Fri., Feb. 1, 2018 - Zagora

Zagora, Morocco

True Berber nomad family.  It felt strange to stop for a photo op but Samir was so friendly and kind that the family welcomed him.  Instead of tipping with money - the Moroccan way and expectation - Samir offered mandarins.  The nomads have less use for cash.

The family had two tents and this walled area for cooking.  The younger sons were out herding the camels.  The family stays in one spot until food for the camels is scarce and then they move on - usually about a month.  Their camp was pitched on flat unprotected rocky land with only very scraggly plants in sight.

Camels hanging out at the well in the middle of nowhere.  They drink from the trough

Another rapid 4x4 ride took us to a small village in an oasis where camels were waiting.  A bit contrived but fun, nonetheless.

Camels awaiting.  The coat on his/her "knees and elbows" is worn off to deep, dark calluses. To our relief the camels seemed well-cared for and uncomplaining.  Camels never wag with enthusiasm.

Getting onto and sitting on the lying camel is fine and quite comfy.   Then comes the steep lurch forward as the camels hind legs straighten.  Then the tip backwards as the front legs straighten.  Each requires a firm grasp and bracing arms on the cheaters handle bar.

And he's up on RH.  

Our train sauntered out to the dunes and back.  Ninety minutes was a novelty but the beginning of chafe was apparent and I was glad not to be travelling on the hump of these beasts for long.

One camel, ahead of me in the train, emitted a deep, low, wet gurgle sound that seemed come from deep in his belly.  He frequently shook his head and copious slobber around.  Apparently, he was sensing a female in heat from miles away.  He wanted to be elsewhere.

And back again.  The camel behind me nosed right up to my hip when we stopped and enduring my friendly pat and, I hoped, soothing words.  Those teeth a big and yellow and were a little too close to be ignored.  All the villages in the Sahara are constructed of the same mud and sand.  Bricks baked in the sun and then covered with mud plaster.  Walls and the tops of the houses erode when it rains.  The walls look like they are melting. Mud is added to the house walls post rainfall.

A wishing door to a mosque in.  A woman knocked three times on the door and then went to a window on  one side while a guy knocked three times on the other door and went to the other side.  Everything seems to be segregated by gender here.

This green pottery is made in one village in the south.  It is coloured with a copper based glaze.  We were taken through the old village to the ceramic factory.  The village is hard to describe:  Because it is scorching hot for most of the year - although not the day we were there - the houses of the old village were connected above by mud ceilings which meant that all the body-width paths were also covered - dark, dank, and cold.  Peaking inside open doorways, the rooms of the houses seemed pitch dark with rugs being the only visible comfort.  Children followed us through the pathways, quietly holding out their hands for coins which we were asked not to give because they would buy cigarettes and more would come around, reportedly.  Not sure if this indeed was the case.  All the tip from Samir went to the tour guide and head honcho.  Unsure if these poor children or their families ever saw any of the profit of the pottery cooperatives.  On the whole, it left a sad feeling in the pit of my stomach.  Life seemed pretty desperate.

The pottery cooperative itself was pretty amazing in it's primitiveness.  There was nothing modern about it.  The above was the pit where the clay was mixed - Clay within a "pail" hard packed earth.

The potter was in a small "studio", sitting in a pit so that his hands were at the level of the small wheel.  As soon as the head honcho tour guide left the studio, he begged for money.  

One of the ovens above.  About half a dozen of these caves were dug into the walls around the cooperative.  The pottery was jammed into and dragged out of the ovens by small men.  A very hot job in a very hot place.

Part of the pottery coop.  Wow, it was a time warp.

Fruits of hard labour were actually very beautiful.  We saw the green ceramics in several restaurants and hotels - hopefully, the people who do the work get some of the proceeds.

 We went on a walk with Samir through Zagora, old town.  Wide paved roads turned to narrow dirt lanes very quickly.  Spouts would make the walk wet and muddy during rains.  We were accompanied by a bunch of kids who Samir, in his kind and generous fashion, walked, laughed and chatted with.  We wouldn't have braved the meandering alleys on our own.  Yet another reason why having a guide allows one to experience things otherwise unseen.  On this tour, we went to fewer of the tourist centres.  Rather, we appreciated the opportunity to see more of the local, authentic way of life.