I left the night market at the square in Meknes to arrive at the CTM bus station. There is a man at station coffee shop who is very nice. We use google translate and my Arabic translation app to communicate. He lives nearby and comes at night to get a coffee before going home. He helps me explain to the coffee shop worker that I forgot to pay for my coffee in the morning, and he offers to pay it for me, but I can't let him. He is excited that I was born in Vietnam and shows my his Dad's military ID from when he was in Vietnam. He waits to make sure I get on the bus safely. This bus appears to not have any other tourists. Luckily, there are two women who speak at least some English, one sitting next to me and one who now lives in London. I thought I could sleep on the bus, but didn't get much sleep. We stop at a roadside stand around 1am with whole goats hanging next to a grill, where you could get a fresh goat kebab and bread before heading out. There is a road detour, and the road becomes unpaved, bumping along in the night. The driver is passing trucks on curves of narrow road. The moon is bright and beautiful, and I finally drift off to sleep.
We arrive in Errachidea a bit late, which is good as I wasn't looking forward to hanging out at a bus station at 4:45am for an hour. But the lady who lives in London is also heading to Ouarzazate, so she keeps me company until our bus leaves at 6:30am. As the sun comes out, it is strange to be in desert now. The bus starts out about 1/4 full, but we stop in many towns along the way until the bus is full. We pass goats fit into milk crates on the back of motorbikes, goats and cows heading on trucks probably to market, and smaller villages. I share my mishmish dried apricots with women on the bus. There are two tourists on the bus and we agree to find and split transport to Ait Ben Haddou once we arrive in Ouarzazate. I get us a decent deal on a taxi and we head out the approximately 10km to Ait Ben Haddou. I was going to explore Ouarzazate, but the one thing everyone sees is the film studios, which are not that much of an interest to me.
Arriving in Ait Ben Haddou around mid day, it is crawling with big tour buses that make a stop here on the way to or back from the desert. I had decided against a trip to the desert as I have already done deserts in Egypt, Jordan, and Namibia and have never stayed in kasbahs. So this leg of my trip was focused on staying in kasbahs. My kasbah, Kasbah Tebi, was inside the mud brick Ait Ben Haddou, a place where apparently some filming of Game of Thrones and Gladiator occurred. The kasbah has electricity in the kitchen/dining area, but the rest is lit by candle light. While it was worth stopping to see, I have to say, I do not much like Ait Ben Haddou. 
It is super touristy with very aggressive sales people and less friendly people than I have met elsewhere. Everything is overpriced, nearly double what I have seen elsewhere. I find a sandwich shop with reasonable prices and play with a friendly cat. I did find a very nice man named Mohammed in the village who runs a small tour company called Evasion Circuits Maroc. He speaks English very well. We talk about the town and some about the Berber culture in Morocco. It seems not unlike Native Americans in the United States and also shares many similarities with the Bedouins I met in Egypt and Jordan. He shares some of his experiences living in the village of Ben Haddou, and it confirms my experience that people are not all that friendly in this village. I get us orange juices. He shares delicious Sahara dates with me and I share more of my dried apricots from Fes with him and the parking attendant (I told him I think they are always the nicest people, as every place I have been, they have been kind and helped me when I am lost or need to catch a taxi). He gives me a small hand of fatima pendant and walks me back across the dry river bed to my kasbah in the dark, as I was enjoying our conversation and I lost track of time.
The next morning, I get up at sunrise when it is still cooler and chase a bird of prey along the dry river bed, avoiding the territorial, aggressive wild dogs that seem to occupy the river bed. The surrounding mountains do not make for a very good sunrise. I walk around before the shop owners set up and all the tour groups arrive. 
I climb up to the top of hills and enjoy the desert views. And then I watch a few shop owners arrive to set up shop, play with a few of their cats while they are working, and then head back to the kasbah. I eat a quick breakfast (not one of the better breakfasts I have had) and notice some adorable kittens to play with. 
