It had been decided to make Tuesday a day of rest. We
rose at 8.30am with intentions of checking out the road ahead. Stephane
surfaced slowly and started mumbling in French as he did each morning before
remembering where he was and who he was with. His conversations last night had
established a route and a price for a guide and mule.
It would take two days to reach Anergui with a steep climb
and a descent between. The guide and mule would need two days extra to return
to Imilchil - making a total of 600Dh.
After a breakfast of pancakes, jam and coffee we spent the
morning fixing and oiling and cleaning the bikes. From the morning glare,
thick black storm clouds rose and swarmed over the hills to the west, where we
planned to go tomorrow.
I began to feel unwell by mid-day and spent the afternoon
in the dingy little room with ever worsening stomach cramps. The others left
me in pain to go in search of provisions for tomorrow. Andrea prescribed
condensed milk which I reluctantly sipped. By 4.00pm I was worse and they went
in search of a pharmacist. He was `on holiday' but the `Doctor' was prepared
to see me. Draped over Andrea and Said's shoulder I was dragged down into the
village. As I reached the corner I stopped and threw-up all the milk in full
view of the villagers. The old men looked on with horror and concern, whilst
the children laughed and ran around.
Feeling much better I walked un-aided into the Doctors
shed. As I laid down on the table, he got out a file and a syringe.. I
looked at Stephane,....he looked at me, and then ran out back to the room for
our supply of needles.
The injection was large and slow and I was forced to walk
round the block to make it work faster. The feeling of nausea subsided and I
was taken back to the hotel. A whole string of well-wishers queued up at my
door all evening to stick their heads round the door and enquire ..'Ca va?'
'Ca va un peu' I would reply.
One promised to pray to God that I would be well in the
morning.
The night was long and hot, but the praying worked and the
morning was better.
I began to feel unwell by mid-day and spent the afternoon
in the dingy little room with ever worsening stomach cramps. The others left
me in pain to go in search of provisions for tomorrow. Andrea prescribed
condensed milk which I reluctantly sipped. By 4.00pm I was worse and they went
in search of a pharmacist. He was `on holiday' but the `Doctor' was prepared
to see me. Draped over Andrea and Said's shoulder I was dragged down into the
village. As I reached the corner I stopped and threw-up all the milk in full
view of the villagers. The old men looked on with horror and concern, whilst
the children laughed and ran around.