I recently found a scrap of paper on which I had scribbled down a few thoughts while recovering from what had been a fairly tortuous climb up to an ancient, deserted and long since abandoned casbah in the upper reaches of the High Atlas mountain range. My friend, a Berber, born and raised in this region, had given me some hints of its past glories and even now it was a stunning sight and well worth the climb.
I had left the desert many thousands of feet below this soaring mountain peak, but even so Ozymandias, that memorable poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley sprang to mind. I won’t bother with the full version, not because it’s particularly long, taking the form of a sonnet, at a mere 14 lines it isn’t, but simply because I can only quote the final section, from memory, with any hope of accuracy.
‘My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.’
In ancient times, Ozymandias was the Greek name for the legendary Pharaoh Ramesses the Second. As an example of the impermanence of any human structure when set against the relentless attrition of the natural world, both that sonnet and these decayed remnants of what was once a magnificent casbah are ideally positioned. The effects of time, climate are relentless and even the vast and solid structure in which I found myself was doomed to crumble into dust.
Enough bemoaning the built in obsolescence of the works of mankind when exposed to the power of Nature. I apologise in advance for the following observations. I was evidently inspired by the setting, but even so it’s yet another example of my inbuilt tendency to go overboard on descriptive passages.
My only defence is the manner in which the isolation and tranquility of this hidden place overwhelmed my senses. Reading it back to myself many years later I am once again transported to that very special location. Setting the scene in my mind. Isn’t that ample justification for a verbose and exuberant descriptive passage?
A soft breeze wafted the scent of fragrant blossom from the valley floor far below, mingling with the blue haze of wood-smoke from the open fire inside the ochre walls, all overlaying that primal scorched earth smell that characterised this mountainous region. The gentle undulations of the distant hills melted away to a blue ethereal haze at the distant horizon. A vast expanse of khaki, riven through with an occasional slender ribbon of green where a trickle of water debouched from the hillside and meandered sinuously downwards, the serried rows of parched and hostile peaks marched ever onwards towards infinity.
Jagged mountains shaped by the contingencies of wind and blazing sun surrounded the ridge on which the walled square was situated and immediately outside the walls, a series of rocky outcrops mounted guard like the bony spine of some great prehistoric creature. In any circumstances nobody could fail to be captivated by the surroundings with its revelation of a unique beauty more spectacular than any human creation.
An eagle soared overhead, its huge wings spread to catch the rising air, keen eyes scanning the slopes of the mountains for movement. Secure within the crumbling red walls, the courtyard was a work of art in the truest sense of the phrase. One that had survived countless ages with its grandeur diminished yet still viable and would continue to proclaim its graceful majesty for very many more years to all those few souls fortunate enough to stand on this spot and marvel.
Gulliver Smith 