Palm trees, thousands of palm trees, a sea of palm trees; there are 600,000 of them - but can you count them? - swaying in the azure sky of the immense Tunisian oasis of Tozeur, in the centre-west of the country, on the edge of the Algerian desert. They are fed by some two hundred springs, some of which have unfortunately dried up, and generously shade fig, lemon, vine and pomegranate trees, which in turn are just waiting to protect the carpets of mint, oleander and vegetables that will be sold early in the morning at the market. This miracle is three hours direct by jumbo jet from Paris-Orly, Lyon, Strasbourg and Marseille, and has all the infrastructure needed to accommodate even very large incentive groups.<\/p>\n
The tourist area of Tozeur boasts the very best in the world of leisure hotels: numerous beautiful establishments, swimming pools, spas, hammams, entertainment, countless restaurants, meeting rooms, leisure activities... This marvel of coolness - everything is relative when it comes to coolness - this enormous palm grove is best discovered in the early morning, when the birds are chirping in the first rays of the sun and the workers are busy before the heat sets in. The best way to do this is on horseback, and the number of colourful horse-drawn carriages snaking their way through the palms, passing along narrow, fragrant dirt tracks beautifully lined with walls of dried palms, adds to the lightness of the morning ride. But walking is not forbidden, nor are mountain bikes, quad bikes or 4\u00d74 vehicles. The palm grove's thousand hectares are ideal for the noisiest activities, which in no way detract from the more romantic strolls.<\/p>\n
When it comes to culture, Tozeur is not to be outdone. The old Berber city of Ouled el Hadef has invented an architecture made of almost white clay and sand bricks, built tone-on-tone into high walls with geometric patterns and, here and there, improvised squares and covered passageways. However, even if this medina is home to the Museum of Popular Arts and Traditions, you can get a better idea of the local culture by visiting the Dar Chera\u00eft Museum, Tunisia's first private museum and undoubtedly one of the most successful. Adjoining the hotel of the same name, it boasts a rich collection of weapons, costumes and jewellery, as well as wax models recreating scenes from life here not so long ago. Of course, it's possible to arrange private visits. We organise wonderful candlelit dinners in the patios,\" says Christine Zbidi, assistant manager of the Dar Chera\u00eft hotel. The decor, a recreation of a nobleman's house, lends itself perfectly to this. The dishes served are mainly oriental, sometimes even typically Tzeurois...\"<\/p>\n
But the main reason to visit Tozeur is to experience the charms of the desert, which, while not in all its mineral splendour in southern Tunisia - it would be better to speak of the Sahara desert - still gives an idea of what awaited the caravans of yesteryear as they made their way to Black Africa.<\/p>\n
It starts with the chotts, huge salt depressions that sometimes become covered in water in winter. It's flat, white, dazzling, very hot and punctuated by mirages invented by the heat. Real mirages, as in comic strips, illusions that depict oases, lakes, villages, vehicles... In short, all sorts of apparitions that teasingly recede as soon as you get close, then disappear for good. No matter how much you know about it, it still surprises you every time. Just outside Tozeur, the Chott el Djerid is the perfect place to try this out: 90 km of road cut through the middle of nothing. In fact, these chotts are a sort of link between the stony desert and the sandy desert. So let's head for the stony desert, climbing aboard the famous L\u00e9zard Rouge, the former train of the Bey of Tunis donated by France in 1940. It has obviously been rehabilitated, looks like the Orient Express, winds its way for just over an hour along the side of a steep gorge, and... for incentive groups, is privatised and attacked by warriors who are almost as real as life. Stop. Open bar, chic buffet hidden behind the relief; a magical interlude opening onto a world of silence.<\/p>\n
But for the real nowhere, it's a little later, in the Lareguett desert, that you'll really be served. Here, the dunes are reached by 4\u00d74, and in a hollow, there's a canvas village that would make the designers of the film Out of Africa green with envy. It's all there. The grey tents arranged in a semi-circle, the profusion of carpets on the floor, the curtains, the finely tablecloth-covered pedestal tables, the antiques... It's enchanting. As night falls, the torches are lit, leading camels to a major surprise: the almost untouched Star Wars set, since this is where part of the famous film was shot. Photophores everywhere, coffee tables set up in the futuristic village square and, to put it bluntly, with the remains of its dead rockets as a backdrop, a little Dantesque. Oriental dinners, chilled wine and... until late at night, sunlights and an open-air disco. There's no doubt that the Olympics organised the following afternoon - donkey, dromedary and moped races, dune skiing... - will give you a hangover...<\/p>\n
