The Sahara

Salam

Luckily it was a late start to the day. So we lousily indulged in a good breakfast of pancakes, bread and fresh orange juice then hit the road in our mini bus once again.

Not many exciting stops that day. En route to Ouarzazate we stopped at Intrepid sponsored Project Handicapped Horizon. Unfortunately, being Ramadan it was shut; everyone being on holiday. Pity I was in shopping mode ....

We got to Ouarzazate just before noon and bought some stuff for a picnic lunch. The tiny supermarket and patisserie didn't quite offer much so we stopped at a veggie and fruit souq further along the way to get our fresh food supplies. I think that was my highlight for the day, actually. Jacinta just followed me along the narrow streets crowded with more vendors than buyers. I swiftly scouted around taking note of the best looking fruit. A toothless old man sat on the floor with a small mount of purple ripe figs piled infront of him. I quickly went up to him for a demi-kilo but the neighbouring vendors suggested I buy a kilo as it was cheap. The poor old man looked at me bewildered almost as if he had never seen a foreigner or perhaps an 'uncovered' woman. He barely spoke as another man helped him fill up a bag. They were truly cheap disa dirham... (nine dirhams), which was about 80p.

After having purchased some bananas I finally targeted the two vendors with their wheel barrow just at the entrance of the souq. As I negotiated a price for apples in Arabic they tried to stick to their price by sticking in some grapes too. By the time I got back to the bus I had fruit to share with the entire group.

We stopped in a palmarie for lunch in the middle of a deserted road. It consisted of a small cluster of palm trees which provided shade to a well, a stone house, us and eventually a group of soldiers who stopped for a rest.

Onwards we got to the Draa Valley which was a line of trees along the deserted landscape. Our route led us to Zagora which was the last town before the empty vastness of the Sahara. The town was made of hotels surrounded by mountains. We checked in at Hotel La Fibule du Draa, a mini oasis; pool, bar (yes a bar serving alcohol!)and air-conditioned rooms with mini-bar fridge! There was no wasting of precious and luxury time for us girls. We changed into our bikinis and jumped into the pool. After some sun-bathing too, we got dressed and ready for the village tour.

A local dressed as a blue man of the Sahara led the way amongst palm trees and narrow sandusty roads. The village was lively with kids spinning their tops in the streets and mothers busy chatting out loud. We walked through the old abandoned Jewish mellah (quarters). Zig-zagging our way along the narrow passages of houses we got to the silver co-operative. The courtyard was a museum of old Moroccan antiques; teapots, daggers, plates and various pieces and forms of metal and wood craft.

After a quick lesson in how silverware was made we were taken to shop. Our guide was a hard bargainer not even I could beat him. Us girls found it hard to resist all that silver. Unfortunately as the saying goes, 'all that glitters is not (..in this case..) silver' so we fell for the intricate handwork of the tin!

Back to the hotel as the sun was setting and the air filling with prayers we had dinner by the pool followed by a drink at the bar.

Next day was the latest start ever, 10am. As some of us went for a dip, slept or lazed around, Michelle and I decided to go for a wonder. Just out of our road a bunch of camels were being prepared to mount some tourists. Further along we stopped gobsmacked at the beautiful mosaic-laced hotel. We took some pictures of the facade then peeped into the lobby. The receptionist quickly welcomed us to have a look at the huge pool and outdoor dining area. We descended and the shrivelled-looking barman beckoned us to check out the bar, fully-decked with spirits and smoke. The decor was impressive. The barman insisted on taking photos of us. It turned out he had quite a knack for photography and made us pose in every nook and corner of the bar, then in the 'royal' dining room, then plush lounge...he turned us girls into princesses. It was just fun. And he was enjoying it to and couldn't stop taking photos of us. We were running late. We quickly tipped and thanked him then literally ran in the sweltering heat back to our hotel.

Back on the road we made a stop at another local souq where I bought my light blue turban and jingling hip-scarf. I went straight to the stall with the most colourful hanging scarves and the owner quickly welcomed me. Before I knew it I was seated on a tiny stool being decorated with jewellery and scarves. It was fun and funny. I gave the man my camera to to take me a picture. Poor guy, he had never held a camera and twisted and turned it in his hands until he looked through the side of the lens. Laughing I showed him the correct way and in a click made me a diva!

