Little did I realize that I’d be leaping across gaps like a goat, sliding down crevasses, walking tremulously along ledges less than a foot wide. With Abdul as our guide, “I got you, don’t worry”, “Yes, I love you Ella, you strong woman”.
But, that’s how our much anticipated hike in the gorge went.
At 72, the mind can do anything (well OK, remembering to do anything can be a challenge), sometimes the body can’t so much. It’s not muscles, it’s balance. Not as keen as it used to be. So along particularly steep descents on gravelly rock where one must side step down, I accept Abdul’s hand for support. When I have a 10 foot drop to navigate with the barest footholds, I accept when Abdul goes to the bottom first and indicates where to place my feet until I can safely slide the last few feet ending with my foot on his knee.
It all started innocently enough. A wide path cutting through a small Berber village (and Grubb got yelled at for taking a picture of a woman), then winding steeply uphill on a narrow, rocky path, around a hill and sharply down into the gorge on no path at all.
Once into the gorge Abdul says “All easy now. All flat”. And then we’d come to a place where the gorge wall need to be scaled to get around a boulder or a large pool of water. And then “Okay, all easy now” until we had to get down on hands and knees and crawl through a crevasse. After which I would clumsily stand up and then Abdul “Yes, Ella, I love you, you strong woman”.
(Abdul pronounces Ella with a long A at the beginning. A as in horrAy. Alla. From America.)
The canyon is beautiful. Brings to mind canyons in Utah. But no wildlife. No birds. A few stickery shrubs. Definitely don’t want to grab onto one of those.
Eventually we did emerge and followed a path through fig trees out to the main road where Ali was waiting with the car. On we drive. To a small cafe for Moroccan tea.
A walk along the road through another part of the gorge. Finally, lunch at a local, well, cafe doesn’t really describe it. A place where a few locals come. We had barbecued chicken skewers. Tasty.
Back to the car for the 25 minute drive back to La Pearla du Dades, our traditional Berber guest house (as described by the French owner). One stop. Abdul wants wine. Turns out you have to go to a large empty lot where there is a guy…
Finally back at the hotel, I pour a glass of wine, and sit trance like on the terrace.
Quite a hike, I’m impressed. Looks like fun. I couldn’t help noticing that Grubb was walking the opposite way from the way the arrow of rocks pointed.
Oh that Grubb. Always going the wrong way. But yes, we had walked a different path and then dropped into the gorge from above to walk down the gorge instead of starting at the bottom of the gorge and walking up it.
That hike sounded really tough, especially if one has acrophobia. Is there a special phobia for “fear of slipping”?
Google tells me that there is a name for fear of falling, Basophobia. I couldn’t find anything for slipping. I am not particularly afraid of heights but I sure didn’t want to slip and twist an ankle. That would have put a damper on things.