‘Can I guess where that’s going?’
Yes, I bet Keith knew where my souvenir sand would end up: on my mantelpiece next to my now empty - courtesy of Keith using it for an attempted exorcism a couple of months ago - plastic bottle of (Holy) water that I had collected from the River Jordan.
The light began to fade. There was no spectacular sunset, no bright stars but we did not mind, we had experienced something special, something natural, and reluctantly we made our way in a zigzag fashion, back down the dune to the waiting camels.
Our guide once again helped us to mount. I thought I heard a little groan from behind me and I was strangely comforted by the thought that someone else other than me was finding the ride somewhat painful.
All too soon, we were back at the camp, although it was a relief to dismount from the camel. I ached, I was sore, but I was feeling quite serene. Even the sight of Diane standing by the truck, her mouth a grim straight line, her arms folded, could not erase the feeling. I had shared something special with Keith – and Graham – and she could not take that from me.
When we arrived back at the base where the truck was waiting the light had almost completely faded. It had happened so quickly.
For the journey back to the hotel Diane decided she would sit inside the cab with the driver in comfort. That left the four of us to sit out in the back, in the dark, three of us with sore behinds I think, but that only seemed to add to the fun. We loudly oohed and aahed and gasped with every bounce and jolt in the ground surface, Larry as much as those of us who had ridden camels. He apparently had persuaded Diane to remove her shoes and trudge up to the top of a large sand dune to see the view – more sand dunes – and she had not been too impressed. Neither had she liked the feeling of grit in her shoes when she replaced them.
The ride back to the hotel seemed to take forever and my stomach was by now rumbling loudly. I had been amazed by the driver’s skill in finding the camel park in the daylight when the land we were traversing seemed monotonous and featureless; driving back in the pitch dark, with no buildings or street lamps to illuminate the way, was amazing. The land turned to countryside and the outskirts of the township appeared. A main track was evident; soon the road led to the shops and all at once we were in almost a different world.
From the peace and quiet of the dunes (singing sand not withstanding) we were driving through the hustle and bustle of townspeople going out on the town, dressed up in their finest. They thronged the main street in twos, threes, little groups, laughing, joking, the noise of the car engines, the smell of petrol mingled with the dust flung up by wheels.
The same feeling I had experienced on Friday, the Holy Day, overtook me. Keith, Graham, Larry and I (Diane being partially hidden inside the truck) seemed to be the only non-indigenous people around. It was a little daunting. This town was a completely different way of life, as different to ours in England as the Arabs in their little tents in the desert we had passed just an hour or so earlier. The men seemed to feel it as well as the hilarity and the jocular nature of the conversation ceased and we rode the rest of the way in silence.
It was all I could do not to fall out the back of the truck and stagger through the foyer of the hotel and the grounds to my room, where I had a quick change of clothes and washed my hands. It was now just about 9 pm and I was ravenous; I hoped there was plenty of food left.
I need not have worried. The restaurant area was outdoors by the pool and I soon spied the rest of our party. Diane and Larry had gone to the bar for a stiff pre-dinner drink. I settled in near Hugh and Nancy, who were discussing the relative comforts of their room and berating the fact that they only had three clothes hangers. Karen, who it appeared had four hangers in their shelving unit, smiled and passed me the wine list, pointing out her recommendation.
I soon realised what she meant. The wine was half the price it had been in the previous hotels up in the north of Morocco. I quickly ordered a bottle from a passing waiter who took my order with a huge smile. That was a change as well, a waiter who would serve a lone female, and so graciously! He arrived with the bottle and another smile as Keith appeared, his hair (and beard) damp from the shower. Feeling gracious myself I poured him a glass and smugly informed him that I had ordered the wine without his help. Then fortified with alcohol we went in search of sustenance.
The food was laid out in long rows and we went up one side where it then doubled back on itself with more serving dishes. We stocked up on salads and cheeses and cold meats and pasta. I was so hungry I could not stop to talk but shovelled in the food and paused only to wash it down with wine. I left Keith to describe our ride. Graham staggered over, his joints seemed to have seized up and he too gratefully drank a large glass of wine before heading off to the food tables.
