Across the Atlas : Mountain climbing and skiing expedition across Africa and the Atlas Mountains, supporting Childrens Hospital of Pittsburgh Pennsylvania.

Across the Atlas, and further. The gathering at the Simonetti house on March 6 seemed more a jamboree of old friends rather than a congregation of determined explorers in search of an extreme feat in a remote corner of the world. Not to say that the trip did not present any uncertainties or perils, but those dark thoughts were purposely not discussed at the beginning of the journey, and the afternoon was spent instead cheerfully greeting new comers, sorting through the gear, checking maps, revisiting the itinerary one more time, weighing bags and discoursing about past experiences. My wife Katie made a fantastic dinner to commemorate the occasion: a huge bowl of pasta that could have fed an army. By 8 PM we were all going to sleep – or attempting to. The alarm was set for 2 AM and there was no time for a snooze.

Our trustworthy Raheem was waiting for us at 3 AM, and in few minutes we loaded the van and took off for Stasted Airport. The early flight to Jerez, Spain went through without any incidents. We boarded at 6 AM, took off in time under cloudy English skies, and landed in warm sunny Spain a couple of hours later. Along with us, all our 495 pounds of gear arrived one by one on the conveyer belt. It was definitely a strange scene for some of the local Spaniards to see skis, snowboards, snowshoes, crampons, ice axes, camera equipment and bulgy backpacks in a small seaside airport in Spain. From the airport we took 2 taxis to the town of Jerez, and from there, a local bus to the costal city of Algeciras on the South West tip of Spain.

We were very close to Gibraltar and its famous rock. It was with a sigh of relief and excitement that we breathed the salty water coming from the Mediterranean Sea, mixing with the Atlantic Ocean. Moving the gear from the different locations always proved to be a challenge. We devised a scheme where people would use the skis as stretchers and we would pile up as many bags as possible on top. We moved around in this ridiculous way until we reached a predetermined destination, dropped the bags on the ground, left at least a person guarding the gear, while the others attended their individual duties: explore the surroundings, purchase tickets, gather information or take bathroom brakes. Then we would move again. We were not a fast team, but we were efficient.

The ferry left on time from Spain and at five thirty in the afternoon, we were landing in Tangier, Morocco. The welcoming party was overwhelming and these first friendly Moroccans would not take “no” as an answer. They all wanted our business, and could not understand why we wouldn’t dine at their brother’s restaurant, or take their uncle’s taxi, or store our bags in their cousin’s garage. We decided to go our way, and arrived at the train station in the early evening. The night train would not leave until 11 PM, and we had several hours to spare in Tangier. We opted to explore the city and the old medina. We finally accepted an invitation from a local Moroccan and we ended up being the sole customers in a really nice overpriced restaurant, and then again the only clients in a carpet shop, while looking for Paul Bowles house in Tangier. Once they grasped the fact that we were not interested in purchasing any local artefact, they left us sort our way out of the medina. The medina is the old fortified part of a typical Arabic town, and it’s not unique to Tangier. The streets are narrow to better defend against invaders, and the buildings are quite plain on the outside, but incredibly beautiful on the inside. Many of them, have private courtyards in the interior, with fountains and gardens. While in Morocco we visited several Medina. It seemed that each town, regardless of its size, had one.

Back at the station we boarded the night train to Marrakech. The train was unexpectedly nice, with private sleeping compartments and even a guard in each cabin to make sure that nothing was stolen. We only had to travel 200 miles, but the journey was expected to take 9 hours. We all slept like babies, and woke up fresh and regenerated in Marrakech. From the city we could catch a first glimpse of the Atlas Mountains, covered with lots of fresh snow. It was a beautiful sight, especially because we did not know how much snow had fallen in the previous weeks. Our muscles were itching to get closer to the white powder.

We had a bit of a scare when the Riad we had chosen in Marrakech proved to be hard to find, and once we finally got to it, there was no answer from the other side of the door. Luckily for us, the housekeeper was grocery shopping and finally arrived after an hour absence. A Riad, is a private house that is sometimes made available to guests. It’s usually built on several floors, with all rooms facing an open roof courtyard. In the centre, there’s usually a fountain and some gardens that bring tranquillity and coolness to the place. The flat roof terrace on top offers a great view of the city and the distant mountains. From the outside, these places look like modest buildings, insignificant mud walls. Inside they hide their preciousness, their decorated columns, their 30 feet ceilings and their water displays. These houses are just like jewels coated in rocks.

