The Shamal Series: Journey to the Center of the Earth through The Grotte Friouato

Last Halloween weekend a few volunteers gathered to celebrate as best as we could one of our most endeared pagan holidays. We weren't able to go trick-or-treating or to wear any of our superhero costumes; so, our host, Steven, suggested we just do scary stuff the entire weekend.  He suggested we check out a cave near Taza that all the Tazies talk about and then catch a horror flick in the evening.

I headed out to meet everyone late Friday night. We had dinner at a nice restaurant in the heart of Taza's ville nouvelle.  I got myself a tuna pizza that was nice and crispy with plenty of marinara sauce and cheese to complement the tuna. Shortly thereafter, we took a brief walk around town. The Taza medina (old city) is quite stunning with its medieval fortress walls illuminated at night and sitting atop a towering plateau overlooking the sprawling ville nouvelle (french for new city).

In the morning we took a petit-taxi past the ville nouvelle, onto the Taza medina plateau, around the medina arriving at a taxi stand where a number of tan station wagons waited for passengers. We met up with Aziz, an employee of Morocco's Ministry of Water and Forests who also serves as a counterpart for a number of Peace Corps volunteers in the region. We also ran into a couple of tourists, one American and another from the Czech Republic, who were looking to go to the cave, but were waiting for others to fill the taxi. The two young ladies were doing an internship at a veterinary clinic in Fez.  So once we were all together, Aziz bargained with the taxi drivers for a bit and then we were on our way to the Grotte Friouato.

After a 30-minute uphill journey zig-zagging through some beautiful, dense forest passages of pine trees and rocky terrains dotted with stone-stack houses and tiered farming on the sides of the mountains, you come to a wide, open expanse that supposedly is a rain-season lake where winter grains are grown in abundance. We arrived at the base of the Grotte Friouato, checked in with the reception desk, paid 35DH for a flashlight and for the tour, and then made our way to the entrance of the cave.

Not having read anything about the cave, I didn't know what to expect. My only point of reference for this expedition were pictures of the Ozark Caverns in Missouri that I had seen on billboards on I-44 when my family would make the trek from Oklahoma to Pennsylvania for our annual church convention. In those billboards, there was always a little kid pointing to some really cool rock formations as the entire family looked on in utter amazement. The brochures I would pick up from various rest stops also photoshoped the same shot of the kid with his family on a background of wide passageways with railings and lighting that accentuated the rock formations and the many cave pools.  The publicity also showed what looked like a golf cart in one of the shots, and the tour guide and tour group were all equipped with a hard-hat. I wasn't expecting a replica of the brochures here, but when I heard that a number of tourists frequent the cave every year, I figured that those managing the site and the tours were taking precautions to ensure that tourists keep spreading the word.

Aziz accompanied us to the reception and then walked us over to the entrance of the cave upon which he said goodbye to us and wished us good luck. When asked why he wasn't accompanying us, he smiled and said, "Oh no, not me." We entered the cave to a warm stream of air that seemed to be channeling through the entrance. We began our descent to the cave. For the first couple of hundred steps, there was railing available, but then as we reached a more gradual grade, no railing was around and it could have been useful given the uneven and worn concrete steps.

 It was interesting to experience the change of temperature as we descended. It was as if two masses of warm and cool air were sitting idly in the cave, and once you stepped into the cold, you only felt the cold. It wasn't too chilly, but just enough for a fleece.

We took a brief break at the base of the cave, which was actually the entrance to what would be our journey to the center of the earth.  I was already feeling my knees shaking a bit after the 500 or so steps we hiked down.  Then, our guide said, "mn deba l-foq, triq saib swiya" (from here on, the way is a little difficult) and he wasn't kidding.

The entrance to the cave was one of the most challenging parts of the journey.  It was literally a tunnel that you had to squirm, twist, and turn in awkward ways trusting the person in front of you to place your feet on the next step as the view was obstructed by the narrowness of the tunnel and because you could only descend face down meanwhile attempting to retain some balance by grabbing onto the muddy walls.

It was a wake-up call because it made me realize that should anyone twist an ankle, injure their tail-bone or back, or suffer any other accident, there would be no way to get anyone out.  This was just one of the many points during the hike where we looked to the guide and to each other in dismay and wondered if it could get any worse.

We kept descending down some more steps onto some amazing rock formations.  There was sparkle everywhere.  Who on earth had come here and sprayed sparkle all over these rocks?

Brown and white rock icicle-like formations with water drops at their tips, boulders with coral-like surfaces, and undulated cave walls that resembled my mother's vanilla or chocolate icing on the many a birthday cakes she made for me were all part of the amazing show we were witnessing as we descended further and further down into the cave.

Without any sort of markers along the way, we were completely reliant on our guide.  When I entered the cave, I thought how would we be able to get people out if we injured ourselves.  As we kept going down I thought, how the heck would we get back, God forbid, anything should happen to our guide, and the chances of injury weren't unlikely.  The cave floor and the walls we used for support were muddy and very slippery. There was no light in the cave save our flashlights, no railing anywhere to be seen, and for sure no way to communicate with anyone on the surface.  Fortunately, our guide was fearless.

