Morocco

 Did  I mention Morocco?  CDG Paris Airport

Casablanca, the Atlas Hotel.  I have now driven all over Morocco, it is like playing a video game, new things coming at you all the time you have to avoid.  But most of the time when I am not playing Moroccan roulette on one lane mountain highways or dodging hooded pedestrians, sheep, mopeds, or taxis, I am doing rug bargaining  sessions.  These are the tourist markets in Marrakech, the souks,where you can have a rug bartering session, a teapot bartering session, a jewelry bartering session.

Moroccan mint tea and the little center for the surrounding villages, Imlil. Our host, Lucien, a Berber,  was very nice, leaving occasionally for prayers, " I will be back in 15 minutes" .  First thing, he showed us how bread is made, sticking the dough on the side of the wood burning oven.   First the bread is made into dough, then his aunt stuck it on the side of the stone oven.  While that baked, he taught me how to make the mint tea. 

Next day, today, Tuesday, I woke up before dawn, when the call to prayer was going on, quietly put on my clothes, and walked into the moonlight night in a Berber village in Morocco, walking through the walnut trees, along the terraces, looking for the wood bridge, following the stream path, and eventually finding the road on the other side of the valley.  It was quite cool, I walked up the road, until I made it around the corner, and could see the big mountain, the Toubkal massive.  Instead of following the road, I backtracked a bit, where I saw a trail going in the other direction that looked promising.  I followed this trail, then followed it more, through almond groves, over little stone dams, through short pine trees, up and up, it was further away than it seemed, the pass. I kept walking, past the entrance to the Toubkal National Park.  This was exciting, but I had to hurry, finally made it to the pass where there was  a little refuge.

roof cats are everywhere

the black and white butcher and casablanca from the air, sounds like a poem.

trail to the village, by mule

Paris and then the Moroccan freeway.

inside a typical Riad, this one in Marrakech

every rug session must begin with the same notebook. everywhere, the notebook is the same. The store guys were doing the hard sell, not giving a price, but waiting, always saying I will give you good price, then always, without fail, wanting to sell you anything you looked at all at once, the global price, and then acting terribly affronted, abused, insulted, if you said you wanted to go home and think about it.  It was funny, maddening, interesting how they all had exactly the same strategy. 

These are the very old scarves, shawls, embroidered pieces, very expensive and no bargaining.

The Atlas Sky Hotel, so convenient to the Casablanca airport and the man who sold me nuts every day in Marrakech.

Casablanca Mohammed V or VI Airport 

Finally, we drove up and up, long after we thought we should be going down to the straight road, up to a high pass, the could have passed for the French engineering wonder, and then back down the other side, looking out over the vast southern Morocco landscape, past a few small tea houses.  It was steep cliff drop off, with no barrier in many places.  At one point a large truck was coming up the other side, and a dog was in our lane. It was the first dog I had seen the entire trip, they much prefer cats here, there are cats everywhere.  The dog saw the situation and jumped up on the retaining wall, there was a steep rock side of the mountain next to the truck., it was an impasse. We drove down to  the valley, hit a lovely section of two lane road, then onto a straightaway, 80 to 100 km speed limit, except for the towns with speed bumps, which looked like something from the apocalypse or a Mad Max  movie, all the buildings looked deserted with a few lone figures slouched outside or walking through the dust and setting sun with their hooded Djellaba robes.

The view back to the Toubkal Massive