Dakhla

I really did lie about Laayoune it seems. The whole town was blowing up when I left the internet cafe last night. The main mosque was spewing out hoards of people, all dressed in their finest and any and every loud speaker was blaring the same tunes. It was incredible; to go from a ghost town to a party town. Fantastic.

The bus journey down to Dakhla was brilliant. Mostly rocky desert for as far as the eye can see, with the odd group of wild camels milling about by the road or just off in the distance. We turned past one large dune and a mini sand storm quickly developed, creating a soft white film over the horizon line, then it stopped as quickly as it started. Every once in a while the Atalntic would come into view, just a light blue colouring against the white sands. And, of course, police checks every 100 km or so, in the middle of nowhere. Really, officer, I'm a student. Merci bien.

The desert is truely a remarkable place.

D and I met a Californian mom(Teresa) and son(David) on the bus who are doing pretty much the same route as us, so we now had the power of 4 to aid us in finding transport to Mauritania. Then, upon arrival to our hotel, Hotel Sahara-how original- we met a lovely Spanish woman(Christina) doing the same. Ahhh, now the power of 5! Didn't take long actually. We've found a truck for a fairly good price (250 dirhams; 25 Euros, and the reception guy seems a little annoyed by it. Guess his commision was cut a bit). Had an excellent camel sandwich with fresh olives and now we're heading back to our hotel to watch the Simpsons, in English, on Dave's laptop.

Really looking forward to seeing what nothing looks like, which is the desciption Moroccans have given us of Mauritania. Pretty, they say, but there's no food and the people are poor. Guess i won't be eating any camel meat there, which, honestly, is very tasty.

Tomorrow, 9 am. Slowly I get back to Africa.

Marrakesh to the Western Sahara

Here I sit, in Laayoune, fairly bored. It's the Prophet's Mohammed's birthday today and this desert town is deserted. There's not even tumbleweeds, just the odd sand drift across the lonely roads.

I lie. It's not that bad. There are people here in this internet cafe, chatting away on MSN webcam. All you can hear is them replying in that mix of moroccan french and arabic. And there are sounds of activity coming from outside. I'm guessing the family activity portion of this holiday is over, and the boys can go play soccer or sit in the cafes smoking, watching the world stroll by. The world being the girls, who walk so bloody slow and gossip so very much...or so it seems. This birthday has been likened to our Christmas, and from the descriptions I've gotten from some locals, it ain't so different. Anyway, Morocco never seems to wake up till evening so today isn't so different from any other day. That's what I like about Morocco. Well, one of the things.

Where am I, you ask? Laayoune, the deep south of Morocco, the Western Sahara. It's a 'big' town located about 20 kms from the ocean, smack dab in the desert. It really did feel lonely out there today, save for the huge amounts of UN trucks (convention maybe?) and all the lads who spoke to me in Spanish. This area used to be Spanish and still does that whole siesta thing, which is kinda annoying, but I don't have to live here.

D and I are on a mission to get in and out of Mauritania by the end of the month (inshallah) so we're booting it down to Dakhla to find some transport to Nouakchott, the capital of Mauritania. Mauritania is basically a country of desert , no roads, and no public transport (buses) so we have to get a bush taxi to take us through the desert. We figure one of two things could happen when we get to Dakhla: We arrive and love it in Dakhla, only to be offered a ride immediately. Or two: We wait for like two weeks; and who cares how cool it is in Dakhla?
However, D has come down with some bug that i caught a week or so ago, and our mission is stunted for the next day.

Since I last wrote I haven't made a huge amount of headway, but I'm really enjoying this country so...Mara was the last place, I believe. Fantastic city really. Especially good for arrival to this country (in case anyone is thinking of flying in: Mara better than Casa). It's not a massive city by any rights, but it's fun to wander through the medina checking out all the great architecture, and markets etc. The main square, Place Djemma el Fna is where alot of the action is. By day there's a bunch of snakecharmers, storytellers (storytelling is big in this country. I would love to tell you what some are about but my arabic is a little rusty), juicers, and acrobats. At night a huge mass of food stalls are added, selling anything from an egg, potato sandwich (they love their carbs here. Atkins diets be warned, and smarten up dammit. It's a dumb diet.) to goats head. Ummm mmm, delish. There's also a bunch of musicians, boxing matches - although I've never seen them actually start- and your basic chilling out, hanging out crowd. We spent a week in Mara, waiting for D's friend Emily to arrive with her boyfriend Simon from the UK; they were coming for a holiday.

