Our big plans for a trip or tour around Al Hoceima's National Park were subverted by our total lack of preparation and organisation. In lieu of a guided tour round the park or even a self guided visit there (no-one seemed to have even heard of it) we decided to go further along the coast to a place called Cala Iris where there is a small port and plenty of sardine fishing and walk to the next town, Torres.
After an hour long grand taxi ride, the car struggling to make it up the hills and round the corners without falling apart or stopping, we reached the little port, had a look round and spoke to a guy about football.
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| From Al Hoceima, Mediterranean Coast, Morocco |
As soon as people find out Djalma is Brazilian, that's it, respect and football – that's pretty much all he gets wherever we go and a bit of hero worship. I've even begun to say I'm from New Zealand because saying you're from the U.K doesn't get much of a reaction, N.Z isn't getting much more but the name Sarah is going down a treat – I'm not thinking of changing that any time soon. After being told to look after him, which cheesed me off no end – if anyone needs looking after it is Princess Moi, we began our long walk/trek to Torres.
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| From Al Hoceima, Mediterranean Coast, Morocco |
The guy at the port told us it wasn't possible to follow the coastline to Torres so we followed the road up and stopped to admire the view of the little Islands which used to belong to Spain (along with most of the North of Morocco) before deciding that actually, it was possible and so we began the slow climb down the side of the slope which was rocky, crumbling and dotted with wild thyme, heather and nasty spiky bushes. We congratulated ourselves on reaching the bottom and followed the rocky shoreline round for about an hour before coming to an impasse. It was either go up or turn back. Here begins the drama...
To get to this point we had already had to climb round and over a very large boulder which offered almost no hand or footholds, at least none big or comfortable enough for the inexpert climber with weak fingers and toes – me. At one point before I had safely reached the other side but hadn't found a place to put my feet, I shouted fuck several times, very very loudly, which made me feel much better and miraculously I found a place to step onto and got off the sodding boulder. We scrambled over more loose rocks and pebbles on the beach before coming to a small crumbling cliff which we couldn't climb around but had to go over. Despite my better instincts we started to ascend the rock face not knowing what lay up ahead or if we would be able to pass or climb that as well.
The sun was beating down and in spite of the sea breeze we were sweating like pigs, our flip-flops were slippery and frankly I was crapping myself before we'd even made it up a few feet. The cliff face was incredibly crumbly and pieces of sandy rock came away under the pressure from our hands and feet, small or big chunks, not much of it seemed to be firmly attached. We decided to keep on going and made very slow progress up, Djalma was trying to teach me some of the essentials of rock climbing like; lean into the face of the rock at all times, don't pull the rocks with your hands, use them to balance your body and so on, unfortunately he missed out; plenty of practice in a safe environment with first aiders on hand should you hurt yourself/someone else and plenty of ropes to stop you from falling to a nasty painful death.
After a very touch and go moment edging round a corner, where we clung to the side using the little hand holds and balancing on different parts of our feet, we stopped on a very small ledge and tried to relax. My body was tense from the climb and I needed to stop, physically Djalma was okay, I was done in and mentally we were both scared. The climb to that point couldn't have taken longer than 15 to 20 minutes but it felt like aeons of time had passed. We were hot, sweaty, scared, baking under the sun and I was trembling from the physical exertion. After a few minutes wedged in/balanced on the ledge Djalma said we should try to continue up. Just looking filed me with such horror that my stomach flipped and churned and I thought I was going to throw up, I point blank refused to go any further until someone knew where we were. I was absolutely convinced that the only way were were going was down – slipping, falling tumbling to be caught on the rocks below. There was nothing to break a fall except the stones and rocks uncovered by the low tide and nothing to hold onto that wouldn't break away under force and our weight. I don't think I have been more scared and more convinced that the situation would end no other way except nastily and painfully. Looking down or up I came to the same conclusion – to move would be suicide and incredibly stupid.
It was at this point that I thought about calling the emergency services, but we didn't have the number, so we called and left messages with my Mum, Gabby and also with Daniel from Meknès but not without some serious consideration about unduly worrying people at home who physically weren't able to do anything to help us – except get the emergency services number and worry like hell.
Having sent the messages and made the calls Djalma insisted that we move, we needed to get out of the sun whether we went up or back down (at the time I thought that the risk of sun stroke was preferable to moving, an opinion which was not formed without serious contemplation of the alternatives, let me assure you).
A little further up there was a small bush which offered some shade but to get to it we had to climb up more crumbling rock which looked even less stable than that we had already passed, which looked like the stupidest thing a living person could do. I couldn't do it, physically I was worn out, even stopping and resting was using up precious energy – I couldn't properly rest my weight and relax on the stones, I had to support my body weight with my feet and legs, keeping my upper body up with my hands. While we were climbing up Djalma went ahead of me, to check that the route was doable, and then tried to climb back down to help me. When we were talking about how to continue he said that climbing back down was really difficult and had scared him (which was one of the reasons he thought continuing up was a better idea) but when I insisted that we didn't go up any further, we slapped on more sunscreen and then he went down slowly, clearing the way of most of the rubble and small obstacles, while I tried to calm down and get myself under control. I am ashamed to say that I cried a bit – I would very much to be able to look back on that experience and say with pride that I didn't crumble like a big ninny, but I did. Not to put to fine a point on it, climbing up like we had done was a stupid thing to do and it would have been even worse to continue especially if it was impossible to continue and we had even further to backtrack. Being badly hurt on the rocks below was a very real possibility and I was very aware of our mortality, the fragility of the human body and the remoteness of our location.
