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Zagour Hotel At the Gates of the Sahara |
   
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Zagour Hotel At the Gates of the Sahara |
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The small airport of Ouarzazate reminds me of Tucson in Arizona; surrounded by a large semi-desert plain and a perfect blue sky. A few steps on the tarmac and here I am with Mohammed, the owner's son, and Lhoucine, the sales manager of Zagour Hotel. I am received as if I were the ambassador of France's guesthouses.
Once inside the "yellow taxi" Mercedes from the 70s, Lhoucine tells me that we are 160 km from Zagora; that's 320 km for them to pick me up at the airport!
A quick coffee in downtown Ouarzazate on a sunny terrace, a short visit to an open-air movie set, and off we go on the winding desert roads. I should say road in the singular, especially since it ends in a dead end after Zagora where the Sahara Desert begins. The rest can be done in 52 days by camel to Timbuktu in Mali. We speed through the palm groves, deserts, and villages despite the narrowness of the road. A honk and we pass through.
Zagour Hotel is on the other side of Zagora, on the hillside. Overlooking the palm grove and the setting sun. Three beautiful terraces, 18 rooms, a lovely pool, and a large restaurant decorated in traditional style. Eleven people work here: the receptionist, the night guard, Lhoucine the sales manager, the waiter, the housekeepers, Fatima the cook with her radiant smile and her assistant, the accountant, and the tour organizer.
Mr. Benlhou invites us to his home for dinner served in a large room reserved for guests. Mr. Benlhou is very open-minded, and the conversation flows well, making for a lively evening of genuine exchange. The boss is a businessman who can only succeed. His personality, his charisma, and his calm demeanor made a lasting impression on my stay at Zagour Hotel. What strikes me is the warm atmosphere in the kitchen, thanks in large part to Fatima, compared to the restaurant room and the private lounge where we ate this delicious couscous.
The streets also have a real atmosphere. Everyone goes about their business without stress and with a certain harmony. A large central and straight street with a huge fortified archway at the entrance. Zagora stands out as the important stop before the Sahara Desert. Last palm grove, last supplies, and last internet connection. Strolling towards the Souk where, like in the small markets of southern France, locals meet more to chat than to shop. We meet the "Pasha" (mayor of the city) and his collaborators in front of the town hall.
The city seems ready to offer all the administrative and other services to make everything go quickly and smoothly. Over the past 10 years, Zagora has seen a surge in land prices, especially in the palm grove. Their main asset is the desert at their doorstep, guaranteed sunshine, and hikes accompanied by Berbers and their camels. Already Lhoucine offers me a few days' trip in a bivouac to discover the magic of vast desert spaces.
Back at the hotel, a man with a mustache is introduced to me by my hosts. Taking out his portfolio, he proudly shows me press articles and other photos of his exploits as a popular entertainer. Piercing himself with nails, knitting needles, then finally being lifted by a tractor suspended from hooks deeply embedded in his flesh.
His show will take place the next day on the municipal sports field. There are five of us crammed into Lhoucine's big Mercedes, music blasting (Samira Said & Cheb Mami). A frenzied crowd awaits us as if we were important personalities. There are no tourists here; it's really a show for locals. Maybe the spectators think I'm the show promoter because our fakir artist insists on introducing me to the town's dignitaries sitting in the front row.
I feel then 2 or 3000 admiring glances in my direction, not to mention that all these poor people have paid for their tickets, and I have not... The portraits of the king, the flags, and the police are very present. Curiously, the police closely monitor all these families with their numerous lively children.
We left a little late in the morning with Lhoucine, Mohammed the camel driver, and two camels, leaving the small town of Zagora for the desert and the last rocky barriers before reaching M'hamid and the Sahara for a 4-day walk, covering about 20 km per day under a strong sun and an ever-blue sky.