I am nervous about getting to my next destination, as the hotel tells me I will have to catch a private taxi, which would likely be pretty expensive. Mohammed had mentioned that was not true, and that minibuses takes villagers back and forth to Ouarzazate and stop in front of his house/shop around 11am or early afternoon. The first few are full by the time they hit Ait Ben Haddou and head towards the villages. So Mohammed, being as helpful and friendly as always, calls one and reserves me a spot to my next kasbah accommodation.My next accomodation, Kasbah Tigmi n'oufella, is in the rural village Anguelz. It is up in the mountains about 30km from Ait Ben Haddou on the winding main mountain road.
The minibus is packed full of people, filling the seats and then filling plastic stools placed between the seats. These minibuses run back and forth through the main road through the mountains, making lots of village stops along the way. As we drive up in to the mountains, we pass many goat and sheep herders and people carrying loads by donkey. There are no tour buses, few cars, and occasional groups of tourists on motorbikes, enjoying the curvy road. 
I am pretty sure that movie Babel was filmed on this or a similar, nearby road when Brad Pitt's wife gets shot. Spoiler alert... I did not get shot. Oh, and if you haven't seen that movie, don't bother. It starts getting cooler as we head up and I finally reach my kasbah. I couldn't have been happier. It is basically a little slice of paradise. 
The room is huge with an entry way, bathroom, large room with desk and old books to read, beautiful art sketches hanging on the wall, and a few paintings of a famous Moroccan artist Marjorelle who apparently used to stay in this kasbah to paint many of his paintings of the villages in the High Atlas Mountains. I can see why, as the mountains look like a painting with red, green, and white rock and little mud brick villages. The owner does not speak English, but is such a kind man. There are only a few rooms, as he is working on fixing up his family kasbah. 
There is a wonderful terrace to enjoy the clean mountain breeze and look out over a green oasis of crops, the mountains and other villages. Donkeys bray, chickens ran around, and sheep bleat in enclosures of nearby mud houses. I go for a walk down the road in to the village and beyond for a few hours and everyone smiles and says bonjour. Kids play by the road and shake my hand and giggle. Women wave as they are washing their clothes in the river. I find a soccer field surrounded by mountains where I am passed by several men and kids on donkeys. One stops and mainly speaks french (along with Berber and maybe Arabic) but asks where I am staying. He seems to be going slowly ahead of me, making sure I am okay. Eventually he stops and offers me a ride on the donkey back to the hotel, but I thank him profusely and gesture that I will walk. When I get back, the kasbah owner is very excited. "Two couples from Seattle are here!!" As luck would have it, two couples just arrived and saw my name before theirs in the registry (they are actually from Port Townsend). They are doing a project with a woman who lives in the village.As night falls, the lights of nearby villages dot the mountains. Someone builds a fire in the top of their house near by. The call to prayer from each small villages' mosque echo through the mountains and I love every second of it. The owner had asked when I wanted supper and I had said 8pm, and it was ready right at 8. "Elizabeth! Dinner is ready!" He called from below. There is a large salad with cucumbers, slightly boiled carrots, potatoes, beets, tomatoes, a hard boiled egg, and a vinaigrette dressing with bread I think I had watched women make in the kitchen earlier. And then came a hige plate of something called saffe, which was amazing. Cut vermicilli noodles with chicken, onions, sweet golden raisins, cinnamon, and powdered sugar. Sweet and savory deliciousness. Followed by a fruit plate, which I am too full to eat. It is unbelievable to me that I get to stay in this place for $35 a night, which includes breakfast and dinner. Head to the roof to enjoy the stars for a bit before showering (you have to tell him what time you want to shower so he gets the hot water going).
The next morning after breakfast, the kasbah owner is also heading to Telouet for the weekly market. He calls us a shared taxi and shows me the way to Kasbah Glaoui, also known as the Palace of Glaoui or Telouet Kasbah. When I arrive, the Palace is still locked, but someone opens it up for me. It is only 20 dirham to enter, and they try to get you to go with a guide, but I was told by my kasbah owner not to use a guide. 
