Bloody camel fucker from Merzouga

Soundtrack: Santana – Samba Pa Ti

I believe the Gods were with me that day in Tamtatoucht…
It was early morning when I opened my eyes and got out of the comfy bed. I looked out of the window of the Kasbah Essalam Auberge. The sun was shining and the sound of the rushing river was replaced by birds singing, and Dominique doing his morning rituals in the bathroom. A rather unpleasant sound compared to the birds.
Maybe the flooding had stopped because of the Auberge owner whom had promised me to include us in his prayers the night before. Earnestly I didn’t know, but one thing I was perfectly sure of, it was going to be a hell of a day to ride a red VFR to Merzouga.
After a tour in a 4×4 around the town, or better described as a small village accompanied with the Auberge owner I was ready to give it another shot at the river.
The bikes were still in the yard, we hadn’t spend any energy putting locks on them during the night as our friends at the Auberge had given us their words that the bikes would be there the next morning, they were right. Two dirty Honda’s were still present in the yard, ready for sandy roads in southern Morocco, what instead should become a very wet experience.
We said farewell to our nice host’s got on the bikes and rode down to the river. The water was gone which made crossing a piece of cake. I  belive I could have passed the day before, as the now visible tarmac looked perfect, no potholes.
Thinking back I do not regret taking a night in a real bed, perfect Moroccan meal followed by live music (the Auberge owners playing on flute and drums) a very good experience and indeed a great company.
As we went longer down south towards Tinghir, passing Ait Attouch things became more heavy than the rushing river from yesterday. This time we had to pass or wait it out, there was no way back! Bridges was washed away because of heavy rain in the Atlas Mountains. Long convoys of old beaten up trucks, cars and people on donkeys were trying to pass the river in alternative ways or simply waiting until the damages were repaired. Dominique and I agreed that being two we could pass the obstacles. I can say with confidence in my voice that we both were eager for a little excitement…
You can have a lot of opinions about the Moroccan people, but I must admit that I was amazed about the effectivity they repaired the damaged bridges and roads. 15-25 people working in a team taking care of the problems, so the normal day life can go on. I talked with one of the guys helping me passing a damaged bridge and was told that it was one of his ways of making a living, repairing and helping people to cross. The roads are very important for them to get food, goods and other supplies to and from remote cities.
After a hard day of struggle with a heavy Honda sport bike across rivers, stones and washed away bridges I said goodbye to my French friend Dominique in the city of Tinghir. Dominique was heading West, I was heading South East. To be more specific I was going to the desert in Merzouga, where you can get the first sight of the desert dunes. On my way I ran into a Dutch couple, both riding Honda African Twin’s. They were testing the bikes for their “RTW Journey” in 2010 by taking a trip around Morocco to see if something unexpected should happen. My nature says me that the unexpected things are a big part of the trip. If all things goes by the book, there is nothing excited about it!
We shared a tip or two including a little curse about the alu boxes from Hepco Becker before we said goodbye by wishing each other a great journey.
Looking at the map it told me there was about 175 km to Merzouga, which could be achieved before sun set. Short before Rissani I met another flooded road, children were guiding people through, trying to score some Dirham. Most cars that passed ignored them, The Netherlands people had warned me about them saying that  they shouted, whistled as they went through. As I slowly drove by the kids, I could hear the common sentence “Dirham, Dirham”, that was all.
The day before I was adviced to stay at the ”Petite Prince” in Merzouga by a couple of French guys on Yamaha XT500’s. As usual nothing goes as planned, short before Merzouga, south of Rissani I met another two guys from The Netherlands on BMW FS800’s. One of them going off-road and the other cruising on the road, they stopped when we met a cross-section. As keen as I always is to get into a talk with fellow travellers I immediately saluted them with a big smile and started to ask where they were heading? But without any success, it was like speaking to a door, they only replied with a word or two before they went off in the horizon! After standing in the dust of their slip stream, a guy on a Bimmer 1150 Adventure came blasting by. He hardly manage to stop when I waved at him. His first  impression of me and my bike was to laugh out loud, saying in perfect English “You out here on that bike”. He kept laughing about that for the rest of the day, his name was Sven. Sven was a massive build 40 year old police officer from Hamburg, German. I really enjoyed his type of person and company.
We arrived with furious speed in Merzouga me trying to hang on to Sven’s insane pace. Suddenly the road ended and only dunes of sand lay in front of us. There we were, and no signs of the Petite Prince! Before I noticed it a smoking two strokes moped with a fat guy on came up beside Sven and me. The tout spotted us arriving and sitting on the bikes in the sand looking out in the horizon on what seemed like the end of Moroccan soil and start of Western Sahara. He knew right away what we were looking for, a place to stay! It was easy, two guys looking for a place to stay with 20 kilometers to the nearest town, and it was starting to get dark. We were sold for the lowest bid…
“Are you looking for an auberge?”, the tout asked ”No, a camp site. Do you know where we can find the Petite Prince?” I answered him back. “No, but if you ask the British guys we  had staying here yesterday, they will tell you that they enjoyed our hospitality very much”. “Of course you have to say that” I replied him. “Do you have beers?”, I asked again. Sven was now laughing more than ever. We both knew what the answer would be! “Yes, how many do you want?”
These touts simply say anything to unburden you of cash. Of course two beer drinking guys from North of Europe didn’t make the situation much better.
We manage to agree on a good price with the tout which was later doubled by the owner of the Auberge. He invited us in for a cup of Moroccan mint tea after we parked the bikes and packed out our things. A rather perfect tactical situation! He knew we wasn’t going anywhere once we had settled down and kicked of our dirty boots.
I was about to leave because of my nature, my temper was about to explode, I was in 30.000 ft. for the first time on my journey. I finished my tea and was about to head for the door, when Sven asked me to take it easy and sit down again. Sven manage to make me stay, which I today are more than happy about. I learnt that the first thing to do is to negotiate a price, and then have the owner stick to it, which I had better success with afterwards. Looking back, I must admit that had I been there alone, I would have packed my things and left.
Sven and I had a great evening that day, temporarily repairing my alu box which suffered hard during my crash a couple of days ago. A beer or two might have added the final things to this perfect evening, but the great company made this evening a memorable day.
The tout that followed us to the place had vanished into nothing, and I didn’t see the shadow of him while staying, which you might say was in luck for him.
TO BE CONTINUED..!