The hills have eyes

Anti-Atlas Travel Blog

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Finally reached the coast! Its been about 6 or 700 km of riding west. West is no good here as it means lots of headwinds from the coast. And also this particular west meant that there was another mountain range to cross.

A little beaten from previous nights whiskey we set of late from ait benhaddou. The landscape quickly became remote after we left the main road and the otherwise always roaring jeeps had been left behind for a time. As hills turned into mountains in the distance, a petrol station appeared. "Last chance for 200 miles" and "cold beer" the signs read. Old american cares were doted around the station, seemingly like us, waiting for the never appearing cold beers whilst slowly being swallowed by the sand instead. But things were odd: there should be a village in 40 km's time - but maybe that, like the cars, had been swallowed by dust and sand... and beer is never advertised here (You have to follow the dodgy looking crowds to the well hidden off licences) and finally there was no shopkeeper. However in spite of lack of many things there was a windblown moroccan with no teeth. He matched the place very well but was kind and explained that this was indeed the set from' the hills have eyes'. So no elaborate mysticism there then...

The road had now, without us realising, reached the foot of the mountains and the steady headwind was joined by solid up hill. Each time a new 'top' appeared Daren happily explained that this was deffinetely the top the 'hills'. Each twist and turn just revealed another stretch of up. I began to wonder whether the village had indeed disappeared and the sign was right after all; That it had been some sort of a dark prophecy! As the sun had already begun to set and as there was rather hostile looking mountains and creeks everywhere this did not at all seem impossible. (Also i was reading the hobbit at that time).

But hobbit book or not, villages don't just dissapear and after 40 km of solid up indeed there it was. Very small but men dressed in long jelabas (And kids in skater clothes -but they don't suit this part of the blog) sorted us with everything we needed. That night we camped at 1800 meter, surrounded by black mountainpeaks. Soon stars came out and all we could hear was the bubbeling of our mutton stew.

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