In the afternoon we ventured into the Marrakech medina and its famous souks. A souk is the market part of the medina where artisans and merchants sell their products. For the most part, the shopkeepers try to select their location based on the their selling goods. Our Riad was pretty close to the metal -worker souk. It was incredible to see young and old workers moving rhythmically with their hammers over iron bars, smoke coming off their small shops, coating their clothes, hair and eyes. Sparkles flying in the air, and very little skin protection to fend them off. They were fascinated by Mike’s digital camcorder. I’m sure that a lot of them had probably never seen a picture of their faces. They couldn’t grasp how this black plastic box recorded their movements and showed them back on a small screen. What impressed us was the fact that no matter of what time we went by that part of town, these people would always be at their assigned space, constantly doing the same type of work. When I sometimes feel tired, or bored, or dissatisfied with my work, I often think of these workers, and what they do for hours and hours, every day of the week and for most of their lives, and I immediately feel fortunate for my situation.

Marrakech is a fun, lively city, with lots of contrasts, colourful people, cats, kids playing soccer in trash, mud walls, smells, sweets, donkeys, spices, cars, palms, loud-speaker morning prayers, fresh and rotten fruit, live chickens in butcher shops, modern banks and ATMs, moving carts with live snails trying to escape, fresh bread, smoky shish kebab, fresh orange juices, blind horses carrying heavy loads, 1970 Mercedes cars with 2 million Kms, veiled women, girls in jeans, exotic mummified animals, shoes lined up outside of a mosque, snake enchanters, mint tea, musicians, tajeen au poulet, religious speakers standing in corners and preaching, dense smog, delicate flowers, decay, life and death. A place where you can lose and rediscover yourself in a matter of hours.

We left Marrakech in early morning on March 9 and we decided to test the local bus system to the town of Essaoouira, positioned on the Atlantic Ocean, and renown for its bohemian lifestyle and its great surf. We had set it up as a day trip and we left almost all our gear at the Riad in Marrakech, thus finally enjoying a light excursion. The trip didn’t go uneventful. We left late, and with almost 2 fights on board because of an overbooking issue. After the first 15 minutes of travelling, we had a collapsed passenger, laying flat on the main aisle. An hour later a rock thrown in the air by a passing car completely smashed the bus front windshield, spreading glass into the first 10 rows and only by miracle not injuring anybody. We stopped for 30 minutes, and then stoically the driver kept on driving, without a windshield, wind blowing in his slightly cut face.

The distance was only 150 Kms, but with all the incidents on the way, it took us 3 - hours. We were all ready to get off, by the time we got there. We toured the city and its ancient port. One of the best sights was the cleaning of freshly caught fish by the local fishermen. Hundreds of seagulls lurked in the air for an opportunity to catch a free meal. The sandy beach just outside town is 14 miles long, and it was harbour to some interesting characters, including a group of youths that were break-dancing to Moroccan music, veiled women bathing to knee high waters and camels roaming on the sand. A different scene than Miami beach for sure.

On the way back to Marrakech, we got acquainted to the concept of grand-taxi for the first time. In Morocco there are two types of cabs: the petite taxis which are used in city centres, and the grand-taxis for out of town travelling. The petite taxis are usually Fiat Uno, or small equivalent cars, with a maximum load of 4 passengers, 3 in the back and one in front, and they use time fares just like the Western cabs. The grand-taxis are 1970 Mercedes Benz cars, with a maximum load of 7 people, 4 in the back and 3 in front, and they roam the major roads in between towns, picking up and dropping off people along the way. Fares are negotiated in advance. Their service can be considered the same as small private buses in some ways, because the driver’s goal is to have a packed car all the time.

