Setting out from Midelt I choose the route R502 North to go visit my other berber family, as I also have photos and a football for them.

The route has some bland parts to it and it seems after my high Atlas experiences here we see more hardship in the faces. I pass a beautiful town (I think Imouzzèr-des-Marmoucha) and stop for coffee. I am pressing on hard, making up many kilometers and travelling through some amazing mountain passes.

On route I make contact with some serious snow:

I visit my Berber family, they are happy to see their return visitor, but I decide not to stay the night, but instead to head on to Fez, driving a good part in darkness. Why did I do that?

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.

Sometimes pictures speak a thousand words, and I will let the pictures do most of the talking. I spend two days with my family. The whole week of the festival of sacrifice it is customary that the families visit each other. So I, like kid nr 10, get dragged along. How many mint tea and nuts and cookies procedures can you undergo, being the stranger and therefore subject to curiosity? A wonderful experience.

We spend time playing endless amounts of football, nothing for them, but for me the thin air in these high altitudes mean I feel like an old man compared to these kids that just never tire. I join the eldest son for a regional football match, where he is goalie – this is serious stuff in Morocco. The kids insist on filming “grand match” and I have to set up not one, but two video cameras. They do not tire from running, and neither from watching grand match on the computer, again, and again, and again.

In all of this wonderful exchange across cultural and language barriers, there are two more pressing and very pragmatic issues to deal with. Firstly, I have not washed in 2 or 3 days. At some point they gesture to me to come for a shower. This takes the form of a pole in the courtyard next to the donkey, around which they put a large plastic sheet, a bucket of warm water inside. That is your chance, use it well. I did, and it was one of my best showers ever.

The second was that no-one showed me where the bathroom was… And for some time I kind of had a little emergency… But I learnt that while running water was already existing through home made means through a water reservoir higher up the mountain, and  the family had access to electricity and a TV satellite dish, certain things are still performed au naturel behind the mountain top… 🙂

I wake up very early, and as I peak out of my tent I soon realise that while the route was not on my map, it is almost a Moroccan super-highway. Every couple of minutes or so there is a donkey or a mule coming past. The serenity and calmness of the people is literally written on their faces, and that mood cannot help but spill over to me.

I set off early, and what follows is a route that leads me to a 100 river crossings in the most beautiful of valleys. I cannot judge what it would be like when flooding, but on a day like today this must be one of the most beautiful stretches in Morocco. It is the combination of wonderful riding conditions in nature that inspires, people and donkeys included.

Check out in the video the lonely donkey that is going to work all by itself – what a protestant work ethic.

In the valley I stop at a little town and it does not take long before I am surrounded by a horde of kids taking great interest with big curious eyes of space invader spiff, his bike, and the video equipment, as I need to recharge and transfer the footage to a computer.

In Amezri I help a guy who has a wound on his hand. After putting new bandages on it, I also donate my tube of Betadine to him (you can never have enough Ibuprufene and Betadine to share). He in turn invites me to his house. With my limited knowledge of Arabic, Berber and French, such invitations often become long and drawn out, and therefore more often than not I decline invitations. However, I follow this invitation and his family treats me to a wonderful tea and lunch of mutton skewers,  freshly prepared just for me. The hospitality is truly humbling.

I make a mental note of travelling in my own country, South Africa, in the same way – without the prejudices and preconceptions that come from having grown up there.

Onwards I press since I want to arrive in daylight with my favourite Berber family. The route takes me over the mountains of Tamezrit and the plains of Aït-Toumert, and finally into the beautiful gorge that leads to Amesker. Unfortunately I arrive just as it is getting dark.

I feel as much as I anticipated being back, the family is happy to see me return. Unlike before, when I was a guest, now they treat me as one of their own. They are visibly happy about the printed pictures I have brought them from the first part of the trip, and the kids elated about their new football.

I set off from my gite to travel to Demnate – this stage of the trip has taken much longer than anticipated. Firstly the days are much shorter than in summer, secondly it is somewhat difficult to orientate myself in the maze of mountains, and finally progress is much slower, the pistes are wet and difficult, the mountain passes steep, and with the worn out tire traction is an issue.

I am treated to my first close-ups with snow, making for spectacular sights of the Atlas.

Finally the tire is changed and it is time to head South, following the R307 from Demnate to Toufrine.

I consider looking for a hotel in Toufrine, but somehow what I find is not much to my liking. But as serendipity will have it, I learn that there is a route directly East to Amezri, that is on no map, neither the Marco Polo paper map I have, nor on the Garmin topographical map on my GPS.

In the dark I drive the first part of the piste until I feel I am far away from any dwellings, and as I find a soft opening in-between the trees, I set up camp in the dark. As my eyes and ears become accustomed to the dark, I realise that there are people in the not too distant vicinity. Not having had the chance to check out my spot in the light, I sleep slightly more attentively.

How fortunate sometimes, I will wake up in a beautiful location and tomorrow will turn out one of the most beautiful rides of the trip.