11/16/2023 Bikepacking Morocco Day 100 : As Good As It Gets

Today encompassed everything that is joyful about bikepacking. It was a long and remote stretch of grit, sand, rocks and chunder. Constant undulations in the terrain, keeping you guessing what was going to lay hidden behind each beautiful turn. Now that I have left the tourist trail, the few children of shepherds come running to see me; faces so innocent and sweet - not asking for candy - I actually WANT to give them something for being so good. But I don’t want to pollute this remote and pure region, so I resist any temptation.

Along the mountain-desert course, I found a few alcoves that were assembled from piles of rocks. Sheltered below, a jug wrapped in a wool blanket for evaporative cooling - with little cups nearby for drinking. Who left this? Morocco has Trail Angels leaving water! I got an idea. I left some money on top of each jug, even though I only took water from one of them. Daily, I’m presented with the opportunity to give, but here, the shepherds could probably actually use the money - unlike the acquisitive kids living well around the tourist spots. Plus, by leaving the money clandestinely, no one will associate the gifts with a tourist guy riding by on a bike.

How to give right; it swirls in my head all day. If a child makes a sullen face, IS it REAL? Do they deserve my foreign aid? Or do they already have a Palace Divine in their own back yard where they practice throwing rocks, hurting the innocent trying to drive them out? To whom should we give? It’s tough to navigate the complicated path of charity, giving, and foreign aid.

Sorry if I am talking too much about these decisions and charity and giving. It’s a big part of my journey, though.

Midway, I saw a low tent and pulled over to a place marked on the map as a “Gite”. A slender young man came to meet me. He said his name was “Brian”. I was floored to be meeting a Brian-brother out here in the middle of the desert, but we worked it out laughing: “Brahim” sounds an awful lot like “Brian” - even when you say it over and over.

Normally, I don’t accept prepared food, but I liked the vibe of this little tent in the desert. In our cobbled French and Arabic, he agreed to prepare a “Berber Omelette” - “tres chaude” (very hot) at my request. He rolled a propane tank down the hill to a covered kitchen, where he worked a bit with a young woman to prepare a meal. Out came the sizzling omelette. The omelette was spattering bubbles of aromatic oil all over the clay dish in which it was served. “assez chaud?” (Hot enough?) He asked with a big smile. “Oui! Oui! Je suis très content!” Later he came to show me some satellite maps printed on paper of the route I’d be doing. He only knew a few words in French, but we had great success this time with my Arabic app - probably because he knew to speak Arabic Arabic instead of Darija. He said, “it is an honor to have you here coming to visit”.

The name Brahim comes from “Abrahim” - it means “Father of Nations.” I hope that he fathers good people like himself.

I dig deep to ride the rocky trail to get to a place with food before dark. Just before dark I got to the pavement and found a smal stall by the side of the road. I asked for 3 cans of sardines by showing him one of the cans that I already had. He brought 3 different cans and I said I would take them all. This is when thing derailed a bit. He called his two friends over to help. Even though the prices had been written on a piece of masking tape on the boxes, they peeled them off and began to seemingly discuss the prices of each can, taking a few minutes per can. The friend would then tell me a price in French. On can was 6 MAD. The next can was 9 MAD. The other one wasn’t assigned a price, but all three were going to be 150 MAD together. I’m not the best at arithmetic, but I think there was a problem here. I decided to reject that very expensive 3rd can, and then they said, “no, no, ok”. All 3 cans for 18, which actually sounds reasonable. I agree to that, but they talk some more. I’m starting to notice these two helper guys with rotting teeth have very bad breath. Actually, it’s 20, he announces after a bit. I get my 20 out. It’s 25 now. Ok, I pull out my 50, hoping to escape the odiferous maw. 25 seems to be ok; he makes the change, and gives me 22 in return for my 50. I look him in the eye, and he finds another 2. Welcome to Morocco!

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