It's 5:30 am when the ringing of my alarm clock wakes me up from deep sleep. Momentarily disoriented, I quickly become wide awake within seconds, realizing what day it is today: Departure day. I quickly rush to the bathroom, get ready, and throw my toothbrush into my backpack. In the heat of the moment, I had forgotten to buy a new one, but that should be the least of my problems in the coming days. After all, 12 days of tough desert life were waiting for me ... even though I had never slept in a tent or in the middle of nowhere for longer than 2 consecutive nights before.
How it all began
The reason for this radical change in lifestyle was 2 months ago. While browsing through Facebook in the evening, I came across a post by Tom Schinker and Martin Druschel in the group 'New in Munich'. The two were looking for participants for an expedition through the southern part of the Moroccan Sahara, to explore a mesa in the Jebel Bani mountains together with the archaeologist Mark, which probably no one had set foot on for hundreds of years. Mark had been able to see on satellite images that the mountain hid human structures and had already walked alone through the desert twice to explore it, but failed at the last meters of the steep rock wall. Tom and Martin, who had founded the start-up 'Wandermut', wanted to accompany him on his new attempt and march 200 km through the desert in a 12-day tour, only accompanied by the Moroccan guide Mustafa and some camels that were supposed to carry provisions and tents. The two had already organized several adventure trips and always valued uniqueness - and they hit the nail on the head with me. With 2 weeks of remaining vacation, no idea how to use them, and the desire to try something completely new, I was immediately enthusiastic about the idea, even though I couldn't really imagine what to expect. With the encouragement of a good friend who had already crossed part of the Moroccan desert by jeep, I cautiously wrote an email to Tom and Martin, asking if there was still a spot available on the team. Not even 5 minutes later, I received a call from the two of them and within a 45-minute phone call, all remaining doubts on my part were dispelled and I was put on the participant list.
Determined not to be a burden to the expedition team, I expanded my exercise program from going to the gym 3 times a week to regular long-distance runs and weekend hikes. My outdoor equipment was also in poor condition. Besides good hiking shoes and hiking pants, I only had an old, bulky sleeping mat and a €20 sleeping bag from ALDI. Since the guys had already warned me about nighttime temperatures freezing and the potentially thorny desert floor, it was clear: It was time to go shopping. Over the course of the next few weeks, I had a great time emptying my bank account to equip myself with everything a trekking enthusiast desires. Always keeping an eye on the quality and weight of the equipment, the costs ended up being much higher than I had expected. Merino wool clothing, in particular, brought tears to my eyes, and if it was from Icebreaker, you could confidently start planning to have only pasta with pesto on the menu for the next weeks.
Nevertheless, everything was ready, the backpack was packed, and the great adventure could begin.
The Departure
At 5:45 am, my roommate Denis stumbled out of his room, still half asleep. Kindly, he had offered to drive me to the airport despite the early morning hour. We arrived at the airport more than punctually about an hour later. Loaded with my backpack, I made my way to the Lufthansa counter and just 20 minutes later, I was already through security. With a stroke of luck, I managed to get a business class flight that was even cheaper than the economy class flight ... I have no idea how that's possible. As a chronic 'arriving too early' person, I was able to fully enjoy the lounge area and arrived perfectly pampered in Marrakesh around 12 pm. At the exit of the airport, my driver was already waiting for me, arranged by my hotel at ridiculously high tourist prices. At least he spoke very good English and brought me as close as possible to my hotel, which was located in one of the narrow streets of the Marrakesh Medina that are too narrow for car traffic.
The manager of the hotel picked me up from the taxi, which turned out to be a blessing, as the hotel was not recognizable from the outside and I would never have found it. However, as soon as I entered, I was immediately captivated. It was a typical Moroccan riad with a courtyard and a beautiful rooftop terrace, as one could imagine from stories of One Thousand and One Nights.
The meeting with the group was scheduled for 7 pm at the Kif Kif hostel, which was only about 20m away from my hotel. So, I had plenty of time to explore the city and wandered through the streets of the Medina, with its thousands of stalls and hustle and bustle that one cannot imagine in Germany. Not even 10 seconds passed without someone trying to sell me something. All levels of pushiness were covered, up to the most audacious Berber who just wanted money because I had taken pictures of his goods.