It is fantastic inside! It was built in the 18th and 19th centuries as a home to the Glaoui family, on the caravan trade route from The Sahara to Marrakech and near the salt mines. The family fell from grace after helping the French and is considered a traitor to Morocco by some. Parts of the palace have been ransacked, but the tile work and space is still breathtaking. 
After about an hour in it alone, small private tours arrive and then big tour buses, when I make my exit. I walk down to the town of Telouet to check out the weekly Berber Souk. It is small but chock full of anything you could need. Clothes, shoes, housewares, electronics, produce, and butchers (with little goat hoofs on the ground). Walking around, I hear "Elizabeth!" and see my kasbah owner and we catch a taxi back. In the heat of the day, I read my book and take a little afternoon snooze. i am woken up by "Elizabeth! Come." I follow and am greeted by his wife and village woman who helps cook and clean. We all sit down and share a meat tangine for lunch, scooping it out of the large communal tangine dish using pieces of bread as forks. They speak berber (there are three berber dialects, one in the Rif Mountains, one in the Atlas Mountains, and one in the Sahara). I am constantly reminded "Elizabeth, eat" when too preoccupied by the television (haven't had one on in weeks). Their kindness and hospitality makes me feel like family. He phones his daughter, who speaks English, and she translates for us about public transportation options and approximate costs and times for the next day to get to Marrakech, saying to let him know which works best and he will arrange for me. A private tour of four people from France check in, but they don't seem all that friendly. Heavenly smells start emanating from the kitchen below my room and I join the wife and cook in the kitchen, and they pull up a chair so I can watch them prepare my chicken tangine for dinner. While we can't understand each other, there is much gesturing and giggling. I enjoy my delicious berber tangine with chicken, onions, tomatoes, olives, and preserved lemon. I go tell the cook it was wonderful and she hugs and kisses me on the head. I get a message from Mohammed in Ait Ben Haddou that he and a friend are driving to Marrakech in the morning and they can come pick me up and take me instead of me fussing with shared taxis or buses at 6am. There are no stars that night, as storm clouds roll in, but beautiful to watch the far away lightening storms in further mountains as berber music plays from a village across the oasis.The next morning I have to say goodbye to my favorite village and perfect Moroccan experience. I had considered just losing my money on my booked riad in Marrakesh to stay a few more nights. But I decide I have to see Marrakesh, if just to experience it. Mohammed and his friend pick me up. The road is winding and Mohammed says it is the most dangerous in Morocco. It winds through the mountains on the old caravan route traveled by people on animals in the past, now mostly paved. Lots of construction, dust, and occasional stopping by construction flagging, but Mohammed is a safe driver (someone in his village said they like him because he is like a turtle, slowly slowly at everything). We stop at a tailor to get his traditional dress tailored and head to his families house for tea and a snack of warm bread with honey and olive oil, and two types of olives. Mohammed's mom and dad are there for a wedding. I am invited to stay the night and attend the wedding, which I wrestled with. It is probably a once and a life time opportunity, and this is why I hate pre-booking things. I decide to head to Marrkesh and stay on my original course. I should have taken them up on the offer. Once we reach Marrakesh, Mohammed says for me to walk behind them, as if I am alone. He says if anyone asks, I am to tell them he is a driver. Something to do with tours/tourism and perhaps the culture of the city. I could tell his stress level was rising, but he insists on helping me find my riad. It is nice and appears to be safe (although no locks on room doors when not in the room) but more expensive than anywhere else I have stayed and hard to find (and they don't offer to help me find it at all). Say goodbye to Mohammed and give him gas money, although I did not have much cash as I didn't see any ATMs in the mountains. So far, not impressed with Marrakesh, but will wait and see.
More in the next and final report!
Love,
Betsy
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