4 hrs, 15.0 kms

               Day Totals: 16 hrs, 34 .0 kms

 

The road is completely quiet—in fact, I haven't seen a vehicle in a couple of hours. It feels like I’m getting farther and farther from civilization, and nighttime is almost here. Then I go around a bend and see a house being built, squeezed right next to a giant boulder. There are a couple women working the fields—a heartwarming sight. On the other side is the little village of Tagadirt where I find another unusual sight: a park bench!

Yep, in front of a newly built house is a little plaza and two benches where you can sit and gaze out over another small, but picturesque valley.

They must’ve know that the Global Parkbench Concert Tour was coming their way… and they made preparations.

But right now Maslov’s Hierarchy of Needs is kicking in, and I’m mainly thinking of food and lodging . I see a man coming down the cliff, who is looking at me, probably wondering what the hell I’m doing here.

"Salaam aaleikum," I greet him “kayn shee hanut bash n shree lkhobz o shee hazha karib men hna?” (Is there a store to buy bread or something near here?) He tells me there’s a village with a store maybe two hours away (I’m assuming, walking), and the market town of Tanalt maybe 3 hours away where there might be lodging. He then offers to go back up the hill to fetch some bread for me, which I accept, as I my batteries are starting to run pretty low. I hope he’ll let me pay for it but no…

He’s heading the same way as me, so we chat for a bit. He tells me that he’s one of the few who lives here year round, working the land. “Is this rain going to be enough for the crops this year?”

“The rain is fine” he tells me, “the problem is the wild boars” he points to his field “they tore it up last night . They destroy much of our crops”

Wild boars. I forgot all about them. These are actually the most dangerous wild animals in Morocco and are known to attack, and even kill people. Suddenly I realize that, around here, it’s not people I need to be afraid of… it’s the pigs. The idea of spending the night outdoors is feeling less and less appealing.

Finally my Good Samaritan heads off to his field and I continue on alone.

Hiking in the Dark

 

It’s dark now. But it isn’t too long before I see a welcome sight: lights. Enough of them clustered together to make a sizeable village in the valley far below. Now, if I can just get before everything shuts down and everybody goes to bed…

The problem with hiking in the dark I quickly find out is that you can’t take shortcuts . So I’m forces to follow the road with it’s torturously long switchbacks. I doubt the fellow in Tagadirt took that into consideration when he told me it would take me 2 hours to reach the next town. And as I hurry down the slopes, I hear the final call to prayer—which will probably be my last chance to see people outside. I pick up the pace.

As I finally reach the valley floor, I notice a big spike in the temperature. Up on the ridge there was an icy wind… down here it feels quite pleasant…I still don’t want to sleep outside though. Finally, I reach a little village where there’s one little shop that’s closed up tight. I do reach a mosque just as the men are heading home from their prayers. I ask a fellow if there’s a place I can stay the night here, and he doesn’t seem to welcoming. He does tell me that I should find a hotel in Tanalt, down the road. But I wonder if he’s just telling me this so he doesn’t feel obligated to offer me lodging.

I reach a crossroads: Tafraoute to my left, Tanalt to my right . Tafraoute is my final destination, but Tanalt is where, supposedly, I should be able to find a place to stay the night. I take the road to Tanalt.

After a kilometer or so, I see yet another cluster of lights far below… and yet another long switchback down deeper into the valley. I must have been on top of the world. It feels like I’ve been going downhill forever. Then it starts to rain. Who cares… I’ll just get to Tanalt and figure something out.

A car passes by, the first I’ve seen in maybe 5 hours. An older fellow tells me to get in his SUV. There’s a rifle in between the driver and passenger seat—something that wouldn’t look out of place at all, say, in rural Pennsylvania, but looks really odd here in Morocco. My guess is he carries it to shoot wild boars he might encounter on the way. The guys is clearly a respectable looking fellow, so I have no reason to be concerned.

“Where are you from?” he asks me

“America—but I live in Casablanca” I respond

“We say America is our father… America keeps us supplied with wheat so we can eat… and France is our mother”

I’d never heard that one before . But this fellow has clear reason to feel gratitude for these countries. He’s spent many years working in France, and from the look of his vehicle has done quite well.

He drives me up Tanalt’s one street to a café that he says doubles as a hotel, and kindly waits to make sure they have vacancy. Looks like this day is going to have a happy ending after all.