Turns out dehydration has two components, water, of which I probably had enough, and electrolytes, of which I definitely had far too few. Already at the Berber house I had felt a lack of appetite, and slight problems with balance, and slightly tired. This morning I woke up and I could hardly walk, so bad was the balance. The night had been restless, and I woke up to a cold sweat. Quickly established as dehydration, and thank God (enshallah) I had the right medicine. Be warned when driving a bike off road at above 40 degrees, you sweat a lot and it is not only water you need.

That cured and slept off, it was time to get the bike to the mechanic. But nothing convinces a same day repair. Justifiably so when it is over 40 degrees and you are not allowed to drink. So let’s hope for the best tomorrow, Morrocan wizardry is what is needed.

For dinner I was invited home to my guide, Arbie. Dinner was good, and now I have to visit his mother again… After a couple of joints and sharing photos it was back to the Riyadh, and a little walk showed once again that the clothing rules are changing. On TV, the programs show mostly western clothes and a seeming attempt to emancipate women.

On the street in the medina the story is different. In the cafe at night are without exception only men. The woman sit on the pavements. It is still a very divided world. Ramadan, apart of no food, no drink and no smoking (and you adapt by doing those in the privacy of the Riyadh) at about 19:15 the daily fast comes to an end and for about 1.5 hours the medina is deserted only to explode into a hive if activity thereafter. Everybody is out, and again, personal space does not exist. Interestingly also my conversation with Arbie. The word on the street is that the recent bombing in Marrakech was in fact orchestrated by Obama, Sarkozy and Mohammed, the king of Marocco. But people here do not speak. If they would, would also Morocco follow the destiny of revolution of it’s neighbors across the Arab world?

I am getting sick of the city again and long for the space and liberty of the desert. Tomorrow Katherine will arrive and see Fez and then we set out to the northern Atlas, as a test drive with the BMW towards Marrakech. If all works out well, bike and girl are content, we will move directly towards Quarzazate.

So sitting out on the pavement watching the evening hustle and bustle go by, there is an old woman begging. The guidebook talks of giving as a pillar of Ramadan, yet I saw no-one but me giving her anything. Next on the way back to the Riyadh, waiting in the door, I can only suspect for me, was a woman who’s hands were full of glue, an addict of another chemical, and so the benefactors of Moroccos development live right next to those left behind. And yes, in my heart there is a strong sense of social justice, general, not just specific to Morocco.