Trapped in oasis alleys: will we make it to the most beautiful campsite on the tour so far?

After spending an unforgettable week in the stunning region surrounding the Agadir Id Aissa storage castle – which included a hike to the historic fortress, an exciting adventure into the Sahara desert on our e-bikes and exploring the charming village of Amtoudi, including a hike to the source of the Oued Amtoudi oasis stream that supplies the desert settlement with life-giving water – we now feel the urge to move on to discover even more of this fascinating landscape in southern Morocco.

The route from the village of Amtoudi to our destination today, the oasis village of Ichd, leads through an impressive and remote region that is both geologically and culturally fascinating. The route, some 70 to 80 kilometers long, winds through the Anti-Atlas Mountains, known for their rugged, rocky landscapes and spectacular gorges. The roads are often narrow and unpaved, which can make the drive a challenge. An off-road vehicle is recommended, especially if, like us, you occasionally leave the main roads to explore the wild, undeveloped terrain. But if you stay on the road, this route can also be easily mastered with a normal motorhome.

“Look,” Tanja calls out enthusiastically, pointing to a few old ruined walls nestled in the golden-brown landscape. Again and again, abandoned, half-ruined mud houses pass by our window, reflecting the architecture of the local Berber culture.

As we cross the endless expanses of the Sahara in our expedition vehicle, we have the feeling that we are completely alone in the world. Only rarely does another vehicle cross our path. “Sometimes it feels like we’re the only people on this planet,” I say to Tanja. “Yes, it’s so quiet here that you get the feeling that time is standing still,” she replies. Tanja and I appreciate these trips off the beaten track, especially when we are traveling against the flow of the peak travel times. Out here in the desert, where time seems to stand still, we focus on the essentials. We often sit quietly next to each other and take in the barren but fascinating landscape. “It’s fascinating how strong this feeling of liveliness is here in the desert, even though we feel so small and insignificant in the vastness of the landscape,” Tanja says thoughtfully. “Yes,” I murmur, my eyes fixed on the narrow strip of asphalt.

The relentless heat of the sun weighs down on the desert, while colors ranging from bright orange to deep red reflect the burning embers of the day. In the evening, the setting sun bathes the landscape in warm light before night falls and stars and the moon illuminate the sky. “It’s almost magical how the colors of the sky blend with the landscape,” I break our amicable silence. Tanja nods in agreement. “It’s a blaze of color that you won’t soon forget.”

As we drive along the narrow desert roads once trodden by caravans, the most diverse thoughts keep wandering through our minds: What is it that actually drives us to be on the road here? Is it the urge for adventure, curiosity about the unknown and a longing for silence and solitude? Or is it perhaps a mixture of all of these? “Maybe it’s just that – a mixture of a thirst for adventure, curiosity and the joy of experiencing the world from a unique perspective,” I ponder aloud. “And perhaps simply the joy of experiencing these moments intensively,” adds Tanja.

After the endless expanse of the Sahara, we suddenly find ourselves in the claustrophobically narrow alleyways of the oasis village of Ichd. We were actually just looking for a quiet place to spend the night, but now it seems as if we have maneuvered ourselves into a labyrinth of narrow paths and sharp-edged walls. “It looks like we’ve got ourselves into a real adventure,” I say as we move carefully through the narrow alleyways. Any wrong turn of the steering wheel could damage our expedition vehicle, and the thought of getting out of the village unscathed becomes a nerve-wracking challenge.

It is afternoon as we roll along the dusty road in our large expedition vehicle, which the inhabitants of the oasis probably see more as a moving house than a vehicle. With a length of 7.62 meters and a height of 7.65 meters, our motorhome is certainly not suitable for the narrow, winding streets of such remote villages. “I hope we can maneuver our way through somehow,” I say slightly nervously, after we have to keep pushing back when we end up in a dead end or the passageway has become too narrow for our Terra Love. After all, I had studied the map and hoped that there was a way through the village that would take us to the other side. But with every meter we venture further, our doubts grow as to whether it will really be that easy. “What looks like a harmless road on the map turns out to be a challenge in reality,” I snort.

