On the road in argan country

“Bonjour! Bienvenue au Maroc!” exclaimed the Moroccan official, who had come to meet me at Casablanca Airport. “No French,” I apologised. He looked a little deflated but muttered “no problem” as he ushered me through customs. My suitcase had not made it and I was in Morocco with only a laptop and camera bag. We drove somewhere near the sea for a lunch of couscous and olives and drove back to the airport for the onward flight to the south.

The wait at the airport was longer than the short flight to Agadir, the resort town of southern Morocco. The local elections were to be held the next day and I was part of a team of international observers invited by the Moroccan government.

We checked into a kitschy hotel complete with the forlorn Moroccan singer in a Fez cap with an oud. The view was great but it was getting dark and I needed to buy a shirt desperately. Later, as I sat nursing a nightcap, I wondered if I could complete my quest for the elusive elixir: argan.

A fruit-laden argan tree

Before leaving for Morocco, my Australian friend in Delhi had advised, “Lad, now that you are going there, you really need to find some argan. It could do wonders for you. And get some back for me.” Argan oil is sought after for its supposed anti-ageing properties. The tree grows in parts of Morocco and in neighbouring Algeria. The Sous Valley in southern Morocco is the main source of the oil, dry pressed from the seed of the argan tree. Unroasted argan oil is supposed to make skin look youthful forever! The roasted oil has superior anti-oxidant properties.

A heat wave swept through the country on polling day. The voting was perfect. Absolutely no violence and, although this was the first local elections in their history, the canny Moroccan voters knew what they wanted: more say in governance. At the end of the day, I was both impressed and dehydrated.

I drove across to the town’s excellent beach front and restored myself with pints of cold beer. For dinner, we went to a superlative restaurant where we were served goat meat tagine with vegetables. The tagine is a uniquely Moroccan invention and derives its name from the glazed earthenware dish in which it is cooked. Moroccan tagines are slow cooked over low coal fire to produce incredibly soft, succulent dishes.

A Moroccan boy sells tagine pots

As we were tucking in, I broached the topic of argan to my companion. He was impressed: “You know of this!” I nodded. “I think you could find it in Casablanca”, he suggested. “It has been too expensive ever since the Europeans found out about it. You can hardly find it in Morocco.”

The Interior Ministry man who was with us then turned to my companion and burst into animated Arabic. They conversed excitedly for a few minutes after which my companion turned to me and exclaimed: “It is here. This is where it grows!” The Interior Ministry official was a local Berber and knew all about argan. I had arrived entirely fortuitously in argan country.

Next day, we got into a Peugeot with a refrigerated glove compartment full of mineral water bottles — and no beer — and drove into argan country. Agadir soon fell away and we were in arid, semi-desert terrain. The highway was shimmering in the heat and the trailer trucks were keeping slow and steady in their lanes.

“What are all these trees?” I asked pointing to the scrub on both sides of the road. My companion turned to the Interior Ministry man in Arabic. The answer was argan! “Stop the car”, I shouted and ran into the scrubland with my trusty Canon and started clicking. I even scooped up a small pouch of seeds to plant back in India.

The Hotel Sofitel Agadir Royal Bay Resort

But we still had to go another 30km east, for the oil. The drive continued up the highway, (after a halt at a police station where we were given a guide) and eventually into a side road that climbed into the mountains.

Finally we reached a Berber village built with reddish stone and mud. It was dusty and dry. As I trudged on, I wondered if all this was worth it.

My doubts vanished as we finally found a Berber villager, who extracted the oil. He invited us to his low stone and wood house where we were treated to the most exquisite and aromatic Moroccan tea, made from green tea leaves, fresh mint and lots of sugar. Then we were served the real thing: a dip of dates crushed in argan oil and virgin olive oil, both to be had with Moroccan bread, almost like the Indian naan.

The cop certified the argan oil to be genuine and I purchased a litre of it for $40. The oil provided in an old Coke bottle was duly smelt by all the Moroccans present, each of them nodding approvingly after a sniff. So this is it, I thought, a smelly oil in a scratched PET bottle.

If I had doubted the efficacy of this legendary oil, they were soon dispelled by what I learnt. The Interior Ministry official said that it was considered impossible to guess the age of villagers in this region. For, they were reputed to retain their youthfulness for years.

My companion pointed to the Berber cop from the police station. How old do you think he is? I shrugged, “Mid 40s, I guess”. My companion smiled: “He is 63! He says he has retired but works without pay because he needs something to do.” Now I was interested. What was his secret? The Berber turned towards me, grinning and said in Arabic, which translated meant: “No crime, no stress, some exercise and, of course, argan!”

Ready reckoner

Getting there: Emirates operates daily flights from Delhi to Casablanca’s Mohammed V International Airport. There are domestic flights from there to Agadir.

Staying there: The luxurious Hotel Sofitel Agadir Royal Bay Resort is an excellent option.