Back in the Saddle

Well, it took us a couple of weeks to get over the trip to Morocco.  But now we're back into life in the Village.  This one is going to be a rambling little episode about what a couple of typical weeks here are like.  No huge drama but much diversion.

The Civic Good

The last several weeks have featured a couple of events that highlight what we like about charitable giving here.  In the U.S. we contributed to a lot of things that were worthwhile like the United Way, Heifer International etc. etc. but we never saw the direct results of our efforts.  That was fine.  But here you see it and hear it vividly.

Marie Clair's Going Away Concert

Marie Clair is eighteen years old, beautiful and the daughter of French/Mexican parents. She has been singing in Ajijic with vocal groups, a jazz band and solo for several years.  Her voice is amazing. Last week she left to study voice in Montreal.  She has received a scholarship from Viva Musica which is a local group that not only brings musical talent to Ajijic but provides scholarships to budding musicians of all types.  As a send off, a final concert was arranged, and probably one hundred or so people who have watched her develop and mature attended.  By the end, when she thanked the audience for their support, Marie Claire and most everyone else were in tears.  Hopefully Michael can embed a video of part of her performance. Gratifying.

Marie Claire --- photo courtesy of Allan MacGregor.

Marie Claire singing...

and singing some more. (All photos courtesy of Allan MacGregor).

Here is the link to the video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TF5IsRos5GU&feature=youtu.be

The LCS Children's Art Program

Neil James was an amazing woman.  She was an adventurer who roamed the world solo during the 1930s and 40s and ended up living in Ajijic.  In the mid-50s she started an art program for the children of the Village.  She brought in a teacher and an integral part of the program was that the children had to do their homework if they wanted to participate.  When she died, she willed her house and gardens to The Lake Chapala Society and the Children's Art Program has been supported by LCS and the local Art Society ever since.  This past weekend a retrospective show was held in the Cultural Center to display the work of the children over the past sixty years.  On stage were about a dozen artists spanning an age range of about 25 - 60 who have become successful, in some cases internationally, and who participated in the program.  Ajijic is now known as a center of art not only in Jalisco state but throughout Mexico.  These  working artists volunteer in the program with the children, along with Gringo volunteers, to help raise another generation of local artists.  It was fascinating to see the recent works of the Vega brothers, Javier Zaragoza, Efren Gonzalez and other well known artists and compare them to the hanging art work that they did when they were children. This program not only changed the lives of the artists but forged a new identity for the entire village.

History of the Children's Art Program.

Some of the children's art work...

and some more. Even with the glare, the quality of the art shows clearly.
(Very early Zaragoza a la Modigliani-- upper right)

                                 

The art work was arranged by decade going from the beginning of the program..
(an early Jesus Vega work).

                                       

and continuing on....
(one done by the young Efren Gonzalez)

                                                       

demonstrating the amazing talent ...

of all of these very young artists.

OK - Enough Civic Good

Getting a little preachy.  Let's move on.

Driving to Super Lake

Super Lake is the small grocery store that caters to the hankerings of Gringos.  It stocks things like pickles, pate, camembert, Newman's salad dressing -- well, you get the idea.  I never thought I'd pay $8.00 for a jar of pickles but you know, when you want a pickle REALLY bad... Well.  So, I'm driving to Super Lake the other day and there is a big traffic accident outside of Walmart.  This is a favorite place for accidents.  As usual there is a cement mixer involved.  And three cars.  And a motorcycle.   There are also two police cars, a wrecker and a Telmex truck (I don't know why). Nothing out of the ordinary.  Upon my return though, I notice that an enterprising pushcart dealer has descended on the scene and is plying his wares to all those involved and they are all leaning against the concrete truck amicably sharing a mid-day snack.  I respect people who have priorities.

