Taxi adventure in the Sahara

I was on my second trip to Morocco, and I had learnt not to plan too much when in this "beautifully frustrating" land.

I had finally made my way to the Sahara this second attempt, and after my night under the stars, I made a spontaneous decision to spend another night amongst the sand dunes (after all, it was only EUR 5 a night for a relatively comfortable hotel).
It was meant to be a relaxing day, with sandboarding the only thing on my agenda. So there I was, noon in the Sahara, at Chez Ahmed cafe, having a berber omelette for lunch, with Ahmed and his Japanese friend (interesting lady, who moved to Morocco to improve her French. She taught social anthropology, if I remember correctly), and horror of horrors, I realised I was down to my last MAD 50 (about EUR 5).MAD 50 would only have covered my accommodation for the night, and I still had dinner to pay for, as well as the taxi fare back to Rissani (after which I would catch a bus back to Marrakesh).

I did not get stressed this (second) trip. I knew a screw-up would happen at some point... I just did’nt expect it to be my own! Ahmed offered me a berber omelette for dinner free of charge, and I could negotiate to have my taxi fare paid upon alighting at Rissani, where I could draw cash from the ATM.It sounded reasonable, but I could not bear to accept Ahmed’s hospitality. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the feeling of losing my “tourist spending power”, or the embarrassment that came with accepting a free meal from the restaurant owner that survived on tourists like me. And maybe I just did not want to take the easy way out of a screw-up.

I made the decision of using the last MAD 50 to share a cab back to Rissani, where I would draw cash and live like a king again, and share another cab back to the desert, where I would catch the sunset, and pay for my last berber omelette at Ahmed’s.

The adventure begins....
I left Chez Ahmed’s at around 1500hrs in the afternoon, and waited around 45 minutes for the first taxi to ride in from Rissani. Rissani is basically the largest town in the east end of Morocco and has the best links to the rest of the country. I haggled with the driver and managed to get a seat in the cab for MAD 25. The ride to Rissani took around 45 minutes, including a stop by policemen, who were “bribed” with bottles of mineral water.

Within 5 minutes of arrival in Rissani, I got my cash. Within half an hour of arrival in Rissani, I received:

• Ridiculously overpriced offer for a shared cab to Marakkesh
• The tour guide that sold me my desert tour package demanding me for tips , before he offered any advice on returning to Marakkesh
• Tour guide’s fat brother asking me to visit his father’s shop to purchase some souvenirs, boasting about his 5 girlfriends whilst walking there
• Cold farewell from the father after I insisted that I was not doing any shopping whilst on this trip

After 45 minutes of “adventure”, I finally found my shared taxi (the same driver that took me to from the desert). There were 4 of us including the driver. 500 metres into our journey, our driver got nervy, and told all the passengers to alight, and he drove off in a haste. According to one of the passengers, one of his neighbours from Merzouga, the driver had no taxi license, and this had infuriated the other taxi drivers as he was stealing their business!

The plan now, according to this fellow passenger, was to keep walking along the road, till he got out of his situation, and he would drive by, pick us up and resume the journey. And so we walked, for another 15 minutes, and we realised we had come to the edge of the town, to which it was just one long desert road for another 40km. We knew it was pointless to keep walking, so we sat by the road and waited for this driver. And we waited. And waited. For a good 1.5hrs.
I still remember thinking to myself, this could only happen in Morocco, and that it was moments like these that I would remember forever and tell my friends and grandkids about. Cars went by, motorcycles zipped past, old men on donkeys rode by, cheers rang, as Barcelona beat Chelsea in the European Cup finals. The sun set. And still there was no kid in a taxi. I killed off time by staring at the various people going by, and chatting with that one passenger that spoke good english.

Eventually, after 1.5hrs of sitting by the road, we gave up on waiting for the taxi, and a bus headed for the desert picked us up, dropping me at Chez Ahmend's at 2000hrs. My estimated 3hr trip took me a nice eventful 5hrs!

I recall not being extremely upset. I was actually pretty calm through it all, and my final berber omelette at Ahmed's did help soothe me quite a bit.

For only EUR5 a night!!!

What did irk me though, was the little boy by the side of the road, stopping me on my stroll back to the hotel to ask the "very important question" of" Sir, do you have any money?"

My thoughts:

• In Morocco, you do not need a plan to have an adventure-filled holiday. You can have no plan, and adventure will find you.
• Many Moroccans think that with a little spoken english, they are able to demand money from tourists
• I find it easier to accept people's hospitality when I have money, as compared to when I have none, though I still cannot explain why.

My most stressful night of travelling

1 night in Er Rachidia

Er Rachidia is mainly a military base, with good bus connections to other main cities of Morocco, including the desert. I spent 1 night there, to make a choice of whether to continue towards the Sahara desert or to Fez for my boutique hotel room.

The moment I alighted the tourist bus, Kamal (more about Kamal later) received me. Kamal informed me that accommodation in Er Rachidia was about Dh130 (ca. EUR13) a night. However upon stepping into the hotel, the price per room was raised to Dh390, as he thought there were 3 people, and each bed would cost Dh130. I was pissed, and I demanded a cheaper room, to which he brought me to another hotel, and charged me Dh20 for something that looked pretty much like a prison cell with a broken bed. Again I told him off and asked for a better quality room. I managed to get a half-decent room (details and picture to follow) for Dh120 that night on the third attempt.

These are the other experiences that made things worse:

• Being offered a desert tour package which was more expensive than the one I paid for in Marrakesh, when I was only 80km away from the dunes (the dunes are more than 200km away from Marrakesh), to which I aggressively declined (I told Kamal toF*** off).


• No one could give clear information on directions to the desert from Er Rachidia, about whether the flood had subsided clearing the road to the desert, or a weather forecast. Well, no one really spoke English.

Mostapha trying to help with directions/weather advice

My means of communicating with Mostapha

• Owner of the internet café wanted to rip me off an additional EUR0.1 in front of his very young daughter/niece, who was grinning at his dishonesty.


• Sleeping in a room with a broken door handle on the inside and a window facing the toilet.

fancy?

The morning after - a different Kamal
I survived the night in that hotel room, to my relief (I do remember calling my ex at night informing her of my situation), and made my way to the bus station, with my dreams of reaching the Sahara shattered, towards Fez.
I saw Kamal at the bus station, and told him my plan. I had some time to kill before my bus arrived, and so I sat down with Kamal for a pot of Moroccan tea. Kamal was a totally different person from the night before. No more pushy and sly sales tactics. Just talking about family, his business, the djellaba, and life in Er Rachidia. It was filled with sincerity and laughter.

I guess the lesson here was - People have more fun when money is not involved.