September 2006: A French couple is driving off on what we have named the Road to Hell toward their doom in the Atlas Mountains of Morocco, we think, as we head on to Ouarzazate. In 20 minutes we're driving into town on a road lined with tall eucalyptus trees planted by the French. A little later we're checking into a nice hotel in the center of town.
We note a group of what looks like Americans having drinks in the bar, and find out a movie is being shot in town with Tommy Lee Jones as the feature actor.
It's the next morning, and we're driving to the edge of the Atlas Mountains to visit the ancient casbah of Ait Benhaddou, a World Heritage Site. It's a walled village that has been used many times as a movie background. Several Jesus-themed movies have been shot here. The old village has been preserved without any changes and is truly breathtaking.
We're staying a few days in Ouarzazate, nosing about the old city, going to the souk, and in general enjoying our vacation. The hotel is good, as is the tagine, a fragrant stew similar to a Southern pot roast with potatoes and carrots.
It's the next day and we're heading to Zagora, an old caravan jumping-off town of around 35,000 on the edge of the Sahara Desert and the mountains. I'm pulling in when I see a sign: Road to Timbuktu, 52 days by camel.
It's getting dark and since there are no street lights, I'm easing down the main street, trying not to run over anyone. Our hotel doesn't look that bad, but as we settle in, we realize it is the worst hotel any of us have ever stayed in. The beds are awful and the food is about as good as the beds. However, we aren't going to spend a lot of time in town. We have arranged a camel-riding tour, and we're going to camp out under the Sahara Desert skies.
I've been riding this camel for nearly four hours, and I'm aching. The best way I can describe it is to think of being strapped to an erratic rocking chair without any padding. I don't have much fat on me, and my bottom is bone on hard saddle. Finally, we ride into camp, and about that time the Camel Tour folks drive up in a Land Rover to fix dinner.
The dinner is tagine again and the meat, I've just found out, is camel, but they did say it was young camel. I've been hot all day, but as it gets dark it's much colder. The Tour folks have built a large bonfire and a rather plump belly dancer, who could use a trip to the dentist, has just appeared. A couple of our bunch--who I suspect have had a drink or two--are dancing too, but I'm ready to lie down. Vertis and I are heading to our tent where we have a backpack of clothes and some necessities. It won't take me long to drift off to sleep.
I guess I've slept several hours, but now I'm awake and about to freeze to death. The temperature drops like a rock at night in the desert, and I've got to put on some more clothes. Where are they? OK, found something. I'm putting on everything in the backpack, enough to warm me up and let me go back to sleep.
It's daylight and I need a cup of coffee in the worst way, and I'm about to leave the tent when Vertis looks at me. "For God's sake, Richard! You have on my clothes." Yeah, I'm a little embarrassed, but at least I was warm.
Breakfast is mostly hard rolls and jam, but it's filling, and I'm ready to head back to Zagora. I hope it's not on the back of a camel, but that is wishful thinking because I see our camels being saddled up. It will be another four hours on the back of one, and my bottom is already sore.
Finally we're back in Zagora, and I can't believe how good this sorry bed feels. Tomorrow we're driving to ancient Taroudant, which still has its old city walls. Its history is pretty amazing. During inter-tribal wars centuries ago, all 30,000 of its occupants were killed when the city fell.
It's the easiest drive we'll make. I'm looking at some scraggly trees along the road, but not at the trees. The trees are full of goats, and not on just the low limbs. Heck, there are goats grazing thirty feet off the ground.
We're staying at a well-known hunting resort on the edge of town; the room, restaurant, and hotel are first class. This is the end of the together part of the trip; one couple will leave in a couple of days, and we'll leave a day after that.
It's the next day, and one of our group made the mistake of drinking tap water. He has diarrhea. "I thought this was such a nice place that the water would be OK." He broke the cardinal rule of "Never drink the tap water in a Third World country."
Vertis and I are driving to the airport in Marrakech to catch our flight home. We'll be crossing the Atlas Mountains further west, but the road is paved and certainly not anything like the Road to Hell shortcut described in a previous column.
I've been driving about two hours with two hours to go, and we're into the mountains when a red light flashes on the dashboard of our Renault rental car. It's not just a warning. It says Emergency! Service at once! When you are halfway through the mountains that causes a panic, and I'm pulling over to check the oil. I'm thinking the oil pan was damaged on the Road to Hell and is leaking oil. It's 30 minutes later, and I can't figure out how to raise the hood.
I'm driving on with the emergency light flashing and in a small mountain town, I manage to find a garage service station. Twenty minutes later and the mechanic can't figure out how to raise the hood, so it's cross your fingers and head for the airport.
I'm breathing a sigh of relief as I pull up to the rent-a-car place in our somewhat beat-up Renault, drop off my keys, and head to check in for our flight home.
Richard Mason is a registered professional geologist, downtown developer, former chairman of the Department of Environmental Quality Board of Commissioners, past president of the Arkansas Wildlife Federation, and syndicated columnist. Email richard@gibraltarenergy.com.
Editorial on 11/11/2018