Siam Takes A Swim

Just skip this if you hate people who talk about their pets.  So, as you may remember, Siam celebrated her 20th birthday this summer much to everyone's surprise.  She is healthy but walks like a drunk due to being-- like over 100 in cat years.  Usually this is not a big problem.  However,we were having a dinner party and she decided to descend to the back yard for a stroll.  I opined to Michael that I thought that risky in the dark but he pooh-poohed the notion.  A loud plop was soon heard and we ran down the stairs to find her serenely paddling across the pool.  Well, perhaps not serenely.  She was terrified of the pool for two entire weeks but is now back to balancing on the edge of the pool on a daily basis.  It could be kitty Alzheimers.  We think one of those floaties will just fit around her waist.

Zombie Jamboree

Everybody headed down to the Plaza for the Zombie Thriller Fund Raiser for Cruz Roja.  Each year, large numbers of village geriatrics learn the intricate choreography of dancing to Thriller by Michael Jackson and perform it in full zombie garb at the Plaza.  This event is held worldwide and happens at precisely 4 PM.  To my knowledge, it is the only thing that has ever occurred on time in the history of the Village.  It was fun.  From there it was off to a birthday party for two of our pals which we are slowly recovering from.

Since we arrived late, we are including pictures of zombies from year's past...

demonstrating the variety of bizarre and...

creepy costumes represented for the reenactment....

of the Thriller dance.

Off To The Races

George and Alex called the other day to ask what we knew about horse races that were taking place in the middle of their neighborhood.  We knew nothing but felt we should investigate.  Some Mondays (it is hard to tell if there is a schedule) people gather at the long, walled, dirt corridor that runs through the center of La Floresta.  Children and dogs frolic amidst horses, people making bets and vendors selling an astounding amount of beer and junk food.  We grabbed our drinks and joined them, perching ourselves on the stone wall.  It is the quintessential Mexican gathering.  Everyone just sort of mills around with no sense of urgency or, in many cases, purpose.  But everyone is happy. Slowly, things begin to take form.  Two very peppy horses are seen with a young boy strapped on each.  And I do mean strapped.  No saddles.   Just leather thongs that somehow hold the boys on.  We hope.  People assess the horses and riders and more money is wagered.  Then you wait.  And wait some more.  Then people slowly move down the corridor and form a mob, sort of, which spans the raceway.  We Gringos consider this somewhat dangerous and stay put.  Darkness is falling and still no race.  Eventually, a roar goes up and the race is on.  The people still don't move out of the way.  At the last moment, they scatter and the two horses fly by us in almost pitch darkness.  Dogs yelp and leap on the wall.  Mothers FINALLY pick the children up out of the way.  Boom.  It's done.  Money changes hands.  More beers are ordered. Another interesting night.

One of the jockey's on his horse. Notice how the legs are held against the horse & the lack of a saddle.

Everyone, including the children, turn out to watch the race.
(and play in the middle of the track)

Liquid libation is a necessity, even when on horseback.

Some seek a more advantageous viewpoint to watch the race.

This jockey forgoes the hard hat in favor of the backwards baseball cap.

Gearing Up For Day of the Dead and a Slew of Festivals

So, it's time for the peace to end.  I mean, just look at this blog.  No parades.  No fiestas. Well, we are about to go into Mexican celebration overdrive. This week the Virgin of Zapopan returned to Chapala to receive her accolades for doing a swell job with rainy season and restoring the Lake to a reasonable level.  This weekend is not ONLY Day of the Dead but also marks the triumphant return of our Virgin of The Rosary.  This is our local Virgin, who like most Virgins in Mexico, gets restless and needs to visit other locales.  Well, she is ready to come home. And directly on the heels of that, the two day festival of the Day of the Dead takes place.  Then we are almost at the point of celebrating the Fiesta of St. Andres -- the patron saint of Ajijc.  Beyond that, we are all celebrating the advent of professional baseball and will be heading up to partake of our first Charros baseball game. And then there is the Charro festival (this is different from baseball -- it's all horse oriented) which spans the first two weeks of November.  And, for you house tour junkies, the first house tour of the season takes place this month.  I am telling you, this is going to be a chock-a-block November. So, stay tuned.  More to come.  Just to bait the hook, here are some photos of the Catrina's that were just installed on the Malecon in Chapala and the Plaza in Ajijic.  These are created by school children or civic groups.  Very creepy and very cool.  More on them next time.

