The word conjures up images of drifting dunes, desert tents, steaming couscous and tall minarets. It means, in fact, “The Western Kingdom.” Perched along the crashing waves of the Atlantic and the calm blue of the Mediterranean in the farthest north-west corner of Africa, this exotic kingdom country is indeed many things.
There are the cities awash with tourists and flamboyant colors, such as Fez or Marrakesh. In the south, the deserts stretch out endlessly, proud of their desolate beauty and shifting sands. The beach towns along the coast host snowbirds set a-flight from colder climates and sun-seeking visitors who lounge along the beaches and drink sweet mint tea in sunny cafes.
Beautiful and exciting in their own over-trodden way, these destinations often over-shadow quieter corners in the kingdom, no less beautiful in their own way. Indeed, traveling has become a marathon challenge to see how many cities one can visit, how many destinations are checked off a list, and how many pictures can be taken. The true sense of traveling, for the pure pleasure of exploring, learning and relaxing, has somehow been left behind.
One such seemingly forgotten corner in Morocco is called the Valley of the Roses. Threading its way east of Marrakesh, between the rough High Atlas Mountains to the north and the rugged Jebel Sarho range to the south, this lush valley is hidden amidst the arid, dusty brown landscape.
Starting near the town of Skoura and finishing towards Tinhir, the valley is aptly called the Valley of a Thousand Kasbahs, with hundreds of baked mud forts lining the valley walls and perched along cliff tops. Halfway along this luscious river valley is the sleepy town of Kellaa M’Gouna, made famous by its wild pink roses. All along the valley, the farmers plant their crops on the river bed and hedge them in wild pink roses. Every spring, just as the wheat is thigh high, the roses burst into bloom.
Walking through the fields, with the wheat brushing your hands and the smell of fresh roses tickling your nose, all thoughts of Marrakesh and other such tourist-trap cities escape, and one feels they are in the most beautiful corner of the world. Tour busing from site to site seems far away while picnicking along the river bank, which may diminish to a trickle in the summer months but never dries up completely. Hopping from stone to stone to cross the rushing water, relaxing while women dry their river-washed clothes in the sun and spitting watermelon seeds seem to be simple pleasures lost amidst the hustle and bustle of travel.
After spending the day meandering along the river and clambering through dry Kasbahs, climbing the dusty path up to the freshly colored Kasbah Itran is well worth the effort. Perched, rather precariously, on the highest cliff top in sight, about three kilometers from Kellaa M’Gouna, this quiet and clean guest house awakens you with its vibrant colors, sooths and quenches with its cool mint tea and lulls the weary walker with the soft breeze it catches from its high vantage point.
After spending a day in this forgotten corner, the race to visit as many places as possible slips out of mind; one remembers the joy of exploring new lands, imagining the life that once inhabited the magnificent mud Kasbahs, and the smell of fresh roses mixed with dust and sweet mint tea. Morocco is much more than what first comes to mind; it is truly a kingdom of hidden corners and subtle charm that is best discovered by those who are willing to leave the tourist trodden path behind.
