Month: November 2017

Saturday 28 October 2017

We have found paradise and it’s in the atlas.  Or rather the Atlas.  An hour from Marrakech in the foothills of the spectacular High Atlas Mountains, we are ensconced in the most glorious Kasbah.

After yesterday wine incident we may never drink decent wine again (until we get home at least) but perhaps wine is an unnecessary accoutrement in paradise.  Yes, clearly I am delusional. That will pass.

Today we relax.  It couldn’t have come at a better time.  Holidaying is exhausting stuff, and its just R&R left on the itinerary now.  After breakfast we walk around the beautiful grounds

Chat with the birds

 

And the love birds

Talk to another old duck

And soak in the views.

We visit the compound where the in house animals are kept.  Typically, I discard the sign on the gate warning me to take care when visiting the animals and barge straight in.  The camel on my right reaches for a taste of my shoulder, two billy goats with huge horns race to see who can get to me first and I shriek “Cherrie” who unbolts the gate (from the outside – she is far more considered  than I) and I run through.  She slams it in billy’s face

Perhaps long distance views of goats are better

Really, do views get better than this?

More pool work, even a lap or two.  Such hardship

We meet Jean and Herman for drinks as planned, and it soon becomes apparent that Herman knows everything and is especially keen on his own voice. Not even I can get a word in edgewise. Hard to believe I know. Cherrie is sitting closer to Jean and manages a conversation with her but I am stuck with Herman. As we rise, an hour later, to go to dinner (we had pre booked a table for two on the rooftop terrace again) Herman decides that he still has much to say and it should be said at a table for four. We suffer through an insufferable two hours, during which the only people to speak are Herman and Jean. It’s second marriage for both. She is as rich as Croesus and only sold the roller a couple of years ago because someone scratched it. I admit to a sense of great relief when dinner was finally over.  I know a great deal more about Herman than I care to and frankly I don’t wish to know a skerrick more.  Note to our mutual friend please keep this to yourself and I apologise if I offend

Tomorrow after breakfast we depart these glorious mountains bound for the sea. More hardship.

Friday 27 October 2017

Jilali is all smiles when he collects us from our Marrakech hotel this morning.  The usual hand kissing and hug.  No sign of yesterday’s churlishness and we are relieved.  He asks if we had a good day yesterday and we respond with “some good, some bad”, which he takes with good humour.

Today we are headed to a Kasbah in the foothills of the High Atlas Mountains, where we will spend two nights.  We have studied the map and are satisfied that we will not  climb too high or be subjected to too many twists and turns.

En route we will visit the Anima Gardens, created by multimedia artist Andre Heller.

Jilali is driving slowly.  And carefully.  So slowly that I ask him if anything is wrong.  He assures us that everything is all right.  After a while he asks if we can help him to find the Anima Garden.  He obviously has not been there before and once again his pride is too great to ask his employers for help.  Fortunately we are on the right road and its not hard to find, well sign posted and only 30 minutes from Marrakech.

Anima is more a sculpture garden than plantings, and is an amusing place to spend an hour or so.  We feel watched wherever we go

Something we think about quite a lot

But it doesn’t blow our minds

There is a cute glass house, which is actually mirror

And which cleverly reflects anyone sitting on a nearby bench

We meander through the gardens, distracted by the artworks but we suspect that is the purpose

Finally we see the light

And return to the hearse for our trip to the foothills.  It’s only a short drive, perhaps another hour or so.  Those Atlas Mountains are so beautiful, unlike anything we have in Australia.  The colours, the height, the texture.  It’s a spellbinding drive full of anticipation of what awaits us.   We pass through more productive agricultural country, see mountain goats

and goats out for a Friday stroll, with friends

As well as  friends out for a Friday drive

As we pass through a small village Jilali pulls over unexpectedly and jumps out of his seat to a small roadside stall where he buys a fizzy drink. He apologises and continues the drive. After a while it is evident that he is feeling unwell, so we convince him to pull over until he is feeling better. Poor fellow, not far to go now but clearly feeling dreadful

It’s not long before he bundles us back into the van and drives, slowly and carefully, towards our destination. At one stage we fear he is nodding off so we keep up the conversation and include him. He has loosened his tie, an alarming departure from the norm, and we are concerned. But he gets us to our beautiful Kasbah in one piece and no doubt has a snooze down the road. Plenty of room in the back for a 6’ man to lie down in.
Look what we’ve come to

What a glorious place and oh, those views. We have arrived in time for a late lunch and so we indulge. This is good food, and mercy be, a good wine list. Worth repeating those words……good wine. How wonderful. I splash out and order a Bordeaux for 390 dirhams. That’s about $US39 and I reckon that’s pretty reasonable for a Bordeaux. It is sublime and extremely good value for money. It’s one of those wines that is so good one can almost be content with sniffing it, with only occasional sipping. Cherrie doesnt share it with me. She prefers a G&T with lunch, so 2/3 of the bottle is consigned to our dinner. A good deal I reckon.

Now, let me be clear about this.  I only have myself to blame.  In elevated spirits I call for the luncheon bill.  This is when I nearly fall over, with no blame on my leg this time. The bill is enormous and it’s all to do with the wine.  It was actually 3900 dirham. Not 390. That’s about $A500. I feel sick. For the rest of the day.
We spend the afternoon by the pool, indifferent to the beautiful people who surround us, but I am the only fool who spent 500 bucks on a bottle of wine. Even this beautiful outdoor pool, heated to just the right temperature, is not enough to make me feel better.

Tonight we dine on the outdoor terrace. I do not drink, I still (literally) feel sick. Cherrie enjoys $380 worth of wine. The best she’s ever tasted she reckons. Enjoy it while it lasts I tell her, for she’ll never taste it again! The couple at the next table are talking strine. As we leave the restaurant, with the empty bottle of gold left behind, we strike up conversation with Jean and Herman from Sydney. They are horsey people, as it were, and we have friends in common. We agree to have a drink with them before dinner tomorrow night to chew the fat.  At least in our case.

And so to bed.  In paradise.