A Chapala Catrina with a magnificent sunset as a backdrop.

The Catrinas show an amazing amount of creativity...

as each one is a different theme (this being Cantinflas).

There was a bride ....

and one in a boat.

and even a Frida Kahlo Catrina.

The close ups reveal some of the amazing detail...

that goes into the creation ...

of each and...

every one of the Catrinas.

Each Catrina has a different...

and interesting toutfit...

created by the imagination,...

and ingenuity...

and inspiration...

of the creators.

While photographing the Catrinas...

we were fortunate to catch....

some magnificent cloud formations....

and the reflection of the sun on the water....

as the sun set over the lake.

Until then.  Have fun and let us know what you are up to.  Our first two "winter" guests, Kent and Kari are due in to celebrate Day of the Dead with us.  We hope we can see a lot of you down here when the winter winds howl up North.  Take care.

We leave you with two final photos reflecting the wonderful, eclectic nature of our village.

The Road to Morocco

It All Began Peacefully Enough...

Those of you who follow the blog know that our vacations virtually never go smoothly.  Take the most tranquil, non-threatening location and, if we show up, something bizarre will occur.  It's a gift....
So, Michael and I were totally blissful when the first week of our vacation was not marred by some horrific climatic, political or epidemic oriented disaster.  I'm even going to throw in some photos by Michael to demonstrate how lovely it was.  We visited our son Alex in Boston, saw bunches of good friends, my family in Maine, ate huge amounts of seafood -- you know.  What normal people do on vacation. Then we went to Morocco.

Deirdre's brother, Steve, Michael & Deirdre on the deck in Bethel, Maine.

Marblehead harbor & the lighthouse.

Deirdre & Alex outside our favorite restaurant in Marblehead --- The Barnacle.

A view of the harbor in Newburyport with some of the many boats.

We Were Frenched

And not in a good way.  While visiting with Betsy on the Sunday of our departure she casually said: "Wow, good thing you're leaving today.  Air France is going on strike tomorrow." Michael and I leap into action on phone and computer because while we are LEAVING today, we connect in Paris tomorrow and... yes...oops.. there it is.  Our flight is canceled.  Much scrambling and $1K in additional fees and the problem is solved.  We must leave IMMEDIATELY the travel agent shrieks down the phone and fly to JFK where we will be treated to a ride on Royal Air Maroc into Casablanca.  The first part of the treat is a six hour delay.  The second part of the treat is flying on a plane where my arm rest repeatedly falls off onto the floor.  When I seek assistance, the flight attendant grabs it out of my hand, snarls, and smacks it back on.  It falls off again.  He shrugs and leaves. Ditto no reclining seat and the need to physically hold the jack in the plug constantly if I would like the treat of sound.  I would have complained but I was too busy praying that the maintenance on the engine was better than on the plane's interior.  I prayed hard for seven hours and we arrived.

Now, about this whole "Frenched" thing.  It is a fact that Morocco (or at least part of it, which is a story in itself, that I don't have time for, so look it up) was a French protectorate.  Do NOT, I repeat, Do NOT say that it was a French colony because the Moroccan's take huge offense at the thought of being colonized.  True, the French constructed entire cities outside the original Moroccan medinas in a marvy French Art Deco manner, the second language is officially French, the food is heavily influenced by the French and the educational system is totally French but they were NOT a colony -- so get it straight.  Oh, and the attitude. Quite French. Somewhere around the mid 80's, we noticed that the French began to understand that being haughty, nasty and dismissive to the rest of the world was not going down so well and they started being nicer to tourists.  That awareness may not have reached Morocco.  Now Michael says that I am being harsh,  and other tour members would agree I'm sure, but I felt that Moroccan folks (not all, but many) were a tad less than welcoming.  Like the cab driver who asked for directions and when I supplied them yelled at me.  Few smiles.  We were warned not to take people's pictures without asking (that's fair enough) because some were afraid of the evil eye or soul stealing.  Michael took a shot in the souks of some colorful fabric (no people) and this "20 something" Moroccan -- probably not a soul stealer believer -- ran screaming after him demanding compensation. In summation, I believe the entire country could benefit from an intensive customer service course.  But it could just be me.   Having vented about all of this we can move on to the actual trip.

