Again I say goodbye to this family that has shown me in the simplest way what is important in life, and what is not. Again my heart is heavy.

For all the feelings of being one of them, the differences between European and Islamic culture remain. You can kiss the men goodbye, you can kiss the little girls goodbye, but not the adult woman.

The family wants to give me 1 year old Ghadija to take home with me to Switzerland, I guess in the hope of a better life. Of course I have to decline, but it puts into stark contrast the bridges peoples build, and the walls – of countries, flags, borders, passports, visas, and as in the case of various places, actual walls.

In many ways this is also the moment in which I have to deal with the fact that from here onwards, I am on the road home, since I will mostly now return by familiar territory.

But the odd adventure is still in store for me. I retrace the route North, towards Agoudal. Towards the top of the pass I make contact with snow again, so much so that it slows down my progress.

I am already mentally preparing myself for a cold night in the tent in the Atlas, but I make it through to a town and a great Moroccan motel.