On our final morning in Fez, Rob and Ian decided to take a walk together before pickup time to see the “Panoramic View” that was promised on various signs with arrows pointing the way. What resulted was what can only be described as a shake-down. Here is Rob’s account of what happened:

“For our last morning in Fez, Ian and I decided to go for a walk around the labyrinth of a city. There are 5,400 narrow, winding streets in the Medina. We had about an hour before being collected. Not much can go wrong in that time, surely. ([Scott] That’s what General Custer said.)

We set off, and turned right straight out of the hotel, a direction we hadn’t been before. We love exploring new areas.  We saw a sign that read “Panoramic View.” Awesome! What we didn’t read was the smaller writing that said “Restaurant.”  Another hint of what lay ahead should have been that the sign wasn’t actually a sign, it was a spray-painted template.  Anyway, we thought we would push on regardless. ([Scott] What could possibly go wrong?)

We had a plan though. Follow the signs to the spectacular panoramic view, then follow them backwards to the hotel. Simple. 

So, off we went, downhill and downhill (which also in hindsight should have been an alarm as I haven’t seen too many panoramic views from the bottom of a hill). We walked down many lanes and alleys, each one getting narrower than the last, even passing a man with two donkeys. The neighbourhood didn’t appear to be as friendly as what we had experienced, because when I lifted my camera to take a photo, he gave me the universal sign for “give me money.” That was the first attempt at a shakedown. 

After navigating the first extortion attempt successfully, we walked on. Further and further into what seemed like 5,399 of the 5,400 streets. Following the graffitied signs in the ‘hood, we eventually, well, ran out of signs. We backtracked slightly, using our ingenious plan, to find…the door to a restaurant with the graffiti above the door. Except it had an additional sign. “Closed.” Probably should have added the time of the morning into our calculations. 

Oh well. We headed back, using our foolproof plan. Uphill, uphill, follow the signs in the opposite direction. No worries. Until we hit a t-intersection. Uh oh. There were two signs. We discussed our options for a moment, in front of a gang of local Moroccans as it turned out, and using supreme deduction skills we landed on “uphill.” 

Off we trotted, for about five seconds, until one of the gang members said, “no wrong way!” What would he know. He then stood up, showing all the six foot six inches of him, ([Scott] It was 6’4” when he told me the story. The guy grew with every iteration of the story. My guess is that he was probably 4’10”) and asked us where we were going. We told him the name of the hotel, and he demanded we follow him. Ian and I had a round-table discussion, all the while with Max Gawn ([Scott] Tony Liberatore) standing over us. Given the time we had left before collection, we decided to follow, just until we could reactivate our plan. 

Needless to say we were very reluctant, but given the night before we had a similar situation, where the Moroccan gentleman was very nice, we thought we would give him the benefit of the doubt. Then he told us his name:  “Osama.”  Shit.  He could tell we were not trusting him, probably given away by him catching me taking my wallet from my pocket and putting it down my jocks. “Not everyone is a liar!” He had the nerve to say.  

“Come, come, 2 minutes.” He led us up many laneways, much less than we had previously traversed mind you. Then he said “you pay me 300 dirham.” About $45.  

“No way” I told him. “Yes I am poor.”  “Still ‘no’, Osama.” 

Now he started to get aggressive, but we maintained our refusal. So, he stopped and put his hand out. “300 dirham!!!!”  In an attempt to appease him before it escalated, I held out 100 dirham. “No!!!!!” He yelled, from a very short distance. In a further attempt to appease him, Ian held out his hand, with coins, including some Australian 20 cent pieces. Thanks, Ian.  He quickly slapped that away, and was clearly becoming more agitated. It was probably because Ian tried to help by giving him the equivalent of about 95 cents. 

So, after much back and forth, he realised he wasn’t going to get any more notes from us, took the 100 dirham, and said “ give me your coins.” Reluctantly, Ian parted with his 90 cents, and off Osama trotted. 

Not even a goodbye. Rude.”

We left Fez and began the long drive south towards the Sahara Desert. It was amazing to see the landscape and architecture change dramatically as we travelled, almost as if we had left Morocco itself. We went from the flat-roofed, tiled architecture of Fez, up into the Atlas Mountains, where we stopped at a town that looked like a village in Switzerland. Steep, pitched roofs on chalet-like buildings, this village was apparently a holiday destination for skiers in the winter-time. In fact, the mountains nearby still had snow on the peaks.

From there we entered a cedar forest that could have been in Colorado except for the monkeys everywhere. We stopped for a picnic lunch and were approached by Barbary Macaques; big, mean looking monkeys, one of which stole Linda’s water bottle and popped the lid off in no time flat.

We then left the cedar forests and entered a barren landscape with no trees and a light dusting of scoria over the ground, almost like a moonscape. Our next stop was a hotel in the middle of nowhere; a lake out the front and a volcano behind. The entire hotel looked like a ranch straight out of Arizona; the walls, floors and ceilings cut out of rough-hewn cedar and furniture made from cow horns.

The next morning we headed further towards the Sahara Desert. Our driver Lahcine announced that we were entering “the kingdom of camels”. As we travelled, the landscape changed again: dramatic cliffs with palm-lined rivers in the valleys between. It looked like the quintessential desert oases. We stopped along the way for many photo opportunities.