Normal People 

Normal people are undervalued.  Being on a tour with normal people is HUGE.  You may remember our tour with the Indians who made life a bloody hell.  Well, happy news, at last, in this somewhat whiny blog.  Our tour mates were NORMAL and really nice.  And supportive and funny and helpful and many other positive adjectives.  And this would be very, very important as time went by......

Rabat, Volubilis and Fez 

Rabat is the capital (they've had four so Rabat could be eclipsed at any second) and has all the embassies, politicos etc. so we didn't hang out there for long.  We hauled off for the Middle Atlas Mountains and the Roman town of Volubilis on our trajectory to Fez.  You know, I've said it a million times in multiple countries but you really have to hand it to those Romans.  Really.  Volubilis was the southernmost reach of the Empire (Hadrian's Wall the other way) and it was impressive. Some of the houses were 6,000 sq. ft.--  I felt like I was back in Wellesley.  The mosaics looked like they'd just been laid (well, not really but they were in excellent shape).  The job of the Volubilians was to keep the Berbers (comes from the Latin word for barbarians which is rather non p.c.) out of the north and they seem to have done that.  After a few hours in intense sun we remounted the bus and plowed on to Fez.

The entrance to the Royal Palace in Rabat

Two functionaries entering the Royal Palace. 

Two Berber musicians with castanets and drum. The modern shoes contrast with their otherwise traditional costumes.

One of the many stork's nests perched on this ancient minaret. All the minarets in Morocco are square.

The Merenid sanctuary & mausoleum  built at Chellah, originally a Phoenician settlement.

A guard at the mausoleum of Mohammed V, first of the present Alaouite kings of Morocco who died in 1961.

The ceiling & dome of the mausoleum.

Another guard in the interior of the mausoleum.

The tomb of Mohammed V. Note the imam sitting at the back right.

Two Moroccan women visiting the mausoleum. Note the henna design on the woman's hand and forearm.

Two fishermen on the River Bou Regreg, using the time-honored method.

The Hamsa hand or hand of Fatima, the Prophet Mohammad's daughter, a symbol of protection. Many door knockers were seen with the hand of Fatima.

The colorful ceiling in the hallway of our hotel in Rabat.

The gardens in the hotel grounds had some of the most magnificent flora, much of which was very reminiscent of the flora in our area of Mexico.

The colors on these variegated leaves were particularly striking.

How many tombstones can you fit in a concentrated area of one cemetery.

The well preserved nature of the mosaics on the floors of the homes at Volubilis were quite outstanding.

Every Roman home had their own olive oil mill...

and olive press to extract the olive oil.

Just by washing the mosaics with a little water, our guide showed how vivd the mosaics still are after all these years.

Some of the writing is still evident on this main entrance gate to Volubilis.

This gives you an indication of the scale and size of the gate with some of our tour group standing on the other side of the gate.

Another of the mosaics showing some of the intricate patterns.

Note the ubiquitous stork's nest on the top of the Roman column on the left.

Our guide put his hat over the phallus and had Tony sit down, then removed his hat to reveal what was beneath. 