From Essaouria to Marrakech, we booked an entire grand-taxis, even though it was “only” 6 of us. Nevertheless it was still an uncomfortable trip. As we soon discovered, the dreaded spot was the front passenger spot next to the driver. With the legs jammed in an angle under the glove compartment, and the butt aligned over the hand brake, it was an awful position to endure for hours. Its fellow front passenger, the one to the right, next to the door, was not faring much better in all honesty. Because the limited space, the trips were almost always made with the window down and the right forearm outside. This caused either extensive sunburns during the day, or endure extreme cold temperatures at night. The other people in the back could in theory enjoy more room, but Michael’s camera equipment took away most of it. On top of that, all the Moroccans taxi drivers had removed the window lowering handles for some strange reason that we never understood, and the back of the taxi would always unmistakably fill with petrol fumes in a matter of seconds.

Our first taxi driver was keen in getting done with the trip as soon as possible, and floored the accelerator on the 1.67 million Kms car almost the entire time. It seemed that we were going 100 miles / hour, passing cars and trucks in no passing zones, cutting corners at every turn, accelerating when a distracted pedestrian was trying to cross the road and slowing us off. At the end, we got to Marrakech in 2 hours and 45 minutes. Only 45 minutes faster than the bus. We were simply thankful that we made it alive. One of the most discomforting feelings was the fact that we couldn’t even put on a sitting belt. We had to trust the driver 100% of the time, and sometimes it was hard to do. We would always try to choose an older driver, as at least it meant that he had survived few years of taxi driving.

Back in Marrakech, we walked to the main square and we had dinner late at night in one of the typical food stalls. We thought for sure that we would get sick, but luckily we didn’t. Peter and I also lined up a taxi for the following day. We had learned that it was much better to book the taxis the day before, thus avoiding showing that we were desperate to get one. I would write down on a piece of paper all the points we discussed and agreed with the taxi driver, including time, price, number of people, ski bags, etc. and then I would sign it and also make the taxi driver sign it. It became a joke in the group that I made “contracts” in Morocco, but the reality was that we often avoided sticky situations thanks to these simple pieces of paper. Without one, the fare would start at one price, and by the time we got to our destination, it would have multiplied. How about that for galloping inflation!

We enjoyed the beautiful Marrakech Riad for one more night, and the following day we were ready for the beginning of our mountain section in Morocco. The taxi that came to pick us up was very old, and on the way to Imlil, we even had to get off and push it up the hill. Finally we got to the end of the road. There, we learned that there was still quite a bit of snow at lower elevation, and that the mules could only get to 2,100 meters, or a 1,000 meters short of the Toubkal refuge. We hired 3 mules to carry our loads to the edge of the snowfield, and then 2 more porters after that to bring up Michael’s camera equipment. Took a while to negotiate the price, but at the end we finally agreed. The first section of the trail was quite nice, zigzagging up the valley, with beautiful views of the snowy mountains around us. Once in a while we would pass a small village, fasten to a steep side, flat roofs, ladies working around the houses, animals grazing, a small stream running with clear water and silvery reflections. Young children acted as the village’s ambassadors. They would spot us from the distance and they would run to us with big smiles. They usually wanted candies, money or pictures taken. Disappointed for not receiving anything, they would then ask if we wanted to buy a Coke or some sweets. They would follow us for few hundred meters, and then they would disappear, just the way they came.

Hiking in the mountains, also gave us a good excuse to learn more about each other. In the lower section, where the trail was not so steep and we didn’t have heavy loads to carry, we truly enjoy each other’s company and we had plenty of conversations going. It was a good way to bond. At 2,000 meters the mules turned around, and we strapped everything on us. Each bag was probably close to 40 Kg. Michael, Arthur and I also had skis. Massimo had a snowboard and Peter snowshoes. We each developed our pace and focused on the task ahead of us. We all went through highs and lows, and at the end we all made it to the hut. We enjoyed a warm dinner and then we all went to sleep shortly after.

The following day we woke up early and since the weather was nice, we decided to push through to the summit. We were one of the last parties to take off, but we had nothing to rush for. The first section of the climb was very steep. Often the skins under my skis would not hold due to the steep grade, and I found myself slipping backwards. Luckily I was always able to recover in time. The sun made its first appearance at the saddle and we were truly enjoying the day. We were still a bit tired from the day before, and some of us started feeling a bit of the altitude, but overall the team was reacting greatly.

