11/08/2023 Bikepacking Morocco Day 92 : Átun, baby.

I opened another one of these little cans of tuna, and wondered to myself, why is the tuna so awful in Morocco? I was on my 4th $2 can (I also couldn’t understand why these tiny unlabeled cans had been so expensive). Suddenly, it hit me. This isn’t tuna… it’s cat food! I had paid $2 each for 6 little cat food cans. I read last night that you are supposed to offer back 50% of the original asking price - and never pay more than 70%. It is my fault, I guess. I didn’t know the word for tuna, so I just said “Atun” in Spanish and pointed. You get your food here over a counter with the items stacked on dark shelves behind the proprietor. But it’s not like I said, “meow”. De he really think my cat wanted peanuts and yogurt along with the cat food? I have to carry the crushed cans until I find trash, and some of the oils have stained my bag. There is always a positive side to these things; thanks to the odors, I am now making more kitty friends than people friends.

I’m riding uphill When I catch up to a man on a horse. We are going the same pace so we strike up a strained conversation in French. I’m trying to ask him about where his going and such, when I discover he speaks Spanish pretty well. Now we have a real conversation going; I’m trying to be polite, asking about his family, and complimenting him on his horse (though I read yesterday that you need to direct all complements to God here because otherwise, people will want to give
You the thing you are complimenting). I’m not sure how you would direct a compliment about a horse to God, but when I get time, I will think of a way. He said he works for the park, up ahead. We are doing well, riding side by side, when he says, “would you like to ride my horse?” I joke, “yes, and you can ride my bike to the desert for me!” He said I would need to exchange for a camel, and dismounts. I hop on the horse. Instead of riding my bike, he pushes it along and guides me on a short trail towards a clearing with a dead fox. I mention the fox and he says, “let’s take a picture of you on the horse”. Before I hand him my camera, I’m already starting to get the idea of what this is. Next he guides me, pushing my bike to an area with guys selling stuff. I dismount and an another guy shoves small tomatoes in my had so I can feed it to the monkeys wandering around. Yup, I’ve been duped, and I have the photos to prove it.

I handed over enough money to buy 5 cans of cat food in case he was into that. I didn’t feel good about it, but I feel like the true value in my payment is the story, not in the posed photos. I just want people to be “good”. Good people make me so happy and those are the people I want to thank with my money. Ironically, they are also the ones who are least likely to accept anything in return for their pure kindness. But now you have this story, and I have reminders on my phone - not to trust everyone. Sometimes I think the “bad” stories are the most genuine ones. Hopefully that doesn’t make me sound like a cynic. I appreciate many of you recently sharing your own stories, even if they aren’t always glamorous.

Women. Up until today, whenever I have approached a woman in Morocco, she lowers her eyes and goes to fetch a man. Today was different, as I rode into the Middle Atlas, I was now amongst people with a different culture. I stoped by some women and children getting water. The women had a lot to say this time; no men around. I pulled out my phone and handed it to her. She spoke vigorously into it, shaking a bit as of she were casting a magic spell to turn my phone into a butterfly. She pointed down the hill. The message in English was something about going with a brave heart. I interpreted this to mean that she thought I was brave to ride down the hill. We did some more back and forth with lots of peculiar results. I have the phone set to automatically detect the language of the speaker and to play back the translation immediately. So as she vehemently spoke her next verse, I peered over her shoulder with horror. The phone thought she was speaking English, so I could read the words “sexy porn” on the screen. Terrified, I grabbed the phone from her before it translated this sentence out loud in Arabic. I pushed all the buttons as fast as I could, trying to prevent the phone from speaking - saying “no, no, no” in case something came out. Luckily, 50% of the Moroccan population is illiterate, so she didn’t seem to read the Arabic that had already appeared on the screen.

For the last 8 miles of my ride, I gained a new friend. As I was riding by the lake, a dog had been with two men, but he came running towards me in a friendly way. He then ran alongside me. 8 miles is a long time on these roads, and I kept wondering when he would turn back - but he didn’t. I started to like him and talk to him. If I were ever to travel with a dog, he would be the one.. I even worried about his welfare when other barking dogs came. Now he is at my camp with me and making me feel safer. I gave him a can of sardines and he devoured it. There was a temptation to invite him in to the 3 person tent, but he isn’t very clean and has sardine breath now. I am feeling super sick all of a sudden. I’ve taken my 3rd Cirpo, but in the last hour, something hit me hard with some pretty severe outcomes. It’s cold and I was camped under the road - not far from a tiny collapsing shack. Little did I know, but people live in there. Without lights. It was creepy and they probably heard me and were scared. They shone a flashlight my way. Hope my puppy friend keeps me safe.

Uploaded between bouts of vomiting. Ugh. Now I have vomit splashes on my socks. Not too good right now.