He says- The piste du Resistance

20-21 September 09

The next day we decided to take our first real piste the N12, it was a major road so we though that although it may be pothole riddened it would be a good safe start. The map showed it as a yellow road (main) and complete. We asked some locals about its condition and all said it was really good. Okay so maybe it would be too easy, but it would save a lot of time. We set out early to avoid the Sahara sun’s heat. The road was easy to find and even sign posted for the town we wanted. We hit the dirt. It was smooth and easy, sure there were some corrugations and some potholes but no worries. In no time flat we were just cruising along.

37.9ks out; it just stoped. Ended without warning. Finished. No more. Thanks for coming. Kaput! There was a ~1km bit of sandy track that we took then nothing. It was just gone! Just a bit of channel where water had once flown. We could have looked for it off piste for a while but that would be just stupid. Alone, with no clue, no support, only a days water and food, and with no one knowing we were out there. We had to turn back, in the end we wasted 3 hours going out there and back to town.

We now have 1800km in go in 10 days before our visas expire, basically the Morocco trip has gone bust, it has become an exercise in frustration.

From Zagora we headed to back to Ouarzazate. This was our “Hotel California” we could check out but we could never leave, we just kept ending up there. It was a tiring day. Tried to get supplies for dinner in Ouarzazate but everything was closed except for the westerns overpriced supermarket. We ended up buying some rice and were over charged for it. My tolerance for Moroccans was now at an end. Although I argued with the man, I got nowhere and stormed out. As I left I told the westerns that were walking in not to go in due to the corruption, he did not listen. We then went back to bakery that we got lunch in a few days earlier, and got some Berber pizzas (these are basically stuffed parathas). That night we camped outside Ait Benhaddou I was exhausted. But started the dalh and rice, but dhal paratha sounded really nice. So we decided on that instead. We knew the dhal we got was the non-fall-apart type, which you have to cook for ~3 hours. So that is what we did. Just as we sat down to eat the manager of the campground camp up with mint tea and flat bread. He shared his final Ramadan break-fast with us. We, in return, share our dalh and bread. I don’t think he liked the dalh at all, couscous and tagine is really all there is for Moroccans. It was really nice of him and reminded me that all Moroccans are not greedy bastards; his one act did more for the country then most of the sights we have seen.

It occurred to me how often and disconcerting it was that Tam and I’s conversations turns to bowel movements and gut health. It is at least once a day if not more. The level of detail that we have started to go into to determine each others health is disturbing. However until it is a crucial plot element, I will save you the reader the same fate.

From there we road to Tisnit. To do this we had to go back the way we came then ride ½ way across the middle of the country, before we could head down to where the N12 should have gone. 1300k.

One wrong choice, e.g not getting the visa in Rabat when we were close, and the last couple of weeks of the trip are bust. We did have the choice either we could take it easy and do a couple of hundred kilometres each day, or push hard and do it in only a few days. Anyway you cut it all we are really doing is heading to Mauritania.

We got to Tisnit in much better time then we thought possible, and found a campground that was central and cheapish. Although once again the bill was fiddled, our tent was charged as a “family” tent as opposed to a tent “individual”. When I complained it was pointed out that individual was for one person.. yeah right.. so that larger 14 person tent over there that could fit 14 of our tents comfortable inside is what then?

We walked around the medina a bit, but my heart is no longer in it. I just cant seem to care about it. The touts are no longer cute and friendly but annoying. I was ready to leave Morocco I was tired of constantly being on guard. We were followed and hassled had stuff shoved in our faces. Shooma! At this stage I had really started to hate Morocco and its people.

We went to a café where I thought I ordered something different then couscous, it turned out to be an overcooked dry hamburger with chips and greenbeen/olive side. We returned to camp by 8 and I went directly to bed, exhausted and my belly was non too happy. I had the Moroccan mush for the rest of the night, I slept for maybe an hour all night.

Morocco is full of flies. Everywhere you go, everywhere you stop someone or something is buzzing in your face or ears. Most of the time it is touts or small children asking for money, or bonbons or it is men trying to tell you that you really want to buy something that you don’t, or the same man lying to you to get you to do something, and when that fails he will just ask for money with his hand out (hat still on head) and eyes wide and sad, it is sometimes just a cat acting like the children but sometimes, just sometimes, it is actually a fly.