Eventually we found ourselves among the famed orange dunes of the Sahara Desert.

Our hotel was another riad, with a tiled floor in the foyer/courtyard sporting a large rectangular fountain. We wanted to enjoy the sun setting over the dunes and so headed up to the terrace on the rooftop of our riad. Unfortunately, the wind was blowing a gale, and it was intermittently raining, so we abandoned that idea and went for dinner instead. The food was like a home-cooked meal and we enjoyed it thoroughly.

The next morning we rose, had our breakfast and prepared for a drive into the desert. I walked down the stairs into the foyer, just in time to see Rob talking to Caitlynne on the other side of the fountain. He turned around, tripped over the edge of fountain and stood right in the middle of it. He announced that he was lucky that his shoes were waterproof. I was left wondering why you need waterproof shoes in the Sahara Desert.

At the same time, Ian was frantically bustling about the foyer looking for his backpack. He’d lost it and was fossicking through all of our luggage trying to locate it. Dennis asked him if that was his backpack on his back. Turns out it was. Who would have guessed it would be hiding there?

We exited the hotel to find two four wheel drives waiting for us. For the next couple of hours we drove through the Sahara Desert. We stopped along the way to see a lake with resident flamingos (although they were too far away to see), and an oasis where the locals channel water for use in the town’s agriculture. We even saw heaps of frogs! In the desert!

Fanging up and down the sand dunes was great fun, like a roller coaster in the sand. We stopped in the middle of a vast desert landscape, sand dunes as far as the eye could see in every direction. We decided to walk up to the top of a dune to see the view. As we made our way up the slope, the sand shifted beneath our feet, making it very challenging to walk. Linda fell over a couple of times, providing us with great entertainment. When it was Lidia’s turn, she slipped, fell, got up, slipped, fell; all the way up to the top. We were all laughing so hard as Rob tried, unsuccessfully to help her from the top of the dune. She finally made it, flopping onto the top of the dune, laughing and exhausted. Half an hour later she discovered that she still had sand on the side of her face.

On the way back to the four-wheel drives, Ian bent over and picked something up from the sand. “Oh, look, a rock”, he exclaimed, holding it up in front of his face. Turns out that it wasn’t a rock at all, but a small round piece of camel shit.

We then drove to a Berber village. Many of the Berber people still live a nomadic lifestyle, moving around and erecting their tents in different places, depending on where the water is. We watched the children herding the goats and trying vainly to ride a scooter on the rocky, sandy ground. We were invited into a Berber tent for Moroccan tea. One of the Berber ladies brought in a Berber pizza, which is like a pizza base with Moroccan spices and vegetables inside it. It was cooked in an oven pit over coals, and was totally delicious.

Our next stop was to be a desert camp for the night, and we were looking forward to riding camels to the camp. Unfortunately, it started pouring rain and the camel ride was cancelled. Turns out Rob’s waterproof shoes came in handy in the Sahara Desert. So we took four-wheel drives to the camp instead. When we arrived at the camp, we exited our car to the strong smell of gas. The ute tray on the back of the 4WD was full of gas bottles and you could visibly see gas spraying from one of them. One spark and the whole car would have erupted in a ball of flames, so we quickly got as far away from that car as we could, thankful that we arrived alive.

On the way, Ian announced that he had left his hat and sunglasses back at the hotel. We were impressed that it had taken so long for him to lose something. “Ah well”, he said. “I brought spares”. Good preparation; bringing two of everything because you know you’re going to lose it.

That evening we enjoyed a drink in the front of our tent, watching the rain fall on the desert sand. It cleared as caravans of camels came into the camp and we went over to check them out. Ian was particularly taken with them, giving them a good scratch behind the ears. We are calling him the camel whisperer.

We were looking forward to watching the sunset over the sand dunes, but given the rain it wasn’t to be.

The next morning we woke to a beautiful morning. Lidia and I went for a walk over the dunes. After breakfast, we finally got our wish, electing to ride camels back into town. Lidia decided to sit this one out and take the car back. I told he to avoid any car with gas bottles in the back.

The rest of us mounted our camels and set off for the one hour walk. I named my camel “Mark Camel”. He was very soft and fluffy. It was a comfortable ride for the first 5 minutes. With no stirrups and your legs spread wide apart, it wasn’t long before we were all trying to find different positions in the saddle to ease the pain. I was in front of Rob and his camel took a liking to me, rubbing it’s face against my arm as we walked along.

It was a surreal experience, riding the camel through the Sahara Desert. A 4WD sped past us, but we caught up with it a short time later, finding it stuck on top of a sand dune, the undercarriage resting on the sand. The drivers were desperately trying to dig out the wheels without much success. We had a spare camel and offered it to the two ladies who exited the 4WD.

As we slowly entered the town, I couldn’t help thinking Lidia made the right choice. My inner thighs and butt were screaming at me. I dismounted Mark and waddled off behind Rob, who walked like he was holding a barrel between his legs. Despite this, it was a great way to end our time in the Sahara Desert.