Omar

His family was struggling financially, so as the oldest boy, it became his responsibility to help contribute. He dropped out of school at age 14 to begin working in tourism, but can speak German, French, Arabic, Spanish, English and Berber. When asked where he learned so much, he just says, "the school of life." Not having considered renting a vehicle, I left my driver's license at home, so we hired Omar to drive us on a 4-day adventure through southern Morocco. We bonded quickly and deeply. I was surprised to find myself very emotional when I said goodbye to him.

He's an adventurous guy with a really kind heart and a deep love for dance and music. The 400 km drives seemed minuscule thanks to Omar's sweet collection of music and contagious dance moves. We were passing through some of the most remote areas of the country and were thus exposed to some of the most extreme poverty. When Omar stopped at a small grocery to buy a large bag of penny candy, I thought he needed some munchies to stay awake. But, as we drove through these mountain villages where kids play with rocks and discarded tires, he began distributing the goodies freely. The children's faces held looks of fear, then surprise, then complete joy, all for a small lump of colored sugar.

The children assume we're French and repeat "bonjour" over and over and over as it's obviously the only word they know. It seems to function much like the "F" word does in some persons' English vocabularies; they use it as every part of speech. It quickly became an inside joke for us and throughout the trip we could be found having whole conversations only using "bonjour."

Omar is also an African drummer in various bands. Every night we spent together was full of energetic drum sessions before bed. He also made the trip much less painful on the pocketbook as he has an incredible ability to haggle prices on everything from hotels to souvenirs to food at grocery stores.

Omar's planning a year-long walk through the African continent sometime within the next 5 years. I'm seriously considering joining him. I know it would be completely bonjour.

Paradisiacal Cascades

We arrived into the town of Ouzoud well past dark, hungry and eager to sleep. Both of these pleasures were delayed significantly as we unknowingly decided to eat at the restaurant with the slowest service in history. The postponement of sleep was more of a willing engagement. We met Abdul (to my immediate right) who greeted me with a very California surfer English, "Hey brother. We will make music tonight. No problem." And make music we did. Almost every night of this 10 day trip was concluded with a drum, castanet and guitar jam session. This one was made even more lively with the intermissions being filled with entertaining folklore from Abdul.



We finally went to sleep on the rooftop terrace with an amazing starlit sky overhead and the sound of the crashing waterfalls behind us. I awoke early to take a walk to the falls and nearly shat myself as this monkey jumped out of a tree, nearly landing on my head. I honestly thought I was being attacked and began looking forward to rabies shots in my belly button.

The falls were beautiful and extremely cold. But, I felt I had to keep with my trip tradition and bathe only in rivers, ponds or lakes. Admittedly, some of these were hard to come by in the Sahara and my hair began to feel like the beginnings of dreadlocks.

Survivalist Wanderlust

Is this real or am I dreaming? Pinch. Slap. Splash of cold water. Yes, I am awake, but somehow this situation seems far too fantastic to be part of real life. If the so-called middle of nowhere is anywhere, it’s here and I’m in a cave drinking Berber whiskey (mint tea) with a couple of nomadic women while their children run freely about chasing chickens. The younger one, who would be wearing diapers if he were anywhere but here, has pissed himself and is wet from the waist down. No one seems to notice. I am already digging on their carefree parenting style.

Aisha’s coffee-black eyes are made even more stunning by her application of heavy eyeliner she obtains from stones in the area. Her persistent use of henna to help harden her hands against tough work has permanently stained them an attractive amalgam of purple and orange. She’s a middle-aged woman who knows nothing but the nomadic life. Her daughter, Fatima, has spent her whole life wandering from cave to cave, too. Their knowledge of the area’s mountains is incredible. They know every cave within hundreds of miles, yet both are illiterate. Their movement depends upon food and water supply for their animals: goats, sheep and camels.

I never meet the men. They leave the caves early in the morning with the older boys to graze the animals all day, returning with the sunset. The women spend most of their time in and around the cave watching the children and weaving on their looms. They mostly make blankets as they are practical for the family and are also a great bartering item. Aisha and Fatima are disallowed from visiting the villages to trade their goods, however. Gender roles appear to be rigidly defined. “It’s the man’s duty to be the boss and the woman’s job to stay at home cooking.” I wonder aloud if they ever get bored or frustrated with their lifestyles. Fatima finds my musings hilarious. It seems preposterous to her that I would even ask about boredom. “Why would I get bored? This is my life. I know nothing else.” Maybe ignorance really is bliss.

