Tinehir - MOROCCO
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 Loud voices on the landing woke us up this morning to a pitch black room. After a very warm shower we were on our way to the Chakiri's for breakfast. On the way over we picked up some biscuits from the patisserie and some soft-centred chocolates for Mrs C. and Latifa to share. Unfortunately Muslims don't understand the concept of a gift as I found out last night when I tried to explain that my watch was a gift from David. I so dearly wanted the women to have something special and understand the concept of a gift. They seemed overjoyed and went off to the kitchen for a taste test. Though it's hard to imagine how Mrs C. would handle the chocolate with only one tooth. The central courtyard seemed a bit brighter this morning and positively glowed with green. The ladies then ushered us upstairs to see the first floor. One of two that they are having built. Yet again the stairs are concrete and the same floor plan as below lay before us. The rooms were filled with thick gum branches, supposedly to hold up the roof, and rudimentary light switches hung out of the wall. The most frightening part was climbing a handmade wooden ladder, knocked up in five minutes straight off the tree. It led to the roof and Houssain was insistent that we see the magnificent view. Thankfully I mastered the ladder which leant on an angle with one leg on the highest concrete step and the other four steps down. Every step you took up would move the legs every so slightly and there was a thrill involved in so recklessly throwing your life away. We both made it in one piece and the view was certainly worth it. To the north was the old town surrounded by palmeries and to the south the red ochre tones of the High Atlas. I looked down on a few other houses near by which were apparently homes of cousins and close relations. The backyard was filled with all sorts of life - chickens roaming free, sheep behind a shabby handmade fence, straw strewn across the ground, an old wood-fired kitchen with thatched roof and mud brick walls, a pile of washing two metres high and to top the scene, Latifa going about her daily chores. I mentioned to Houssain that the washing must take Latifa all day down by the river and in normal tone he stated, "Oh, it only takes four hours". I couldn't believe it! Four hours on your knees scrubbing your hands off was such an unbelievable horror and yet he wasn't concerned. For this is nothing out of the ordinary, it was just life and I can't imagine that Houssain would know what a hard four hours work was. When we returned to the salon tea and fresh bread baked with herbs was served, with luscious juicy dates on the side. Even Latifa and Mrs C. came in to join us and we ate all the above plus the biscuits all in a storm of smiles and conversation. Dave whipped out the camera and hopefully caught a few top shots with all the women laughing and smiling. I agreed to send Latifa and watch from Europe (just a cheapie market type) and we said a sad goodbye to out new friends. Mrs C. was very adamant that if we returned she would like us to "bang on her door" and not to stay in a hotel. We walked out the door with a bag full of dates for our journey to Erfoud and took Houssain back to town. He gave us some details of a guy who could take us on camel treks "real cheap", but it wasn't the sort of thing we were looking for. Then whilst knowing we must leave in order to reach Erfoud in time he insisted on taking us to the souq in the medina "to see a few shops" and we had to continually decline. Obviously he had an agenda and as that wouldn't work suggested that he'd take us to Erfoud to meet his friend and go camel trekking. The warning bells rang as the scheming devil showed his true hustler colours and after not receiving our twenty Dirham that he so honourably promised to return we said goodbye and left. I was pleased to get rid of him as he began to push hard to try to deceitfully make a quick buck out of us. It's the young men of society that are like this and we were so thankful to get past that barrier and meet the hardworking men and women hidden within the Moroccan family structure, for they had no line to sell, just pure friendship. The drive to Erfoud passed by more hammada desert, flat top mesas , small mud brick villages and the odd palmary. We rolled into town with the fuel light flashing after a two hour drive and parked outside the Hotel Merzouga at exactly 1pm ready for the drop off. We sat in the outdoor cafe for two hours, throwing off the young local salesmen pushing trips to the dunes, and enjoyed the life going on around us. Although this became boring after the third hour and Dave left to call the car rental agency to see what's happened to the guy picking up the car. It turns out he left at 10:30am and by our calculations may not be here until 6pm or later. By 4pm the street scene had become rather tiresome and even the desperado hustlers wouldn't leave us alone "you should see the dunes - we take you - yada, yada, yada". We spent the last hour in the car and whilst looking positively bored and slumped over the dashboard the owner arrived in his Levis and expensive shirt (obviously there is no such thing as a trustworthy employee and he has to do the gopher work himself). My first words were "you're late, we expected you here at 1pm", and of course he spurted off a lie about a public transport breakdown. One of the hustlers began to speak with him and then they began to yell for five minutes. Obviously a deal was being struck and we didn't have time for this. Dave asked him to take us the 50km to Merzouga (we'd pay for the petrol) as we now had no way of getting there today. He agreed but needed his friend to come along to show him the way across the difficult piste. We knew something was going on but we were keen to leave Erfoud and reach Merzouga. The road south lasted for five minutes and we began to drive over rutted pistes across sandy hammada desert. The light had faded and stars began to light our way. Indeed we had a journey ahead of us for not even a local would drive here in the dark. Yet we roared along at 100km/hr, airborne off the