Another turn-off takes our breath away. We can literally feel the walls of the mud houses closing in on us. “It’s getting narrower and narrower,” Tanja remarks. I start to sweat a little as I grip the steering wheel tightly and try to squeeze the colossus through the seemingly endless eye of the needle.

Some villagers stop and greet us in a friendly manner. Children run after us, laughing, as if they are waiting for us to get stuck somewhere. “That’s it, we’re staying here,” I say, half jokingly, half seriously, as we make another few meters of unharmed progress. After endless minutes – which feel like hours – we finally reach the road that leads us out of Ichd. With a sigh of relief, I step on the gas and look for the campsite, which is not far from the village. It’s a lesson in humility. In a world where size is often equated with strength, a small oasis village shows us that sometimes it can be the narrow, inconspicuous paths that pose the greatest challenges.

After an impressive drive through the desert and the unexpectedly challenging crossing of the small oasis village of Ichd, we reach the idyllic Borj Biramane campsite on the edge of the village, exhausted but satisfied. Here we find a perfect pitch for the next few days and can relax in the midst of a breathtakingly beautiful and impressive desert landscape. The name Borj Biramane comes from the Arabic word “borj”, which means “tower”, and “birâamane”, which means “camel master” in Berber. At the time when caravans from Senegal, Mauritania, Mali, Niger, Chad and Sudan passed through here, the camel caravans and travelers rested on this piece of land which, according to tradition, was surrounded by date palms. Borj Biramane offers basic facilities for campers, including pitches for motorhomes and tents, a small store, a nice restaurant with regional cuisine and sanitary facilities.

Outside, on the spacious terrace, we have a breathtaking view of the foothills of the Anti-Atlas Mountains and the dry desert valleys. Gentle dunes and rocky plains stretch to the horizon, while the colors shimmer in warm shades of gold, red and brown depending on the time of day. A traditional Berber tent, also known as a “khaima”, invites you to relax. “It is made from goat hair or camel wool, which provides excellent protection from the extreme desert conditions and is easy for the nomads to transport,” I explain. “Beautiful and how it smells of camel here,” Tanja remarks as she settles down on one of the many colorful cushions. The rectangular tent is supported by sturdy wooden or bamboo poles and is easy to put up and take down. Inside, the tents are fitted with rugs and cushions. “I’d love to see a tent like this when it’s being used by nomads. It would certainly look a lot cozier then,” Tanja muses, “I’m sure it would, and I can imagine it being divided into different areas for living and hospitality,” I say.

The campsite seems like a small paradise to us and is one of the most exotic and impressive we have discovered on this trip so far. In addition to the tents, numerous shady spots invite you to escape the merciless heat of the desert sun and relax in peace. Particularly impressive is the small swimming pool, filled with precious water, as well as the carefully tended garden, which includes a variety of desert plants and palm trees and transforms the entire area into a green oasis. “This place is really perfect for relaxing,” I say with a grin. “Good to stay for a few days,” Tanja replies.

After an eventful day, today we treat ourselves to a delicious tagine, a traditional North African dish that is prepared in a characteristic clay pot. The pot consists of a shallow bowl and a conical lid that allows the food to steam. Our tagine contains vegetables, pulses and spices such as saffron and cinnamon, often supplemented with dried fruit – without any meat. The slow cooking process allows the flavors to develop intensively. The tagine can be prepared on an open fire, coals or in the oven and is served straight from the pot. Shortly before nightfall, we take a walk outside the campsite. The silence of the desert is only broken by the gentle wind that softly blows across the landscape. The sunset lends the scenery an almost magical golden light, while the clear sky gradually fades into a deep blue.

Three days later, after another sandstorm had the region firmly in its grip and has finally subsided, we set off to hike to the Oued Ichd village – the place where we almost got stuck with our expedition vehicle a few days ago. We follow the dry riverbed of the Oued Ichd, a seasonal river that mainly carries water during the rainy season. Like many rivers in the Anti-Atlas region and the Sahara, it dries up in the dry season, leaving behind only a few isolated water points that are essential for irrigating the oasis.

