Oasis: a fertile or greenspot in a desert or wasteland, made so by the presence of water. Oasis to me: an extraordinary place of peace in the desert where the gentle breeze through the palms, sound of trickling water, and the echoing call to prayer work like magic and brings time to a standstill. Oases are most often associated as places of refuge and protection from the hostile desert environment. They provide safety and are life-sustaining for those that choose to stay. Even though my foray into the oases deep in the Anti-Atlas were not life-saving in anyway (could have been I guess) there was a great sense of calm that overcame me as I explored the desert from the security of the palms. I can certainly appreciate arid desert environments, but oases are certainly the desert's pearl.
In Tafraout I loaded my mountain bike (with new tubes by this point) on top of a beat-up Mercedes mini-bus and ventured deeper into the Anti-Atlas mountains. Over the next couple of hours the bus carefully negotiated the single lane road up over a high pass, into a precipitous gorge, across desert plains, finally dropping me off in the small village of Tiwadou. Armed only with the creaky mountain bike, a compass, and a cheesy tourist map, I was a bit intimidated by what lay ahead of me. My objective was to explore the deep canyons and oases of the area and then pedal myself back across desert plains, through gorges, up over the same high pass, back to Tafraout. Standing in Tiwadou, under the protection of palm and argon trees looking out over the desert landscape, the task seemed a bit daunting. At least the seasons are on my side though; it is winter so the cold ended up being more of a nuisance than the heat.
The initial plan was to knock out my objectives in a day and a half; half-day exploring the canyons and oases and a full day getting back to Tafraout. However, a tardy bus ate up my half day and once in Tiwadou, I knew I needed to savor the area for as long as I could. The only accommodation in Tiwadou was a small family-run guesthouse; the type of place that makes travel magical. I slept on the floor of a traditional house, sat around the evening camp fire with my Berber hosts and hostesses, ate home cooked meals, and gained insight into the local culture. Although it was a very simple arrangement, it was genuine. It was the type of experience that I enjoy most about travel and it ended up keeping me in Tiwadou longer than I had intended. When it comes time to pack the bag and head out, it's not easy. That's the feeling I want to have everywhere I go.
After a relaxing night around the fire and a restful sleep, I was charged and ready to go the next day into the Ait Mansour Gorge. The trip was supposed to be a leisurely 20 or 30 kilometers return, but thanks to my sudden lack of direction and cheesy map, the day became much less leisurely. Feeling confident that I knew the way, I pedaled relentlessly for hours, always assuming that the palm-filled gorge was just around the next bend. But, the gorge and security of its oases never came around that next bend. Instead, all that came was more shadeless desert. It wasn't until I climbed a pass and peered into the barren valley beyond that I admitted defeat and turned back. Luckily there was a single village where I could top up on water and supplement my meager lunch of dates and oranges with some chocolate.
As I pedaled back to Tiwadou, defeated, not 20 minutes from reaching the village I found the missed turn leading into Ait Mansour. I had missed the turn first thing in the morning! With a few hours of daylight left, I made the turn up the gorge. Immediately I was pedaling through thick, cooling palm groves with massive red cliffs towering above; a huge contrast to the barren hills I had spent most of the day in. I felt rather foolish that I had pedaled for as long as I had when the gorge was just a stone's throw away from Tiwadou. I was happy though, that despite my weary legs, I had made the turn up the gorge. The gorge was spectacular; the road wound through palm groves and ancient hillside villages. The late afternoon light was mesmerizing as it reflected off the red cliffs and filtered through the palm branches. Eventually, I had to pull myself away and return to Tiwadou. After a 50 kilometer day on the bike, the long pedal back to Tafraout the next day seemed even more daunting.
The next morning I sorely rolled onto the floor (I was sleeping on the floor afterall), enjoyed a lazy breakfast, and mounted the bike for another 50 kilometers through the desert. Despite the long distance and sluggish climb up the pass, it was a delightful ride through more canyon country and palm-filled oases. I even managed to make it to Tafraout without a single thorn in the tires. Maybe the only thorn was the one in my side about having to leave such a beautiful and peaceful place.
Desert sunrises from atop a hill are hard to beat.
With no oasis in sight, I happily turned around.
I guess I can't be too hard on myself for getting lost.
It is fascinating how the ancient villages could grow relatively large in such an arid environment with a limited amount of water. This area would truly be a wasteland if it weren't for the oases in the gorges.
Even the not-so-ancient villages were interesting.
Sometimes to break up the monotony of the road I would stop and give a big wave to the only person around for miles, me.
Oases are such a unique environment; the breeze is cool, the shade refreshing, the light magical. But one doesn't have to go far for all of that to change.
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