Fez (or as they say Fes) oozes Moroccan authenticity.  It's a pretty conservative place compared to Marrakech and when you walk through the souks you really could be back in the 1200s or even earlier.  Narrow little alleys where you fight for space with donkey's and push carts.  Total disorientation because there is no line of sight and you can't even see the sky in certain areas.  The pictures tell the tale.  Our guide, Khalid, lined up two additional guides to take us through with him. I sensed they might have lost a few visitors in the past.  Before we went in, all the cocky people in the group (like us) thought we might take a stroll back through the souks solo later on.  We reconsidered. Things could happen in those dark, dead end alleys... for sure.

The scenery on the ride to Fez was quite interesting, ...

particularly this reservoir, with its damn in the far background.

The growth around the reservoir contrasted sharply with the barren mountains behind.

The contrasting colors, including the red iron oxide in the soil, highlight the beauty of this stark landscape.

In order to get a feel for the size and density of Fez, we first went to a lookout above the city.

This picture shows the square minarets, in this case three, that mark the city's mosques, with the ancient city wall in the background.

At the lookout this vendor displayed his colorful hats for sale...

along with the traditional fez.

The Bab Boujoud or Blue Gate that demarcates one of the entrances to the medina (the old city) of Fez.

This gives you an idea of how narrow some of the alleyways are in the medina, as Deirdre voices her concerns about phobia #2.

The first stalls we came upon in the medina were the food stalls with fruits...

the necessary garlic...

and fish.

All of this dyed yarn was stacked up against this wall on the street.

The main conveyance in the narrow maze of the Medina was push cart or donkey.

In many areas of the Medina there were coverings, making the streets even darker. 

In this area of the Medina we encountered all of the decorative metal works.

No trip to Morocco is complete without viewing all of the Moroccan carpets.

We were escorted into a Riad where carpet after carpet was laid on the floor so that anyone could buy the carpet of their choosing.

This will give you an idea of how ornate the Riad was where we saw the carpets.

From carpets to leather goods, whether it be vests...

messenger bags...

or bouches, the colorful shoes worn by many Moroccans.

At the back of the leather shop we looked down on the vats where the leather was tanned and dyed, prior to being made into the many things we saw in the shop. Note the two individuals in the foreground working the dye into the leather by hand.

This worker is up to his thighs in one of the dye vats that go back hundreds of years.

Each vat contains a different color dye in which the leather soaks.

This was the public baker. People bring their flat bread to him for baking, then come back to pick it up later.

Every imaginable color of yarn was available....

as well as every available color of fabric.

The ornateness of many of the buildings were reminiscent of the Alhambra in Granda, which makes sense since this is where the Moors cam from, & fled to, when they were defeated and left Spain.

The detail in this alms box is astounding, ...

but doesn't compare to the ornateness of this traditional keyhole doorway.

This caravanserai located in the medina housed the camels on the first floor. Note the two scales hanging on either side.

Even in ancient Fez the most prominent feature visible on all of the roofs is the satellite dish.

The exit from Bab Blujoud with two minarets visible in the distance.

If only the Moroccans in Fez would take this to heart.

Colorful pottery dishes, vases and of course tagines (the conical shaped cooking & serving dishes) were also on display.

While in the medina we visited the mellah, or Jewish quarter, where we went into this synagogue.

The torah was on display in the synagogue, which is now an historical monument. The Jews fled to Morocco from Spain during the inquisition, and then most emigrated to Israel when the Jewish state was established.

Fez was the first city where we stayed in a riad.  For those who don't watch House Hunters International (is that anyone?) a riad is a traditional, upscale North African house.  Much like in Mexico, you can't tell anything about the house from the outside.  Ours basically looked like a dump at the end of a nondescript alley.  But then you open the door.  The central courtyard is open to the sky and has a fountain, marble floors, tile work up the walls and balconied rooms facing the courtyard.  Really impressive. Very steep stairs.  Many of them.  Our riad was built in the 1400s but, obviously, had been updated.  All the windows face in to the courtyard which makes it a little dark but, since Fez and Marrakech get to over 100 degrees in the summer, dark is good.

A picture of the interior of the Riad we stayed at in Fez ...

along with some decorative items in the Riad like this highly decorated trunk ...

and this saddle.