Once they arrived we all headed out to Imlil, located in the High Atlas mountians to do some easy trekking. Honestly, I don't know what this country has done to me. I actually enjoy kicking it through these mountians. Sick I tell ya. This is berber country, as is most of Moroc really, which means you'll meet some of the nicest, kindest people in the area. Remember Cascade D'Ouzoud? Berber.
Stunningly beautiful, this area. Springtime so all the apple and cherry trees are in blossom. And these amazing berber villages cut into the mountains. We saw Sir Richard Branson's 'Kasbah'. Pretty wicked, but not a kasbah, just a very very fancy hotel. There was a kasbah you could stay at, perched high above Imlil. It was only 40 Euros to stay in a dorm bed. Fuck dat! We did visit it though and it was quite nice, but definately overpriced.

The hike was awesome. We started out at 10 am and didn't get back till 7. Hiked to the top of this mountain, then went down to see a berber village. The villagers wouldn't let us go through the village so we had to walk back via the river! Thank god for tevas! Then we had to hike back up the mountain and down the other side. Very tiring but oddly rewarding. Rewarding in all the crap you eat after! No really, it was cool trekking through these rocking mountains. Really amazed at how much is lived in in this country. Total rocky land that they converted into a farm. Crazy.

Went to Essaouira on the coast after Imlil. This is a beautiful little town/resort town on the coast. The houses are all white washed and blue shuttered, and the beach is long and clean. It's also really windy so a bit of a Kite and Wind surfers paradise. You hear all kinds of good things about Essaouira, rightly so, but I think the short term travellers really like it for the classy little restaurants smattered all over the place. Don't get me wrong; I too would enjoy all that if I was on vacation for a week or two. But I'm not.
I may be a little sore in my mouth about Essaouira because I got some stomach bug there and was all pukey and shit for a couple days there, and it was so windy and annoying and everything seemed so annoying. You know how it is when your sick. The staff at my hotel was sweet though, as Moroccans tend to be. They came in to check on me, brought me cumin to eat with water, which they swore by. Like I'm gonna scarf back a wacky amount of cumin when I haven't eaten a bloody thing and have been vomiting for hours. Yeah. Good idea.
So what I did with it; I had bought a packet of Hirira soup (moroccan soup) to make in my room (we have a cooker) but I didn't realize I was supposed to use a flavour cube with it, so it was all mushy chick peas and no flavour (obviously) so I plopped in some cumin, which was fine initially. Initially. Word of advice, don't do as I do.

On to Agadir from there, which is this bizarre all in inclusive resorts town on one 'side of the tracks' (really was a big hill), then a normalish town on the other. And it's chock o' block with germans. Really nice beach though. And we met some local dude that had a ground squirrel as a pet. Kinda like having a ferret I suppose, but cute none the less. The squirrel just loved him too; followed him everywhere.
There was also a little fast food francise called Le BBQ. They have a burger called the Cock Supreme. It's a bunch of little hotdogs. We thought it was funny.

Parted ways with Em and Simon at this point and D and I headed to more mountains. Tafraoute in the Anti-Atlas. In the 80s some loopy Belgium artist went and, with the help of the local fire department, painted a mess of massive rocks blue. When I first heard this, I thought, right, don't have to see that. But it looks amazing! Most of the paint has chipped away at this point but there's a few left, showing how powerful his canvas was. And he used other colours as well. Kinda like Christo and his drapes, except rocks. Really fantastic. Don't know if I have any of D's digitals but you can google the town name and I'm sure you'll come up with something.