The selection of main courses was staggering and again put the hotels up north to shame. Those might have claimed to be five stars with their posh waiters and décor but this little hotel with its welcoming waiters and large comfortable rooms, oozed charm and temptingly good food and good wine, which is what the weary traveller wants after a hard day’s travelling and an hour or so camel trekking.
We had soon finished our bottle of wine and Keith ordered a second – although only a half-bottle this time, to go with our desserts. Afterwards, as we sat pleasantly replete, in the warm night air. I could feel a silly grin on my face. It might have been due to the alcohol, but it might also have been due to a combination of the experiences of the day and the way I was feeling, sat next to Keith, who had again casually draped his arm around my shoulders as he leant forward to chat to Graham as they discussed the camel ride and the unfortunate effect it had had on a certain area of their anatomy, which had got a bit squashed and battered. They agreed that they could have done with some sort of sporting equipment protection. As they quipped about any other activities they might have participated in that evening now being curtailed Karen turned to me, her head tilted to one side and raised an eyebrow.
‘Well?’ she enquired.
I pretended not to know what she was hinting. ‘Well, what?’
‘You and Keith?’ she persisted. ‘Are you…?’
‘No,’ I smiled, hoping that the dark night hid the blush that I could feel rising up through me, and that was not due to too much alcohol. ‘We’re just friends.’
‘I see,’ she nodded. ‘Just good friends.’ We laughed. ‘So, you don’t mind about Diane, then.’ I forced the smile to remain on my lips and said nothing. ‘She’s a silly woman who is obviously finding it difficult to grow old gracefully. Why Larry allows her to carry on like she does, I don’t know.’ She leant forward over the table and whispered. ‘Keith is quite an innocent, isn’t he? I mean, most other men of his age would have called her bluff and taken her up on her flirting, just to see if she really meant it. Or just turned her down flat and made her look what she is, a very stupid, old woman.’ She leaned back and contemplated Keith as he laughed with her husband. ‘Or is he just too much of a gentleman and is letting her down easy, hmm?’
I did not know what to say. I did not want to say I had felt jealous of the attention Keith had given Diane and the fact that she had seemed to hold some attraction for him. Like many men, he was flattered by her attention.
For a second there was an embarrassing silence while my fuggled brain sought what to say but I was saved by Phil who had come up behind us and braying like a donkey, laughed, raised his wine glass and proposed a toast to ‘the intrepid travellers.’
Keith climbed fully dressed into my bed – well still wearing his Tee shirt and shorts; he removed his sandals. I did the same, climbing in the other side. It was a bit tricky, for two reasons. For one thing, with the total blackout produced by the heavy window blinds and the light switches being by the door I had stumbled across the room in the dark, arms outstretched like a zombie after I had discovered that the batteries in my torch were dead; which always seems to happen at the worst moment.
Secondly, it being a single
bed there was not much room for manoeuvring. Still, it gave a good excuse to hang on to him tight. I settled wearily and not a little tipsily down, my head on his shoulder and my arm draped across his chest. Keith wrapped both his arms around me and gently rubbed his chin along my forehead. I did not even mind the tickle from his beard. It was very pleasant just lying there in total darkness with only the whirr of the air conditioning breaking the peace. Even the aches and pains from my camel ride were beginning to ease.
‘Did you wash your feet?’ Keith asked suddenly.
‘Hmm?’
‘Did you wash your feet after you got camel poo in your sandals?’
‘Yes,’ I lied, after all it was only one little pellet, maybe two, that had got stuck between my toes for a few minutes. It wasn’t as if I had walked barefoot across piles of the stuff.
We lay in companionable silence until the sounds of people approaching outside, opening and closing doors penetrated. All too soon Keith announced that he should go back to his own room before it was too late. (Too late for what? Too late as in it was approaching midnight and we had to be up and cases out – again – tomorrow morning?)
