Mountainous Imlil

After I met up with my friends in Marrekech we set off for Imlil, a village at the foot of Mt Toubkal, North Africa,s highest peak.

Imlil is 1700 meters above sea level itself, and is surrounded by grand mountains covered with snow all year round. I am lucky to be in Morocco in the Spring. Everything is green and sprouting and the melting snow meant the local streams ran with crisp water, and the locals are always out collecting for the new season and doing up their buildings.

The locals are all Berber villagers largely subsistence farmers that grew small plots of wheat, apples, cherries and walnuts on layered terraced gardens that lined the bottom of the hill. Mules (rather than donkeys, as they are stronger for moutainous work), goats, cows and chicken are the main livestock and they are kept in almost every house. The occasional cat but no dogs or pigs for obvious reasons.

I am rooming with an aussie girl called Megan from the Gold Coast who reminds me so much of Michaela. The rest of my group consisted of a grandparents team also from Oz, another kiwi bloke whos done the Inca Trail and two mischievous South Africans. Our group leader is a small feisty French chick that sports a mohawk and keeps a charmellion as a pet.

One too many Indiana Jones Moments

Trekking in this area is pretty amazing because of the scenery and the cultural encounters on the way. you are essentially barging through other people's back yards _ our routes are pretty much the routes the locals take to get from one village to the next, and to collect food and water.

Being spring with the melting snow, the locals are always changing the river routes for different irrigation purposes and to manage the increasing water flow. Often the previous paths thats tramped through has just been flooded and we are forced to change routes, and the unstable rocks and the occasional donkey running down the narrow path has been a bit of an issue. But the perfect Indiana Jones moment had to be muddy water gushing down the only path we managed to find through thorns and apple gardens. Then there's the bridge thats made out of a thin branch...

On day two a short stroll turned into a five hour trek of being lost and found by a young Berber boy who invited us into his house for morning tea. We were sat down in their lounge room on their traditional carpets and served herbal tea (I am thinking St Johns Wort, but who would admit to 1998...), peanut sweets not disimilar to the ones we have in Taiwan for new years, and then a small meal of freshly baked full grain bread, VERY OLD oil, and boiled eggs. Apart from the oil everything else tasted fantastic mainly because it is all completely organic and unprocessed great fresh stuff.

The entire family came to look at us, including a little baby who cried as soon as she saw CampMama"s mohawk, and the family matriarch who"s feet was tinted with henna. A bizzare kind of scene ensued when the young mother aged 20 switched on satellite TV and a channel from Dubai played Sister Act. After trying to marry me off to his older brother (who was only 12 anyway) he even hunted out Grandpa who was weaving carpet in another room for an photo op.

At the end of the evening I sip tea at the guest house on their high terrace sitting on beautifully woven cushions with a glass of sweet mint tea, a tagine is bubbling away on the wall next to me. I am brainstorming my first novel - about an apple thief who likes to run through the orchard naked at night under the moonlight on outrageous sexual escapades.

Back in Marrakech

It was almost a little bit overwhelming having just been in such an isolated place to be dropped off by a shared taxi into the middle of hectic and touristy Marrakech. Yet i think the city girl in me is pleased to have the buzz and excitement of crowds of diverse people and the interesting food that is offerend in the square. I also managed to find a bar which serves alcohol to women which is much needed but rather expensive.

I am beginning to get quite sick of being harrassed with "konichiwa" every 5 meters and am charging Megan with 1 dirham each time a Japanese reference is made of me. But apart from the "over friendly" young men here, I am finding the locals extrememy pleasant in Morocco. Like Lao, there seems to be a lot of social capital here, despite the diversity of ethnicity and level of religious devotion. People are alsways on the look out for each other, particularly for the elderly and young children, like on public transport and at restaurants. The level of respect they have for elders is something other cultures could relearn.

I went to the hammam again on my last afternoon here to let off some steam and the only women there were two elderly hotel housemaids. It was perhaps one of the most comfortable environments Iùve been in since arriving. I could only communicate with them through body language but it still felt like you;re being looked after and fussed over by your own grandma.

Some of the rich and famous also have a playground here so it was interesting, after being lost in the souq, walking into a palace like restaunt_bar type place that resembled King Solomon,s mansion charging 8 euros for a small Heinie. Ex pats do very well here and have been living here for a long time, one of which created the Jardin Margorelle a fantastic garden and art gallery now looked after by Yves Saint Lawrence (can someone correct my spelling?)