Coffee Ennui: Morocco : Land of Mountains, Oceans, Deserts, and Whiskey

In Morocco they call the traditional mint tea "Moroccan Whiskey". Morocco is a Muslim country (Islam prohibits the consumption of alcohol) so it's a fitting name. Moroccans drink it all the time out of small glasses that look like they were meant for double shots. The correct way to pour the tea is by raising the teapot higher and higher as you pour. This creates foam on the surface of the tea which is supposedly so important that you can refuse a cup if it does not have enough.

This we all learned within the first couple hours of arriving in Morocco. Kasia, Armun, Jackson, Carlos, Eli and I. A good ol' gumbo of mixed features and backgrounds. We got picked up by a taxi, which was more of a rugged SUV, and then straight to the Atlas Mountains and Northern Africa's tallest peak.

Eli and our driver buying watermelons on the side of the road

Bargain Eli

The Imlil Valley is located in Morocco's Atlas Mountains at the base of North Africa's highest peak, Mt. Toubkal. At Carlos's insistence we all agreed to spend our first days in Morocco here. Unbeknownst to us all was the striking beauty and wonder this place held. I was worried that my first experience in an African country would be a dingy pueblo in rural country. How wrong I was.

Imlil Valley

Our host's name was Lassan. We all immediately became best friends with him. I am convinced that he may be the most gracious man I have ever met. If you cannot get along with Lassan then you're probably the Grinch. Whatever reservations I still held about Morocco evaporated within a few minutes of meeting Lassan.

The first thing Lassan did for us was make us tea. Or rather he taught Armun to make the traditional Moroccan mint tea. We would drink this everyday we were in Morocco. When I took the next photos the calls to prayer were echoing up and down the valley. It was spine tingling and mesmerizing.

Yung Jedi learning the ways of a Tea Master

What do you think of the tea? "Pretty gud."

Lassan's home was built by him and his family. He was unmarried, but lived with his sister and brother-in-law and their two kids, in addition to his parents. We occupied the top floor which held two bedrooms, two sitting rooms, a small kitchen, and a terrace with a view of the whole valley. A constant theme I observed throughout Morocco was the emphasis put on the inside of the home, rather than the exterior. There were no closely manicured lawns or picket white fences.

Doorway to the terrace

One of two impeccably furnished sitting rooms

First thing Carlos does is eat a banana. Feeling completely at home.

Walkway to someone's home

Championship game. The pitch is normal used as a parking lot for visitors and had rocks sticking up everywhere. One fall would surely leave scraps and bruises. The ball would constantly take erratic bounces making for an exciting game. The team's supporters were world class and shit talking was in abundance. The Sky Village would win the game.

Relaxing at night on the terrace

The second day in Imlil we went hiking to a holy shrine up on the mountainside. Five out of six of us were feeling some type of way making for a hike to remember.

Jackson framed by one of the valley's villages

Last stop before heading up the mountain trail

The trail took us through a dried up river bed. Kasia collected a lot of rocks.

Mountain Rest Stop

We took a break partway up the mountain trail at a rest stop manned by a sleepy older gentleman. He was fasting and I don't think he could be bothered to do anything that would require too much energy. He did squeeze us some orange juice though. For some reason I couldn't stop laughing while trying to drink it.

This fellow was chilling half asleep at his rest stop halfway up the trail. He made us some fresh squeezed orange juice.

Saw a lot of unbridled horses roaming the mountain

A very nice tree for a picture

Explorer Dora Eli

In between these mountain ridges is a beautiful river

At another one of our trail breaks I was enchanted by the river flowing below us. I kept staring at a pool that was off the trail and out of reach. Further on up the trail I saw a waterfall that fell into another dark pool and could not be stopped this time. I stepped off the trail and scrambled down to this waterfall that was calling my name. I wasn't sure if anybody would follow, but after a few individual seconds of rapture I got to share the moment with everyone.

Our swimming hole below the Holy Shrine

Jackson on his waterfall perch

We swam and sunbathed. We were just out of sight enough for Kasia to swim freely without scrutiny. For an American, Moroccan ideas of modesty for women are rather strict, but it was something that Kasia graciously coped with.