{"id":26518,"date":"2017-03-04T16:28:02","date_gmt":"2017-03-04T16:28:02","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ourtour.co.uk\/home\/?p=26518"},"modified":"2021-01-24T11:47:31","modified_gmt":"2021-01-24T11:47:31","slug":"calm-and-beauty-in-the-valley-of-ait-mansour","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/ourtour.co.uk\/home\/calm-and-beauty-in-the-valley-of-ait-mansour\/","title":{"rendered":"Calm and Beauty in the Valley of Ait Mansour, Morocco"},"content":{"rendered":"

Zagan the motorhome’s windows are full of palm. Green fronds, sunlight and shadow, backed by high orange cliff faces. We’re in a small, calm guarded parking area in one of the Ait Mansour Gorges, a place of Lawrence of Arabia-inspired boyhood dreams (N29.547902, W8.877461<\/a>) in Morocco.<\/p>\n

Small frogs in the steady flow of water close by\u00a0are making outsized amounts of noise, bulging cheeks like bubble gum, leaping from the sandy banks to hide under rocks or mud when we get too close. This is the domain of Mustapha, an easy going guardian who pulled up his lanyard to show his decade-faded card: proudly telling me “I am official”, and asking if I’d seen his name in the Campings du Maroc book<\/a> (I had). It costs 25Dh (roughly \u00a32) a night to stay. Incredibly we can get a mobile Internet connection here, albeit a slow one, and we have to dance about a bit to get it to work.<\/p>\n

\"Motorhome

Motorhome guardian parking in the Ait Mansour gorge, Anti Atlas mountains, Morocco<\/p><\/div>\n

The sky at the painted rocks yesterday somehow failed to be magnificent. Once the crescent moon dropped below the mountains at around 10:30pm I’d hoped to be treated to a show: the Milky Way in full glory, but sadly it was a no-show. Despite practically zero light pollution, only the usual array of constellations were present, and I headed to bed disappointed.<\/p>\n

In the morning Ju took off for a run while I pondered the smooth beauty of the rocky, calm place we were sat in. A few converted lorries were scattered around the rocks, huge but tiny in this endless landscape. The French youth seem to have the monopoly on this particular mode of living, folks who’ve opted not to fit in. The back doors of one of the lorries was open, and in the absence of courage to ask, I guessed from the tools within that they made their living as a mobile workshop. Ju returned hot and bothered, the sun making running even more of a chore than usual. After an in-van shower (I’ll never get over the novelty of having a hot shower and a cold fridge everywhere), we decided to head to Ait Mansour. Daniel, a French blog follower who treated us to a drink in Marrakech (and who is rapidly becoming our Morocco guardian angel) suggested we shouldn’t miss the place, so in we came.<\/p>\n

The drive here took us along a sinuous route through dry hills, villages and small almond groves. The trees rapidly erupting in pink, just in time for the Almond Blossom Festival in Tafraoute. Or is the festival erupting just in time for the trees? The dates for it are\u00a0shifting backwards with the wind, and we’ve speculated whether they’re waiting for nature, or desperately buying time to finish the roadworks going on in the town?<\/p>\n

\"Leaving

Leaving the painted rocks near Tafraoute<\/p><\/div>\n

\"Left

Left to Ait Mansour, right to the painted rocks. Nope, my Arabic’s not improving, there’s a sign behind it in French…<\/p><\/div>\n

\"Almond

Almond blossom on the route here<\/p><\/div>\n

Although only the tarmac on the road was only wide enough for a single vehicle, the roads here impress me with a certain efficiency. Instead of sinking capital into twice as much goudron<\/em> for roads hardly used, you’re quite fairly expected to slow down and pop two wheels on the gravel either side when passing the few vans and cars you come across. That said, a fair bit of effort had gone into adding a couple of feet to the road, flat grey concrete broadening the hairpins and in other likely spots.<\/p>\n

\"Great

Great views back towards Tafraoute and the rocks<\/p><\/div>\n

At one point high on the gorge, before the walls went high and palms appeared, our jaws hit the floor. Pulling Zagan over to one side we walked to the other side of the road and peered at the scene, eyes wide. Morocco’s more well known gorges, the Dades<\/a> and Todra<\/a>, which are on the main tourist route, fade in my memory compared to this. I imagine Crocodile Dundee stood alongside us, pointing at a photo of the Todra Gorge and asking with creased eyes: “call that a gorge?”, then pointing out ahead at the impressive cascade of black and orange rock and remarking “that’s a gorge!”<\/p>\n

\"That's

That’s a gorge!<\/p><\/div>\n

\"A

A handful of dates to the first person who can spot a tiny Jay<\/p><\/div>\n

At this point we pulled out our GoPro and stuck it to the window, recording the final 13 minutes of the drive, as it’ll do a better job of showing the outlandish scene than my dry words will. I felt a rush of joy on this drive, one which I can easily imagine wouldn’t have been possible with a soft and squishy vehicle like ours just a decade ago.<\/p>\n