11/11/2023 Bikepacking Morocco Day 95 : The Tea Party

Do you remember being a kid and holding your breath, swimming to the bottom of the pool and having a “tea party?” Today I had a tea party, except instead of holding my breath, I was holding my heart. It seems to be the custom here to gently bow your head, and put your hand over your heart, kind of like an American “pledge of allegiance.” I did read somewhere that Moroccans believe that love comes from the liver (I assumed that is why they were serving spleen and not liver at the food stall)… but in spite of that internet knowledge, I see lots of hands on hearts. The internet says this means “peace be with you.”

I crouched with the generous road workers who had invited me to tea, and we began to talk via the phone. They understood everything I said translated into Arabic… but the words coming back to me were like poetry from one of those songs where you think you know the words, but really, you’re just making it up. I figured the thick treacle was safe to drink; the cloying sweetness would prevent bacterial growth like a wasp preserved in sap for a thousand years - I took a sip.

Our conversation was fun, perhaps more fun for me, as I laughed each time I rendered a translation. The mention of God universally appeared.

One of the men told me that he had hurt his eye, and I replied that I hope god helps it heal quickly. My tea party companions seemed to like that. It seems you can’t go wrong with mentioning God.

They offered me bread and more super sweet tea. Siri must have done a good job explaining diabetes, because they solemnly acknowledged this, looking a little disappointed that is was only going to be a partial party.

Later I texted with them trying to exchange some selfies that we had taken. The reply was a few voice recordings. At first I thought I would use my spare phone to translate.. but then I remembered that my favorite Mohammed had offered to help me in any way. WhatsApp makes it easy to forward the recordings, and he came back quickly with a translation. “Are you the person on the bike? I don’t understand the photo you sent. If you want, you can come later and I will show you the cafe where I work.” 🤔?? Wait, these were road workers!?

Later I decided to ditch the popular Merzouga route and take what I thought would be the “road less traveled”. Indeed, it was less traveled by cars. The desert scenery was fantastic. Along the way, I saw many kids always running out to see me. Some would give me a high five, while others would practice their limited French with me. Everyone seemed to know the following nouns: “pen, candy, gift, phone, and money.” The lone accompanying verb in these cases was “give (me)”. I have considered buying some pens, as I sometimes hear “stylo” shouted before the running child appears. I day-dream about these kids using these potentially gifted pens to become gifted A+ students. Would you carry pens to hand out, risking perpetuating the demands?

One group of kids, who did not belong to the high-five clan chose to throw a couple of rocks my way, all of which missed by a large margin. I decided to turn around and ask them why they did this. As soon as I made a “U”, they ran away. If I see these kids again, it may be in the 800 meters at the 2040 Olympic Games. It definitely won’t be in the Shot Put event.

I abandoned the route to the famous dunes at Merzouga because I know of some other dunes along my route, and this new route promises an additional gorge. Plus, I have to admit that I have a little aversion to “constructed experiences” that you pay for. The two things to do there are rode a camel to a tent in the desert… or ride side-by-side dune buggy vehicles. It’s not that I mind paying the money; I guess I prefer the element of surprise. The price I pay for this, though, are these staccato conversations where I sometimes don’t know what is going on, or I use my left hand (the poo hand) to make a gesture, or I don’t give God enough credit for what is happening here. Sometimes I wish I had a tidy and cohesive story for you that wrapped up into a neat little package rather than these sloppy bits and pieces.

A little bit of continuity came at the end of the day. You may have seen a comment on my Strava from a Belgian named Thibau VdB - he happened to run into Yuwen W in Spain. Janet and i happened to meet Yuwen in Spain, and she knew of Thibau. The whims of the space-time continuum seemingly have decided that Thibau and I should now meet in real life - and by chance, that is exactly what happened this evening! So I will end writing here and go out to chat with this young Belgian.