At the col below the summit, Arthur and I reached a lower satellite peak and did some small skiing while Michael filmed us. Massimo decided to leave his snowboard there and climb the last ridge without it. This would have meant that him and Peter were committing themselves on coming down the ascent route, while Michael, Arthur and I wanted to ski the backside. I wasn’t thrilled to split the team, but the decision was made and we had to move on. In 45 minutes we were all on top. At 13,900 Jebel Toubkal is the highest mountain in Northern Africa. On a clear day, from its top, people can see the Sahara desert to the East and the Atlantic Ocean to the West. It was sunny when we got there, but a bit hazy unfortunately, and we missed both views. It was still quite spectacular to stand on a big snowy mountain in Africa. We spent almost an hour on the summit, taking several pictures and enjoying the day. Globalstar had sponsored a satellite phone from which we were making the updates to our website, and we all used it from the top to call our families and tell them about our achievement.

At one PM we started the descent. We still had 3,000 vertical feet to ski down, some of them in steep challenging terrain with lots of rocks around us. The team was also split as I mentioned earlier. There were a lot of things that could have gone wrongly, but luckily everything went well and we all met at the refuge few hours later. Each one of us had a story to tell. Peter sliding down the mountain on his snow shovel, Massimo jumping over a frozen waterfall, Michael filming some good moments, Arthur telemarking on the African snow, and Pietro making a long run with lots of tight turns. We all went to bed with a relieved heart filled with a sense of accomplishment. We were sleeping in bunk beds with several other climbers in one big room. People snored, talked in their sleep, coughed and sneezed. A typical refuge night. Funny enough, sometimes I would wake up and I would not know where I was. The scene was so familiar that it could have been in a hut in the Alps, or South America or Nepal. The location might change, but people and their habits are constant everywhere in the world. I’m also sure that each one us also contribute to this beautiful orchestra sonata. There is also a law in Morocco that forbids the sleeping of an unmarried man and woman in the same room. The law applied to the whole country, and was a consideration in choosing a team of all male members, but strangely enough, in the hut it was not looked upon.

We woke up the following morning with grey skies, a light snow and a cold wind. What an incredible change from the day before! We didn’t really know what to do, and we were all very happy about the decision to climb Toubkal the previous day. Finally Peter, Michael, Arthur and I decided to explore a secondary valley that we had seen from the top of Toubkal. Massimo was still sore from 2 days of heavy climbing and decided to rest at the hut. The wind was blowing very strong and visibility was poor. This was a problem not only for finding the right path in the snow, but also for Michael’s camera. We tried to find some less exposed sides to do some filming, but the snow had a hard crust, and it made it very difficult to ski with any style. We battled the elements for several hours, even exploring a very interesting canyon gully, but finally we were all cold and tired, and we retreated to the refuge for a warm cup of tea. The original plan was to spend one more night at the hut and descend the following day, but because of the bad weather, there was no really a point in staying there. We arranged 2 porters for Michael’s camera equipment, and we left in early afternoon to descend back to the town of Imlil.

We found a small auberge (guest house) with hot showers right before Imlil and we spent the night there. The hot showers were definitely a good treat. We also devoured the tajeen au paulet that the owner fed us for dinner. We even scraped the bottom of the burned terracotta pot with the last pieces of bread to get the final leftover juices. I’ve never seen a group of hungrier men. All meals were served without silverware and I’m sure that we looked like savages tearing apart an animal with our fingers.
The following day we were expecting the taxi to come pick us up, but because of the steep road to the hotel, the driver could not make it. Once again, we had to load everything back on our shoulders and hike down to town. It was not a huge distance, and in less than an hour we were there, but nevertheless we were not too excited about it. Quick trip to Marrakech to pick up some of the gear left at the Riad, and then Peter and I had to arrange for a new taxi to take us over the Atlas Mountains, to the region of Ouarzazate. Not a short trip, about 300 Kms and at least 5 hours in the car. Peter was the official navigator, and he did a superlative job with maps and its faithful GPS. In the medina, where maps were often not so accurate, and where the narrow streets created a sort of maze, it became almost a joke to find the right way out of it. Peter was strong headed in using his navigational skills, regardless, and there were few times where we came pretty close to our destination, but then an uncharted wall blocked our way out. Anyway, in the taxi occasion, where there was some sense of urgency, Peter navigated fantastically and we arrived to the taxi square with no problems. It took a while, as we had learned by now, to negotiate a price and test the car, but finally we had a signed contract and in few minutes we were on the road.