This room was off the main area of the Riad.

The light coming through the stained glass window created this colorful pattern on the stairway up to the roof top mirador.

And Speaking of Hot and the French

The French found the summer heat unbearable (as they find so many things) so, logically enough, they constructed an entire Alpine Village in the Middle Atlas mountains so that they could hike in summer and ski in winter.  I must say as colonists (oops protectoratists?) the French had just faultless good taste.  It was probably worth tolerating the French for 40 years just to get the architecture and the food.  Yes, definitely worth it.  Back on the bus, after our sojourn in faux- Grenoble, we struck off for the desert.  Or near the desert to a town called Erfoud.  And that, in retrospect, was where all the trouble began......

Another stork nest siting on a rooftop in Ifran.

Swiss type chalets in the Middle Atlas mountains of Morocco.

The French influence in the buildings and in the pedestrian friendly areas of this small town were very evident.

Even the park with the colorful baskets of flowers made us question if we were still in Morocco.

Come With Me To The Kasbah

Oh Boy! Now we are all getting psyched.  We're on our way to the desert and camel riding and glamping in these really great tents with showers and bathrooms and probably scorpions and stuff and we are all pumped.  But first, we must stage ourselves at the edge of the desert for one night.  But that's OK because we get to stay in a Kasbah.  A Kasbah is a fortified house.  It is very beautiful but it is raining rather hard.  In the desert (well, almost).  Why is this?  And why is the wind blowing so determinedly?  And why is Khalid, our guide, starting to waffle about our camel ride/glamping adventure?  And why is our room so dark that we can't find the bathroom?  So many questions.  It has been a long day however, so no one really has the energy to confront these issues.  We all wander through an exhaustive buffet line (I abhor buffets), have a couple of glasses of wine, and pop into bed praying the wind and rain will dissipate overnight.

There were quite a few sheep & goats spotted on our trip through the Middle Atlas mountains on our way to Erfoud.

The shepherds encampments were also visible as well.

Notice the Moroccan star on this tent.

These trees stand out in sharp contrast to the sandstone cliffs.

There was even very large Arabic writing on this mountain.

Our Touareg guide in Rissani with George...

and Kathy...

and Carol

and Mickey & Tony....

and Frank & Joann (all members of our wonderful tour group).

Two colorfully dressed Moroccan women about to enter the pedestrian gate to Rissani.

A young Moroccan boy encountered on our tour.

The dates on the palms were almost ripe and ready for the harvest.

In the souk there were an amazing variety of olives...

and spices.

Deirdre had the opportunity to dress in the local garb.  Deirdre: Don't worry, I'm not pregnant. I just didn't know where to put my arms.  It was really hard to get out of that thing.

The sink in our kasbah contained many fossils from long before this was a desert.

The dining room in our kasbah with the very colorful ceiling.  The site of the crime.....

Some of the many items available in the kasbah gift shop...

including this double sink with your very own fossils.

It's Camel Time

And the rain does stop!  We kill the day looking at old towns, eating etc. to get ready for the main event -- our desert adventure.  Around 4:30 a fleet of 4X4's shows up at the Kasbah, we throw our backpacks in, and it's off to the Sahara.  We drive for about two hours over terrain of varying difficulty until we see the dunes before us.  It IS just like in the movies.  But I am concerned because I worry that the camel ride thing will be touristy and weird and I will be disappointed and jaded and grumpy and stuff.  We arrive camel-side and the behemoths are lounging about looking put out.  I have had difficulty with ruminates in the past and I am leery of approaching these.  Llamas have run across huge fields just to spit at me.  I have heard that if you get a camel annoyed with you, you must strip off your clothing and then the camel will urinate (I prefer to use anatomically correct language) and then stomp it into the ground and then it will be your friend.  Yuck.