We were heading back to Tiznit from Tafraoute when we met some Peace Corps (Tiznit-doesn't it sound like a diss? You're such a tiznit...) . We were all headed to the same direction, Sidi Ifni, so we managed to fill a whole vehicle ourselves (vite vite!). And we got to meet Kevin, the Peace Corp volunteer in Sidi Ifni! He had satelite tv! We watched a lot of tv! American tv! Was sooo good. We also maneged to get an apartment for the short while we were there. It was fantastic, kitchen and all. Fresh fish and grilled cheese sandwiches! Salads! Blender too, so lots of fresh fruit beverages.

Had dinner one night at Kevin's along with the other visiting PC. Man, they can cook. We had been hanging on the beach with them all day at a place called Gzira (has all kinds of natural bridges). Anywho, we decided to make a rice feast with camel meat. Man, it was tasty! Honestly, nice and tender. 'Manger on Jamel', to be sung in the tune of Jamming by Bob Marley.

Learned much in the south. Learned Peace Corp live under a very watchful eye here. The cops love to tattle on them. They only get 2 days off a month. There can't be more then 5 plus the host in one city (so only 6 at a time in Mara!). It's very strict here, especially compared to Uganda, where they seem to run amuck.
Also found that the people in the south click more with their tongue when they agree or whatever. And they eat 4 times a day, 10 pm being dinnertime. Ummm, goats like to climb Argane trees (similar to olive). The times are changing here and all the young lads I'm meeting want to only marry one woman, that one forever (multiple wives are allowed and encouraged here. Show of wealth). They also want to live in Morocco, no where else. I also heard a rumour that the King is actually gay(!). That is so not allowed here even though it's rampant. Lots of icky europeans come here and get a bunch of little boyfriends. Married local men have boyufriends here too. Lots and lots of gay guys.
But the king. He's a bit of a dude though. His wife is very liberal and they just recently passed a law that enables the wife in a partnership to half of the belongings. Moving forward and the youth love it.
Just a few days ago the big party was for the king's son getting snip snipped. People all over the country had their boys done the same day. I loved asking the locals to tell me what was going on. I mean, my french isn't that good! Think of the hand gestures...then the inevitable blushing and embarrased laughter.

Hung out one night on my front steps with a bunch of local dudes in Sidi Ifni. They really like to tell each other jokes, and they would attempt to tell me as well. Usually they were juvenile so not so funny; or lost in translation. They asked me if we like to tell jokes in Canada. For sure, I say. Now, because they speak english so well I don't think very clearly. I start to tell Mushroom walks into a bar. What's a mushroom. I forget my french immediately. Um err. Ok, we find that out not long after. But the problem is the punch line: I'm a fun guy. Really. Why oh why didn't I tell a simpler joke. So if anyone has any suggetions, please email me. I'm sure this situation will arise again.

Yet another thing I forgot to tell that happened in Cascades: Chilling watching the falls one day when we looked up and saw some sheep on the side of a cliff. Not out of the ordinary but the barbery apes clinging to the outsides of the cliffs was. These apes were sneaking up on the sheep and jumping out and scaring them. No lie! It was the funniest thing! The sheppard finally saw it happening and he just ran around in circles, screaming and throwing rocks at the apes.
African tv.

Donkey=Berber 4x4
Tea=Berber whiskey
Inshallah=God willing- to be used for virtually anything. Inshallah that bus will move in the next hour. That kinda thing.

Right, so now I'm here, in the desert. It's nighttime, so, dark, but I can see and walk on anything now cause I ate a camel. And I now have a Berber power neckless (the symbol; silver is really good here too) along with the hand of Fatima (the evil eye, to protect you from those who covet) so I'm save. That and I'm in a muslim country and the worst that'll happen is someone will try to practice their english with you. Horrible, isn't it?

Sorta sad I'm leaving Morocco. It really is amazing here. The country has everything a country could offer, stunning scenery, untouched beaches (there's one Plage Blanc that's 45km long with nothing on it), awesome food, remarkable people. You could spend forever exploring it. I however have to get into Africa. Enough of this easy stuff!
And I want some papaya.

love and misses,
thi
PS Spellcheck didn't work so don't hate me for errors.
PSS And I need beer too. The problem with muslim countries is the lack of alcohol, and then the high cost of it when you find it. Africa doens't want their people to be without beer.

