Hiking the Atlas Mountains

After a three-hour drive from Marrakech, we reached our trail head at Oukaimeden, a popular ski resort in winter but with the look of an abandoned Soviet mental institution in the fall. It's a good spot to begin walking. Needing to spend the night, we made the mistake of staying at Hotel le Courchevel, which brought back memories of the creepy twins scene from "The shining"with its vacant, gloomy and seemingly sinister hallways. Auberge Chez Juju, a small guesthouse, albeit with Spartan accommodations, is the better option. And the restaurant at Chez Juju serves good lasagna.

The plan was to walk six hours a day, our luggage and accouterments accompanying us on three stalwart mules driven by local muleteers.up Jebel Oukaimeden, climbing from 8,600 to 10,800 feet in a matter of hours. The trail, or rather a ribbon of goat tracks, was straight up, switchbacks be damned.  Finally cresting the peak, The sky was brilliant, the air chilled and sparkling. Spread before me were the Atlases, one of the world's great mountain ranges, layers of rock slanted sideways, stacked to the horizon in one direction and thinning into the mighty Sahara in the other. It was a chest-swelling scene.

At the head of the valley leading up from the market town of Asni is the small village of Imlil. Surrounded by the imposing majesty of the High Atlas & Toubkal Massif in particular Imlil is the perfect start point for hiking in the area.

Ouirgane is situated in the dramatic foothills of the High Atlas Mountains, surrounded by almond blossom in early spring and just an hour's drive south of Marrakech; now also the location of Morocco's newest lake.

 

Immouzer is surrounded by magnificent waterfalls this hillside retreat is recommended for the full relaxation treatment - ideal for walking, bird watching, fossil hunting or merely putting your feet up by the pool.

Ait Ourir is a small settlement just south of Marrakech, and ideal overnight stop if you wish to avoid the hustle and bustle of the city en route to the south or the coast.

Located on the outskirts of Asni, a small Berber village where the road branches off to Imlil and the Toubkal Massif. The kasbah affords stunning views of the mountains and valleys.

Tachedirt, the highest and possibly darkest village in Morocco, was our first night's destination. The educated and progressive king of Morocco, Mohammed VI, promised electricity to all when he took power in 1999, and he was true to his word: Tachedirt has lines strung and waiting. But nobody has figured out how to divvy up payment for the power, so the hamlet remains off the grid, illuminated at night by candles and oil lamps.

Berber women still cook over fire, grind flour on a stone wheel powered by a donkey, use machetes in the fields, do laundry in the river, hand-sew their clothes and use mules for transport. Electricity is not likely to change any of that overnight.  We lighted candles, dressed warmly and retired to our rooms to drink surprisingly decent Moroccan red.

With each day, the scenery became more striking and untouched. Our mules snaked up barren rock faces and along narrow mountain ledges, our bottles of booze clinking shamelessly.

After the severe rock of the peaks, the landscape dropped down and turned suddenly verdant, the path an arbor through fruit and nut trees. Flanks of valleys were terraced with stacked rock walls, some to keep goats in and others to keep them out of the neon green barley. Even the air took on a sylvan light. It was all so bucolic that it had a tranquilizing effect, and I was grateful that the only thought process required of me was to remember to put one foot in front of the other.

At lunchtime, we would round a corner and find that the muleteers had arranged a picnic beside the glinting waters of a mountain stream. There we would lounge; eat tuna salad, dates and khobz bread; drink mint tea; and take a siesta before hitting the trail again. It felt like a scene out of an F. Scott Fitzgerald book.

Occasionally, a Berber farmer would encounter us near a village and enthusiastically shepherd us into his home. This meant the wife had to drop her duties and scramble to make mint tea, remaining in the shadows of the low-ceiling house while the husband entertained us on rugs woven of old pieces of cloth. A large-eyed child would carry in the tea and the patriarch would make a ceremony of adding overpowering amounts of sugar (an expensive commodity) and expertly aiming the amber liquid into tiny tea glasses. He'd then walk us to the edge of town and wave us on our way.

Over five days, we hiked southwest from Oukaimeden to Tachedirt, Tachedirt to Imlil, Imlil to the Azzedine Valley and finally to Ouirgane, driving back to Imlil. Our nights were spent lying about, sipping illicit alcohol (that word, ironically, comes to us from the Arabic alkuhl, representing the essence or the spirit), listening to John's James Bondian tales of global derring-do and feasting on couscous and tagine (slow cooked stews) meals.

Some of the guesthouses were fancier than others. Most had three to eight rooms, and all were comfortable and attractive, with excellent food.  A small settlement just south of Marrakech, and ideal overnight stop if you wish to avoid the hustle and bustle of the city en route to the south or the coast. Ouirgane is situated in the dramatic foothills of the High Atlas Mountains, surrounded by almond blossom in early spring and just an hour's drive south of Marrakech; now also the location of Morocco's newest lake.