The trip was uncomfortable as usual, and the taxi driver was a complete maniac. In a couple of occasions we had to ask him to slow down, but he would not care about our requests. He was on his personal quest to get there at a certain hour and there was no alternative. We had chosen to spend the night by the little town of Ait Benhaddou. The location is famous for its well-preserved Kasbah, which has become a Unesco protected site. We arrived there just before sunset and the colors of the mud walls were spectacular. A Kasbah is a family fortified house. It’s usually built on several floors and its main characteristic is the four corner towers. Hassain became our unofficial guide and showed us the interior of the Ait Benhaddou complex, which is really made of 7 Kasbahs attached to each other. There are only 2 families still living there. The other people moved to the new city built on the other side of the river. He told us that the crossing of the river was the main reason why people moved to the other bank. It’s still unclear to me why in so many years, no-one has ever built a bridge. To date, the river crossing is still done on loose rocks and shaky cement bags. It was already hard not to fall in during the daylight, but it got worse when Hassaim invited us for dinner that night. An invitation that we accepted with open arms.

Hassaim had called some musicians to lighten the mood. There was no electric light and illumination came from candles. We were sitting on pillows, with our shoes off. Tea arrived and we drank several cups. Then the classic tajeen au paulet. No silverware, as its customary to eat with your fingers in Morocco. We devoured the meal and we enjoyed the night. The men were playing drums, a three string guitar and banging small metal plates. The women were taking care of bringing the dishes in and out, but they never sat with us. The house seemed completely dark, except for our room. I wonder what the ladies were doing. If they were listening to the music in the dark, or dancing silently barefooted.

The following morning we had an interesting Moroccan experience. Hassain had promised that he would find us a Land Rover for the next portion of our trip. The hours were passing and the vehicle was not arriving. Life was slow and lazy at Ait Benhaddou. No-one seemed in a rush. At first we were anxious to get out, but after a while we adapted to their lifestyle. We were roaming the muddy streets looking for a solution, when shopkeepers and locals would invite us in their tents for a glass of mint tea and a chit-chat. We were trying to decline, showing a sense of urgency, but after a while we understood that it was a futile attempt. They were all so friendly that it was hard not to relax and accept their cordiality. After a couple of hours it seemed that we already knew half the village. Unfortunately we were still lacking a vehicle and there were not taxis in sight. When we ran out of solutions, we decided to book a double way out of town and hope that at least one of the two would arrive. Through Hassain we reserved a taxi to Ouarzazate, and through the hotel people a Land Cruiser that was very expensive, but that could potentially take us all the way to Merzouga and the edge of the Sahara desert. After so many false promises, we were sure that one of the two would not materialize, but sure enough they both arrived almost at the same time. We gave some money to the taxi driver for the inconvenience, and we boarded on the Land Cruiser.

We stopped at Ouarzazate for a quick snack and a glimpse of its famous movie studios. This area is famous as the set of a lot of Hollywood movies, including Gladiator, Lawrence of Arabia, and many others. We were about 4 hours late on hour schedule and we pushed through to Gorges du Todra, which was our next stop. We were planning to have a relaxing lunch at the gorge and spend several hours exploring its steep sides. Instead we got there at 5 PM with the sun about to set already. We actually found it quite touristy and maybe the short visit worked out after all. It is an impressive canyon, with walls at least a 1,000 feet tall. If I had to compare it to a similar canyon, I would think of Eldorado Springs, but this was much taller, or so it seemed. The other big difference was a pair of camels grazing near the stream. With the light slowly fading we started driving into desert country. We witnessed a strong sand storm that obscured the road completely for few minutes. The landscape was flat and desolate with very little vegetation. This is already considered desert, although we didn’t see any sand dunes yet. At night the population comes alive in the towns, and we passed several villages with all their citizens in the street enjoying the coolness of the evening. Electricity was scarce and our headlights shined into their faces, giving us a solitary view of their lives. Then the car roamed away leaving them in a cloud of dust, and the trip would go on. I often felt guilty of the way we drove through these towns, but the driver and even the people in the streets never seemed to mind.