The Imam
Slightly annoyed by all the hustle and bustle, I passed by a small mosque in the late afternoon. Adjacent to it were several shops with the usual enterprising merchants in front of them. Although I was already used to ignoring their bait offers due to the past few hours, one of them caught my attention by addressing me in perfect English: 'Don't worry my friend, I don't want to sell you anything' ... which contradicted everything I had learned about Moroccans in the past few hours. He started talking to me very nicely and told me that he was the imam of the adjacent mosque. The shop he was standing in front of was not a typical store, but turned out to be a kind of warehouse for a multitude of items. Bowls full of old rings, necklaces, candleholders ... everything was mixed together. In this room, everything seemed to be thrown together that glitters and shines, like the nest of a very successful oversized magpie. Apparently, all the items came from believers in his community who wanted to donate to the poor. We talked a bit about his support for the poor and blind, and since I liked him very much, I wanted to donate something for his work. He thanked me for the gesture but declined and explained that he did not want to accept money donations, but would be happy to sell me one of the donated items. Skeptically, I looked around. Everything was old and run-down. None of the items caught my interest in any lasting way. Nevertheless, he started handing me one thing after another to look at. Quickly, I explained to him that my plan was to hike through the desert in the next two weeks, which is why the item had to be very small and lightweight. So, we agreed that it should be a ring. Unfortunately, the rings were like all the other items, and one was dirtier than the other. But since I had set my mind on giving him some money for his work, I decided to go for the first one just to get it over with.Instead of accepting a donation, he explained his system to me for how we can agree on a price for the ring:We take a piece of paper and he writes a price on it that he thinks corresponds to the value of the ring. Then I write my estimate of the price on the paper, so that both prices are side by side. We repeat the process 3 times and gradually approach our prices. If both sides agree on the price at the end, the price is paid and we part ways happily. If we cannot agree on a price, we smile and part ways peacefully.Okay, I thought, if he wants to haggle with me, he can haggle with me. I had already prepared the price for the ring in my head and was ready to give him 50 dirhams for it. Quickly, the imam wrote his first number on the paper: 500 dirhams ... 500 DIRHAMS screamed my Swabian brain at me. That is the equivalent of 50€ ... for that amount, I can order 30 cappuccinos in my favorite coffee bar at home! And that even though I only wanted to donate a maximum of 50 dirhams for a ring that might be worth 20 dirhams with some goodwill. Maybe I should go home and treat all the beggars in Munich to a coffee ... Okay, stay calm ... you have no financial problems, the man was nice to you, he does good for the world ... 100 dirhams. He frowned slightly and said I was a very tough haggler. He hesitated for a moment, then the next number: 450 dirhams. Man, this guy is really fighting hard. I increased my offer to 150 dirhams. He reduced it to 400. My final offer: 200 dirhams, and even that is actually 150 dirhams too high for me. Again, he hesitated, smiled, and then agreed. I also smiled, took my new dirty ring, and went on my way. Somehow I felt good, even though I had just been completely taken advantage of by a Moroccan clergyman ...
3 Bottles of Wine
By 6 pm, I had had enough of all the hustle and bustle, retreated to the hotel, and coincidentally ran into two older German gentlemen who promptly invited me to a bottle of wine on the rooftop terrace. An offer I gladly accepted. It quickly turned out that it wouldn't just be one bottle, as the two had taken precautions and stashed two reserve bottles under one of the comfortable wicker chairs. Unfortunately, I had to leave them halfway through bottle no. 2, but thanks to the little intermezzo, I was already in the perfect mood to finally meet the Wandermut group.
The First Encounter
At around 7:15 pm, I knocked on the inconspicuous door of the Kif Kif in a dark side street. A young Moroccan opened the door and seemed to immediately recognize where I belonged due to my outdoor outfit: 'Aah, you belong to Martin.' He led me up two floors, past cozy sofa corners and tiny rooms crammed with bunk beds. When we reached the top, he pointed to a spiral staircase and said, 'Your friends are up there.' I climbed the last steps up to the rooftop terrace of the hostel, where the whole group was already gathered. There were many familiar faces that I had already met at the pre-meeting two weeks ago, but there were also some new fellow participants. There was a big hello and everyone greeted me very nicely. We immediately started talking and exchanging the first experiences of our arrival in Marrakesh. Some had arrived a few days earlier and had taken the opportunity to get to know the country and its people a bit better, while others, like me, had only arrived on the same day. Several rounds of beer later, we moved to a nearby shisha bar, where we met our Moroccan guide Mustafa for the first time. Mustafa is a true nomad. Although he grew up in the middle of the desert, he still studied and speaks excellent English. He is constantly smiling and all-around likable - a guy you just have to like. After an extensive round of introductions, we were served traditional tagine in various variations. Tagine refers to both a round, clay-baked casserole dish with a domed or pointed lid and the dish cooked in it. Full and satisfied, we moved to a different room within the bar and shared several more shishas in the large group. The atmosphere was consistently good and I was sure: I can easily endure two weeks in the desert with these people!Around 11 pm, the group disbanded. Back at the hotel, I tried to explain to the manager in my rusty French that I would like to have breakfast around 7:15 am in order to be at the Kif Kif for departure at 7:45 am. He made it clear to me with gestures that the lady of the house doesn't wake up until 9 am and that there is nothing to be done before that ... so no breakfast, but at the same time, it was somehow sympathetic that Moroccans are not early risers either.