ruts, in a brand new car driven by the owner. We watched the mileage with caution as the guidebook states that Merzouga is 46km away and somehow we knew it was going to be some trip. The fun began half way when we pulled way off the pistes, that were now ditches in all directions, and towards a few lights. This was the first of their friends hotels and an arrival I told him not to waste my time, "I want to go to Merzouga village like we agreed". After some more yelling between him and his friend we were off again. Five minutes later we pull into another hotel in the middle of nowhere and the slimy owners come out to greet us. I was fuming and said "Get in the car and drive us to Merzouga now!" to which the dirty other creature replied "This is Merzouga" which was the whoppingest lie in the history of the world as we couldn't have been further from civilisation. Whilst the hotelier was constantly saying "You come to look". I replied "You listen to me and do not talk over me. I am not looking at a thing.", then to the driver, "Merzouga now". Before the slimy devil in the front could say a word I told him to shut up as this is none of his business, "I talk to the driver only, not to you". By the time the yelling extravaganza was over they drove the car around the wrong side of the hotel purposely running us into a sand dune and bogging the car. I fumed up again and yelled "You dig us out". Dave told me to sit in the car and mind our luggage - we were ready for anything. I was so used to the Moroccan way by now that I'd almost happily walk the 10km towards the lights of Merzouga, right through the sandstorm that was whipping up, in order to rid our lives of these morons. Yet again they did it. "You are very bad men. You take us to Merzouga village. Ksar Sania. Now! And for god's sake don't waste your own time and ours. Remember you have to drive out of here tonight." After getting airborne a few times and obviously wrecking the bottom of the vehicle we ascended a dune and the lights of Merzouga beckoned. In a sarcastic tone I said "Now that's Merzouga". The village was full of dirt/sand tracks and lined with flat-top mud brick houses. The centre or Ksar Sania (a hotel we'd almost randomly picked from the guidebook) could not be discerned. We drove by a carpet shop with a few idle men and left the village towards a few lights. The driver said sarcastically "We're going to Algeria now". "Are we?", I replied in a tone saying don't mess with me. They ended up getting themselves lost looking for Ksar Sania so we told them to just drop us off in the village which thankfully they did. I stayed in the car whilst Dave got the luggage and his credit card slip off the driver, whilst at the same time the greasy passenger tried to get me out of the car. I hit his arm and said "No", finally he backed away. Even the driver tried to pull another scam by telling Dave he had to pay an extra days rental to which he replied "I don't think so". Finally he was smart enough to know he was defeated, he shook Dave's hand and said goodbye. The last squeak from grease-ball was that "These men have a car and can take you to Ksar Sania", obviously in the hope of setting up a new business friendship or still making some money out of us. We yelled goodbye to this little pest that had been annoying us for nearly eight hours. I was in no mood to deal with the carpet guys and as Dave was holding them off I went into a small food store to get directions. Unfortunately the guy didn't know the village as he was visiting a friend and minding his shop. Perhaps he was lying and didn't want to get involved. The wind that rushed across the desert chilled us to the bone and Dave accepted the invitation into the carpet shop to warm up. The guys seemed quite honourable and the owner sent us off with his younger brother Hussain, who would take us to Ksar Sania, one kilometre away. Hussain wrapped his head wrap over my head and we began the walk on a happy note. A dust storm began to whip up and it was like a scene from Lawrence of Arabia - my scarf was blowing in the wind and our guide walked forth with pointed slippers and a peaked Arabic jellaba. The sky too was like nothing else and a billion stars shone. Hussain said he had respect in the village and I called him an honourable man, a rare characteristic of a salesman. First he offered us a choice of seeing another hotel on the way which was cheaper. Although it looked atmospheric it had no other clients so we headed for the warm welcoming arms of the French owned Ksar Sania. It's a beautiful modern building in pueblo style surrounded by fortified walls. We entered the restaurant and lounge like weary travellers out of the storm to the sounds of classical music. All the attention of the diners turned to us as we began to traipse sand in. In the corner sat a couple we'd run into twice before and we couldn't believe they were there in this outpost in the middle of the desert. Hussain showed us the rooms and although the rooms with en-suite were cheap and extremely lavish we chose a warm room, draped in carpets from floor to ceiling, that had shared facilities. The showers and toilets were outside and I kind of liked the idea of walking through the palms and sand in the morning to shower. We tried to buy Hussain a tea but he wouldn't hear of it, "Gerald and Francaise will give me one for bringing you. Please, go and sit with your friends". And so we did, whilst feasting on a luscious three course meal in French style we both had stories to tell, with the other tables intently listening. We discovered that Jean had proposed to Bengi today on top of the highest dune. We celebrated with a glass of wine. The longer we spent in there the more it felt like coming home and it couldn't be more in contrast to the Moroccan world outside. Never have fortified walls come more in handy than now. By 11pm we were back to our room, still recollecting the memories of the evening. These guys stepped way over the line and if I totalled all the experiences so far I'd say I'll never take crap from anyone again after spending time in Morocco. Anyway, tomorrow it's off to organise a camel trek. Something we've always dreamed of doing. |