My Link to Damien's Digital

http://community.webshots.com/user/thiabateman

The things I forget...

There are a couple of things I seemed to have forgotten to mention. Shocking really, when my last post was a small novel. But it's like a can of beans opened up, and some are still spilling out. I've been on sensory overload for a month and didn't even know it. Now I'm slowly remembering all the little things and need to put them in writing before I forget.

Kiff. How could I forget kiff? This is yet another thing that men smoke. Have been for centuries, and it wasn't until the french showed up that it became illegal. No one could understand why, and it still goes on fairly blatantly, but mostly amongst the older men. We're not sure exactly what kiff is. It looks like finely chopped herbs with a dash of tobacco. Some say it's not cannabis. Others say it's the male plant of cannabis, the female being the popular choice in the west. Or vice versa. It's smoked in these long thin pipes, but not really in the cafes. Usually while they work. And usually it's the folks who work in crafts, like woodworking etc.

Back in Cascades D'Ouzoud: One night Aziz, a guide, came and told us stories by the van. He told us how Rachid's family was amongst the first berbers in Morocco, and therefore quite powerful, with this old blood within their veins. He told how his mom took him as a baby to see Rachid's mom, so that he could suckle from her nipple. So he could drink from an oroiginal berber. Then a small patch of hair was shaven one his head and a mark was scrapped onto his scalp. This was all told in a mixture of spanish, french and a smattering of english. I'm not really sure if this is the story he meant to tell. I do know that Moroccans tend to be quite supersticious, even though they are muslim.

I learned something new last night. I read there's a belief amongst muslims that Allah will appear in the form of a stranger, a traveller. Meaning one should treat strangers as well as they would treat Allah. Explains alot.
It's interesting the difference between Allah and 'God'. Allah seems like s/he'd chill with you over a tea. God does not.

C'est ca. Finis.
Short one. I'll try to keep it like this.
love thi

London to Marakesh- the first of many

Remember when you were a kid and you read all those fairy tales about flying carpets and magic lanterns that, if rubbed, a genie appeared? I always thought those stories were based on the Middle East. Turns out, it was Morocco.
And the carpets fly because there is so much hashish here, it's crazy.

My time spent in London was excellent; got to see many people I had met in Africa, spent some wonderful time with Phil, who I had spent most of my time in Africa with and who was kind enough to put me up and put up with me, and, sadly, played a whole lot of The Sims. Thank god I don't have a laptop or all I would be doing is playing that bloody game.

Then it was off to the races for Damien and I. D picked me up at Phil's at 3:45 am for our 7 am flight to Malaga, Spain. We assumed as well that the weather would be nice in Spain after freezing in London (Why, oh why can't they heat their homes there?). We arrived in Malaga and stepped out in a torrential rainstorm that actually managed to get worse! By the time we got to the ferry depot in Algeciras, we were soaked to the bone, shivering uncontrollably, and I had even managed to wipe out when my brand spankin' new pumas slipped on some marble steps. So my ass really hurt. But we remained in good spirits with the thought that we were going to make it to Morocco before nightfall. Tangier is known as Dangiers so we weren't keen on hauling our packs through the port late at night. Unfortunately the weather was so crap that the ferry was 5 hours late and we didn't reach the port until 10 :30 pm, beyond cold (keep in mind both D and I though we were going to warm/hot Africa so we obviously didn't pack for cold) and absolutely starving. The last time we ate had been just before our flight.
All the pedestrians lined up in front of the cars, waiting to disembark and trying to not inhale the fumes of the cars that had already started their engines. So now, we were kinda stoned on fumes, fantastic. No, really.

Anyway, we made it off without a hitch, got money from an atm, and walked to a cheapie hotel with only one person 'hassling' us. Dangiers?! Whatever. But we did end up getting possibly the best and biggest omelette of my life, which turned out to be just the beginning of the wickedly good food here in Morocco.

