On a Bike and a Prayer

day 26. Lord of the Atlas

I woke blinking and bleary as the sun woke and spread it's warmth and colour back into the oil painted view.   The water gushed again, and cattle and people lumbered up crooked streets.

One year ago, I was getting on a bus to cross the Taklamakan desert in Western China, having spent a night under interrogation in a prison for being in a closed town near Lop Nor.   Two years ago, I'd woken in the Anzak hotel in Gallipoli with a gangrenous toe - to catch a bus to Istanbul.   Three years ago I was crossing Australia having spent a summer in a mining village in the north-western Hamersley basin.  But today I was to spend my Birthday in the High Atlas Berber villages, in the shadow of North Africa's highest peak.

Stephane and Andrea presented me with a loaf of bread and a candle melted to it's centre.   My present was a bag of sweets which we all sucked as we slurped mint tea and ate Bills bread and butter.   We left his little house and gave him a polar fleece as a present - telling him to wear it up Toubkal next time.

I cycled back to Amsouzart and the other two followed on foot as men on mules and others driving cattle charged towards the souk in Souzart ten kilometres away.   We all installed ourselves on the terrace and relaxed in the strong sun to laze the day away dreaming of Agadir, writing and playing chess.   The evening colours passed into the blacks and greys of night and a strong moon burnt in a cool blue sky.

After feasting on dehydrated meals, Stephane and Andrea had asked Omar for a Birthday cake to be baked.   They had even managed to find a little wine with which to toast my 24th year.

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