the valley could only be described as regrowth after the apocalypse.
"The Road", coloured green and mud.
scrolling down our page mercifully slowly like a pensioner with a
mouse, all we have is the dashed white line for company. and it looks
more dashed than white. the horizon is blurred and no amount of
twiddling the absent knobs brings it into focus. we pray for
luminescence, phosphorescence, any kind of glow to aid the fledgling
driver; none avails and the descending sun mocks our efforts. Our
lowly-strung vehicle of amphibiously-aged proportions drowns six men
in a mélange of contortionist poses. my left arm hugging two, a trio
of haunched pairs, a seven-sided die spinning on its pointed edge, we
are a sketch drawn from a badly organised notebook plunged straight
through the guts of a Stephen King novel. Was that a Tommy-Knocker? I
don't know. it passed too slowly to tell. the night now flickers with
an assortment of headlights, some old, some young, and some on a
retirement pension, wearing broken spectacles. curiously, after dark
it appears we are no longer alone. The Road dissappears under the mud,
and an exchange of Arabic discusses the only option. Yallah. our
turtle's belly is scraped, but spared, and we amble toward the next
challenge. a bus has found a home in the mud, while cars collude and
ponder the predicament. The road ahead has finally died, yet only a
few gulps of soggy breath from the end. the turtle is tiring and we
backtrack with delicate tendrils along a minor vein. clogged. in a
carpark, the engine is spared amidst a silent ponder. rain patters
still, surrounding us with a void destination. i spy a neon-ray of
amusement at what "Hotel" might mean. I dismount. Shukran, bslemah,
bonne chance. the omnipresent hospitality of Morocco comes to the fore
once again, and i enjoy char-grilled (or grill-charred?) tomato,
onion, kefta and chop with instant friends, and a warm bed for the
night; just add water. LOTS of water. all over Morocco. Enough to
flood the country, and send transportation into chaos and adventure.
in that order.
hugs and love from a sopping wet Morrocco.
Joe
