Thursday, June 8, 2017


We were heading to Marrakesh, our final real stop on our Moroccan journey. We would have to pass through the High Atlas Mountains.

The Atlas Mountains had always been something I wanted to see, the namesake of the Atlantic Ocean and the famed mystery of the city of Atlantis. I'm still waiting for Atlas - the titan who held up the world until Ayn Rand's greed knocked it down - to pick it up and start carrying it on his shoulders again. We sure could use the help.

The mountains did not disappoint. They certainly did not.

The snow gradually drew closer as we winded (wound?) our way to new heights, slowly, mostly, until we hit the newly renovated road that reminded me of Denver more than what we had witnessed in Morocco. Even Ilias, who makes the trip twice a month, was in awe (it was the first month of snow for the mountains.) 

We reached a lookout point and got out of the car for a few pics. They call it snake road, and believe me, these pics don't do it justice.

We went around a few bends and stopped at a roadside restaurant for lunch of soup and frites. We had had it with tajine and kabobs. I had more mint tea. I hadn't had enough of that yet (eventually I did.) Ilias wanted to take us into the women's coop next door, where they were making argan oil, but we just wanted to get to Marrakesh and end the car trip. We still had hours to go.

Argan oil, as I have mentioned before, is gross. Every time I see some shampoo commercial advertising it contains argan oil, which seems to be the trend these days, I think back to the time I ate some, which is the last time I will ever eat it.

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