On a Bike and a Prayer
day 23. toubkal beckons (again)
Although school had already begun, administration still occupied the day and the village children milled around, half heartedly attending a class lead by the other teacher. Breakfast took a while to prepare, and we didn't escape the hospitality of Mohamed until almost 10.00am. He said we should still reach Imhilene by 4.00pm.
We left sceptically and cycled for a couple of hours to reach Azrou. We were low on water and asked for `Aman' in each cluster of houses we passed through. Most were too amazed to respond, but in one small village a little hunched old woman rallied the children together. They scurried off down streets and returned with cups of clear cool water which we amassed in Stephane's bag.
In Azrou we found a German trekker walking alone without a compass and detailed maps for ten weeks in the Atlas. He wore a month of beard and a baggy lilac vest. Following mule tracks he crossed the mountains were people said it was impossible and arrived in villages as a first Westerner, to be received like a prophet.
We were invited down the road to a frantic man's house. It was too far back down the road for the German to accompany us, so we left him to fight on his pilgrimage across the peaks. The man's house was on the edge of town. The courtyard where we rested the bikes was piled high with timber and ankle deep in soggy manure and clucking chickens.
He ushered us amidst floods of children through a small
door that was the entrance to his ground floor. It too was wallowing in manure
and calves stood grazing at one end. A sheep was perched like an ornament in
one corner on a pile of rubble and chickens came and went like robotic
commuters. He had sprinkled some reeds on the moist floor and ushered us to
sit on them round a bowl of gelatinous congealed cheese.
A scab of bread was thrust at us and we taw it up and dunked it in the cheese. It was like a bitter lumpy milk and was a refreshing change from the oil we'd expected. As we ate and slurped the throngs of children grew outside blocking out the light. All we could see were bobbing silhouettes. They were wild haired wind swept kids with grubby mud-matted bodies and unkept heads of run-away hair.
Whilst Stephane licked the bowl clean, I sat and mended a puncture. Hearing a bubbling sound behind me I looked up to see a new cow pat land at my side. Our frantic host was becoming more and more edgy and nervous and after we'd given his wife something for her babies diarrhoea he ushered us out, as if suddenly discovering we had a contagious disease.
My rear tyre refused to stay inflated and I repaired it once more before we reached Amsouzart for our last stop before Toubkal. The village nestled into a broad clear ford crossing the road and sprouted up the valley sides in geometric blocks of balconies and wall-less rooms with post card views. All around were time-less hills of wind washed cashew nut trees and green meadows of grazing lazy livestock. The main street was shady and rubble strewn and poultry clucked around the edges. The hotel owner was Omar - a man with a strong business acumen - a hotel to please, and a relaxed, anything is possible attitude. The centre piece of the building was the middle floor of a vast airy room with cushions round the edge and a view up the valley towards Imhilene.
When you enquired the price - he just blinked slowly and said - `Si vous voulez'. He bought us sweet milky coffees in long glasses and we sat and sipped them and starred up the valley at the poplars and peach trees swaying below the rose-red lofty peaks and the black-berry blue sky.
In the day light which remained I readied my bike for the planned ascent of Toubkal tomorrow. It was decided that I was the only one to take the bike up the mountain. The other two would act as sherpas to carry the food and water and sleeping bags for our two nights and three days on the peak.
My front hub needed re-greasing again and I sanded down the cones for a second time. After checking the puncture in the rear tyre and re-packing the luggage, doing some washing and demolishing a monster couscous it was time for bed.
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