I bargained hard for the two scarves, so hard that he pleaded I'd trade something with him. 'Like what?' I asked 'Your trousers perhaps!' He told me he had a regular visitor from Manchester UK who always brought him T-shirts and the like so he could resell them. (No wonder be know a bit of English too). I quickly said goodbye and hurried back to the bus. But my attractive scarf made Tricia want one so I was back at my habibi's stall. He was pleased I got him another actually three girl customers. Pity they didn't end up buying anything. Despite that we were still friends in the end :)

Another stop brought us to Tamegroute, the village of the famous library and potter ware. Tamegroute is home to an intriguing library filled with ancient scripts of science, literature, the Koran and stories of the prophet Mohammed. We walked along the corridors. Only workers renovating the site were to be seen as students were away on holiday. We entered the tiny library and our guide or rather teacher-from-our-childhood-nightmares was waiting for us. Clad in white, slapping a horsehair whip in hand, he led us from one book to another. Almost expecting us to learn the Arabic text by heart. Pretty scary and he did use his whip at times, ouch!

At the pottery coperative a friendly guide waked us through the stoves and clay rooms. It was quite fascinating looking at the clay modelling on the turntable...just like in the movie 'Ghost' (btw RIP Patrick Swayze!). We bought some vibrant coloured plates and bowls and mini tagines. I got a salt & pepper set and a mosque tower made out of mud sand for dad.

In less than an hour and a half we got to Ouled Driss village where we were made to wait till 5pm for our camel ride. We dumped our stuff in the permanent camp site. We lay in a large heat-sweltering and fly-droning room. It was lined a sofa from wall to wall topped with huge heavy cushions. Stoned by the heat of the day and in between snoozing, reading and gazing into nothingness, the hot wind from the Sahara blew in from the pane less windows in the thick walls. Outside the parapet with tables and chairs and a mini-bar selling soft drinks was a little more appetising. The back yard was the actual campsite with stone rooms and a shower & toilet area.

The hours slowly passed by. A few moments to the hour we started to get ready and helped one another to wear our turbans - all excited. Outside the camels were being mounted with saddles. Up and off we went. Riding a camel, even at a slow pace is quite a jolting experience, almost as if riding a horse on a gallop. We reached the edge of the tiny village and stepped into the great desert. It was quiet except for the whistling wind. Our guides were as dry as the sand. God knows how they did without water all day.

We got to some small dunes, dismounted and took even more photos. It was wonderful and didn't feel like going back already. Back at the camp we were quickly whisked off in 4WDs. They drove at high speed across the flat terrain. In less than an hour we got to the huge sand dunes. We jumped out and ran to top of one of them. From there we drank in the indescribable sunset and the effects it created around us. The sea of dunes was endless.


We ran down almost tumbling into balls of sand then lay on our backs to spot the first stars. We so wished we stayed out there in one of the nomad tents. But we had to head back to our camp in tiny village of Ouled Driss.

Dry, dusty and wide-eyed in rapture of all the excitement, we gulped some mint tea and wafers until dinner was served. We were still on a high and the beating of the drums kept our heartbeats at a peak for hours. The blue man, his fellows together with our driver and Abdul couldn't stop playing. Their rhythm kept us in motion; jumping, belly dancing and we even joined in the drumming at some point or other. It was a great evening and a brighter night awaited us.

The crew had lined a row of beds in the camping site so that night we all slept under the stars. What a scene. I couldn't blink an eye. The shooting stars took my wishes and breath away.

Roosters welcomed us back on planet earth at a very early hour. We struggled out of bed and hit the road still dozed with sleep.

Next...the beach!

sahha
Nicky

Mecca here we come... I mean Kasbah

Salam again .....

We had a long drive ahead which was OK particularly cause I was fasting all day. I had to drink water though I couldn't go all Muslim-fanatic. I even diluted a rehydration sachet or two, into my bottle....(oh, now I feel guilty....) The truth has to be said.

It was a long winding mountain pass but with stunning reddish brown mountain views, various photos opportunities along the way. We came to another village and decided to discover its souq. It was much much smaller than the one in Marrakech but so typical with just one stall selling trinkets, necklaces, scarves aka tourist bait.

Arlene, Michelle and I couldn't help stopping to observe the colourful items. The vendor was very pleased to see us out of the blue that fine sunny morning!
He tried hard to sell me two trinkets which he succeeded in the end by talking me into the history of the 'silver' trinket box which he personally worked with years & years of craftsmanship experience...etc...etc.. could be true, whatever I liked it and the bright orange 'amber' stone one. In the meantime, Arlene and Michelle were being narrated another Arabian Night story of some scarf. The men then twisted colourful scarves on our heads turban style took photos of us modelling with them. Finally we got away without even buying one! Oh well, I'm sure we, at least I, paid twice the actual price for those trinkets, anyways.

