Midelt to Tinerhir, Morocco, Wednesday January 7th

We said ‘Goodbye’ to Mohamed at the shop and waited in the bus station for the 10.30 bus. There was some delay due to snow in the mountains, and soon Mohamed appeared with a man who was in charge of tickets. He introduced us and placed us in the man’s care, and went back to work. There were many people waiting, and one couple who had a sheep trussed up in some sacks had to let him out so that he could relieve himself, the wait was so long. The steaming liquid formed a puddle on the concrete floor and nobody batted an eye. While we waited, a ticket seller for another bus approached us and asked us where we were going. He ‘informed’ us that the bus direct to Tinerhir would not be coming because of heavy snow in the mountains, but we could go on his bus to Er Rashida and then take another bus from there. When our minder realised what was going on there was a harsh exchange of words and the ticket seller retreated. Shortly after, our bus arrived. It was very lucky that Mohamed had organised special care for us because the bus was virtually full when it arrived and we were lucky to get tickets

It was very cold as we drove along, but we were well prepared and wearing many layers. The views were of desolate, dry mountains with now and then a settlement in the middle of nowhere. When we came to towns, we wondered if there was a law about all non-earth buildings being in earth tones and all doors in a soft jade green. There is such a rule for wall colours, instituted by the tourism minister, to preserve the traditional landscapes and vistas of the country. Some towns had a plethora of flags flying – as many as one every ten metres along the road, collections of about ten at corners and other points, and more draped from houses and shops. We heard that towns expecting a visit from Mohammed VI, the king, have a clean up and put up the flags. Once out of the mountains we started to see groves of palm trees and twice we saw camels.

Arriving in Tinerhir, we declined assistance to find us a hotel and set off down the hill to one we had chosen from the guide book. There seemed to be an amazing amount of new building going on on the outskirts of town, where we found our hotel. The manager was a very friendly man so we decided to eat at the little café there. Choices for us are usually an omelette, a vegetable tajine or vegetable couscous. In small places you have to allow about an hour after ordering your dinner for it to arrive, and sometimes even longer if they have to go out to purchase the ingredients. We set a time for our meal and went out to have a look at the town.

At the bus station, we found out about travelling to El Kalaa des Mgouna the next day, and picked up a guide who apparently did not want any money. He was a delightful young man and we enjoyed our time seeing the old Kasbah and the Jewish quarter. As we entered the Kasbah, a woman despatched her youngest child, aged about three, to beg for money from us. Our young guide told us lots of interesting information, such as the need to maintain mud brick buildings every year and that 25% of Muslims in Morocco believe in God but do not feel bound by the restrictions on Islam. He led us to a Berber carpet shop where we had tea and looked at some beautiful carpets. I was happy about that since we learnt the meaning of the different symbols, but Keith would have preferred to use the daylight seeing other things. Our guide had taught himself English from books and the internet. We did give him a tip at the end, but it would have been possible to have walked away, since he had valued the English practice during our time together.

We called at the internet café to check if there had been an email from our next couch surfing host. When there wasn’t one, we rang to check that all was well. Keith had trouble understanding him in French, so put me on, but I had trouble too since he seemed to be talking about something other than our visit. I asked him to send us an email with what he was saying on it, and that we would check our emails after dinner. I explained that we could read French much better than understand it on the phone. While we were on the internet, an older man had entered and said things to us that we could not understand. He had been bustled out by other computer users and we thought that maybe he was a beggar.

There could have been nothing less atmospheric than the café we ate in, which had tiles on the floor, plastic tables and chairs and a large TV showing an English drama about art thefts. It was virtually empty. The meal was delicious, as all tajines seem to be. Upstairs I relaxed under a hot shower, but was then unable to turn the water off. Plumbing is a challenging area, it seems, in Morocco. Keith brought the manager up, but the problem had to be solved by turning the water off at the main tap on the terrace.

I did a little typing while Keith went off to check the email from our couch surfing host. There was no email waiting and since the last thing that the host had said was that he would meet us at the bus station, Keith came back to have an early night ready for our walk in the Todra Gorge tomorrow.