Demnate via Azilal

My next stop on the road beyond Demnate was Beni Mellah via Azilial. I stuggled to find much in the way of an "old town" here, which was sprawling and modern but without distinction. In the evening I walked up and down several of the main roads and stood on embankments to watch the the lit town.














A room with a view II.




















Waiting...but for what? For night. For tomorrow?

Khenifra

The next day I arrived in Khenifra. Abdul and Iman had suggested that, outside Ramadan, Khenifra is the place that young people visit to meet pretty girls and have sex, what I shall call "Bohemian". With hilly outcrops on all sides I decided that this would be my opportunity for walking out into the local environment, after so far failing to do anything outside the towns. It was afternoon already. I made with my quickest walking pace to one of the outcrops in the middle-distance. After a short while the housing began to disintegrate into a Martian landsacpe, littered with household rubbish and feral animals. I could see that there were farmsteads, which I could keep equdistant to, and the terrein was easy to overpass. As soon as I hit a gradient the walking became more difficult, making over boulders and loose scree with only dry and defensive plants to hold onto. The sun was going down over the ridge I was attempting to overcome, and I fell first thirsty and then ill.

Descending, I realised that I only had just over an hour before dark, and the loose scree made that particularly difficult. Much of the downward journey was made "seated", in a matter of speaking. Once on the level I could not succeed in navigating the farm, and two dogs set after me. I ran fast and made up and down several of the parched stream channels, hoping that they might demarcate the farm's territory, and delimit the canine jurisdiction. Then, a young man sidestepped out of a lage gorse bush, with a large stone in his land. The dogs dissppeared. I was very grateful to my rescuer but found it more difficult to eascpe him than the dogs before. He had watched me descend and took an interest in me. It took a lot of embarrassing negotiation to seperate from him and return to my hotel.

The outcrop which was my desitination.

Leaving the town.





























Herders or farmers.












Khenifra.















Dusk.















My rescuer.

Fez

Gentleman on the bus to Fez.




















One of the gates to the city and the rooftop cafe in which I took refreshment.



















A public fountain. This is an example of imperial infrastructure which is still working.

Examples of the curious alleyways and passageways of Fez.

Wall painting in my dormitories.



















Minaret.




















One of the tiny workshops in the souks.



















One industry which does require more space than the small workshops afford, is weaving. Instead it is necessary to build cat's cradles and cobwebs of thread through the streets.



















A several story cedar wood palace.

Coca-Cola delivery.



















During my second night in Fez I treated myself to a stay in an expensive hotel.
















I made my way to a ruined fort outside the city walls.











While taking dinner, my Kiwi acquaintances arrived and we met by coincidence, they having shed some of thier company but having gained a new recruit. They did not appear particularly pleased to see me, but then they did not seem particularly pleased about anything. One of my lady acquainances was desirous of some salt, and I attempted to communicate this to a gentleman on the table opposite. There was a pause and the he said in a thick frnech accent "In my country, we say 'excuse me', introduce ourselves, and then politely request the salt." I remonstrated that this was a practice also followed in my native country, not particular to that of Louis XIV.














Children collecting metal cans for scrap.














Yet another break-down.















Girl at bus-stop.

Meknes

On the bus journey to Meknes I joined forces with a gentleman from (to my memory) Argentina called Matthias who was in his 50s and a builder. He was rather recklessly necking back litres of water on the bus, and missing or ignoring the disgusted looks of his fellow travellers. He exhorted his abilities of negotiation, which normally involved walking away from people while they were in the middle of talking to him, which he was to demonstrate repeatedly during our time together. We set ourselves up in a very pleasant hostel where each room faced upon a courtyard with an orange grove and a hundred small chattering birds.

Carpet baggers.



















Stone lake.



















Flying buttress.

I rather awkwardly walked into a restaurant while its owners were breaking the fast. Accurately described in the guide book as being homely and in, or as if in, someone's front living room, I rather ill-advisedly asked if they would be happy for me to wait while I read my book. The lady of the house kept on about the number "seven" which tranpired to be the hour of opening but I reassuredly advised her that I was reading the sixth and not the seventh version of the guide book. The tagine was a very tasty beef and tomato with fried egg.



















Desert.

Matthias used our trip to Volubilis as a masterclass in his technique in negotiation. Despite the fact that the grand taxis work on a mathematical principle of six passengers filling six seats Matthias considered it clever to walk off from the taxi rank at the point of critical mass. We went to Vinopolis by Moulay Idriss, a holy city in which non-Muslims cannot stay overnight. Volubilis or Oulili in Morroccan is hectares of reuined Roman town remains, clealry mapped out with its triumphant arch standing. Our reciprocal photographic association was put in jeopardy by my dropping of his camera from a great hight onto a piece of Roman masonry. The site burned white hot and I had lost my cap along the way.The return journey was swift, and expensive. Matthias repeated to himself and our driver that they spoke the same language of business, a business which involved the dirve adding a good number of dihram to the final bill in an audacious act that Matthias seemed to think was his own working.