Hotel Zagour At the gates of the Sahara

Stepping off the plane at the quaint Ouarzazate airport, I’m immediately reminded of Tucson, Arizona. The vast semi-desert plain and the flawless blue sky create a familiar backdrop. A few strides on the tarmac, and I find myself in the company of Mohammed, the proprietor’s son, and Lhoucine, the sales director of the Zagour Hotel. Their warm reception makes me feel like an ambassador of the Gîtes de France.

We pile into a vintage 70s Mercedes, affectionately known as the “yellow taxi”. As we pull away, Lhoucine informs me that we are 160 km from Zagora, meaning they’ve traveled a round trip of 320 km just to pick me up! After a brief stop at a charming café in central Ouarzazate and a quick tour of an open-air cinema set, we embark on our journey through the winding roads of the stone desert. This singular road leads us to Zagora, the gateway to the Sahara Desert. Beyond this point, the only way forward is a 52-day camel ride to Timbuktu in Mali. We traverse palm groves, deserts, and villages at a brisk pace, the narrow road no obstacle for our experienced driver.

Perched on a hillside on the outskirts of Zagora, the Zagour Hotel offers breathtaking views of the palm grove and the setting sun. The hotel boasts three stunning terraces, 18 rooms, a sparkling swimming pool, and a large restaurant adorned in traditional decor. A team of eleven dedicated staff members, including the receptionist, night watchman, sales manager Lhoucine, waiter, cleaning ladies, radiant cook Fatima and her assistant, the accountant, and the hiking organizer, ensure a memorable stay for every guest.

Mr. Benlhou, a charismatic and open-minded individual, invites us to his home for an evening meal in a spacious room set aside for guests. His dynamic personality and calm demeanor leave a lasting impression on me. The warmth and camaraderie in the kitchen, largely due to Fatima, contrast sharply with the formal dining area where we savor a delicious couscous.

The streets of Zagora buzz with a unique energy. Residents go about their daily routines in a stress-free and harmonious manner. The city, with its broad central street and imposing fortified entrance, serves as a crucial stopover before the Sahara Desert. It’s the last chance for a stroll through a palm grove, a fuel stop, or an internet connection. The local Souk, reminiscent of the small markets in southern France, is more of a social hub than a shopping destination.

Zagora is a city ready to provide all necessary administrative facilities and services for a smooth and efficient experience. The past decade has seen a surge in land prices, particularly in the palm grove. The city’s main attractions are the desert at its doorstep, guaranteed sunshine, and guided hikes with Berbers and their camels. Lhoucine is already proposing a few days’ bivouac trip to experience the magic of the vast desert expanses.

Back at the hotel, I’m introduced to a mustachioed gentleman by my hosts. He proudly displays a book filled with press articles and photos documenting his exploits as a popular entertainer. His daring acts include piercing himself with nails and knitting needles, and even being hoisted by a tractor while suspended from hooks embedded in his flesh.

His performance is scheduled for the next day at the town’s sports field. Five of us pile into Lhoucine’s spacious Mercedes, the air filled with the pulsating beats of Samira Said & Cheb Mami. We arrive to a frenzied crowd, their excitement making us feel like celebrities. This spectacle is truly for the locals, with not a tourist in sight. Our fakir artist insists on introducing us to the city’s dignitaries seated in the front row, leading some spectators to mistake me for the show’s promoter.

As I take in the scene, I can feel thousands of admiring glances directed at me. It’s a humbling experience, especially considering that these humble folks paid for their tickets while I did not. The omnipresent portraits of the king, the flags, and the police officers add to the unique atmosphere. Interestingly, the police maintain a heavy presence, ensuring the safety of all these families and their lively children.

Leaving a little late in the morning with Lhoucine, Mohammed the camel driver and two dromedaries, we leave the small town of Zagora for the desert and the last rocky barriers before arriving at M'hamid and the Sahara for 4 days of walking, or approximately 20 km per day under a powerful sun and always blue skies.

Mohammed is a young, resourceful 22-year-old Berber; very professional, he is the guide, the cook, the camel driver, the one who sets the pace for 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 clay wall.

Cooking in a tent requires flexibility and organization; everything is within his reach in small bags, he squats and everything seems simple. Seeing myself again in my kitchen at L'Etoile, I have the impression of representing the crusaders with their large, heavy swords and their horses charging straight ahead. Here, everything is more flexible; we embrace life more than we direct it.

On the second day, we joined a group of 3 camel drivers and 7 French people setting up their bivouac in the dunes. Walking shoes, typical hiker's pants (which turn into shorts), plenty of sunscreen; we are far from our friends the camel drivers who sometimes stay more than a month in the desert, walking in their old Nikes or simply old leather slippers.

Already the next day, the first blisters appeared among my compatriots; On the third day I myself felt a slight tightness on the top of my left foot; but overall everything is going well and I'm enjoying this unique experience, the friendship of my friend Lhoucine, the company of Mohammed and the lively discussions in the evening with the French. Lhoucine is a very open, fine-minded person, a bit revolutionary like many Moroccans. You can discuss anything with him, he knows how to laugh out loud and is an excellent walker. He and I were not at all equipped for walking; dressed for the city, we didn't worry and everything went well.

While crossing a large desert plain, Lhucine's cell phone starts ringing..., it's his wife who is in Vesoul or Luxeuil, I don't know anymore. From the second generation, she cannot get used to the gray and cold climate of the area and I imagine that having direct contact with her man in the middle of the desert must warm her heart! The conversation lasts almost an hour, all in French with a few words of Arabic from time to time (probably the romantic words...).
Suddenly, Lhucine hands me the phone in full march towards infinity; hello?! "It seems that you have a hotel in the south of France? Are you doing exchanges with the Zagour hotel? It's fantastic! We'll come and see you!" Moroccans are open and need friendship and recognition. They are moving forward quickly despite the limited resources given to them and the authoritarian power.

Finally, after three days of walking in the company of French hikers, we separate in the middle of nowhere like in the Laurence of Arabia film; them straight towards a water tower on the horizon and us towards the left following a small mountain range to its end. To get there, we will have to move against the wind and at a much faster pace than with the other group. It gets serious and none of the three of us speak anymore. Mohammed pulls the camels at a frantic pace, Lhucine is elsewhere in his thoughts (perhaps in Vesoul?!) and I am avoiding twisting my ankle in this stony desert. I like this atmosphere, I am in my element and I feel that my colleagues are too.

The picnic is taken in sobriety in the shade of a small isolated tree; a tomato, an apple and two tangerines. The three of us then pumped up and each wrapped ourselves in a blanket and plunged into a deep nap. Mohammed lay down in the sun sheltered from the wind in the recess of a small sand dune. The wind is blowing harder and harder and the dromedary next to me gets a little angry then lets itself go to the side, fifty centimeters from me... Stop!!!

Mohammed did not argue with the camels and very quickly our little caravan set off again towards the horizon where at the very end of this long mountain on our left, we will come across the final road before the great Sahara desert. There awaits us another camel driver who has been in the desert for a month and a half and who has great fishing!

It is undoubtedly at this type of meeting that everything is said and expressed after long days of solitude.

Hotel Zagour, Zagora, Draa Valley, Morocco Map