It has been another whirlwind few days after the mountainous epic of climbing Toubkal last week. I spent 2 days more in Marrakech eating and recovering energy mostly. I found out we did roughly 13km's of steep track that first day on the mountain and over 22km in total…

I decided to head to the desert, because the weather was bad on the coast and also because it was going to be full moon!

So on the 22nd I caught the comfy but long 12-hour bus far south to a place named Merzouga. The bus arrived after dark about 9pm, I had no reservation and hadn't realised how basic this village was. While all us travellers were dragging our packs off the bus, we were set upon by a mob of around 20 men all tapping us on the shoulder, grabbing us and trying hard to take us to their riad, which of course is the best deal in town… It is pretty overwhelming and unsettling to have this experience after 12 hours sitting peacefully listening to music and dozing on a bus. There was a group of 4 young Spanish girls I had seen on the bus who looked like they were slightly organised and had a car ready to go. I made a snap decision and asked if they had space for one more, which thankfully they did! It really felt like diving into a getaway car and speeding off into the night, leaving behind toothless turban-toting men still screaming their best prices through the rear window of our classic Mercedes.

We arrived at our "riad" which in the dark and were led to our rooms for 50 Dirham's a night, which is about 7 bucks.The owner Ammar and his brother Mohammed were friendly chaps and laid out a tajine and bread for us, and we had a little drumming group until late...

In the morning I awoke to the sound of hammering, dressed and went out into the riad, which became obvious in the daylight was only half built, and being built slowly as they made more money.

It was ok, but I realised that the girls had really only picked this place because Ammar and his bro speak fluent Spanish which is fair enough. We organised with Mohammed for him to take us out for a night in the desert on his 5 camels named Bob Marley, Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, Manu Chao and Alpha Blonde. We set off around 4 in the arvo dressed in ninja turbans, to catch the sunset from the dunes. I picked to ride Jimi Hendrix, as I have been going through a Jimi phase and listening to his music of late. I thought it was a sign… :(

Sunset from the camel was great, and we continued into the night as the big bright moon appeared. After a few hours of groin grinding pretty uncomfortably on Jimi's back, we arrived at our camp and I disembarked with my hips screaming abuse at me because of the s***ty "saddle". All was well though! We played drums, sang songs and ate tajine followed by a seemingly bottomless pot of sweet tea. The moon that was so bright there were no stars visible… It was good fun, and the guys who were looking after us really came to life in the desert. It really did seem like they were at home here, around a fire playing drums and sharing stories. The girls had brought along a snowboard to surf the dunes on, and we spent a few hours flying down the dunes in the night.

I slept out on the sand in my toasty sleeping bag (thanks Nick :) and woke at 5 to bash up a big dune and catch the sunrise. It was really worth it! Seeing the moon leaving and the sun arriving, I was the only one who had woken early but the others slowly made their way up to catch the end of the show.

After some tea we jumped back on our camels to head back to the riad. Something was wrong with Jimi though, he was doing the SMELLIEST burps that kept wafting in my face making me gag.Not only that, but literally on every downhill his knobbly-knees buckled and he lurched horribly making my balls crunch into the saddle every time. With hindsight I should've got off and walked. With even more hindsight, I should've realised that picking a camel named after someone who lived a life of narcotics and alcohol abuse was probably a bad omen…

All in all, when we arrived home I got off Jimi, happy to see the last of him and wondering when I would see my balls again, which had been crunched to oblivion into some unknown recess.

We had a big brekky at the house, and then caught a lift to a nearby town to catch a bus back towards Marrakech. As it was too late to get to Marrakech that day, we decided to go to Tinehrir, which is a town in the mountains about 6 hours out of Marra. It rained heavily the entire 5 hours on the bus and when we were close to Tinehrir we sat in traffic near the bridge into town. We learned that the river had swelled and blocked the road, so the bus driver took a good 5 minutes to turn the bus around on the narrow road, dramatically putting a large branch through the back window in an explosion of glass! We did an hour detour around the town, finally arrived and found a cheap hotel next to the bus station. After about 5 mins in the hotel the town lost electricity, so dinner was a simple salad and bread by candlelight. I said goodbye to the 4 girls here as they planned to catch a 5am bus out of town the next day.It was very quiet without the loud giggly girls but it had been fun to share the desert experience with them. In some ways they were good to travel with because all they had to do was snap their fingers to make the Moroccan blokes do what they wanted, and in other ways they attracted much more attention and hassle…!

I decided to go back to Marrakech myself the next day, because I didn't want to get flooded in and stuck in Tinehrir. I arrived late that night and slept like a log until late the next morning in my new favourite and cheap hotel in Marra. The next day I contacted Carol to share the last few adventures and pass on some photos from the mountain for her website.She invited me for a drink in the new city with a few other old ex-pat British ladies on the roof of a fancy new hotel.The first drink for me in almost a month, and a very solid whack of gin with tonic it was! Carol then decided I needed fattening up (I don't) and took me to a French restaurant to treat me to a juicy steak and chips, accompanied by a bottle of red wine AND dessert!! It was such a treat after all the tajines and I hadn't realised how much I missed things like salad with balsamic vinegar. Next day I caught a bus to the Agadir, 4 hours to the south on the coast. I spent last night there, got up today and went for a cruisy run on the beach and a great swim in the Atlantic. The day started so well :( I planned to move to a surf village named Taghazout 20km north, so shared a "grand taxi" with some Moroccan people which is quite common. The problem with this is that the driver squeezes 6 people into an old Mercedes, which is very cosy. The guys squeezed tight either side of me were friends and quite chatty with each other and me but left the cab before the next town.For some reason a few minutes later instinct told me to check my pockets and, sure enough the zipper to one pocket was half undone but safe. However, the guy on the other side was more successful. The motherf***er had shaken my hand, smiled in my face had stolen my phone, but more importantly my source of music. I told the taxi driver with sign language what had happened. He was pissed, charged me nothing for the ride and touched his hand to his heart apologetically. I then told him with more sign language to run the guy over if he ever sees him again.

SO after that experience all the things I hated about Morocco almost over flowed when a guy on the street today grabbed my hand to shake it (pretty normal) but wouldn't let go. I pushed him over flat on his ass… I'm not an aggressive person but the last few weeks of being grabbed, spat on, sworn at, hassled every second on the street and being repeatedly ripped off came to the surface and I very nearly dropped my bags and laid into this guy. Regardless of all these things I have been keeping a pretty open mind about this country, but it is hard work and I'm guiltily craving to go back to a place where I can be off-guard and not hassled. I'm not sure what India is like in comparison, but I imagine it is similar to here? As a tourist I really do feel like I'm seen as bag of money, and some people seem to think if they shake me hard enough physically or mentally, some money might fall out for them.

Thankfully I arrived here in Taghazout, a nice hippy/surfer village full of young people and an awesome, clean communal hostel on the edge of the beach. I'm excited to go out surfing over the next few days with this crew. It's the perfect way to wind down the wackiest month I think I've ever had. Besides, I hope insurance should cover my phone… Fingers crossed hey?

Hmmm sorry about another big one folks…. The paragraphs seem to write themselves these days…

Big love :)