We arrived in Merzouga late at night. Our auberge was out of town and was considered one the last outposts of civilization before the open desert. The driver had to find his way at night on uncharted terrain through the desert, with no road to follow. I don’t know how, but somehow he found it. We gave him a big tip for his outstanding skills and we invited him to stay for dinner and maybe spend the night. He smiled, thanked us for the generous offer, then got back in the car and left. It was 10 PM. He had been driving on and off for the last 9 hours and he still had 5 hours to get back to Ouarzazate.

We sat on the auberge flat roof that night. We had the big African desert sky above us, filled with millions of stars, planets, satellites, the space station and shooting stars welcoming us to that part of the world. We knew that the dunes were not far off. We could feel the sand been blown to our faces. The unmistakable taste of fine sand in our teeth. The silence was deep and heavy as if we were astronauts doing a space walk into the unknown. We barely talked, staring into the dark instead.

We woke up early in the morning and the view from the window was incredible. Miles and miles of untouched dunes, just outside our front yard. The auberge owner had built a wall to keep the sand out, and a person had to excavate it out every day. The desert and the wind would not give up and the Sahara was in expansion mode. We settle for 6 camels and a local Touraeg guide and we started our trip into the desert. We were amazed on how the guide would know his way. The dunes change almost daily and there are no fixed landmarks along the way. We were trying to reach a distant oasis, which was several hours away from the auberge. The guide didn’t need a GPS, and seemed always in control of the route. Sure enough, we got there without any problems. The oasis was much different than what I had imagined. There were only 6 or 7 palms, standing in a flat surface and with a 600 feet dune right above them. This particularly dune is considered one of the tallest in this part of the Erg Chebbi desert. Water was only 2 feet below the sand surface. The guide explained that the dune was created because of an ancient lake that had started to stop the sand blown off from the Sahara desert. With time the dune has kept growing to its current dimensions. If they didn’t have machines and men removing the sand daily, even the auberge would become a big dune one day. Two nomad families lived in this desolate oasis. The children came towards us, trying to sell some small artefacts. I gave them my kite and I spent several minutes showing them how to play with it. We couldn’t communicate, but the smiles on their faces were a thousand page book. They couldn’t believe that I stranger would give them a present without asking anything in return. I was wearing the traditional Touareg outfit. The indigo headscarf and the long blue dress. But I also had a pair of snow goggles with no see through reflective lenses. I realized later that they couldn’t see my eyes, and they were probably confused on this strange person with no eyes giving them a flying object that they had never seen. It was beautiful to see it fly in the strong wind. A symbolic hope for bigger dreams and higher aspirations for their future.

We spent the rest of the afternoon climbing the dunes around us. We would go up without shoes. The sand was warm but not hot. On the steep sections it would create small avalanches, but never big enough to swap us away. Our feet would sink for few inches, but never go any further than that. It was quite tiring, but not dangerous. We didn’t even bother to put socks on. The sand was everywhere on us. We strapped the skis on and started the descent. What a strange feeling! The friction was higher and the speed slower, but besides that, it felt very similar to skiing on snow. On the big dune, the descent time was close to a minute. A good reward for the 30 minute hike up. Michael was filming us, and we probably looked like little kids with their first bike. We were more than excited. Only few days later we were skiing the snowy sides of Jebel Toubkal, and now we were here, skiing in the Sahara desert. And the best part of it was that it wasn’t just making a turn or two on the sand. We were really skiing!

Back at camp we took the musical instruments out and started an early jamming session that lasted for the following several hours. More Touareg people arrived at the oasis. We lit a fire, with firewood brought in from distant lands, cooked half a sheep on a large skewer and played instruments well into the night. It felt that it was always the same song repeated over and over. We fell into a trance that was hard to get away from. The magic voice of the desert. The nomad tents were made out of burlap fabric. The same stuff that is used for potato bags. They were low to the ground, black outside. We had a gasoline lamp inside that pitched strange ghostly reflections. It spilled in the middle of the night, sending kerosene all over. Our backs were on the sand. I’m not sure if it was meant to be that way, or if the desert was reclaiming that portion of land. It didn’t make a difference to us.

