Today starts Ramadan.
Our guesthouse is located right next to the Grand Mosque, so at 4:50 in the morning the call to prayer sounded very loud and very clear to kick off the day.
OK. OK.
I get up, sit out in the dark for a bit.
It is an overcast morning again. We have a simple breakfast, just breads, with good coffee and orange juice, so I am ready to go.
Today we are off to Aït Ben Haddou, a famous Kasbah (fortress) that has been used in many films, about four hours north-east.
We got out of Taroudannt without seeing My Friend again and made great time. Nothing really great or memorable; we took the P1706 cutoff, made it to Taliouine which is the saffron center of Morocco.
The signs all say SafFron.
I am looking for the “Cisco” ending.
You know.
Saf Fron Cisco.
So, cruising along through the empty desert. We did great till we hit the edge of Tazenkht, 230KM down, 50 to go, and there was a police checkpoint.
And here is the only really memorable, newsworthy event of today:
So I see the police checkpoint in the distance, the fourth one today.
This one has a stop sign, like the others, but it is about 100 yards in front of the police. So I am crawling, literally 5 KMH up to the policeman. He waves me over and asks for my car documents.
“Je non HALT! Du HALT!”
Huh?
I look at him and say, “I stop here for you.” and I point down.
“Je stop there!” he points back a hundred yards.
What?
This is ridiculous.
I can’t believe it, so to drive the point home he demands my “carte”. I pull out my license as he starts in on the fine being 700 dirham (about $90 US).
“NON!” I protest.
"You must RESPECT the HALT!”
I stare at him and repeat, “I stop here por du!”
“THERE! Premire un Maroc?”
Well, yes, this is my first time in Morocco, and I am not enjoying it very much.
He wants money. Now.
So I get out, open my wallet and, good thinking on my part, most of my money is in my other pocket, and I only have $220 dirham in the wallet.
“700!” He points at a official paper with $700 MAD circled in red.
I shrug, and to emphasize the point pull out an extra $2.20 in coins.
He demands my passport, so we go to the trunk. He has my $222.20 in hand, and as I open the trunk and he sees how much we do NOT have with us, he stops me from getting my passport.
He hands me back the $20 and the $2.20, motions me over to his partner who speaks better English.
He emphasizes the point about STOP at the STOP!
RESPECT the STOP in MAROC!
I apologize again.
He points out the $700 fine, tells me to keep out of trouble.
Then it’s over.
We all relax, smile, shake hands all around.
They split the $200, I go throw the papers back in the car and we zoom off.
As we enter the town I pull under a shade tree, put a single $100 with the $20 in my wallet for the next stop, and vow to win next time. This time I got $85 reduced to $24, but I can do better.
Stop signs 100 yards away. Sheesh.
I don’t feel so dumb, because as I am leaving they pull over a local, a LOCAL GUY who did the same thing and they are yelling at him.
Not only was it a great lesson learned in deception, but I also learned how to bribe.
I am so damn proud.
Up to now I have been an upstanding, law abiding citizen. A man of my word. A person to trust.
No more.
I am now a scoundrel.
Mark P, if you are reading this, you might not want to mention to You - Know - Who about my lack of respect for the HALT!
We finally got to our place, the Riad Caravane where we dropped our bags and were greeted with hot tea and cookies. Hot mint tea on a hot day is crazy, I agree, but hey! When in Morocco, do as the Moroccans I guess. Anyway, the tea was unsweetened, so it was really good and gave us a nice caffeine jolt. It is about 39° C (102 F) out right now and tremendously windy, but it is cool in the Riad. The Riad itself is very tastefully done, kind of modern, and so is relaxing in a very untraditional way.
After tea, we headed for a short drive about 15KM north up through Asif Ounila, past Tamddakhte on a one lane paved road through a deep valley, looking at the neighboring towns and another ruined Kasbah.
Returning to the riad, we had a couple of glasses of cool, white wine, reading and writing and waiting out the heat of the day so we could go explore Ben Haddou on foot. The riad sold us the wine, a white from Meknes, Morocco, called Larroque. It has a camel on the label and is called a white wine, but I am guessing it has chardonnay in it. It is crisp and citrusy, really nice with good aftertaste.
Good wine. Here in the desert. On Ramadan.
We toast the Imam the next time he starts moaning.
“To Ramadan!”
Meanwhile, the wind is just howling outside, battering the door.
It dies around 18:00, the heat rises a little, so we set out to explore and eat dinner. I have reserved, months in advance, dinner at the only Riad inside the Kasbah of Aït Ben Haddou. It is so old there is no electricity; the room is lit by candlelight. It sounds very nice, very authentic.
We walk around, looking and exploring, and work our way up to the restaurant.
The door is locked, no one answers.
One of the official “keepers” of the Kasbah comes around and tries to get a response.
Nothing.
So we poke around a little here and there, and soon enough a workman comes.
“No, sorry, it is close-ed.”
“I email. Dimanche." (Sunday)
"Oh. They tell us, but we are all broken. Fix up. You come see.”
And so he leads us in, using his cell phone as a flashlight, and shows us around the torn-up Kasbah. They have been remodeling it since January.
January.
It hasn’t been open for a year. Yet they accept reservations for dinner.
Hopeful people.
Thank allah I didn’t book a room there.
No problem, I had a backup cafe, except… it is closed as well.
We ended up at a small hotel restaurant, nothing special, and I had chicken and vegetables, while Gail got a cheese omelet. Three bottles of water and it was good enough.
In the end, we returned to the riad early, finished our bottle of wine, read and wrote again, and I caught a fantastic goal by Columbia, against Uruguay in the World Cup.
It is a warm summer night, kind of reminds us of home.
Except for the whining of the Imam, who sounds like he is a bratty third grader. His call goes kind of like (high pitch to start) "Iiiiii'mmmmm telling allah on yooooooouuuuuuuu!"