Dades Gorge

Another breathtaking drive to a sand-swept auberge. This was not so much a gorge as a river valley, sided by some fascinating outcrops. The local name for the area is 'monkey's fingers' because of the strange formations. I could see why, but more than that the rock looked like elephant skin on a mountainous scale, or dinosaur bones, while the boulders lay around like heaps of enormous potatoes. The rock must have been sand-blasted over the millenia to make the shapes so rounded, with occasional phallic protrusions and eyeholes. In fact the whole area would be a geoligist's dream as the rocks changed so rapidly from here to there.

We left most of our luggage at the auberge and set off up the valley then over the hills to a Berber homestead where we spent the night. The scenery changed along the route but was always interesting, always beautiful. The walking was slow, with lots of waiting, but eventually we reached the house where our hosts greeted us with the warmest of welcomes. Our home for the night was a room that just fitted nine prone bodies, in a house with a number of small rooms all on one level. Across the valley, homes appeared to have been dug into the hillside, their small doorways looking like cave mouths. It was a pleasant afternoon and evening, but I found myself beginning to suffer from group claustrophobia and retreated into myself and out to the hillside.

In the morning I walked back with Lassen, our gorgeous young host, who set a proper walking pace. We soon left the rest of the group behind and as Lassen spoke only a couple of words of French and no English, we walked along in a companionable silence and it felt as good as having the hills to myself. So much space and so much silence, only broken by a herd of goats. It was heavenly to be alone. My head cleared and I felt energized by the walking and solitude and my huge surroundings.

The return journey took only an hour and a half (it had been over three hours with the group) so on my return to the auberge I had plenty of time to myself, most of which I gladly shared with Moulay who spoke both English and French, as we glugged down glass after glass of mint tea, discussing trekking and Moroccan life. This would be such a fabulous area for some proper trekking – it would be tempting to return.

In the afternoon we took a bus to Ouazarzate – the buses here are surprisingly spacious, well-mentained, comfortable and punctual. The highlight of the journey was when at one stop the driver got off for his tea. A man got on board with a stereo playing what sounded like a sermon in Arabic, followed by singing from the Qu'ran. He joined in with the singing as he wandered up and down the bus trying to sell cds and tapes. Meanwhile, he was joined by a beggar and an old man selling packets of dried flowers. Once the cd sales were over (actually, I don't think there were any) the same man produced herbal eyedrops which he raved about for a while before returning them to his bag and trying his luck with some scented balls. They smelt pretty good but I wasn't sure what they were for until the man in the seat in front of me tucked one into his turban.

In Ouzerate we visited a traditional pharmacy. It was a bit touristy, but well worth the visit. A dashing African Moroccan pharmacist gave us a talk and demonstration which included sniffing and sampling herbal teas, spices, natural remedies, perfumes, lotions and oils. We smothered our hike-sweaty bodies with lush creams and of course ended up investing in some rather pricey goodies. His talk was really interesting – very informative and entertaining – but unfortunately there wasn't time to take up the massage on offer, and anyway I'd have had to fight Ester for it if our pharmacist was the masseur.