"No, you'll be fine," she said.
"It's a 20 minute walk, but we'll just take our time. Be there within an hour."
Our guide continued to reassure me. Nothing treacherous. No cliffs. No heights. Just a nice walk.
(Have I mentioned that I'm deathly afraid of heights?)
It was our last day in Morocco and we were so torn as to whether or not to take the optional tour.
We were pretty exhausted and had a big travel day back to London the next day.
But, how could we turn down a meal in a traditional Berber village in the High Altas Mountains.
Nothing in the itinerary led me to believe this was anything but a scenic, moderate walk.
Well, other than the word "mountains."
After a 90 minute hair-raising bus ride, we had a quick rest and then it was time to start our...
"20 minute walk". (Major air quotes around that phrase.)
Up.
Into the mountains.
Along a donkey trail.
Cliffs and drop offs.
Mud and donkey dung.
Passing donkeys.
One and a half hours later, we arrived. Did you catch that?
Our twenty minute walk was actually a 90 minute hike. Not what I was anticipating.
Thankfully, it was a gorgeous blue-sky day. And the scenery was absolutely breathtaking!
It actually probably took longer because I kept stopping for photos.
The town seemed almost deserted. I'm sure it was bustling and active before our arrival.
But as our group invaded, everyone scampered indoors.
We did see a few shy faces peeking out at us from doors and windows.
We arrived and settled around in a cool dark room for lunch.
We were all offered cold sodas to quench our thirst before the food started arriving.
I was a bit surprised to see macaroni salad as a first course. Not quite sure that's traditional.
Next were the tangines, piled high with meat and vegetables.
I enjoyed the food, but was a little disappointed at the level of interaction.
We had a local guide who took us to the Berber village.
A young, attractive and well dressed man who looked like he was ready for a night out in London.
Unfortunately, he seemed quite bored with it all and barely spoke.
He didn't give us any information or background.
I was dying to know why there was a tennis racket on the mantle.
The only contact we had with a villager was when our host brought in the food and then quickly left us to it.
It was a quite pleasant way to spend an hour and this little guy was pretty welcoming.
Then it was time to head back to the bus.
I would have been happy to climb back down the donkey trail we came up on.
But, no. This was a part of our route down.
A steep, narrow, switch-back donkey trail down the side of the mountain.
About 2/3rds the way down, I had a minor meltdown.
It was pretty steep at various points, not to mention the unstable footing.
Between the fear of falling down the mountain or getting run over by a donkey,
I'd pretty much had enough. Luckily a few tears was just what I needed to relieve the stress.
Matt knows me pretty well and was so helpful and sweet about it.
I was quickly back to myself and enjoying the amazing views.
Here are some more shots from that day.
These things were moving and you'd best just get out of the way.
See? It was pretty fantastic, wasn't it?
Four hours on a bus and three hours hiking for one hour in a quiet Berber village in the High Atlas Mountains.
In spite of the stress, tears and minor disappointments, it was worth it.
We made the right choice.
Luckily nobody asked me to cross this precarious swing bridge.
There, I would have drawn the line and had a full-on hissy fit.
Ever had an unexpected adventure on your travels?
Did you handle it better than I did?