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| From Al Hoceima, Mediterranean Coast, Morocco |
It was around this point that I nearly shit myself, no joke, climbing up scared my bowels into action at the most laughably inconvenient moment, had I been able to safely balance on the ledge and drop one over the side I would have done. In the end it was the strong urge to relax my sphincter that got me back down the slope (not the encouragement or support of my husband! - although that did help) – I promised myself that I would have a big poo as soon as I got down to the bottom. It was the first happy thought I'd had in what felt like hours, days even. It was also the first time I consciously thought that we could make it back down, unharmed and without assistance. So urged on by my urges, we slowly and carefully inched our way back down, Djalma apologising so much that I felt like pushing him over the edge when just moments before I was worried that I would slip and take him with me.
I have never been so shakily relieved at any of my life's events as then and I have to say, although you definitely don't want to know, that I kept the promise I made to myself back on the ledge and I carried on our trek back to civilisation much lighter (and happier).
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| From Al Hoceima, Mediterranean Coast, Morocco |
Our adventure didn't finish there, we had to move back along the coastline, with the tide coming in, and find a way up the mountain that didn't look like it would cost us our lives, especially so early on in our trip! We found a place and started climbing on all fours balancing our way up the mountain being very careful not dislodge rocks or stones onto the other below. We stopped several times to take mouthfuls of water and decide the next part of the route, although it probably wasn't the best idea, I felt much safer going up in areas where there were less rocks than more plants and dirt, even though there was less to grab onto it felt much sturdier and less likely to move under our weight.
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| From Al Hoceima, Mediterranean Coast, Morocco |
We made it up to the top of the peak for a stunning view of the ocean. The days events have rather clouded my memory of what was the most spectacular scenery, the sea was deep sapphire blue and sparked like diamonds where it rippled close to the shore, the stony cliffs were covered with small bushes of lavender, that nasty spiky plant as well as rocks and earth, and the stones, rocks and pebbles that constituted the shore line were all so different and so colourful that in places it looked like a big broken twinkly rainbow.
At the summit of the first slope we found another slope leading even higher, we carried on climbing, stopping once for some cornbread and chocolate spread with a few more mouthfuls of water (thank god we bought a second bottle of water before going out), we made it to the top of that slope to find yet another slope to climb, which we did. From the top of that third slope we could see the road (in the distance), hooray!!! Now that we were pretty much out of harms way, I felt like I would be able to go on for much longer than my body would have let me. My muscles, especially my thighs were aching so much, the soles of my feet, where we had climbed barefoot in some places, were sore and I had small cuts on my feet, one of which opened and split more with each step I took.
Unfortunately for us, the road was at the end of another long climb, this time down a valley. Our flip-flops (which we had climbed in) were knackered and we were surprised when at the end of the trip down, they were still intact.
The trip up the three sides and down the one took us around two hours although it felt much longer than that – the short time was mostly due to the fact that we moved quite quickly and didn't take many breaks. I felt like when we stopped I wouldn't be able to move again so it was best to keep our momentum and keep moving. When we made it to the road, relieved, sweaty and unbelievably smelly we tried to flag down a passing car to take us to the nearest town where we would be able to catch a taxi. Despite hobbling (trying not to open up that cut on my foot any more) and looking pitiful by the side of the road, plenty of cars passed us by without stopping (we were in the middle of no-where! The meanies). We decided to head in the direction of the town we were originally aiming for, Torres, and eventually a van picked us up and dropped us off in Cala Iris, where, after debating the cost, we paid 200 dirham for the taxi to take us back to our hotel in Al Hoceima.
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| From Al Hoceima, Mediterranean Coast, Morocco |
What a day, I fell asleep, sprawled in the back seat of the taxi while Djalma, still full of beans, took pictures of the sunset, which was stonkingly beautiful. We had showers and then flopped in the restaurant right next to our hotel and ordered more food than we needed or could eat before hobbling up to bed and sleeping in a small room on the terrace. During the day a mist had settled over the town and when the sun had gone to bed and there wasn't anything to burn off the moisture and it soaked our mattresses and blankets making it impossible to sleep on them. The owner of the hotel took pity on us and let us have the room for free, what a legend. I have never slept so well or so comfortably on such a thin mattress, nor have been so relieved and grateful to God to be on solid ground. It was enough to make a person religious!
Djalma did promise not 'to do anything stupid again' or put us both in danger, a promise that'll I'll be holding him to. That said I felt like I had missed a good opportunity to be Lara Croft to his Bear Grylls, instead I'll settle for being my Sarah to his Djalma and before writing off the climb up that dangerous cliff I tried to think what my adventurous little sister, Katie, would do – I came to the conclusion that even she would have decided it was a bad idea and that made me feel much better.
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