Imlil Waterfall, Episode Nine
Colors of Morocco
Shariq Ali
Valueversity
Climbing uphill along the rapidly flowing stream had exhausted us. We paused for a while on the rugged rocks to catch our breath. Then, bowing our heads slightly, we resumed our climb toward the High Atlas Mountains.
The soft sound of falling water was gradually growing louder. As we turned a bend in the path, our destination appeared before us.
Water was pouring out in swift streams from modestly high rocky cliffs. Several small rivulets joined together, forming a lively stream that rushed down the valley.
The fast-flowing water had carved the surrounding rocks into smooth shapes, and along the banks small stone slabs were scattered everywhere. The waterfall rushed downward, twisting and sliding over the rocks before merging into the swiftly flowing stream below. Altogether, it presented a truly mesmerizing sight.
Crystal-clear water struck against black and brown stones, turning briefly into white foam before leaping over smaller rocks and once again becoming a transparent stream. When sunlight fell upon the tiny droplets suspended in the air, it looked as though delicate particles of glass were floating in the atmosphere—shimmering fragments of a rainbow.
In front of the waterfall was a small rocky open area. Here, three or four vendors had arranged piles of fresh oranges and were squeezing them to make fresh juice for tourists.
In this small space, visitors from many different countries, races, and cultures had gathered. Conversations in many languages could be heard around us.
The atmosphere was friendly.
People spoke gently and respectfully, showing interest in one another. When taking photographs, visitors courteously allowed others the chance to enjoy a good background, and many happily helped one another by taking pictures.
Mona and I chose a rock as our seat and began enjoying a glass of fresh orange juice. The sound of the water flowed continuously—much like the flow of life itself, like the quiet persistence of human hopes and dreams.
Perhaps natural beauty has the power to bring people closer together.
Most of the tourist groups were being guided by young Berber women.
They managed the arrangements of their groups with remarkable confidence. One of the guides was serving fresh juice to the tourists in her group. Although she wore traditional Eastern clothing, her demeanor reflected striking self-confidence. The men selling juice at the stall were local residents, yet there was no sign of any inappropriate behavior.
Local boys and girls spoke to one another openly and confidently. We found this dignified simplicity, the politeness of the atmosphere, and the sense of professionalism very pleasing.
After spending some time at the Imlil waterfall, we began our return journey. The descent felt much easier than the climb.
Eventually, we reached the hotel where our van was parked. Lunch had been arranged for us there.
The hotel had three floors, and its rooftop was apparently used as an open-air restaurant. All the tourists sat down at the tables arranged on the terrace. The surrounding view was truly unique. The peaks of the surrounding mountains seemed to encircle us.
These mountains were high and barren. They were not covered with dense forests. Their dusty, dry slopes possessed a distinctive and serious beauty.
Amid these tall and dry mountains, the small hotel stood like an ancient caravanserai, and we travelers found ourselves sheltered within it.
Soon, a traditional Moroccan dish—Tagine—was served.
Tagine is actually the name of a special clay pot, and the dish cooked in it carries the same name. The pot is round with a cone-shaped lid. Because of this unique design, the food cooks slowly in its own steam.
The tagine served to us contained chicken, potatoes, carrots, beans, and other vegetables. Everything had been cooked in olive oil with lemon and mild spices. The seasoning was not strong. Because of the aroma of the ingredients, the clay pot, and the slow cooking process, the chicken had become so tender that it broke apart with the slightest pressure, while the vegetables had absorbed the broth and developed a delicate and distinctive flavor.
Under the open sky, surrounded by silent mountains, with cool air and warm Moroccan food—this lunch became one of the most memorable moments of our journey.
After finishing our meal, we returned to our van. Leaving the towering peaks of the High Atlas behind us, we were now on our way back.
…To be continued