Morocco Cascade d'Ouzoud

Cascades d'Ouzoud

Turning off the main desert road at the town of Khemis-des-Oulad-Ayad, you head straight up towards the mountains. Initially, the road is wide with solid concrete barriers as it twists its way up the hillside and over the top, where it takes you down into a valley, but this luxury soon stops as you find yourself on yet another narrow road. This heads further into the valley, into the shadow of a huge mountain where yet again, you find yourself on a precarious cliff-side road with no protection. The valley road had a young girl about 8 years old, waving madly trying to get me to stop. I didn’t. This is a well-known ruse by locals where, once you stop, they beg or even rob you.

Cascades d’Ouzoud - The whole run from the main road is about an hour, around half of that on the mountain section, and when you get to the town itself, across the rickety wooden bridge, it’s a bit of a disappointment to be honest, certainly in October, although it may be better in peak season. Despite a few touts for hotels or car parks, there didn’t seem to be any at all. We eventually found the Hotel du France, after following a sign leading us down a dirt track for 500 yards.

This hotel was under renovation at the time, but it was still open. It seems like it will be nice when it’s finished, with a swimming pool, spacious rooms and an alcohol-free bar. There’s a path, about 400 yards, along which, you arrive at the top of the falls themselves, where you can take photos, walk down the side, or cross over the top to the town or down the other side to the cafés.

Cascades d'Ouzoud

We didn’t bother as it was a trek down (and up) and we were knackered, plus it was getting dark so we headed back to the hotel

Back at the hotel, I thought it would be a good idea to do a bit of washing to give myself clean t-shirts for the trip back home. I did this while I was in the shower, but stupidly, I forgot to leave one for that evening, so I had my tea wearing a thermal top which had shrunk on its previous wash back in Ourzazate. When I packed initially, I packed old underwear and just left it once it had served its purpose, so there’s a trail of used boxer shorts which leads right through Morocco.

We had our meal on the terrace at the front of the hotel, and the owner was joined by another couple of men who looked decidedly dodgy (is there a Moroccan mafia).

The conversation seemed to be business-like, almost argumentative, but midway through, the Imam could be heard from the local mosque, and so all talk was stopped as they got out their mats and joined in the prayers from afar.

The bed was on a significant slope for some reason, but I got a good sleep, despite being at the bottom of the hill and Jen rolling into me all night. After breakfast, I checked my washing, which had mostly dried, packed the bike up, and we headed off to the last stop, the ancient city of Fes.