Mohammed is a savvy 22-year-old young Berber; very professional, he is the guide, the cook, the camel driver, the one who sets the pace of the walk, and the one who immerses us in another way of living and discovering the desert and its palm groves. Healthy and tasty cuisine accompanied by tea under the Berber tent or in the shade of an acacia, a palm tree, or an old mud wall.
Cooking under a tent requires flexibility and organization; everything is within arm's reach in small bags, he squats down, and everything seems simple. Looking back at myself in my kitchen at L'Etoile, I feel like representing the Crusaders with their large heavy swords and their straight-charging horses.
Here, everything is more flexible; life is embraced more than controlled.
On the second day, we meet a group of 3 camel drivers and 7 French people setting up their bivouac in the dunes. Hiking shoes, typical hiking pants (which transform into shorts), sunblock in abundance; we are far from our camel driver friends who sometimes spend more than a month in the desert, walking with their old Nikes or simply worn leather sandals.
Already the next day, the first blisters appear among my compatriots; myself, I feel a slight tightness on the top of my left foot by the third day, but overall, everything is fine, and I'm enjoying this unique experience, the friendship of my buddy Lhoucine, Mohammed's company, and lively evening discussions with the French. Lhoucine is open-minded, witty, a bit of a revolutionary like many Moroccans. We can discuss anything with him; he knows how to laugh heartily and is an excellent walker. He and I were not at all equipped for hiking; dressed for the city, we didn't worry, and everything went well.
In the middle of a large desert plain, Lhoucine's mobile phone starts ringing... it's his wife, who is in Vesoul or Luxeuil, I don't remember. Being second generation, she can't get used to the grey and cold climate of that region, and I imagine that having direct contact with her husband in the middle of the desert must warm her heart! The conversation lasts nearly an hour, all in French, with occasional Arabic words (probably the romantic ones...).
Suddenly, Lhoucine hands me the phone while we march towards infinity;
allo?! "I hear you have a hotel in southern France? You do exchanges with the Zagour Hotel? That's fantastic! We will come to see you!". Moroccans are open and need friendship and recognition. They progress quickly despite the limited means given to them and the authoritarian power.
Finally, after three days of hiking with the French hikers, we part ways in the middle of nowhere, like in the movie Lawrence of Arabia; they go straight towards a water tower on the horizon, and we turn left, following a small mountain range to its end.
To get there, we need to move against the wind and at a much faster pace than with the other group. It becomes serious, and none of us speaks anymore. Mohammed leads the camels at a frantic pace, Lhoucine is lost in his thoughts (maybe thinking of Vesoul?!), and I focus on not twisting my ankle in this rocky desert. I like this atmosphere, I am in my element, and I feel that my companions are too.
Lunch is taken in sobriety in the shade of a small isolated tree; a tomato, an apple, and two mandarins. All three of us feel exhausted, and each wrapped in a blanket, we fall into a deep nap. Mohammed lies in the sun, sheltered from the wind in the recess of a small sand dune. The wind blows harder and harder, and the camel next to me gets a little restless, then lets himself fall to the side, fifty centimeters from me... Stop!!!
Mohammed didn't untie the camels, and soon our little caravan is back on its way towards the horizon, where at the end of this long mountain range to our left, we will find the last road before the great Sahara Desert. There another camel driver is waiting for us, one who has been in the desert for a month and a half and has incredible energy!
It is undoubtedly in this kind of encounter that everything is said and everything is expressed after long days of solitude.
Zagour Hotel, Zagora, Draa Valley, Morocco Map 
Former resort hotel with a garden on the banks of the Allier, L'Étoile Guesthouse is located in La Bastide-Puylaurent, nestled between Lozère, Ardèche, and the Cévennes in the mountains of Southern France. Positioned at the crossroads of GR®7, GR®70 Chemin Stevenson, GR®72, GR®700 Voie Régordane (Saint Gilles), GR®470 Sources and Gorges of the Allier, GRP® Cévenol, Montagne Ardéchoise, and Margeride. It offers numerous loop routes for hiking and day-long cycling excursions. Ideal for a relaxing stay.
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