If only taken superficially, it would appear that women have no voice here. Surprisingly, though, it is the mother’s responsibility to choose a husband for her daughters. I ask Fatima how she feels about this. She is shocked and I’m struck with a feeling that I’ve asked something really inappropriate. Tradition orders everything and is not to be questioned.

The biggest thing I’ll remember from this encounter is how happy little five-year old Mohammed appears to be. Simplicity is probably something we could all use a little more.

Como Te Extrano Mi Querido Banano!

So much for Chi Chi Chi Le Le Le. They lost horribly to Brazil yesterday and someone got the five-finger discount on my Chilean fanny pack this weekend. I just wanted to take a moment to formally extol the virtues of the waist purse. I think they should and will make a strong comeback soon. I hope the misguided child that stole mine makes it look as good as I did.

Pioneer Children Sang As They Walked...

...and walked and walked and when they were tired of that, they walked some more. Mount Toubkal, North Africa's tallest mountain at 13,671 feet sounded like a worthy adventure after getting rid of the worst case of camel crotch I've ever had. The snowmelt-fed waterfalls, snow-capped peaks and fresh mountain air were such a contrast to the Sahara.

Sunday involved waking up at 4 AM in hopes to catch the sunrise at the summit. We hiked that day from 5 AM to about 530 PM. I was certainly tired and a bit blistered, but we met some incredible people along the way who made the journey, with its already stunning scenery, even more enjoyable.



Taken from the rooftop of our cabin where I did yoga at sundown. Donia is currently volunteering in Congo working to improve child nutrition. We communicated mostly in Spanish, but she speaks French, Arabic, Malagasy and some English. She's volunteered in many countries and will soon be headed to Haiti for her next gig. She was an inspirational person to be around. I feel like one of the biggest things I've enjoyed about my travels here thus far is the exchange of ideas with exciting people.



Gunther is a German man working with the UN throughout North Africa on policy development in agriculture. He assured me that wandering from place to place every few years with a family can be a wonderful thing. His children quickly become fluent in the languages of whatever country they inhabit. I really enjoyed his honest insights into the struggles of North Africa. Germans have a way of avoiding sugar-coating things.



Our hiking crew. We all met sporadically at the refuge/cabin. We had a lot of fun together. I'm still amazed at how open and hospitable Moroccans are. They treated us to so much food and drink.

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The summit was beautiful. I love being able to see clearly for miles and miles.

Make Way for Prince Ali!

Admittedly, riding a camel through the Sahara reeks of cliche tourism, but I felt like it was something I might as well do. Despite having camel crotch (use your imagination) for the next few days, the trip was well worth the 12-hour, no bathroom, no air conditioned, overnight bus ride to get there. Camels are not as moody as people make them out to be, but they sure do have gas.

Amanda, Rasheed, Mohammed and I set up a tent to hang out in, playing cards, exchanging stories and laughing late into the night. It was eerily silent as we took our sleeping bags out to bed down under the stars. I'm used to falling asleep to crickets and frogs, but I guess there's just no life to make sound out there.

I woke up with sand in every imaginable orifice and everything I ate for the next day had a distinguishable grit to it. Interesting side note...we were following the ancient trade (mostly slaves) route to Timbuktu, which would've only taken us 52 days by camel. For my own comfort and my posterity's sake, I called it quits after 1 night.

Everything's Finger Food

Delicious meals like this Rafisa are set before my hungry belly with regularity. This bowl of spicy goodness was soon attacked by 7 sets of hands shortly after the picture was taken. We all eat from the same dish and silverware is hardly ever used, making eating a much more intimate experience. Even the water is shared...we either pass around a large bottle that everyone drinks from or pour it into a communal cup. I quite like being able to lick all that flavor off my hands when the meal is over. One thing is a bit disconcerting after having been lectured by Paci about the intricacies of microbiology: its customary to only use soap for washing hands after the meal. I guess they look dirtier.