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LEE MICHAELS
Morocco is where the Middle Ages and the 21st century meet, from the exotic smells and sounds of the medina, or marketplace, of Marrakech to the undulating and seemingly endless sand dunes of the Sahara. What’s the best way to get a taste of it? I chose to bike through the country, riding a hybrid with a group of compatriots, two guides and a couple of drivers in SUVs, who helped us reach further into the country than our two-wheeled vehicles could. We rendezvoused in Casablanca, a city that justifies its indelible romantic reputation. There was no riding here, but there was time for sightseeing at the Hassan II, one of the world’s largest mosques, and wandering through the old Art Deco quarters, redolent of the classic Bogart-and-Bergman movie that has made the city’s name a synonym for passion doomed by an endangered world. The trip began in earnest with a flight to Ouarzazate in the High Atlas Mountains, the jumping-off point for our exploration of the Draa Valley. The striking architectural centerpiece of the city is Taourirt Kasbah, a 19th-century, earthenwalled terracotta palace. You may have never set foot in Ouarzazate but you’ve seen it many times, because it’s a favorite of Hollywood location scouts. Its mountainous desert landscape is the home of Atlas Studios and has appeared in Lawrence of Arabia, Gladiator and Kundun, among many other films. This first day of riding set the stage for much of the rest of the trip. We pedaled through a landscape of palm trees and villages, donkeys and goat herds. The simple houses were made of stone with ornately carved wooden doors, with veiled women and men in djellabas, the traditional hooded robes, watching our progress. Dusty plains gave way to a backdrop of arid, snow-capped mountains. Our route was punctuated by towns that were as vibrant and lively and exotic as any Hollywood screenwriter could have dreamed up, as if the rug merchants and the spice sellers and the street magicians came out of central casting. The riding could be hot and was very often dusty, but the distances were manageable. When we arrived in Zagora, I saw a mural that announced “Tombouctou 52 days,” telling you that it would take 52 days to make the journey by camel to Timbuktu, Mali. We ate delicious tagine with chicken and lamb, and I awoke just before dawn with the call to prayer reverberating from loudspeakers in towering minarets.
LEE.ss22.Travel.indd 72
3/15/22 9:49 AM