We spent a night in Tangiers, then hopped on a bus for the Riff Mountains and Chefchaouen (pronounced shef-sha-when; took me 2 weeks after being there to pronounce it). Chaouen is a stunning village high up in the mountains where all the houses are washed in shades of blue and it has a great vibe, very calm. Sadly it was still frikin freezing and constantly raining. We actually went to bed our first night at 7 :30 because it was too cold to stay up!

Because of the perpetual rain D and I ended up spending a fair amount of time in the local cafe, which was filled with men only, all swathed in Djellabas, a thick woolen hooded cloak that seemed very warm, and played movies on the small tv. This was our first experience with locals and we quickly learned that Moroccans are possibly the nicest, kindest, gentlest people we've ever met. So welcome and opening-we actually were sure it was regional until our travels took us further and further away and still, the people rocked.

It was in this cafe that we also discovered the popularity of hash in Morocco. Now, they don't smoke it in the sheeshas (elaborate water pipes) like many people think. Those are strictly for flavoured tobacco. Only Westerners put drugs in sheeshas. Moroccans roll joints. So we sat amongst these men, drinking our fabulous cafes or mint teas to stay warm, while they puffed away on splifs, occasionally offering us a drag. We would refuse ; had no idea what the law was like and had no intention of ended up in a Moroccan jail. One day, two cops wandered into the cafe, saw us there and gestured to the men to hide their joints. Not put them out . Hide them. We've also learned that we, as foreigners can pretty much get away with anything with the law. We are very very protected here. But more on that later.

We spent a few days in Chefchaoun. I went for a hammam, which is a turkish style steam bath where you get all scrubbed and massaged for next to nothing. I went to get warm. It really was that cold. And, of course there was no heating indoors. We would seek out the few places that had fires going and just stand in front of them, pretending to choose from a menu we couldn't afford.

We also ate really well. At first I thought the food and pastries were so good cause everyone was so baked, but turns out it's just Moroccan cuisine. And I'm not just talking couscous, which is actually meant to only be eaten on Fridays, the holy day. There's this dish called Tajine that D and I are madly in love with. It's name actually refers to the name of the dish and lid it's cooked in which is a conical earthenware that's placed atop coals and the dish is cooked slowly. Ususally we get chicken that's cooked with carrots, tomatoes, peas, olives and lemons. There's also crepes to choose from, kebabs, yogurts, and the list goes on. Have to say, Dr. Atkins would have fit here with all the carbs. They put rice and potatoes in sandwiches! And it's delish.
And the sweets: mille feulles abound! Cakes and coissants and pain au chocolate; all for pennies. Keep saying to myself 'Well, West Africa won't have these so'. Whatever.

D and I finally had enough of the cold and decided to continue on to Fes. We really liked Fes. We got very lost in the medina (means 'city'- the original arab part of any city. Ville nouvelle is the french addition) but managed to find our way out after a mere 7 and a half hours.

Went to our first bar in Fes. These are few and far between in this muslim country, but it certainly wasn't empty! Not cheap either but get this: they give you food with your beer! Plates of olives and bread, chicken, potatoes, all until you say no more. So here we thought we were gonna have to go without dinner and Poof! We eat! As you can imagine, there were no women in this bar but no one was creepy. Everyone treated me with respect. The waiters even opened a separate toilet for me and stood guard while I was inside. Very cool.
Spent about a week in Fes, just getting used to things, trying out my french. Moroccans have a keen ear for languages and thend to speak many. But they are very patient with me and my little amount of french. They keep it simple for me, and slow. So it makes me feel as though I can actually speak the damn language. The frustrating thing is I can sorta understand but I can't reply. Very hard when you're tryin to converse!

Made some nice friends in Fes as well. All the guys who ran the hotel were fabulous, and gave us lessons in french, as well as Moroccan Arabic. I had learned a little classic arabic in Egypt years ago and they retrained me in thier dialect. We also met a gentleman by the name of Ali. He told us about all kinds of lovely places to see in Moroc. One being Cascades D'Ouzoud. Best tip ever!