‘I can’t just leave and let the door close behind me,’ he explained. ‘It’s not like a usual hotel door that self-locks. Especially being on the ground floor, you’ll have to lock the door behind me.’
So, we both got up, fumbled for our shoes and inched across the room in the dark. I made a mental note to mention on the room feedback sheet about the lack of bedside lamps. At the door I twisted the toggle a little and the gloom lifted slightly. I unlocked the door and peered out, all was quiet. Everyone else it seemed had retired for the night. Keith slipped out, stood for a second on the threshold, gave me a quick peck on the cheek and crept along to his neighbouring room.
I waited until he had shut his door behind him before I locked up and returned to bed; although I thought I heard a second door close as well, like a hesitant echo. Idly I wondered who could be keeping tabs on Keith’s comings and goings – Diane? I hoped that it wasn’t Bob, but then again, maybe if he thought we were having an affair he might cease his unwanted attentions towards me.
Left alone, the rattle from the air conditioning seemed intrusive and I switched it off. I fiddled with the blind covering the window above the bed and managed to open the window an inch or two, confident in the tourist literature that Morocco was not a malaria-risk country. Then I went into the loo and opened the small window in there to create a through breeze before going back to the switches by the door and plunging the room once more in darkness and stumbled back to the bed. Lying down I suddenly seemed to have so much space.
Yes, I was definitely suffering from a lack of something. And bedside lamps.
Chapter Eleven – Monday - Todra Gorges
I slept quite well and woke feeling just a little achy after my exertions of the evening before. Surprisingly, though, even after the extra alcohol, my head was clear.
I headed for the shower. After a quick fumble with the taps I remembered – c is for chaud - hot, not cold with froid, meaning cold, so I eventually managed a hot shower after an initial lukewarm effort.
I reluctantly packed my case, as this had been a most pleasant experience! And made to stow it outside the door ready for collection. I opened the door and was surprised to see a grey morning; I had expected blue skies with a bright yellow sun to match my mood.
As I walked through the hotel grounds to the breakfast room I thought maybe the weather did match my mood. Perhaps the onset of drizzle was more appropriate – yesterday we had reached the Sahara and I had achieved my goal of riding a camel along the sand dunes. From now on, so to speak, everything was downhill all the way, although we were in fact returning to the north, making our way back to Marrakesh, having gone just about as far south as we were scheduled. We were now just past the midway point of our holiday, with just under a week left; in a sense, we were already homeward bound.
I was the first to make an appearance for breakfast. I was greeted by the waiters with friendly nods and a chorus of ‘Bonjour madam’ as I took my seat on a long wooden table. I wrapped my cardi along the chair back to claim temporary ownership and went to study the fare on offer.
I poured some orange juice, selected a bowl of fresh fruit and a yogurt. I was drinking tea and eating a bread roll with cold meats and cheese when Keith appeared, looking a little miserable. He slunk down into the chair next to me complaining of a slight headache.
‘Think that extra half bottle of wine was a mistake,’ he said ruefully, but being Keith, he could still manage a half smile. He sighed. ‘I’m not used to all this alcohol,’ he admitted.
I advised fruit juice, some coffee and some food. Keith added paracetamol to the list as he popped a couple of pills into his mouth.
I took the packet from him and studied it. ‘Go ahead,’ he urged, ‘if you are in need as well.’
‘No, I’m fine,’ I informed him. ‘How are your bowels?’
He screwed up his face and frowned at me. ‘Getting rather personal, aren’t we?’
‘These are anti-diarrhoea tablets,’ I said. ‘Not pain killers.’ His face fell.
‘Oh, shit,’ he mumbled.
‘Not if you’ve taken these you won’t,’ I cautioned.
After I had plied Keith with plenty of natural yoghurt and fresh fruit for his breakfast and he had finished two cups of coffee he was more or less back to his normal self. He even sat next to me in the coach. I was unsure whether this new found bonhomie was down to him still feeling a little fragile or to a subtle change in our friendship.