But true lovers of the Sahara, of the absolute mineral, of sandy mountains and the glamorous image they convey, will choose the great Libyan South from Paris, which they will reach after Tripoli in just under two hours in a 25-seater aircraft. Sometimes more, depending on the stopover and, above all, the moods of the pilots, who are particularly fussy around here. Because that's how it is in the desert: it's not necessarily the customer who's king... And even then, in the case of incentive groups, these are almost always chartered flights. As far as scheduled flights are concerned, it's quite an adventure... oriental, so to speak, with a very broad conception of the notion of time. For the moment, the YAK 40 is flying over beige. All beige. Dotted here and there with improbable buildings, farms no doubt, cubes surrounded by low walls built by men who probably love solitude.<\/p>\n
The plane descends, green appears, the Sabha oasis is at the end of the runway. Caravans from Tripoli, Sudan and Egypt used to stop here, sure of finding plenty of water. Today, it's a town of little interest, and even downright ugly. For foreigners, however, it is above all a departure point for other oases, for the Awbari erg, for the wonder of wonders, for this sandy desert, which by far surpasses anything we have ever seen in the cinema. Dune follows dune, browns follow whites, yellows overtake ochres, which themselves slowly turn pale pink. In the evening, a few indigos take the trouble to highlight the contours of all these elongated rounded shapes. The ensemble exudes an unsettling sensuality, and as if that weren't enough, the breeze veils these suggestive shapes in a sandy spray.<\/p>\n
Suddenly, below a hill, of sand of course: the Um el Ma oasis. With water, lots of blue water; with palm trees and haughty camels. A feeling of freshness towards which the 4\u00d74s and their heat-weary occupants tumble. Surprise, the water is salty. So salty that, like the Dead Sea, it supports the bodies, allowing them to refrain from any movement. A delight of absolute rest. In the evening, we join a desert camp, tents traditionally set up in a circle, spacious and very well equipped, as they all have their own showers; we dine in local colours in a communal tent, and are visited by Tuaregs, wrapped in their blue sails that flutter in the wind, sublimely elegant, riding camels covered in pompoms and frills. The camels are haughty, as always...<\/p>\n
But above all, we set off to the dune and discover, stunned, a sky we'd never imagined could be so pure, and stars as pretty as angels. It's hard to get away from it all. Some people don't even hesitate to take the bed out of their tent and fall asleep under the Milky Way.<\/p>\n
And yet, we have to get back to urban life, return to Tripoli and explore a capital that, not so long ago, was practically closed to the general public. And it shows. The souk is authentic, the merchants greet without pestering, smiles are the order of the day, and above all, they are genuine, and the signs of welcome are without any commercial ulterior motive. Tripoli can be visited in a short space of time, but a visit to the Jamahiriya Museum is essential before heading off to the archaeological site of Leptis Magna, particularly for the extraordinary pieces of ancient Rome it preserves. In other words, the very best of African Rome.<\/p>\n
However, fans of a truly festive Southern Maghreb will choose the Moroccan route, which looks more towards the Atlantic than the Mediterranean. Both in Marrakech and Agadir. From these two cities, they can make forays into the Deep South, following in the footsteps of the caravans of yesteryear.<\/p>\n
Gazelle! My friend!\"The Jemaa-el-Fna square is as popular as ever, and as soon as night falls it offers visitors a wide range of options: shoes or hashish, a horse-drawn carriage ride, a \"student\" guide and, of course, a restaurant, as Marrakech's flagship site is transformed at dusk into the gargantuan open-air dining hall that has become its trademark; A noria of carts overflowing with oranges for juice and a swarm of steaming street kitchens offering grilled meats or tajines, couscous and pastillas for tens of thousands of dinars - always less than ten euros - under the bright glow of string lights.<\/p>\n
Surrounding them in the half-light, in the foreground, is the equally familiar scene of fortune-tellers, story-tellers, snake charmers, henna tattoo artists, hawkers, Gnaoua musicians, monkey trainers and jugglers... In short, the colourful folklore that has forged the reputation of Jemaa-el-Fna and, consequently, of Marrakech itself, a good-natured \"court of miracles\" that thrills Westerners eager for the exotic, the unusual and the esoteric, just like the labyrinthine layout of its medina, its other trump card. It's 2 hours 50 minutes from Paris by jumbo jet, compared with the 14 hours it took Joseph Kessel to fly the Lat\u00e9co\u00e8re planes of l'A\u00e9ropostale in the mid-1920s.<\/p>\n
Since it was founded in 1060 by Saharan Berbers, Marrakech has always nurtured its trading spirit. The canvas camp of the early days was enriched by the gold and ivory trade of the caravaneers and established itself in the south as the capital of an empire stretching as far as Algiers. Tossed about by numerous dynastic conflicts, the city's destiny swung from decline to rebirth, without ever losing its role as a commercial crossroads, a place of exchange and cross-fertilisation.<\/p>\n