From Fes, we went to Rabat for a few days, then Casblanca to get our Mauritanian visa. Rabat is a very nice city on the coast, with a pretty enthusiastic surf culture. Very chill, especially for a capital city. Met a guy who had a sheep named Dolly (ha ha) for a pet. As you could imagine, the ladies loved it ! Good food there too...
Casa, well, it's not like the movies. There seemed to be a lot of crackheads there; really the first time we didn't feel safe in Moroc was in Casa. But then, we always are because we're constantly being watched.

I almost forgot our protection. Seems years ago (like years), the King announced that anyone who came to see Moroc had to be treated the same as royalty, or pay the price. This stands true today, except to nightmarish degrees. We're not sure who is allowed to speak to us and who are not, but apparently a local can go to jail for merely speaking to a foreigner.
One night in Fes, D and I were walking home from the medina. We were unsure of the way and were consulting our map, something we both hate doing in public. A young man stopped and asked us if he could help. He found we spoke english and was happy to try his out. We were just chatting about directions when 2 undercovers approached us. They chased away the boy then told us to get in a petit taxi to get home. It was dangerous. Total crap, so not dangerous, and we told them so. They slowly agreed to let(!) us walk back to the ville nouvelle, but only if we kept to certain streets. On route we came across this boy who apologized profusely while he walked ahead of us by 5 metres. We couldn't understand what the hell was going on. Then, again a cop came along, out of nowhere, and he had a bit of a discussion in aravic with him. Then, as the cop came up to our poor confused selves, he said to us quickly how sorry he was but he had to go or face prison time. Honestly, my radar is pretty good for bad people, especially at night. This dude was nothing more than a fashion teen who wanted to test his english. Especially with a canadian since almost everyone here has a relative in Quebec some way or another (studying, or marriage). However, we faced no problems hanging out with Ali. My only guess is Ali works in the tourist industy (he has a shop selling curios. Not once did he try to sell us anything either).

Right, so Casa kinda sucked. Big city etc etc. By this time D and I were very ready to get to a small village and chill. My knee was all swollen from walking up and down the sometimes steep souk (marketplace) sloops, and I wanted to not sightsee for a while. That's when we remembered Ali telling us about Cascades D'Ouzoud and that he would be there around this time.

We left Casa as soon as we got our visa and made it to Azilal, the town closest to Cascades. Spent the night in this tiny town watching Speed 2 with some locals in the cafe below our room . Then we headed down for Cascades. It was a stunning drive, as was the drive from Casa, through sloops of Olive and Almond trees (didn't know they grew on trees, but they do!) to the small village. Met our first 'beach boys /guides/carvers' upon arrival. (For more info, see the previous trip blog entitled The Art Of Fishing). We did our best to not take their advice but ended up going right back to the first dude, Rachid, who turned out to be sorta the Godfather there. His family seems to own the entire land. We stayed at this aunties hotel for 2 weeks. We had only meant to be there for a bit but we met some Austians who absolutely rocked and lost all track of time.

To help you picture this place : Cascades D'Ouzoud is a series of waterfalls that originate just at the village, with various sizes of cataracts plunging water over the edges. It's also located in the Atlas mountains so quite high up, and there are spectacular walks all around, of varying degrees of difficulty. After we dumped our bags (each had our own room for like 5CAD) D and I went out to explore the tiny village. Instead we were met by Jalaal and Aziz, local guides who were heading up to the mexican village -so called because it looks mexican, and there once was a mexican who lived there- and asked if we wanted to come, for free, no charge. Coolio. Turned out to be this crazy hilly hike past mountain goats. It rocked! So stunning this scenery. Very happy to be out of the cities. And bloody Jalaal-this guy managed to walk over anything, just like a mountian goat, maybe more sure footed.

A few days later we met Barbara and Conrad, aka The Austrians. It was love at first sight. We quickly became friends and their van became our second home. The first night B made us austrian pancakes that so reminded me of my mom's cooking I didn't think I'd ever leave her. This became a bit of a ritual, cooking together and I think some of the guides got worried about us foreigners banding together. Hard to explain, all I know is it must be hard for these guys who befriend so many, those people inevitably leave with promises of returns, but rarely does that happen.

