Our intrepid guide

After another wonderful meal poolside in the morning, we headed off, and discovered we were in a small eden, literally an oasis. Here are pictures of the oasis and the town built around it, plus a kasbah just outside the town.






















































The main road, which had been heading east, turns south, following the Drâa River, but we needed to continue east on a smaller road. No signs indicated where to go left, and we saw only one bridge that could take us across the river, so we took the dirt road to that bridge – a low concrete bridge covered with Moroccan peasants. Thom stopped halfway across and asked an old man in a jelaba if this was the route to Rissani, a main town a half-day’s drive east, and the man shook his head, No, and, while speaking Arabic and not French, indicated that we should turn back. But a young man on a bike who did speak French said, Yes, this dirt road continues only 2-3 km, and connects to the main road to Rissani. Follow him, he said, so we did…across many kilometers of rutted dirt road with rocks the size of cantelopes threatening our progress. Thom quipped (when not swearing) “Good thing the car rental guy showed me where the spare tire is.”

After more than 10 km had passed, and we appeared to be no where near a road, we stopped, had another conversation with the man, and were again assured that it was “seulement (only) 1 km” to the road. “Peut-être (maybe) 2 ou 3 km?” I asked, and he laughed and laughed, and assured me, no, only 1 km to the road. Five kilometers later we were delivered to a road that had clearly started much, much earlier. He had taken us on a long back route, across steep hills and on sandy and rocky pistes (dirt roads) on his mountain bike, I am sure because he felt obliged to be helpful. It’s in the Moroccan culture to be helpful, and he was, in a way. He was very kind and funny, and gave me his address in Agdz and invited us to come to his house for couscous and tagine on our way back through town. It’s too bad we’re taking a loop, and won’t be passing back through. I will send him a postcard, and hope that someone can read it to him. It was clear he was barely literate when he gave me his address, as he could not write it himself. I was so happy to meet him and chat with him, in my broken French, and even though Thom wasn't wild about the cross-country driving, he was happy to meet him too.

This was also the place where we saw our first road sign warning of errant camels!