sunshine" rolled down from a cafe with a shade arbor under which sat a light-skinned, bearded man sipping tea and talking with a berber man. We had found Garren. We relaxed for a while sipping tea and just absorbing the setting before Garren joined us on our trek to the desert, beyond Zagora, where we ended up in Tinfou and spent the night sleeping in the courtyard of the Auberge du Repos de Sables. After our adventure in the desert together we brought Garren back to Tamezmoute where it happened to be the day of the weekly market. We walked with him as he did his shopping for the week. View Larger Map

Ascending Monadnock

Mount Monadnock in New Hampshire is one of the most climbed mountains in the world and a relatively easy ascent. But it's still a mountain and it will exhaust you if you're not in shape and try to do it too fast. Trust me I know from experience. I think I'm getting old.

Down South Jukin'

Joana was pregnant so we made a lot of pit stops on the Skyline Drive as we headed down to Athens, GA to visit another of my friends who has fled The Elm City. I figured he'd have six months of southern hospitality before he headed back to the Northeast, the only home he'd ever known. That was Fall of 2004 and no sign of a return yet, I shouldn't be surprised when love is involved. I guess a double-wide out in the sticks is as good an environment to write as any. I'm sure there are less distractions than there were on Nicoll Street with me and everyone else perpetually dropping in to hang out.