We have now seen a big part of Morocco. Do we like the country? While we were in the north of Morocco we were having a hard time. We had expected big cultural differences. Therefore, we were taking it easy, spending a lot of time looking around, figuring out how and where to do our groceries, finding confidence in free-camping like in Europe. We were trying really hard to get a good feeling. However, every time we had enjoyable experiences, something happened to change the mood. A salesman would sell us food for a correct price, then little boys pulled Antoine`s flag off his bike. A family invited us to stay with them for a couple days, a salesman would try to rip us off. Or people that invited us in turned out to actually be looking for a fiancee for their son (What is your address? What is your telephone number? And after we explained ten times that we really do not have an address: What is your address?). Little sheppards would try to make us stop. One young man was actually succesfull. We had to squeeze our brakes hard not to run him over. Meanwhile girls on the sides laughed their heads off. We would see little boys lean over, to pick up rocks. Now we have invented a system to respond to these kind of situations. If the boys are far away and we are not biking uphill, we sprint. If not, we slow down, smile at the boys and approach them in Arabic. Most of the time it works. However, sometimes they cheer us in French, following by a whole mouthfull of Arabic that makes everybody laugh. Then you know what they are saying. Oh they are so so smart. Sometimes Antoine purposefully draws their attention by making batman noises, so that I can bike without being disturbed.
Another annoying, never-ending issue is the `donnez-moi-situation`. We know that it will be like that all over Africa. But that it would be this bad already in Morocco is quite disappointing. Donnez-moi un Dirham, donnez-moi un stylo. (When we see children approaching us with that look in their eyes, we now stick out OUR hand asking `donnez moi un stylo` or donnez moi un Euro`. You should see the look on their faces. Only once a little boy returned to me with a pen. Big smile that he had fooled me. That was great fun. It is not like we enjoy to be like this towards the children. We feel like we have to in order to defend ourselves. Imagine we had to give each child a Dirham. We would be broke very quickly and on top of that they will find it more and more normal to ask tourists for something.
When we camp at someones house nobody asks us for anything. When we are getting ready to leave, I usually have an idea of how many children are around. I do not want to show off what we have, but I usually give the parents a piece of `Vache qui rit` for each child. For them it is a luxury. You can buy it everywhere but we buy it more readily then poor Moroccan families. They share a lot of what they have with us and it is important to be sensible with what you can do for them. I am very careful not to promise that we will send them a postcard or a picture. We have done that twice so far but it is a lot of hassle and since we stay with people a lot, it is impossible to make these kinds of promises.
When we passed Fes (of which we did not see very much more than the bathroom of our hotel) the athmosphere changed drastically. Children were still asking for things, but throwing stones at us became rare. We experienced friendly people and had a much easier time. We were enjoying ourselves a lot more than before. At the same time, the landscape was changing. We were climbing and it was getting cold and humid. Maybe it was going to snow. We were getting all exited, but ice on the tent was all we got. For the better, because we are not really equiped for `mountaineering-biking`.
In the Middle Atlas we met Christina and Bertrand. We had heard of them since Spain and they were told as well about us. We decided to bike together for a couple of days and share our experiences and ideas. It was much fun. From Marrakech they decided to bike into the High Atlas and, after long and hard discussions, we took the road towards the ocean.
In Marrakech we had booked a hotel from the Lonely Planet, because we needed to receive a package and a fixed address is kind of useful for this. My brother Murwin was going to fly into Marrakech to join us for a couple of days. We went to the airport to pick him up and were extremely surprised when not only Murwin was visiting Marrakech with us, but my dad and his wife as well. Without our knowledge they had booked a room in the same hotel. They brought all kinds of requested camping gear etcetera which Murwin was going to bring for us and on top of that Dutch speculaas and chocolate. Wauw, what a luxury.
We had a wonderful time together in Marrakesh, visiting the Medina with its soukh and Djemma El Fnaa. But what a crazy city. In spite of having a hotel room where you can get away from the busyness, Antoine and I where very tired when we left the city. On the way out we passed a big supermarket (one of ten in all of Morocco) and I bought healthy food. What a pleasure to cook our own meal after all the tajines and French breakfasts we had been eating in the city.
It took us much more time to get to the ocean than we expected, partly because I was having a cold. After leaving Marrakech the traffic was horrendous for thirty kilometers, but then the road got better. We camped by a restaurant where the police, a security officer and an information officer were very interested in our being there (for which we had permission from the owner as well as the police). The next day we camped by a deserted house. That was not the best place but we were in desperate need to take a break. In the morning a nice car drove down the dirt road and another police officer, again in a leather jacket, told us how unsafe it was here. We should have registered with him, 6 km down the road. He turned around and drove away. They always seem to know where we are hanging out. Our best campspot was with Mohammed, a very friendly Moroccan who owns a property just 15 km outside Essaouira. He offered us a room that looked like a hotel room. The water was not working for the moment but who cares? We had a bed to sleep in and on top of that very interesting conversation. Together we ate homemade harira, which is a typical Moroccan soup.
At the moment we are in Essaouira for a couple of days. I am getting over a cold and honestly it is quite pleasant to be outside the Moroccan craziness for a little while. At the campground we meet French, German and Dutch people, some of them taking the same route as us in their four wheel drives. Here we finally have time to write and to overlook what we have seen so far.
I feel like we have a lot to digest. Even though we are only in Morocco and we will see a lot more of this, I have a hard time with the poverty and the difficulties people have to face. When we are on our bikes in poor poor villages I find it easier to turn down a beggar than in a touristic place like Essaouira. I cannot identify with either the poor Morrocan people or the rich western tourists. I do not have the same money to spend as the average tourist, but compared to the average Moroccan I have a lot. And in this city it is so visible. In the country we live with the Moroccans, maybe even a little like the Moroccans. Yesterday we were having a coffee. Opposite of us was a young man in a wheelchair, trying to sell his paintings. He looked really friendly, had a big smile on his face while talking to a small child. The waiter from the cafe brought him a drink, helping him getting the straw into his mouth. I felt touched by him and by how people responded to him. Many people walking by were interested and only a few passed by while pretending that they had not seen him. When I got up to look at his work, I caught myself thinking `20 Dirham, that`s expensive`. Ridiculous. Yes we can buy 20 loafs of bread for this money or even 10 postcards if we want. But it is still only 2 euros and the only source of income this young man has. I felt ashamed. On the other hand, this town is overflown by people in wheelchairs because there are so many tourists. Do I have to feel bad that my life is so good compared to theirs? But no matter how you turn it, if you are disabled in this country you are definitely out of luck.
We will continue biking south and probably spend christmas on the beach somewhxere, just north of the Sahara desert. We keep saying `now the real adventure starts` (initial departure, hitting Morocco, biking into the Atlas and so on) but when we bike into the desert the real adventure starts. We expect to ride 1300 kilometers from Agadir to get to the Mauritanian border and another 800 to get to St. Louis in Senegal. At that point we will be though the Sahara. We are planning to bike long days, since distances between water points could be up to 150 kilometers. We have a capacity to carry 24 liters, so that is quite good. In bigger places we will take a break, so that we are in good shape while being in the desert. We are looking forward to it and I am very curious how I can handle the desert mentally. I tend to find things boring rather quickly, so it might be challenging.
Maybe we will be able to update the website in Mauritania, otherwise it might take a while. We do not expect to find internet on every corner.

And especially for Gijs and Maarten, as promised… The capital of Morocco is Rabat.