As soon as we enter the village, we feel as if we have been transported back centuries. The exact age of the oasis village of Ichd cannot be determined as there are no comprehensive historical records. However, like many oasis settlements in the Anti-Atlas region, Ichd can look back on a long history. These settlements often developed along ancient caravan routes, which have provided trade and communication routes across the Sahara and North Africa for centuries. “It is very likely that Ichd has such a past, perhaps even a history of over a thousand years,” I say thoughtfully as I look through the viewfinder of my camera to capture one of the countless beautiful motifs.

During our visits to various oasis villages, we initially wondered why people built their houses so close together, although lack of space was often not a problem. The reason lies in the practical function of the narrow alleyways. They provide shade and direct the desert wind like a natural fan, making the temperatures more pleasant. At the same time, they offer protection from the frequent sandstorms by preventing sand and dust from entering the houses. “Historically, the narrow alleyways also had a strategic advantage,” I explain, echoing what I read a few days ago. “In the event of an attack, the narrow streets made it difficult for the attackers to move quickly through the village and enabled the inhabitants to defend themselves better.” “Just like in the oasis village of Amtoudi, which we recently visited on our e-bikes,” Tanja replies. “Exactly,” I confirm, nodding. We hardly meet any people here either. It might seem as if the inhabitants have abandoned the village. But the real reason is the high temperatures, which force the villagers to seek shelter from the heat during the day. Many spend the hottest hours in the cooler interiors of their houses or in shady places.

The traditional way of life depends on the climatic conditions. Agricultural activities and other work are often carried out in the early morning or late afternoon when it is cooler.

Suddenly, the alleyways lead us into the underground part of the village. “Here the mountain communities have traditionally built underground or semi-subterranean storehouses, known as ‘agadirs’, for grain and other supplies. These storehouses use the cooling effect of the earth to protect food from the heat and pests. Often integrated into the rocky landscape, they not only provide protection, but also natural temperature regulation,” I explain to Tanja. “Look up,” Tanja suddenly says, shining the light of her cell phone upwards. “Do you see how dilapidated this looks? Do you think it could collapse?” “Definitely,” I reply quietly, “it’s only a matter of time,” so as not to contribute to a stone falling from the cracked, ancient ceiling above us at that very moment.

Carefully and as quietly as possible, we continue on our way and marvel at the living quarters that are half-carved into the rocks or sunk into the earth. This construction method ensures that the interiors remain cool during the day and warmer during the cold desert nights – an efficient adaptation to the extreme desert climate. This architecture is complemented by traditional adobe buildings such as kasbahs and ksour, which have thick walls and small windows to protect the interior from the intense heat. They are often combined with underground storage tanks to ensure optimal air conditioning. Together, these architectural solutions provide a sustainable way to survive in the extremely dry and hot environment. The people of Ichd have a long tradition of creatively using the environment to adapt and sustain their way of life.

When we emerge from the underground labyrinth again, we continue on our way through the alleyways lined with mud walls and keep looking upwards. The old buildings with their curved beams look fragile, as if they could collapse at any moment. For safety reasons, it will probably not be possible to visit these historic structures for much longer. The more tourists come to this remote region, the greater the risk of someone being injured. Should this happen – and it is very likely – these ancient areas of the desert villages will probably soon be closed to visitors.

As in many other oases in Morocco, Ichd also has khettaras, an ancient, partly underground irrigation system. These channels were created to channel water from distant springs or underground aquifers to the oasis while minimizing evaporation. The khettara technique is one of the most important innovations to ensure the survival of the oasis inhabitants.

Finally, we would like to tell you the legend of the water of the wise djinn, who is revered as the protector of the desert:

One day, when the water sources had almost dried up and the villagers were desperate for water, the djinn appeared in a village elder’s dream. He instructed the elder to find a hidden well that was protected by a spell and offered life-giving water.

The eldest and a few brave villagers set off in search of it and crossed numerous dunes. After many days, they finally found an old well with pure, shining golden water behind a sand dune. This water not only restored the village’s source of life, but also brought fertility and prosperity to the region.

Since then, the well has been considered sacred and the legend of the djinni has been passed down from generation to generation. It is said that the djinni still protects the desert and helps the villagers in difficult times.