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From Fes we went to Todra Gorge, one of the most beautiful places in Morocco. It’s a narrow canyon carved out of the rock with the two sides nearly meeting at the top. Instead of setting up tents we unrolled our sleeping bags on the roof of a hotel nestled at the foot of the gorge and for the first time of the trip we slept under the stars.

It was here I got sick for the first time on the trip with a bad fever but fortunately it passed in less than 24 hours. Because I wasn’t feeling that great I didn’t do much more than walk through the gorge a few times with others from the truck, but it is a very beautiful spot. If you looked carefully at the walls of rock you could usually spot a few rock climbers. 

Parked in the middle of the gorge was a bus from a German tour company where - instead of sleeping in tents - passengers slept on the vehicle itself in one of its little stacked horizontal compartments.

I was feeling much better by the time we had our first real party of the trip in the lobby of the hotel where we were camping. The staff and some of their friends were crowded around a small television set, taking advantage of the generator which only provided electricity for a couple of hours each day. We sat and talked and occasionally turned our attention to what was on TV, which included a few terrible game shows as well as a painful episode of Lebanese Idol.

From Todra we backtracked a bit and drove on through the Atlas Mountains for what was the most beautiful drive of the trip so far. I took full advantage of the sunroof at the back of our truck and braved the cold to enjoy the view from above - being careful to duck for the occasional low powerline. At this point in the trip it was still getting very cold at night so we wanted to avoid camping in the mountains. When we came down the other side we found ourselves at the northern edge of the Sahara desert.

Here we had an organized camel ride to a small tent settlement where we would spend the night at the base of a huge sand dune. Our camels were all tied together, which was much less cool than a ride through the open desert, but I was fortunate to get assigned the front one which afforded me some fresh air. There is no nice way to say that riding a camel is really uncomfortable, especially downhill.

The scenery however was beautiful. This is what people picture when they think of the Sahara. Sand dunes stretched as far as the eye could see. The slope of a dune against a clear blue sky is a wonderful thing. When we finally arrived at the camp we were relieved and awed by the sight of it. After dinner there was a musical performance by some of the most stoned musicians I’ve ever seen, which of course is saying something.

After our night in the desert, we made our way back to the base camp and drove the bumpy way through the open desert to the main road. We were once again on our way, but not before a quick stop to look at some carpets. There is definitely an art to selling a carpet. Soon after we sat down the merchants had about 50 carpets on the floor.  There was no way I was about to haul a massive carpet through Africa and beyond for the next nine months but many of us didn’t walk away empty handed. A Moroccan carpet is something I’d actually like to have some day but maybe I’ll wait until I actually have a house to put it in.

From here we were off to cross the Atlas Mountains once more on our way to the famous Marrakesh.

We arrived in Fes in the lower end of the city, near the tanneries. In between apartment blocks there were large areas with basins full of different dyes and solutions for dipping the hides in. The smell was not great because part of the process of turning the hide into marketable leather involved the use of bird feces.

Here - as in Chefchaouen - the locals were eager to hustle us. You couldn’t walk ten metres without someone trying to entice you into one shop or another boasting a rooftop view of the tanneries. In the end it was a relief to stop in a small cafe for a mint tea and not have to deal with the heavy locals.

Even the children in Fes were more aggressive than usual. We had to keep a number of people on the truck at all times to keep them from climbing on and mucking about. One of the South Africans on our trip resorted to yelling La! repeatedly in Arabic and spraying them with water.

From here we moved on to the much more pleasant upper end of the city where the old market is located. The Fes medina boasts one of the largest pedestrian-only urban areas in the world. The place had a great atmosphere with its narrow, crowded streets.

Fes was our first experience with a true Arab market. There were a ridiculous amount of small shops selling every type of cheap product imaginable. It was here where we learned the importance of haggling in Morocco. Just to be cruel and also because it was funny, one guy on our truck made it his mission to get exactly the same souvenirs as another, so long as he could get a better price - and he usually did. Sometimes the difference was more than $50. 

Before the trip I wasn’t sure how I would handle the constant bargaining but it didn’t take that long to adjust. It makes it easier for me that I’m not much for souvenirs and I’m almost always willing to walk away. The biggest thing is to strike a balance between getting a good price and at the same time avoid the absurd situation where you’re arguing over ten cents.The final price almost always ends up being less than a quarter of what the merchant’s initial offer.

The only time we ran into difficulty haggling was when we were buying meat in a town that may only have one or two butchers. For the most part however, food was very cheap, and more often than not we didn’t have to struggle to meet our tight cook group budget.

Also in northern Morocco we visited the site of Volubilis, an ancient Roman settlement near the western border of their empire. The ruins were very nice and parts of it were very well preserved but it was the view which was really amazing.

To continue on with our journey it was important for us to first make a stop in Rabat, the Moroccan capital. Here we applied for visas to Mauritania and Mali. The visa application process is basically made up of a few pages of paperwork, some photos and passport photocopies, and then extended periods of waiting. Our home base during this time was the parking lot of a Marjane located a short walk from the city center. 