However, it did not last long; all too soon the coach stopped and we all got out and stretched our legs.
This first stop of the day took me rather by surprise as it was not listed in the itinerary, well not in the one I had been sent. Graham on the other hand was rubbing his hands in glee, grinning at all and sundry, saying that he had been looking forward to this.
The weather had not improved much; it was still grey and gloomy with a fine mist in the air. As we gathered in the forecourt of a large anonymous building it was tempting to head back to the bus for a sneaky kip. However, Abdul rounded us up and shepherded us along a narrow passageway at the end of which a man, whom he introduced as Kamal, was waiting for us.
‘Welcome, welcome,’ Kamal greeted us, arms open wide, and a huge smile to match. Cynical or what, but I instantly thought - a money making visit.
However, I was pleasantly surprised, as Kamal led us further up the narrow alleyway and around a corner; it was like stepping back in time. Propped up against the walls appeared huge slabs of rock embedded with fossils. You did not need to be an expert to detect the small round squiggles or the long bullet shaped features as remnants of a bygone age. Graham peered closely at them as we walked passed, swapping comments with Larry and pointing out interesting bits. I overheard him mutter ‘belemnite’ and ‘crinoid’ as we went.
The alleyway led to a huge open courtyard, along three sides of which ran a covered walkway; the fourth side belonged to the wall of a building. As Keith nudged me and whispered ‘shop’ I crossed my fingers in hope.
Kamal led us over to the left side of the veranda along which were arranged a series of various types of rock specimens. At first glance they appeared to be chunks of grey slabs in varying shades and hues. He gave a little talk about geological time periods before pouring water over the surface of one and rubbing it gently with his finger to remove any dust and grime so that the fossils it contained showed up more clearly. We obediently ‘ooed’ and ‘aahhed’ as we watched.
Next, he introduced us to Hassan, who was working on extracting a large fossil from its surrounding matrix as he squatted on his haunches. Next to Hassan, perched on a stool, Rashid was working on an even larger specimen.
As we walked around, the specimens got larger and more impressive, and the commercial aspect began to appear: coffee tables with inset ammonites the size of my fist, sinks or bas
ins similar to the one in my hotel room, in various stages of production from the fossil being glued in place to the finished article, polished and gleaming. It was very impressive and as I glanced around at my fellow travellers, everyone seemed engrossed in the explanations of the creative process.
Two of the most striking and easily identifiable fossils were the ammonites and the belemnites, as pointed out by Graham. Belemnites, explained Kamal were squid-like sea creatures from the Mesozoic era (lower Jurassic to upper Cretaceous periods), 65 to 205 million years ago. They had ten arms of equal length and had hard internal skeletons which survive as the bullet-shaped fossil remnants. The largest specimen was about 18 inches (46 cm) long, which meant that with the tentacles the living creature would have been almost 10 feet or 3 metres long.
The spiral fossils were the ammonites which lived 245 to 64 million years ago and they were not only literally dotted around the rock specimens but also featured as large centre pieces 12 to 18 inches in diameter. I thought of my more modestly sized pendant and Carole’s tiny brooch.
The huge smile still lit Kamal’s face and it was genuine enough – he knew he had each of his captive audience hooked as he opened the door to the building, which, as Keith had correctly guessed, led into the shop.
And what a shop. From floor to ceiling shelves upon shelves around the room, as well as central racks dividing the room, contained items for sale. From teeny tiny trilobite “animals” aimed at children, through plates and large serving platters, lamps, and huge freestanding belemnites like statues or modern art, to the coffee tables and sinks that we had seen outside and in our hotel.
Instantly the shop swallowed us up. It was one of those rare commercial visits where everyone buys something, or nearly everyone, as opposed to the failures, such as the leather or carpet factory visits where we were treated to fashion shows and displays of expensive luxury items and where at the end everyone stands up on mass and troops out empty handed, having first taken the opportunity of a free use of the loo.
Thirteen in the Medina Page 16