The following morning we woke up for the sunrise and hiked to the top of the main dune to witness the raising sun. It appeared white, sand washed, weak and pale. It’s very strange, but the Touaregs told us that the morning sun often appears that way in the desert. Maybe it’s because of the flying sand. It was quite at the camp, but the wind was strong on the crest of the dune. Seeing all that sand being transported great distances towards the unknown, made us think of where it came from, where it was going. What lake or obstacle will it find next? Will it be part of the next big dune? Or just disappear into the void? Not far from us was the Algerian closed border. There is a dispute between Morocco and Algeria about the true border and each country has positioned its Army to defend their claims. We were only 15 Kms away and we were told that we could not get any closer for security reasons. What a place to fight a war!

In the afternoon we decided to take the camels back to the auberge. We would have liked to spend more time in the desert, but the schedule was tight and we had to keep going. Riding a camel was not so easy. It was really painful on our butts, especially because with all the gear with us, we couldn’t switch position very easily. With a sense of relief we saw the human built wall, half covered by sand, that marked the beginning of civilization.

That night we reached the town of Erfoud, and from there we purchased tickets for the night bus to the city of Fez. The trip was supposed to last about 7 hours and covered over 350 Kms. We left at 10:30 PM. The driver must have been the twin brother of one of our previous taxi drivers because he launched the bus, as it was a space rocket at Cape Canaveral. We were all pretty tired and we each claim a little piece of the back rows of the bus, moulding into the seats and falling asleep as the cabin swung widely from left to right. I had the sensation of being in a boat in the middle of a storm. We were passing people, cars, towns, mountains and hills and they were appearing and disappearing in a matter of seconds, without really knowing their names or why we were there.

The lights went on in the bus at 5:15 waking us up. The driver unloaded our gear in the empty docking station. All the other passengers vanished in the fog and we stood silently looking at our 220Kg of equipment. Massimo had actually purchased a fossil encrusted stone tray during our previous stop in Erfoud that was probably another 5 Kg, so it’s probably more accurate to say that our load was now 225Kg or more.

We found that the bus station coffee shop was open and we piled up all our bags there. We each had 2 espressos and several croissants. It was too early to go directly to the Riad and the number they give me was not working anyway. We waited until 7:30 AM, then we negotiated two petite taxis to the hotel. It was again a Riad in the medina and we had to use two porters and their carts to reach the main door. Fortunately the housekeeper was there and was expecting us. We unloaded and went out for breakfast.

The medina in Fez had a different feeling than the one in Marrakech. The markets were similar, but the people were not. There are 3 distinct ethnic groups in Morocco. The Arabic Moroccans, the Berbers and the Moroccan Tourages. The Arabic Moroccans live mostly on the coast, in the main cities. They draw their language and customs from the Arabic invasion in the VII and VIII centuries, but they have also received a strong influence from France and Spain. The Berbers are now a minority, but they are the true natives of Morocco. They moved to the Atlas Mountains to retain their culture and their language, and to avoid persecution from the Arabic Moroccans. Only recently the Berbers have been allowed to teach their language in schools. The third group are the Touareg Moroccans. They are Moroccans because they live in Morocco, but being nomads and Touaregs, they don’t belong to a particular country. They are the only ones that consider the Sahara desert their true country and they roam freely from border to border, without a passport. Their number is very small in comparison with the Arabic and Berber groups. I’m not sure what people live in Fez, but they were very different then the ones we had seen so far.

The group split searching for its own personal destination. I sat in a roadside café’, sipping mint tea, while watching locals passing by. One of the reasons why we wanted to come to Fez was to observe the famous leather tanneries. We had heard that the process was very interesting to witness, with several pools holding different colors, and many men working in this industry. We immediately knew that we were not too far when we smelt a strong stench. The leather is soaked in horse pee and seagull droppings to make it softer. Then it’s rinsed, and dropped into one of the color pools. We climbed on a terrace and looked at this strange world from high above. To be honest it looked like hell. The foul smell, the poor work conditions, the sight of hundreds of dead animals, the permanent stains on the rocks and the strong hierarchal structure didn’t make this a very fun place to be in. I learned that most of the workers never leave these quarters. They eat, sleep and work in the same clothes, day in and day out.