Back on the road we stopped at a restaurant. Arlene, Abdul and I sat at a table away from the others to avoid any temptations, not that I was hungry with the heat and still whinging stomach. (Luckily I wasn't desperate for the loo again that day, btw!) We chatted about many things which turned out to be quite an interesting lunch!


A couple of hours later we got to the highest part of the Tizi n'Tichka. We stopped to take photos at the 2260m mark trying to avoid the hawkers and their fake trade.

The further up we drove, the darker and heavier the sky until it just burst on our backpacks which were tied on the roof of the bus.

We almost witnessed a what-could-have-been a fatal car accident. Suddenly, we saw a small crowd of people just running towards a low rubble wall on one side of the road. Our driver stopped and we all jumped out. A pickup van overturned a few metres below on the other side of the wall. Abdul called for the two (psychiatric) nurses in our group, Gaby and Petra. But luckily to our relief the driver, who was the only person in the vehicle, escaped unscathed and was actually pacing up and down checking damages to the car.

Finally Ait Benhaddou....

We checked into our lovely sand-camouflaged hotel and a quick fresh-up and tea later (not for me this time!) we made our way to the world-renowned Kasbah. Before which however, Arlene and I tried to make a very special request to the hotel's management. It was Abdul's birthday. He mentioned it during lunch and even told us how the group he was touring with last year, had ordered him a birthday cake. Then he tried to explain to us the weird assumptions that made his, as well as his (I forgot how many) brothers their birth day. As things happened, even more back in his mother's earlier days when more people were illiterate, the state would only guess when the mother would have had the child by the time they'd register it. So irrespective of the number of days or year, they recorded a date, which date would apply for every subsequent brother or sister. Because the year was also a guess Abdul just figured his to be the 26th! Well, he kind of looked it so it was pretty convincing.
Anyways, with whatever rusty French I could sum up, I tried to pose our request for a Birthday cake for Abdul. But all I got was blank faces and head shakes. It was twice as hard cause Muslims do not celebrate Birthdays on a yearly basis. There's only one big fuss at birth but then everyone forgets even your parents. That, coupled with the term 'cake' was a mission to get the message across. Moroccans have a full range of pastries and sweets but no such thing as a round, 20/30cm wide baked cake used to celebrate anything!
Finally, they promised to look for some gateaux at the next village which was kms away. We even tried to ask if they could bake us some but they insisted on checking whether there was any ready available.


We walked down the road then crossed a wide water-drained river. The Kasbah is truly a living film set. It's amazingly beautiful. Not sure whether its rudimentary architecture with minimal, if any mosaic stonework, is what makes it appealing or the remoteness and solitude that dwells in its stepped alleyways. Only a few families live there nowadays. We treaded to the summit as quietly and discreetly as we could. It was breathtaking - the whole experience and not just the view at the top. The sun was descending in an almost cloudless sky turning the desert land around the Kasbah and Ait Benhaddou into a deep red sea.
We were lost in that heaven until Abdul made Arlene and myself head back downwards to break the fast. Oh, so wanted to stay till it was dark but I had had decided to live the day otherwise.


Back at La Rose du Sable the hotel stuff were waiting for us in the veranda. I enquired about the gateaux and this time I got smiles and nodding heads and lots of 'petite petite gateaux...' reassurances. Whatever, missioned accomplished! They then invited us into a backroom where to our surprise, we found a table full of food and drink waiting to break the fast. We were seated on a wall-to-wall sofa and offered orange juice, coffee, tea, water, harira soup, really sweet sweets, dates, baguette, pancakes, eggs and so much more. We were so astonished by the hospitality or rather the sense of being part of the community for having fasted - no questions asked - that we only got to nibble and sip at some of all that manna.

Later we joined the others for dinner, stomachs almost full. Abdul, true to his early announcement, made us dance to the beat of the drums. Together with other members of the hotel stuff we had a great show to which we rapped, Scottish and country-danced to ...whatever made us move to the beat. It was fun. But the part I enjoyed most was actually playing the drums, bring it on!