Marjane is like a Moroccan Walmart complete with smilely-face logo and in some cases adjoined by a McDonalds or Pizza Hut. We came to love these second-rate department stores because not only did they help ease the transition from our decadent western society, but it also gave us an opportunity to get rid of our large currency. The largest Moroccan bill was worth 200 dirham - nearly $30 - but it may as well have been worth $1000. We all came to jealously hoard our small change as we continued through Africa.

Every day while waiting for our visas we would make our pilgrimage to the Marjane parking lot and every day we would stock up on bread, water, beer, wine and laughing cow processed cheese.

Our bush camp was located a short distance outside of the city, just off of a dirt road. It was pretty quiet for the most part except for the occasional donkey cart. That is until the military came by.

The first night they just stopped by for a chat, but the next night they insisted we had to leave for vague safety reasons. Because it was already after dark and raining we weren’t looking forward to taking down our tents and then trying to find somewhere else to stay. Our driver knows french quite well but in situations like this he prefers to feign ignorance, and it turned out to be a sound strategy. The soldiers settled for some coffee and a couple of free meals and were content to spend the night sleeping in their car parked behind our truck.

For most of us there were no problems with our visas, but unfortunately for the American on our trip the Mauritanian embassy was dragging their feet with his. He ended up waiting another two weeks - while continuing to travel through Morocco with us - until it became apparent they would not issue the visa. He decided to go to Senegal and then meet back up with us in Bamako, Mali. It was a brutally tough start for him to be denied entrance to the second country on our ten month trip, but the rest of us were lucky to be clear until Burkina Faso.

We didn’t spend our entire time in Rabat wandering around a department store. I was part of a mission into the city to make some alterations to one of the truck’s rain tarps. The tarp was designed to be mounted on the side of the truck and provide shelter for us to sit under, but it was short a rope on one of its ends making it impossible to put up. This was a pressing issue because the rain continued to dog us through northern Morocco. A small group of us were sent into the city with the tarp, the equivalent of ten dollars and instructions to find a tailor.

Here I was able to put my terrible high school french to good use. Fortunately, my instructions were good enough to successfully not ruin the tarp. While we waited for the work to be done we spent the afternoon exploring the old city. The people in Rabat were the friendliest in Morocco. Everyone was happy to point us in the right direction and tolerant while we tried to make ourselves understood. Anywhere else in the country and we would be expected to tip for even the smallest bit of unwanted advice. So while Rabat doesn’t even come close to the beauty of Fes or Marrakesh, it ended up being one of my favourite cities in Morocco.

The ferry to Ceuta, a Spanish territory on the northern tip of Morocco ended up being the nicest ship I’ve ever been on. It was even nicer than the boat to Prince Edward Island if you can believe it. There was row upon row of huge leather seats. After I sat down and put the seat all the way back, I was half sure someone would wake me up and demand a first-class ticket. The only downside was stormy weather and the resulting mass of sick people. The storm kicked up some big waves and at one point a woman even screamed. Fortunately, I had an incredible sleep after spending the night before at the airport.

We arrived safely on land and made the short journey to Morocco as it continued to pour rain. The border was an appropriate introduction to Africa because it was complete chaos. There were six lanes of cars funnelling into two. Drivers were honking horns and everyone was yelling. Meanwhile, off to the side there was a constant stream of women quietly walking through the crossing carrying goods purchased in Europe through the rain. We used this relatively small border post because there had been some problems in the past getting the truck into the country at larger crossings.

We got off the truck and walked uncertainly toward the booth while people ran up to us offering to help. Men claiming to be border agents demanded our passports. I held on to mine but everything worked out smoothly for the few who had theirs taken.

Back on the truck we were boarded by soldiers who counted heads and again checked our passports, and then we passed the huge group of local taxis waiting on the other side. Finally we were in Morocco.

We drove for a little while through the dark until we arrived at the campground where we were to spend our first night. We were given a quick lesson on erecting our tents as it started to rain again and then Mark, our driver, treated us to dinner at a nearby restaurant. I ended up being very lucky. My tentmate was a cool German named Jesco who was fresh out of the Middle East after working for an NGO in Palestine. 

It was freezing cold that first night in the tent and for most of the first two weeks of Morocco. That’s how we spent the first day of a scheduled 10 months in Africa.

Everything worked out fine and I was too lazy and tired to write anything!

My NYC hostel isn’t too bad for $17 a night. It’s located between the Apollo Theater and where Lou Reed used to? buy heroin.

My first day in New York it was freezing cold so I went to the Guggenheim which I missed last time in the city before heading down to Wall Street for lunch with the suits.

It was nicer yesterday so I spent most of the morning visiting used bookstores and then walked all the way through central park. Today I’m taking a trip down the rabbit hole to Williamsburg to see what all the fuss is about.

I’m home next Saturday so I have less than a week left on the road.

Philadelphia probably had the coolest downtown of any city I’ve been in since Chicago.

The place I was staying in was this creepy old mansion in the middle of a huge park with almost no one staying in it. They also locked everyone in after 2am and kicked everyone out at 11 like a homeless shelter.

The liberty bell was hilariously small but the city was very cool.

Now I’m sitting at a computer in Harlem.