And since then? Nothing new under the sun, except that today's meharis are called \"investors\". Of Russian, European, Asian or Middle Eastern origin, they are juggling billions of dirhams to create hotel and tourist units (Four Seasons, Banyan Tree, Mandarin, Beachcomber...) that will extend over hundreds of hectares. Marrakech, the unrivalled queen of tourism in Morocco, is not about to give up: no less than 229 projects have been declared... and have received a favourable opinion from the ad hoc commission.<\/p>\n
At this rate, the \"ochre city\" and its palm grove could well turn a different colour. A risk to which Marrakchis are far from insensitive, and a concern for the Regional Tourism Council (CRT). \"At present, the city's capacity is 40,000 beds, and this is set to rise to 60,000 beds by 2010, the total capacity of the Kingdom not so long ago\". What can be put in place to support this expansion? To answer Abderrahim Bentbib, Director of the CRT, \"Develop MICE and position ourselves on responsible, fair tourism\".<\/p>\n
To the south, 220km away, Taroudant is sheltered from these concerns about rapid growth. Today so placid behind its high ramparts, this short-lived capital of the Saadian kingdom in the 16th century was nevertheless long known as a hotbed of insubordination. At the heart of a fruit and cereal-growing region, the town long played a dominant economic role in the Sus-al-Aksa, the fertile extreme Souss.<\/p>\n
Destroyed by the port of Agadir in the 1930s, Taroudant is now a sleepy town, languishing even in its dark souk, which is soothing when you come from Marrakech, just like its shopping street lined with stalls selling shrimps or grilled chicken, and far more crowded with mules or handcarts than cars. It's a shame that most of the houses in the medina, once made of adobe, have gradually been rebuilt in cinder blocks... But the walk along the superbly bastioned ramparts is pleasant, lined with century-old olive trees. As for the Salam Palace, the residence of the Pasha (governor) built in 1780, now converted into a hotel (see guide, page xx), it gives an idea of the city's lost lustre. Taroudant is also home to one of the jewels in Morocco's hotel crown, the famous Gazelle d'or, a luxury establishment nestling in a vast orange grove two kilometres from the town, an address frequented by President Jacques Chirac.<\/p>\n
Heading west, we reach the ocean and Agadir. Long criticised for its shameless tanning-factory urbanism, the country's second-largest tourist city (27,000 beds) behind Marrakech now seems determined to make amends. The Region, determined to change the town's image, is talking about an \"upgrade\", a \"structuring project\", as Tariq Kabbage, the town's mayor, points out. The focus of this renaissance? A redevelopment of the city, including its disadvantaged neighbourhoods, the creation of green spaces, cycle paths and a seafront corniche, a major project costing some 150 million euros, and the construction of a convention centre to complement these facilities.<\/p>\n
Beyond this, Agadir is positioning itself as a platform for discovering the whole of the Souss-Massa region, both its coastline and its hinterland. Several 'routes' are being promoted. The 'honey' route, which leads to the village of Immouzer, follows a winding path below the High Atlas. It includes a two-hour walk to discover the local agriculture (date palms, olive trees, banana and fig trees) and the natural vegetation, typical of the southern scrubland with its argan trees, thuyas, carob trees and small cacti with flowers prized by bees.<\/p>\n
On the ocean side, the roads heading straight south allow you to combine culture and seaside activities, visiting Tiznit and its souk of a hundred or so jewellers squeezed into three-metre-square stalls, then swimming at Aglou, a small Gadiris seaside resort overlooking an immense sandy beach.<\/p>\n
As you continue, the scrub becomes more arid and the landscapes more jagged, with the foothills of the Anti-Atlas jutting out into the Atlantic. You then arrive at Sidi Ifni, a Spanish town that was returned to Morocco in 1969. Dotted with white and blue colonial buildings grouped around the circular square of the former Piazza de Espana, this former 'capital' of Spanish West Africa, now desolate, emanates the disenchanted atmosphere of a resort condemned to life out of season: deserted streets, derelict houses and entertainment centres. A cinema turned warehouse, the Twist Club, its doors locked for ages by a padlock eaten away by the sea air. Only the paseo is still slightly frequented, as is the large beach it overlooks, a summer spot for windsurfers.<\/p>\n
Goulimine is another hour's drive away. This sweltering red town used to be a meeting point for caravans heading for Timbuktu: a real end of the world... And a future seaside resort on the mythical site of \"plage blanche\", so named by the A\u00e9ropostale aviators, including Saint-Exup\u00e9ry... Forty-two kilometres of shoreline and white sand dunes are set to become the site of a year-round seaside resort. Investment: one billion euros for a projected capacity of 26,000 beds. The developer has not yet been selected.<\/p>\n
Even further south, we plunge into an endless steppe, 1300 km to the Mauritanian border. For the moment, there are no projects in sight, just the occasional 4\u00d74 tracks of groups on the move. They'll be spending a night or two in a tent, just to certify the desert as a nomad's land.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"