Finally, the manager brought along Abdul's 'birthday cake' or rather petite gateaux, that is, an assorted array of local sweets.
We presented Abdul with a signed postcard and sang happy birthday, all to his surprise. It was a great evening and despite having spent most of it at the back of the minibus, we were exhausted.

On our way to bed, we lingered by the pool for a lovely cuppa of sweet mint tea. But the night wasn't over for Abdul. Just as he stooped to flick some water at Kate from the pool, big-Aussie-block Phil gave him 'a lovely pat' on the bum which completely and literally, threw him off board, landing straight in! Before I even realised what had happened I saw Abdul quickly scrabbling out of the water and in desperation emptying his pockets from soaked mobile phones, money, keys and birthday postcard :(
He was not so OK about the whole thing just cause well, both phones were ruined, thankfully not the SIM cards. Oh well, he didn't get the full 26 typical-Aussie-birthday punches but he got one hell of a pat! It definitely was a memorable birthday after all!

Having blow-dried the phones and drank our tea we dragged ourselves to bed, eager for the next day and whatever lay ahead.

Sahha for now unless you want to read my next entry about The Sahara
Nicky
X X X

The Atlas Mountains

Salam ghalikom!


Next morning we started our trip away from Marrakech. In two hours we got to Imlil - a small village at the foot of the mountains. We left our big backpacks in a guesthouse and let the mules carry our overnight packs. We then started marching upwards. The day was hot but luckily trees shaded most of our path. We had stunning views along the way in particular the village and the building which served as fil set for Tibetan Dalai Lama's movie 'Kundun'.

We got to the Aremd a tiny village at 1960m altitude and were welcomed to our mountain gite for the night. Gite Omar Id Mansour was not quite what I expected. It was a lovely, quite lush, hospitable and cosy mountain guesthouse.
It was built of half-a-metre thick mud walls which kept it nice and cool. It's arid rooms were decorated with Moroccan sofas and carpets. The guesthouse was made up of small dorms with comfy beds and had one shower and one Western loo too. Not to mention a Coke vending machine (wonder how they managed to get that up there by mule!) and a long dining area. The roof, turned terrace gave away breathless views of the valley below rising to the mountains.


Having taken in the view we settled for a mint tea before lunching on rice, Moroccan salad and Berber tagine omelette. Stomachs full we started preparing for a 4-hour trek up the valley but to our surprise it started to rain pretty heavily. Not well-equipped we decided for (probably the best) alternative option, the hammam. The hammam are the local public baths; one for men and the other for women. The building, generally situated in the middle of the village, is split into 3 tiled sauna rooms, one warmer than the other. A local woman (for us girls, that is) is endeavoured with the task of scrubbing the 'bathers' with a luffa ....

Me and another four girls of the group ventured for it. We undressed to our bikinis but wasn't before long that we were ordered to strip off. Rather than having a big mama do the job, a meagre 14-year old stripped in seconds and gestured us to fill up the buckets from the taps within the rooms. She didn't know any English and hardly any French. She then made us sit on the floor in a circle and started to splash us with water. She gave us some argan oil soap each to rub ourselves with. It was like being kids again. Before we knew it gone were all the inhibitions. We started to splash one another with water included Aisha. It was fun and funny. We let our bodies steam in the second room as we took it in turns to be scrubbed hard, well whatever strength the Ramadan-starved girl had.

Another splash of water and a quick shoulder and neck massage later we were clean as ever and bonded forever. We secretly tipped Aisha and headed back to the gite in the rain, not that we really minded it after such a thorough body cleanse!

Rain stopped and we set off on a 'walk around the village' with our leader Abdul. We walked down the stepped slope of the village into the valley and crossed over to ascend the other side of the valley. We were then invited over for tea, nuts and dates at Abdul's friend. We sat on wet chairs on the roof but the view kept us on our feet clicking our camera at the lovely now sunset mountain scenery.

We got back to the gite just in time before a strong wind and storm hit hard. Cosy inside another sweet mint tea with fried tasteless bread awaited us.
We chatted until it was dark.
Just before dinner Aisha came around this time as henna artist. Us girls eagerly jumped in, eventually the guys got their palms tattooed too. She quickly drew floral designs with a needless syringe filling it with brown henna paste from a mug. It looked gross but when the thing dried it revealed a masterpiece.