One dude, Mo Mo helped us get in a donkey trek. It was fun, as fun as having to direct a very stupid animal in arabic is (Irah to go-rolling the rrrrs; Shhh to stop. Seems easy enough.). And D's donkey seemed to be in heat, and the rest of us were on girl donkeys. B and I witnessed a very disturbing site not befit of a children's story.

We had been under the impression this was gratuis, since all the guys did stuff with us just for friendship. Jalaal constantly took us for treks for no money and would never accept gifts, unless they were smokes. And he had pretty much said for friends . But Mo Mo charged us. A lot. I was not happy and told him so. Later that night he found the Austrians and apologized by giving some special tea. A nice gesture. I decided to not hold a grudge, a stupid boring thing to do anyway, so the next night I offered him a smoke, a peace offering if you may. He didn't know what to do. That night he came to the van with a bottle of whiskey he had recieved in payment for a trek (very good since there are no bottle shops for hours). He shared this with us then bought us huge meals for dinner. It was the nicest thing. He apologized. That had been enough, but he went above and beyond. Alcohol is very hard to get in the Cascades, save for Berber Schnapps, made from figs, a fairly vile gasoline flavoured liquor that they get from the berbers in the mountains.
Just another example of the kindness of Moroccans.

We celebrated easter with the Austrians by painting eggs. Even blew 8 of them to hang on a tree, austrian style. And we painted them pretty with watercolours that B had. Then Conrad made chicken snitzel for din. Yumm! Then we manged to get not one but two bottles of wine, and a bottle of vodka, and then...berber shnapps courtesy of Rachid! It was quite the night...
I decided that a dance party should be held in either my room or the roof of the hotel that night. Now this is an old fashioned place. Permission must be asked for anything, and Auntie was not so happy when we showed up a little wobbly, ipod and speakers in hand, somewhat blaring music at 2 am. It wasn't even that though. It was the boys. No good. So a little chase occcured, to my amusement, with Auntie throwing rocks at Rachid and Jalaal, both close relatives, while they tried to hide. Then she shook her finger at me and marched up to my room. It was hysterical, but turns out I did manage to get the boys in some trouble. Me too, since I seemed to have been adopted by the mamas in town. Would take me 20 min to get to the van, a 2 min walk away. I loved it.
The next morning I hung my head in shame for auntie and I think managed to clear things up with her and the boys. Don't know. Don't speak berber. I do know she finally stopped smacking Jalaal in the head and hugged me. And he was allowed to help me pack. Seemed ok...

I loved it in the Cascades. The view from my window was of olive trees on the sides of mountains. I had baby goats in the stable next door, that at first gave me nightmares from their human-like cries. I could hear the roar of the falls. Could see the whole world from the roof. Conrad watched the slaughter of a goat while just metres away, a baby goat was born.

The feeling of being included with the people, the joy of being cared for by absolute strangers. It was so sad leaving. My adoptive mother told Rachid she had just been getting used to seeing her new daughter everyday. Then I leave. Makes you wonder if it's good at all getting so close. It was different there from the other places I have called temporary home. There seems to be an honesty about the people, an openess I've never experienced. I believe them when they say they care.

Not this this would happen, but I had a few marriage offers in this village (as I tend to, carrying a canuck passport). I honestly believe one would have a good life living there. I would have my olive trees (the trees and painted with certain small patterns to show ownership and this became a bit of a joke amongst our group: My olive tree etc), a good family, equality to my husband, and a beautiful home with a berber hammam. You'd be taken care of, just for being wed to a berber.
Not really in my cards though. However, I have Rachid's number and know a bunch of really cute guys if anyone is interested. But they want to stay here in Morocco...

Right, so this was long !

I'm currently in Marakesh, staying just off Djemma el Fna, the main square of the medina that, by day, is filled with snake charmers, juice stands and fortune tellers, as well as henna artists. By night it turns into a variety of numbered food stalls, with meals ranging from goats heads to bean soup.
I'll save Mara for the next one.
Latah,
Love thi