Moving north I quickly entered the dreaded tourist zone of Morocco, and it would have taken an especially cruel god to wipe the smile off my face.
I was back in a land of well paved roads that draped themselves effortlessly over the hills and valleys.
But where the buildings- from ancient single family steadings,
to small walled hamlets,
to full on kasbahs still managed to feel exotic and,
Close to Tafroute and Jean Vérames rather faded 1984 painted rocks I found it even harder to complain as good tourist hotels started to appear where I could enjoy a bit of a normal experience, while waking up to a view far from it…
Even my problems became something to chuckle over while riding…
I had been riding mostly off road interspersed with a couple of gravel tracks, using my GPS and a topographical map to keep my bearings when I passed this little hut and noticed that I must be completely off course. I was sure there was one line of hills between me and the coast. There was no way that there should be room for more…
I know it’s hard to see in the pic, but just beyond the first line of hills you could really see another line of slightly higher hills. So, concerned, I drove around in circles to check that my GPS’ compass was working properly (the unit itself was on its last legs), I then looked around and tried to pic out some higher and/or more distinctive hills that I might be able to recognize on my topo map… I was just about to go into my pannier and dig out my old fashioned compass when I looked at the hills very carefully and saw the second row of hills for the stupid clouds that they were!
Bring on ‘It’s a Small World!‘