In-between the tattoo making we took in turns to sit on tiny stools in the tiny kitchen watching the women cooking our dinner. The family who prepared our meals lived in a house a flight or two of stairs below the gite. They steamed the couscous in a huge sieve on a huge pot over a tiny one-burner stove. Amazing how they managed to cook for the mass with such facilities.


Dinner served and we eagerly tucked in only to follow with a series of stomach cramps! My stomach literally churned as Abdul traced the long drive that lay ahead of us on the wall map.

That night Arlene and I had decided to fast the next day. So to be part of customs we had to be woken up at 3am for breakfast then fast the rest of the day till sundown. I couldn't bet an eyelid, waiting for that dreaded knock on the door. I really wasn't up for eating anything let alone have breakfast at that hour. Time came and we were summoned in the lounge area. Together with Abdul we nibbled on some dates, dry bread and jam. We drank plain hot water as Abdul made himself a yoghurt milk-powdered drink. Arlene and I chatted for a while and went back to bed. I slept only to wake up to make full use of the lovely Western toilet! By 9am the poor loo was far from its original white pristine state as the rest of the crew joined in my early morning prayers.

Packed up and ready to leave the loo..I mean gite, we headed downwards, back to Imlil were our friendly driver and backpacks waited for us. Despite the sour ending it we all enjoyed a great day up in the mountains.

if you enjoyed reading this, check out Day 3!

sahha
Nicky X X X

Morocco Express

Salam!


I landed in Marrakech at 9 or 10 or 11pm....not sure!?!? It was the eve of Ramadan and all I heard was an hour change from GMT time, forward or backward???!?
I tried to get some cash but the only two ATMs at the airport weren't working. So I had to exchange some of my euros and sterling to Dirhams. Out of the airport I was hailed by a small gang of taxi drivers desperate for my money.

Hotel de la Menera met my expectations unfortunately, not the best hotel in Marrakech. I opened my liner and tried to sleep in the heat-steaming room. (only to discover that there was an air condition hidden behind the curtains the next morning!). I walked through the heavily mosaic decorated lobby, lounge and huge dining area. The place needed a good clean as much as a time machine to bring it back to the future. A middle-aged man with a bark wood face brought me breakfast of coffee, milk, diluted orange juice, a fresh croissant and baguette with accompanying preservatives. I wolfed everything down read for the day. I asked the man for the time. He didn't know any English nor French as much. He got the question after a number of repeats and delved into answering it by showing me his Nokia. It said 19.54. Ok was not sure what that was supposed to imply. Suddenly, he seemed to remember and blurted 'dix heure..' Glad I was in time for breaky and the day ahead then.

I went to the receptionist to ask for an ATM close by and the souq (market). She indicated the ATM but as for the souq it was too early especially being the first day of Ramadan. My eye caught the huge wall clock and read 8.20am. Oh! so long for more sleep. I got the money and went back to bed!

The heat of the day started accelerating. On asking for directions again I met the group leader, Abdul. He quickly highlighted the main sites on a local map and I set off. My aim was to get to the infamous souq Jamaa el Fna. The Hotel was situated just outside the old Medina walls which enclosed narrower streets, a public garden and the Koutobia mosque. Instead of heading to the left of the mosque I headed towards the direction of Mecca. Getting lost in the roads and streets turned out to be quite an adventure.



I found myself in a square surrounded by craft shops then noticed one of the tourist attractions, the Saadian tombs which date back from the time of the sultan Ahmad al-Mansur (1578-1603). The tombs were discovered in 1917. The tombs are beautifully decorated and I don't recall seeing as elaborate for the rest of the trip.

Having discovered the tombs I thought I might as well try to find the Palais de Bahia which was only a few metres away according to the map. Along the way I discovered a locals local market in one of the narrow side streets. Intrigued I got lost amongst the crowds of mainly women shopping their daily cooking needs. The alleys fragranced of mint, fresh herbs and spices. It felt great not being harassed by the vendors. The locals barely noticed me. I finally got back on the road and started to walk towards the palace with the help of some directions. I never actually got to the Palace as I had enough of walking in circles in and out of the great grounds and never-ending walls surrounding it. Lured by the buzz back at the locals market I started to make my way back.


Along the way I came across a small weaving home-based workshop. I couldn't help stopping to observe. The two men work hard and steadily at the looms. Ahmed was friendly and let me take photos as he explained the process in broken English. we communicated in bits of Arabic and somehow managed a conversation about Ramadan before he proudly showed me how thread was made with the (literally) spinning wheel to then weave beautiful satin and coloured cotton scarves amongst other things.


