Beduin princess Fatma, aka WAFASPEND:

In Morocco you are never alone. Sooner or later a Berber will come out of nowhere!

We awake to the hustle and bustle of a sleepy Moroccan town on its way to work, which for the most part means or going into the fields or taking produce to market. Compared to our hectic cities, this is a rather casual affair.

After packing up the car we continue on our way approaching the Gorges du Dades from the North. The route takes you through spectacular High Atlas mountain formations:

Of course the most frequent guests along the road also happen to be Katherine’s favourite:

Impressive are also the way people live, be it in small rural towns or out in the country completely:

The tour takes us through the famous Gorges du Dades, well described elsewhere, but I suppose no blog would be complete without at least one picture (see blog entry September 14 for a breathtaking gorge off the beaten track).

After filling up with supplies again in Boumaine Dades, in which my Colombian trader again proves her unwavering, ruthless and pitiless approach to bargaining even for a dozen bread rolls, our city shelf life comes to an end and it is time again to escape.

Driving south to Djebel Sahro we found an area to camp and made a beautiful camp fire. However, as the night was dark and silent, some dogs in the neighbourhood continued to bark, and while my Colombian princess can handle austerity travel, she does not handle well not feeling safe.

So we packed up campsite again and continued our trip, this time continuing in the dark trying to find a Gite or hotel to stay. But we are in the middle of the Atlas, there isn’t much. Eventually towards midnight we end up on a road that is barely drivable. It turns out the next morning that in fact it was a pass under construction. The only other vehicles driving that road are caterpillars :-).

At the point at which we cannot continue we also realise that there is a small town alongside. It is, as it turns out, an abandoned mining town. The guard comes to greet us and welcomes us to stay in his boutique hotel… and to us it is *****!

Onwards to Midelt to find one of Morocco’s the most beautiful secrets, a track leading south south west into the mountains. 4×4 required. This one only just made it…

On the way we traverse barren solitude and the people that choose / or do not get to choose / to live there.

We also see a young goat being born, barely 2 seconds before I manage to get the photo:

Follow the track further towards Imilchil and you will eventually be shaken and stirred when you arrive to Agoudal, a quaint little sandstone town in which everyone is protestant judging by the time they wake up and go to work, and the way they mind their own business.

So our adventure begins, we settle into our new means of transport which admittedly has some advantages over a bike: 1) space 2) air-conditioning 3) less nagging for a break from the co-pilot 4) some additional margin of safety. The flip side of the advantages is 1) much slower 2) much less contact with the local population.

We drive south from Fez through Ifrane, which is referred to as little Switzerland in Morocco. Being a resident in Switzerland I can only agree with the comparison, as it does not compare at all to the land around it.

Katherine is getting a buzz from being in this place that is so different. I enjoy watching her while she acclimatises to her surroundings. It took me some time to be comfortable here, and it is hilarious to see her dealing with the hussling, proximity and road habits.

We make it to just north of Midelt, and just to ensure full immersion into the adventure while earning adventure points, I set up the tent in a dry river bed in a long valley. She is going from comfort to spartan to ascetic… without complaining (too much :-)).

So having somewhat recovered from the symptoms of yesterday’s dehydration, today I await the arrival of Katherine, not having any idea how our trip will continue. The original plan was by bike, and she had been under strictest instructions on the quantity she would be allowed (or able) to take along. She had indeed packed accordingly…

The day is spent with bike logistics and finally Arbie takes us for another typical touristic tour of Fez.

I finally decide that since I do not know how many days it will take to repair the bike (since it would seem there is a BMW hospital only in Casablanca) I will not take the risk with Katherine’s little time away from work. I therefore arrange for a 4×4 which itself becomes a story since it is the rental car owner’s own personal car. Anyway, it will do, we arrange it all Moroccan style with a smile.

After a nice dinner we are set to depart on stage 2, this time joint adventure. A new currency is born: Adventure points.

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.

So I left after having promised to return.

At the bottom of the valley the bike started to give problems and for the next 4 hours the trip continued at 35km/h, in 42 degrees. And so I crawled through the mountains to Fez, to find a mechanic. Anyone who knows cities here knows that it is not easy to find a needle in a haystack. But upon arrival in Fez I was promptly stopped by a probably uncertified guide – Arbie Ferrari, but he seemed a good man and since there is no BMW in Fez, my bike is now in the hands of a local mechanic.

He does have a local police BMW 650 from some years ago in his workshop, this makes me a little more comfortable. Next my tour guide started the usual tour, view over the city, mosaic and pottery works, medina, rip-off dinner, leather works etc. But is was nice enough. Ramadan in August is torture, in this heat not to drink anything at all. The latter evening was spent in the air conditioned Riyadh reading the reference bible lonely planet.