Setti Fatma, the final day

Tuesday we set out on our final day trip, this time to the mountains to a small town called Setti Fatma. It’s a small town in the middle of the Atlas Mountains that has turned into a tourist destination, and the moment we got out of the taxi, men were in our faces to offer their services as guides up the mountain. Although we had planned on finding our way up on our own, we decided it would be worth it to get a guide. Our guide was a sixteen-year-old Berber boy, on vacation from school and a regular guide (the hike took 3 hours, so we had plenty of time to make very awkward conversation). His native language is Berber, but he spoke decent French and Arabic. Conversation was really difficult, between two non-native speakers trying to communicate in the second language. I think Kyle had more luck with Arabic, but I got by with French. I think our guide was also a pretty reserved person. He was also our hero.

For the first time during our Moroccan visit, the weather was crummy…pretty rainy and not warm. When we arrived at the town and started up the mountain, the rain had stopped and we hoped it would stay that way. The guide told us we would see seven waterfalls along the hike, and we saw the first after a pretty easy fifteen minutes of walking. The second proved a bit more of a challenge. We had to cross the water, via rocks, then climb up about 5 feet of straight rock. This was our first indication that this would be slightly more difficult than your average hike. Just behind us was a French family with two young children, and they looked terrified after seeing us struggle to get up the rock. Our guide helped their guide to get the family over the rock. After that, the family headed back to the town via an easier route and we continued up to the second waterfall. We went on without too much trouble, although the hike wasn’t easy and the altitude made breathing a bit difficult at times. Nonetheless, despite the clouds and chilliness, the views were amazing. At several points the clouds came rolling through us, and we really were in the clouds. By the time we reached the sixth waterfall, we had seen amazing views and the rain was starting again. But the guide said there was only one more to see, and we figured why not continue. A pivotal decision in retrospect.

Although we had only one waterfall left to see, we hadn’t realized that the seventh was nearly half an hour higher up than number six. It was also a super-steep climb, up a path we could barely see over rocks than tumbled constantly. We also had to cross over the river, and this resulted in soaking wet shoes to complement our damp outfits. Turns out it was better that we just soaked our shoes at once by stepping in the river, because from there upwards it was marshy and the water just kept coming in. Everyone will have to look at the pictures to see a) what we climbed and b) the views that made this worth it. I realize that after reading this it doesn’t sound like much fun. Especially once we got to the seventh. To get to the seventh waterfall, we had to cross the river (again), and then climb up rock. Slippery, very steep rock with very few holds. Our guide took us one at a time, and after Kyle made it up without too much difficulty, Becky and I decided we’d go to. Famous last words. Getting up was difficult…our guide basically pulled us up while holding himself up with one hand on the above rocks. BB fell into the river at one point, but wet pants just added to the craziness. After taking a few minutes at the top to take it all in, and realize we were almost 2,000 meters up in the sky, we were damp and ready to head down. I was closest to the rock, so I went first. We debated the best way down, whether just sliding down on our bottoms was feasible (probably the best choice, but not super-desirable since we were talking about sliding about 8 feet of rock). The guide set himself halfway down to start helping us, and after I had moved about 1 foot right and 1 foot down, I lost my grip on the rock and slid down the rocks into about 3 feet of freezing cold water. The highlight of the trip, in retrospect. Aside from some nasty bruises on my knees and my right palm, and being freezing for the next 4 hours, I was totally fine…shaken up but good. At that point, I was better off than BB, who had seen me fall and then had to make her way down. With very good reason, she was terrified, but after several minutes and moving carefully, she made it down. Now we were at the top of the mountain, drenched, freezing, and with a 1.5 hour climb down ahead of us. We were hoping/wishing that it would be easier, and it was easier at certain points, like when we just stepped in the river instead of hopping across rocks to cross it. It was a long walk down, with long periods of silence followed by minutes of frantic chatter to get out the energy and to distract ourselves from the cold. We concluded that although we were absolutely miserable at that moment, after we showered and got warm again, the hike would be an amazing story. Which it is. I doubt my words painted a picture anywhere near the crazy reality of that hike, but I tried.

When we reached the town, we were starving and cold and the guide led us to a small room/restaurant. We asked the patron for a menu, and he looked at us bizarrely and told us we could have tagine…and … Bring on the tagine, with lots of warm tea we requested. We ate quickly, then got ripped off on the bill (the Moroccans in this town are great at scamming European tourists). We then hopped in a taxi for a damp, smelly (Kyle and I were both wearing his damp wool sweaters) ride back to Marrakech.

The hot shower I took when we finally reached the hotel was one of the best showers of my life…absolutely amazing to be clean and warm (although it took a while). After cleaning up we headed back to the market for a bit of last-minute shopping and our final Moroccan dinner, then said goodbye to Jemaa El Fna and Marrakech.