He led us through the nooks and cranies of the cave with ease, lighting passageways, and cautioning us to thalla f rask, which generally means to take care of yourself, but in this particular instance, he meant each word literally: thalla is the transliteration for the verb to take care; the "f" sound is the preposition that follows the verb; ras is the word for head, and the "k" sound attached to the word adds the possession "your".  After banging my head a couple of times through the tunnels, I began to understand why those silly-looking hard-hats were on the brochure and made me wish I had one.

Later on with tired knees, we reached what I deemed to be the Bridge of No Return.  It was a 2x6 wooden plank placed over a deep crevice that you could not see the bottom to, and to make matters worse, the plank was not bolted or holstered.  Our fearless guide walked through it so easily I believe he could have performed several scissor kicks and back flips without a glitch.  Then came Steven, he looked at it and looked back at the group and could only laugh.  I was genuinely freaked out.  My knees were already trembling a bit with every step, and now I faced this wobbly plank.  I took a deep breath and took baby-steps to the other side.  We all made it safely, hamdullah (thanks be to God).

After we crossed the bridge, we came upon a number of shallow cave pools that at the time were a little empty.  To cross each pool, we would walk around the narrow fringes of it and we encountered more wobbly planks, but it was not as terrifying because we could at least see where we would fall.

We finally reached the end of our downhill hike to the center of the earth.  We had descended nearly 2 kilometers.  Surprisingly, there was railing at the end of the hike signaling that this was the furthest one should go, but technically the cave goes down even further and I believe they have yet to reach its bottom as of yet.  We turned off our flashlights for a bit to experience the pitch-black darkness and silence that surrounded us.  It was one of those overwhelming moments that your mind has a hard time grasping.

We thought at first that it would be a difficult uphill climb, but it turned out to be a much easier trek.  We tip-toed across the cave pools, took our time crossing the Bridge of No Return, powered through the steep inclines, and snaked up through to the cave entrance until we saw the reassuring light at the end of the tunnel.  We took another deep breath and marveled at our feat.  I walked over to the guide and asked him how many times he has gone all the way down and he said that he did it at least twice a day in high season.  Anyhow, I still felt that I had accomplished something.  Now at the entrance to the cave, I felt that should I injure myself that I would have a chance of surviving.

Finally, to celebrate our journey to the center to the earth and back, fittingly we took ghetto-esque shots and then climbed to the top of the mountain for some sun salutations.

Right next to the cave's main entrance, there was a balcony cafe that we crashed for a bit.  The park staff served us the classic sweet-as-molasses mint tea and then we busted out some bread and tuna.  After getting our fill, we took a brief ride to Bab Boudir, another forest preserve where the East and Middle Atlas Mountains converge.

Our taxi took us back to Taza where we parted ways with the two veterinary students.  I headed back to Steven's spot with the other volunteers where we proceeded to cook some dinner and carve a pumpkin. To cap the night, we watched an old Halloween classic: The Exorcist.  It was a good ending to our more than scary perhaps reaching the level of terrifying Halloween weekend.

To learn more about Taza and the Grotte Friouato, please visit this link:

http://www.morocco.com/blog/taza-and-gouffre-du-friouato

Photos are a compilation of PCV shots and those of our veterinary friends. 

The Shamal Series: Asilah

When I was first told by my recruiter that I was nominated for an NGO development post in Morocco, I immediately thought of the great desert dunes of the Sahara, the oases, camels, and the hot sun.  I was looking forward to this change of scenery.  For most of my life, I had lived with green all around me.  

Once I found out that Morocco would be my home for the next two years, I began to do a little research.  I learned that Morocco did indeed border the Sahara, but there was so much more than just sun and sand.  It had towering snow-capped mountains and lush river valleys, fertile plains and beautiful beaches, and because of its geographic location, it had been a crossroads for many dynasties, empires, kingdoms, and merchants who brought with them their culture, religious traditions, architecture, and diets creating a vibrant region that like its zellij is a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of colors, and like its ganawa, the people move to the sound of syncopated rhythm.

In my short time here, I've been able to zig-zag throughout the northern countryside stopping by to catch a few waves on the Atlantic coast in Asilah, to chill and marvel at the blue city of Chefchaouan sitting on the jagged peaks of the Rif Mountains, to travel back in time walking through the Roman ruins of Volubilis, to take in the sights, sounds, and smells of the medieval old city of Fes, to descend to the center of the earth by way of the Grotte Friouato, to reach the source of the best tasting sparkling mineral water brewed by the thermal springs near Oulmes, and to walk lazily through the Chellah Sanctuary and the Unfinished Mosque of Rabat.  These are just a few of the sites I've been fortunate to visit.  There are many more that I have yet to see.  Inchallah (God willing), I'll take a trip to the Mediterranean coast sometime in the summer.  


