But from the beginning: What better way than escaping the xmas mayhem and the Scottish winter with going on a mountain bike holiday in a muslim country with daytime temperatures around 25 degrees ?
There we went on boxing day to Morocco (with considerable effort, let's just say it involved missed flights, tears and a credit card...) to join a group of unknowns the next day for a trip in the Anti- and Atlas mountains.
As a professional worrier I worried of course about - will the weather be nice ? - will I like the other people ? - will I be able to keep up with the other people (cycling that is, never a worry about the drinking) - will Michael Barrymore win Celebrity Big Brother- (sorry, dunno how that one slipped in there...).
Anyway, in the morning we would meet the others my mood, carefully restored to a rather fragile, but optimistic state the day before, hit rock bottom again as Rick announced, looking out the window in the hotel in Agadir: "It is raining in buckets!"And that was an under-statement if there ever was one, and my first worry was manifesting itself already. But - I decided I am not beaten yet (close though) and we headed for the breakfast room.
On the way there we passed that ultra-muscular black dude in lycra, so very likely one of our group, gulp. Will another one of my worries become true ?! No no no I have no problem about people in lycra, in the contrary, ahem... I mean the worry about being able to keep up...
In the breakfast room then, people gathering, first shy hellos and glances, everybody checking each other out I suppose... Then packing up the Land Rovers after breakfast and off we went out of Agadir through the rain into the Anti-Atlas mountains, where the cycling should begin. Or would it ? Or would we die of hypothermia before all hire bikes where fit to cycle on ? Read on to find out...
Cycle Day 1 - Tafraoute and the Blue Rock Trail
or Mud - a new definition
or How to loose a cycle buddy
After an endless wait on a cold pass to have the hire bikes ready we finally cycled off - after 20 meters there was me wondering why Liz on the first short offroad uphill swerved immediately to the right onto the curb, to realise too late that, if you didn't and cycled instead in the middle of what used to be the old 'road', about 5 kgs of red mud stack to your tyres and everything getting too close to this material. I thought Scotland had mud. Untrue. It's only dirt! Moroccon mud you can build houses with. And cement your bike in.....
On through fantastic landscapes, rain, sunshine, rainbows ...
The bad weather wasn't so bad after all and all the moods lifted, also having stated new friendships alread standing on the cold pass chatting away while waiting to cycle off. Little did we know at the time that the waiting game would be played many more times !Eventually we reached the infamous Blue Rocks, painted by a Belgian artist. Belgian, of course. What else have they contributed to the world than Chips & Mayo and Eddie Merxx ?? Chocolate ?? No, I bet they stole that recipe from the Swiss.... Painting rocks blue - useless and an offense to the beautiful landscape.
On we went quickly after a quick snack stop, onto the town of Tafraoute, where we would spend the next two nights.
A quick shower and off to the bar to meet comedy duo Andrea (the other one from Nottingham) and Julie already slavering over their beers. "Have you heard that we lost Richard ?" Andrea asks.... my brain just went into "doesn't compute" mode and rolled back the afternoon of riding... right, can't remember seeing him. Can't remember seeing him for a long time !! We'd lost him before the Blue Rocks, his bike broke down, he couldn't catch up, Liz was ahead and the Rovers couldn't support this part of the ride. What a catastrophe. In Richards case I still would be out there, wandering about aimlessly and lost, having the sense of orientation of a blonde female. Richard, the Red Indian at heart he is, followed the Rover tracks and then, when it was getting dark, the lights of the Rovers in the distance, then when these where gone, he thankfully could see the lights of the town.... a hero.
Joe (the black dude in lycra) could not leave all the excitement and attention to Richard, smuggling his bag with valuables into Margarets room and then pretended it has been nicked on check-in to fetch Liz's attention for whom he was obviously starting to feel rather fond of.
More bad news from Liz later in the bar, stating that the forecast was rubbish till Friday. This was Tuesday.....
After a nice meal and good amount of wine, off to bed, my last thoughts when drifting off being: "If it rains like this tomorrow, I'll be on the Jeep."
Cycle Day 2 - Tafraoute and the Gorgers of Ait Mansour or
Want no carpet, haggle for no carpet or
I had him down to £180!
Waking up to the lovely tones of our mobile phone alarm clock, I couldn't see a thing ! The shutters closed,the room was pitch black. Rick, with the curiosity of a 5-year old, had to immediately venture out into the courtyard, while I turned round for another minute of sleep... if it's gonna rain anyway.... "Andrea, it's bright sunshine and not a cloud in the sky outside. Glorious, get up !" Realising a tad too late that he meant the weather and not me with glorious, I jumped out off bed to see it with my own eyes. And it was true, the most stunning scenery bathed in morning sunshine. And it should stay like this till the day we leave.
A day of the most gorgeous gorges (!) and long waits near people working very hard on broken bikes emerged.... to spit us out at the end of the day doing a 'carpet night'.
Rule number one: if you don't want to buy don't ask for a price. Rick asked how much that one was... even after dinner next door, the carpet dudes were still lingering out in the street to pick up the dealings where Rick left them before dinner....
A berber not happy was left behind....
Cycle Day 3 - Anezi Descent or
The hammam visit or
The white leather jacket
After another day of fantastic cycling and a lot of waiting about an interesting evening was about to follow - a hammam visit ! Two jeeps chauffeured us to a hammam each, one to the boys and one to the girls hammam.... we had not a clue what was going to happen... after long discussions at the entrance (mainly in Arab but it sounded nevertheless very interesting to us !) we were finally in. Steam. Lots of steam. All these women looking at us. One naked. The accoustics in the bath was extreme, very hard to understand what anyone was saying, even if it was English. It seemed the nanked woman was the one in charge and she quickly chose me as her main point of contact when she noticed I speak French. Take your clothes off. Put them there. The clothes off - ok, where do I put them ? There there there (wild pointing in ambigous direction). We start taking our clothes off, I take my kniggers off as well, big screaming off everybody local.... I get a closer look at chief woman, oh she's not completely naked, her kniggers are flesh coloured. Ok, pull my kniggers back up.
Over to the wash room then. She makes us all sit down. Buckets and buckets of hot water are brought to us while we start to shampoo and soap ourselves in. Slowly a bonding between us western women starts to form.... would you take that bucket and wash my hair out ?? Could I have that ladle when you're done with it ?
I found it very back to baics to wash myself with water not running from a tap. It was very Out of Africato have the hair rinsed by water from a ladle. It was very very weird and wonderful. Although I could have skipped the bit when I had to get dressed in a room with humidity close to a 100%...
Back in the hotel, we were waiting for the boys... they got lucky and got the whole treatment with exfoliation and massage and all looked like rosy babies when they got back....
.... to be continued....
Cycle Day 4 - The Tacheine Trail and Taroudannt
.... to be continued....
Cycle Day 5 - Tamgault Gorge Trail
.... to be continued....
Cycle Day 6 - Agadir and the Cascades Flyer
.... to be continued....