In contrast, hours later we examined another sunrise on top of the fancy Riad’s flat roof. Peter and I watched the weak white sun make its appearance in the sky. Smoke rising from the metal worker souks. The tanneries fetid smell in the air. The city was already awoken. We looked for a taxi and finally, after 2 hours of negotiation we booked a grand taxi to the little town of Chefchaouen in the Rif mountains. We had to depart from Arthur since he had an early flight out of Casablanca. The driver did not respect our wishes to slow down and continued at its speed, but at least we had more room in the car. It’s strange how after so many miles, and so many reckless drivers we stopped caring. We accepted that this was our current faith and trusted the person behind the wheel. There was nothing else we could do. Moroccans often use the expression “Inchalah” – that can be loosely translated in “ if Allah allows”. If Allah allows, we will arrive to our destination, and this became our motto. The outskirts of Fez were an open dump with houses and people living on it. There was not a single tree to be found. We were not too impressed with this city and we were happy to leave it behind us.

On the contrary Chefchaouen seemed nice from the start. We had read a lot of good things in the books, and we were pretty excited to explore it. There is a strong Andalusian influence in this area and the houses and the streets are painted blue, giving an artistic look to the town. Peter hiked up to the mountains, Massimo and I explored the old medina and traded few Western garments for carpets and necklaces. Michael opted for some needed rest at the auberge. We had a relaxing last night in Morocco, enjoying a glass of mint tea, one more tajeen au paulet, and a simple evening walk in the narrow streets. Late at night the team unexpectedly met on the rooftop. We all got there without knowing that the others would be drawn up too. It was a good moment to recap the trip and all its funny situations and the incredible places we had visited in the last 10 days. The fog was veiling the _ moon.

We thought that this was basically the end of the trip, but we were wrong. The taxi arrived on time at 8 AM. We wanted to catch the 12:30 PM ferry leaving from Tangier. The two towns were only 75 miles apart and we thought that 4 and _ hours was enough time to allocate for this distance. But for the first time in Morocco we found a slow driver. Nevertheless we arrived in Tangier at 11:30 AM or an hour before our scheduled departure. Unfortunately we had not taken in consideration that we were in Morocco after all. A ferry left as we were walking to board it. We could almost touch it as it was pulling away. That was the 11:30 ferry that had left with 20 minutes delay. Inchalah we would take the 12:30 ferry, but Allah was not allowing it in this particular occasion. The 12:30 ferry did not arrive in Tangier until 2:30 PM, and because of several delays, it did not leave until 5:30 PM. On top of that, the sea was rough and the ship had to motor through it at reduced speed. We landed in Algeciras at 8:20 PM. Our flight out of Jerez was at 9:45 PM, but the two places were 120 Kms apart. In other words, we had no time to make it. Massimo took off with a distant relative. Michael, Peter and I boarded a local bus to Malaga and to a bigger airport. If nothing else, we were back in a country where we could purchase cold beer. We drank six during the 2 hours it took to go from Algeciras to Malaga. The bus arrived in Malaga at midnight. We found a cheap Hostel next to the station and then we went for a strange Chinese, Spanish sushi fusion for our 1 AM dinner. Slept 4 hours and then took a taxi to the airport where we booked tickets to London. It was Michael’s birthday, and truly the end of the trip.

Team Across the Atlas would like to thank all the sponsors for donating the gear that we have used on this adventure, and above all, a big thank you for the generosity of private and corporate donations, which will help to make a difference with the lives of several kids treated at Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh. Although a small step in the overall picture, these donations are the equivalent of flying kites of hope for the future.

Day 1: London, Jerez, Algeciras, Tangier.
Day 2: Marrakech
Day 3: Essaoouira
Day 4: Imlil – Jebel Toubkal refuge
Day 5: Jebel Toubkal (ski)
Day 6: Jebel refuge – Imlil
Day 7: Imlil, Ait Benhaddou
Day 8: Gorges du Todra, Merzouga
Day 9: Erg Chebbi (dune skiing)
Day 10: night bus – Erfoud Fez
Day 11: Fez
Day 12: Chefchaouen
Day 13: Tangier, Algeciras, Malaga
Day 14: London