For the sake of keeping these entries short and sweet, I will only entertain you with my recent trip to Asilah.  Stay posted for more destinations in the future.  So without further ado, here are some pics, comments, and suggestions on the Morocco that few think about when they think of Morocco, the bountiful, stunning, and the unforgettable shamal (north).

Kicking it back in Asilah

Last summer a group of volunteers made plans to do a little vacationing prior to the month of Ramadan.  A few suggested Al Hoceima on the Mediterranean coast, others Tangiers, and another group pushed for Asilah.  Luckily, Asilah came out as the winner.  A couple of the reasons why it won was due to its easy access and its cosmopolitan vibe.  Every year the town hosts an international contemporary art and cultural festival that brings artists from around the globe and allows them to use the walls of the old fortress medina(old city) as their canvas.  In addition to the murals that don the city, the festival is filled with music and dance.  Last year, a band of Mexican musicians brought mariachi to the streets of Asilah.  Unfortunately, when I went, the festival had just come to an end, but the murals were still up.  It was like walking through an art museum except you were outside in the open air and every painting was humongous.



Outside of the old city, Asilah has a long beach-front promenade with tall palm trees, cafes and restaurants, and decorated with flags from all over the world.  The sunset on the beach was beautiful.  I should note that if you plan to check out the sunset on the beach, be sure to get back to the lighted promenade before it gets too dark as it is prohibited to walk the beach at night.  Apparently, for safety concerns and cultural reasons, the police prefer that lovers take their loving to their hotel rooms.   


As a beach resort town, seafood is widely available at a reasonable price and because of the large influx of Spanish tourists that frequent the city, the restaurants can prepare it paella-style.  I'm a fan of the street food and sometimes I pay dearly for it, not monetarily speaking but rather through bouts of indigestion.  This time around, hamdullah(thanks be to God), I had no problems after eating about 20Dh worth of pastilla from a street cart.  It was a scrumptious taste of heaven.

The highlight of the trip was by far our short trek to a nearby beach called Paradise Beach.  It lies about 5k south of Asilah.  The grand taxi goes through some rough terrain before dropping down from the Asilah plateau to a wide expanse of sand and what looked like water-reed bungalows.  We arrived early morning when hardly anyone was there.  We parked ourselves in one of the bungalows, which provided lounge chairs, boogie boards, and that also threw in some lunch for a total of 60-70Dhs.  Once we got situated, we took our boogie boards and headed straight for the waves.  In the morning, we had to run a good 100 meters before reaching water.  By evening though, the waves were at the door of the bungalow.  The water was a bit chilly, but with the hot Moroccan sun bearing down, I barely felt cold.  The waves were phenomenal, great for boogie boarding, and good enough for a number of surfers.  At about 6PM, we reluctantly returned to Asilah and took the party back to our apartment.


I had a seafood paella in the evening.  A few of us pitched in to drink a little brew and then after some dancing and mingling, we headed out to stroll the promenade.  At the beach there was a small carnival of rides.  We hopped onto the bumper cars, and then after a few high-adrenaline rides inflicting whiplash on one another and our Moroccan friends, we exited the rink and got on a spinny ride--a decision that at first seemed like a good continuation to our night at the carnival, but would later be the decision we would all regret.  

We boarded the spinny ride contraption and anxiously awaited the start.  At first the ride began by gradually speeding up and elevating us.  As we gained speed, we felt ourselves sinking deeper into our seats as we probably pulled a little g-force.  Most of us at that moment still had smiles on our faces, some of us had our hands up, and our feet were waggling from side to side and others were simulating running in open air.  The ride continued to rise to the point where we were now at a steep diagonal.  The operator turned down the speed of the ride so that we could all enjoy the liberating feeling of free-fall.  Normally, this feeling is the most exhilarating part of the ride, but as my body dropped, my stomach, full of food and brew, felt as if it was lagging behind and rising up to my throat with every drop in what now seemed like a torturous, ill-conceived, and never-ending ride.  As we neared the end, our smiles turned to distraught faces that appeared ready to spew out everything in our upset stomachs.  Some of us held it together and others released.  I turned to my zen meditation and began breathing deeply.  The meditation saved me from unleashing my stomach's wrath all over the ride, but the calm only lasted for a brief moment because once I reached the apartment, I stopped fighting it and ultimately succumbed.

I will forever remember the Asilah promenade, the humongous murals, the squeaky clean old city, the b(p)astilla and paella, Paradise Beach, and the spinny ride.  In fact, I enjoyed it so much that I may just do it all over again with the exception of the spinny ride.


Trip Essentials:


Transpo: ONCF Train service is available to Asilah and I highly recommend it.  CTM buses also pass through on their way to Tangiers.  Non-CTM buses like Njeme Chamal also run regular routes from Marrakech, Fes, Casablanca and Rabat.  


Hotel: There are a number of cheap hotels.  We stayed at Mounia Apartments, which were fully decked out with kitchenettes, western toilets, showers, and balconies facing the promenade.  Everything worked well.  I can't recall exactly how much it was per person.  Let's just say it was on the expensive end for PC standards, but well worth it.


To learn more about Asilah, visit: http://www.morocco.com/attractions/asilah/