11/12/2023 Bikepacking Morocco Day 96 : The Wisdom of Youth

Today was definitely the most scenic ride I have done in Morocco, if not ever. But today was also filled with events that may change the rest of my trip.

It started on a high. I had talked to Thibau for 2 hours last night, and another hour this morning before leaving. He is an insightful 26 year old national champion runner from Belgium (sub 4 minute 1500m) who was inspired to bike tour by his uncle. They did 3 tours together so far, and when his Uncle went home from Spain 4 weeks ago, Thibau kept going. Describing himself as “not a cyclist,” he is enjoying this tour immensely; doesn’t do big miles and takes rest days. From my point of view, he is “doing it right,” too. For example, yesterday he met a guy in those desolate mountains, and rode backwards 30km, ending up going to class with the kids for 2.5 hours in the morning. “Why not?” He said. “I couldn’t come to this hotel at 11am!” He described the kids as being very shy in the classroom - even though they were sneaking looks at him. He showed me a picture of 15 smiling kids and said, “I can’t post this; none of them are smiling.” I disagreed, they looked happy… and then I recognized some of the kids! One of them had spoken a couple of words of English to me in the street, asking for money.

As part of our conversation, I told Thibau that I was going to “go to Africa”. (This is what Moroccans say to me when I say I’m going past Mauritania. I always come back with, “but THIS is Africa..”. They say, “you’re right, but…”. They don’t consider Morocco to be Africa.) Thibau asked poignantly, “Are you looking forward to it?” An excellent inquiry. I thought about his question for a while. Finally, I responded, “I am looking forward to everything except for people asking me for things.” The last couple days, I’ve realized that saying “no” to hundreds of kids per day really wears on my conscience. Thibau and I then talked about the kids. He claimed that none of them have asked him for money, and none have thrown rocks. I said, “I could believe it because some of the routes I took were quite different - but we did this exact same route today, and I must have been asked a hundred times for pens, and candy”. He told me one time a kid asked for money and he said, “no”. How is it possible that we are having such a different experience? Being Belgian, Thibau is fluent in French (which I envy, and PS, did you know Flemish is the same as Dutch?)… so surely he would understand what these kids were saying! If you look at the photo of how he towers over me, you couldn’t say that he looks like a local - especially with his heavily laden bike. Meanwhile, today when I continued down the road, I was met with no less than 400 requests for candy, pens, and money. But let’s get back to that in a moment.

Thibau had some good questions. He asked, “Will it be hard for you to go back? I mean, I feel like Morocco has changed me. I am a different person now, and when I go home it will be hard.” He has been here 3 weeks. I quickly replied, “no,” but thought about his question all day. Should Morocco be changing me? Should this be a profound experience? Am I not feeling changed because I’m too connected to home? Thibau said he only calls his mom once a week; his dad less. Or is this something deeper… the wisdom of youth. Often we credit our elders with having deep wisdom, but looking in the opposite temporal direction, maybe there is something to be re-learned from those younger than us. Between interruptions, I thought about this question all day long - trying to unveil why I didn’t think this trip has changed me.

And interruptions there were. I thought I was the first clever person to see some topo lines on a map and identify a good cycling route. I learned today that I am just following in others’ pedal strokes. Despite the very remote nature of the desert course, kids would come running towards me - sometimes from seemingly impossible distances, they could always head off my bike. Hands out, a cross between a high five or a “gimme,” they would stand in the middle of the road using every French word they knew. “Donnez-moi un bonbon! Cadeaux! Stylo! Une photo!” They ran alongside me demanding. If I had emptied all of my bags and filled them with candy and given each kid one piece, I’d have nothing left before I finished. The desert looks empty, but the kids appear from everywhere. How did this happen? Today I developed a theory when some of the kids suggested a photo in exchange for candy or money. People who have come before me give the kids candy, and in exchange ask for one of those adorable photos - because the kids here are beautiful, fit, and healthy. Certainly Instagram worthy! Alternatively, I could be like Thibau and go to class with the kids for a couple hours, play some games with them, and come back that evening feeling like a changed person. You can probably already tell which path I admire more…. Yes, a 26 year old made me think a lot today.

Let’s interject some positivity for a moment here. On a long seemingly deserted section of road today, a teen in a long robe stopped me. While I dread the children, I’m really beginning to love the teens here. He said his name was Redwane, and he spoke some English. He explained that he worked in the mountains with “metal” (I think he meant mining). He smiled the whole time, and I had to know: “Where are you going? What are you doing way out here waking?” He said, “I am studying.” He held up a piece of paper torn from a notebook with several handwritten lines in Arabic. “I study while I walk. I like to walk in the mountain,” as he pointed up to a rocky cliff with no trail that I’d have difficulty navigating in the Sierra. Yes, he really walks up there to study. I loved his peripatetic studies, and told him I listen to French in one ear while cycling, humbled by his ambition.

So you may remember at the beginning of this discourse, I mentioned trip changing events. Near the end of the day, 4 women and 4 girls were walking in the middle of the road towards me, each with a huge bag of green shrubbery on their backs. They were all beautiful and smiling, but as I rode towards them, they ran towards me as if there was an emergency. They barricaded my path with their bodies and I stopped. One of the corpulent women was holding a baby and they surrounded me quickly - each had been eating a piece of fruit, and the redolent fragrance of sticky peaches filled the air. “Dirham! Dirham!” (The Moroccan currency) they chanted, their sugary hands grabbing towards me and my bike. That is 16 hands (18 if you count the baby). They were all smiling and laughing, but I retreated backwards as they pressed forward. The smiles looked like Halloween witches with the fruit stuck to their faces. I rushed backwards, difficult with my injured Achilles. This was too much, I darted away, shaken and full of adrenaline. Yes, my friends, laugh if you want, but a group of girls scared the crap out of me today.

I can handle the severe pain in my Achilles, the saddle sores, the long miles, the climbing, the rocky trails, the challenges of finding healthy food, the vomiting and sick stomach, the heat, the cold, the diseases that I have vaccinated for, the rain and wind… BUT… being swarmed daily - even by beautiful women - and being nearly yelled at “Vous plus riche donnez-moi argent!” And the like all day long is really testing my resolve. This is the hardest aspect of the trip for me by far.