I was so glad with the encounter that I was prepared to tip or even buy something. I grabbed a lovely handbag and he lured me into choosing a scarf too. I couldn't resist finding it hard to decide between three. Ahmend beckoned me to follow him for a mera (mirror). Just across the tiny sun-drenched road was a coiffure. We just marched in and Ahmed asked the big hairdresser who was doing a client's blow dry whether we could use the mirror. As he put the scarves around my neck the hairdresser grumpily shook her head disapprovingly until the last one for which she nodded vigorously. Scarf chosen the price haggling was next. When in the right state of mind I could be a tough chick to deal with. In this case I felt quite lenient having made friends and they were nice to me. Moreover, Ahmed also invited me for a harira (Ramadan soup) with his family that evening. That was quite special but had to refuse as I was meeting the group for the first time that night. Pity but .. Happy with my encounter and purchase I retraced my route to the crammed market again. I was adamant on buying spices were the local women did their shopping.



I queued well technically speaking. I'd say crowded with other fully-cladded women infront of the tiny shop's counter heavily decked with steel barrels full of powdered spices. As I tried to sneak in, a man came by my side trying to chat me up. He looked middle-aged and least attractive especially with a dangling half rotten tooth on the front of an otherwise toothless mouth. He tried to tell me that it is Ramadan today and I acknowledged. He then delved into explaining what Ramadan is about '...no food, no drink and no sex!' 'Are you fasting?' I asked. 'Me no fasting!' 'Oh! I fasting!' I replied quickly in some sort of Arabic. Then he said '..you and me rancontre...' then getting my puzzled face he asked whether I had a husband. I quickly replied yes and showed him my ring (the one I always wear on my 4th finger...you know, just in case!) and further explained that he's at the hotel. He wasn't too pleased. In between all this I was trying to buy the powdered spices asking the vendor what each one was. Somehow I ended up buy 250grams worth of cummin and another of suffron and they cost me less than a GPB1! I quickly scuttered off this time determined to find the big souq.

I got there in the end. The big square wasn't as bustling and crowded as I would have expected. I bought half a litre of freshly squeezed jus d'orange from one of the desperate wagon vendors. I was so thirsty. Carrying it around to avoid drinking in public was one hell of a sacrifice. The main souq was a myriad of alleys which at that hour and heat of the day weren't so appealing. I leisurely walked along its parameters until I decided to call it a day.

On my way back I relished some shade in the mosque's garden drinking the now warm jus d'orange.

Back at the hotel I decided I'd kick off a bit of holiday feeling and enjoyed the pool.

I met the rest of the group at around 6pm and after an intro to the tour from Abdul we headed for the Djemma el Fnaa which is the big souq turned into rows of al fresco restaurants. Before choosing one though our apetites were excentuated by a lamb head stall displaying all sorts sizes including teeth, tonges and brians. Great photo opportunity if anything else! The restaurants displayed fresh food which you could pick, have cooked and enjoy with saffroned couscous, flat bread and olives.
Four of us girls decided to get a mix of everything so we tasted the Moroccan salad, the fried fish, the tender beef with veggies, the famous baked aubergines.... all so yummy. I was starving by then having only lunched on water and jus d'orange.
We finished off with was to be the first in a series of high-poured very sweet mint tea!

Later J, Michelle, Arlene and myself wondered off around the Square peering at the amateur performing groups, playing drums and traditional guitars. I was eager to see a cobra charmer or a tooth picker but there weren't any that night. We couldn't help noticing that all the performers including the heavily-clad belly dancers were men!
Infact there were hardly any women out and about except for a few who were accompanyting their husbands. We walked around peering into the small crowds to get a glimpse of the playing bands. Then a member asked us to sit on the surrounding wooden benches in full view of both the band and their audience. We felt quite aware of our presence. The band played passionately at the light of a lantern in the centre of the circle. The same guy suddenly reached for my hand and invited me to dance to his steps. I was itching to join but wasn't sure given the Ramadan and no-women situation. Whatever, I jumped into it and it was fun. Eventually, we managed to get Arlene to dance with us too and before we knew it the crowd around us doubled to say the least. We spent the next hour or so in-between enjoying the music and being asked to dance again, again and again.
Enjoy some Berber live music yourself!

It was a good night which well prepared us for our great Moroccan Express trip :)

read more in the next episode...
sahha
Nicky
X X x