The Berber Bash – Part 5

615. That’s how many stone stairs there are from the top of the 110m high Ouzoud Falls, the highest waterfall in Morocco, to the bottom. And funnily enough, it’s the same number from the bottom to the top. I know this because I counted them. Three hours later after climbing all of the way down then all of the way back up, my legs were still jelly but I do feel sorry for the, ahem, rather unfit ladies in all of their Islamic gear hauling small children up and down in 33degC. I only had a backpack with a camera, a bottle of water and various other bits and pieces. It almost killed the CB and I but our guide barely broke a sweat.

It’s not Victoria Falls or Niagara Falls in respect of the amount of water falling but it’s a sight to behold nonetheless with numerous swimmers and boat rides in an area about the size of two Olympic pools at the bottom. In this heat and with not a lot of water around in the High Atlas Mountains I guess you utilise whatever is at your disposal to stay cool.

The riad we stayed in is high above the falls with an incredible view across a magnificent landscape except for one thing. That last comment was only valid a couple of years ago because now a multi-story hotel has been built right in front of it. And I mean right in front. It’s only a few metres away, casts a permanent shadow and means you have to walk about 20 metres to see the view. Not a major inconvenience in that regard but hardly the point. A planning battle of Waterloo proportions would have ensued elsewhere but I guess here, the rules are different.

The High Atlas Mountains are not so high (where we went) that you can’t drive up them but it’s a pretty hair-raising drive through magnificent scenery with hair-pin bends that anything bigger than an SUV would have to do a multiple point turn to get round. And it’s higher than anywhere in Australia.

Being Australian I know what the middle of nowhere looks like. Just when you think you’re in the middle of nowhere here, there’s a brand new petrol station or a village or a bloke on a donkey or a little kid who runs out into the road to sell you a bag of almonds or a lonely goatherd yodelling to himself songs from The Sound of Music. A bit further on when you think you’re really in the middle of nowhere you realise that those randomly scattered trees are olive trees and they are actually planted in long neat rows.

Being an ex-geologist I’m still fascinated by rock formations and structures and up here in this arid part of the world there’s plenty to look and marvel at, if that sort of thing gets you all hot and throbby. You can see rock faces the size of the side of a mountain with huge folds in the rocks and massive fault discontinuities with throws of tens of metres. And you wonder what damage could have been done if that had happened today rather than six million years ago. And my respect for processes in geological time grows at the expense of ignorant doomsayers who tell us we have 12 years to save the planet. Morons.