Watching people of a certain age (all of us) mount camels is actually worth the price of admission all by itself.  If you have not ridden a camel, it is hard to appreciate just what an unnatural act it is.  They are kind of kneeling and then, all of a sudden, they just pop up their front feet and you almost go flying off the back. Because they all seem to really hate their jobs, they tend to bellow this screeching protest during this pivotal moment which further unhinges you.  Then they all try to bite each other or the person on the camel in front of them or your camera and then we walk the dunes.

When you see pictures of the dunes it is hard to comprehend how big they are because there is nothing usually in the picture to give them scale.  They are huge.  Like vertigo-inducing huge when you are perched on your camel on a ridge which falls away on both sides.  But it is also massively fun. We're not the only people on camels on the dunes but it is OK because they are far away from us and look startlingly like a post card.  We ride for about a half an hour, dismount (more hilarity), and hike up a bit to get the best view of the sunset.  The sun resolutely refuses to set.  Well, it does but it's a yawner. No big colors.  But how can we complain? Back on the camel, back down the dunes, back off the camels and now we are at the campgrounds.

The camels with our Berber guides await us. 

Deirdre & Frank on their camels.

Each group of four is led by a Berber as we head further into the desert.

Every child's dream ---- the biggest sandbox in the world.

Bill in the rear was always easy to spot with his fluorescent yellow shirt.

Our Australian friends Stan & Mary.

It Was A Really Big Shoeoe (a la Ed Sullivan)

The tents were wonderfully appointed.   The toilets in the tents bested most we had encountered elsewhere in the trip (like not in the middle of the desert).  Thick carpets, camp chairs, shower...well, you get it.  The requisite fire pit.  The dining tent was splendid and the meal most tasty.  However.... this was when it all started going south.  First Stan.  American Stan.  Down hard with G.I. trouble-- splayed out in his well appointed tent.  Mickey almost falls asleep in her dinner, drags to the tent and is out for the count.  Then the entertainment starts.  It is a group of local berber musicians.  While not a huge fan of berber music, it is fine.  Then the juggler.  Do you remember the act on Ed Sullivan with the guys with the spinning plates that seemed to never end?  Substitute mint tea on plates and you've got the act.  In the air, on his head, on his arms, on his back, walking across the banquettes and tables.  It is endless...endless.  You pray for Ed to walk on stage, clapping his hands and ushering him off the stage.  But no.

We are greeted at our "glamp" by Berber musicians and our Berber hosts with the traditional mint tea.

The outside gathering area of our glamp with the tent-rooms.

Our table set up for our dinner in the desert.

Our tea tray juggler with the musicians playing in the background.

Abort! Abort!

But just then, a strange light fills the sky followed by a tremendous boom.  Yes, it is a thunderstorm. In the desert.  And not a little thunderstorm.  We bravely ignore it -- not wanting to give up our glamping glory.  But then the tents start to leak. Water is streaming in. We are in a depression in the sand to protect us from the winds and the water is gaining on us.  Oh, and the wind.  It is coming up fast.  The Berbers get on their cell phones (of COURSE they have cell phones) and order up an evac. The 4X4s come racing across the dunes.  Sodden, backpack packing, liquored up people struggle up the slopes to get to the vehicles.  Marie is carried by three Berbers and Stan is dragged up by a couple of our guys.  Mickey is bundled up the hill and slid into the awaiting car.  Several others begin to voice complaints about stomachs, intestines and most other internal organs.  Having some fun now....

Sand is surprisingly slippery when wet and the drive back to the "fall back" hotel is filled with adventure and moments of doubt.  The wind is fierce and the rain/thunder/lightning unremitting.  This hotel looks very like our last Kasbah (I'm beginning to doubt authenticity at this point) and we drag ourselves into the lobby grateful for dry warmth.  Only one more dash across rain-slicked, cobble- stoned, ink-black darkness of the courtyard to our rooms.

The kasbah where we spent the night when we were rained out of our glamp.

The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow

Well, not really.  We awaken and are on our way to breakfast when we look to our left.  Gadzooks!
There are huge dunes in the hotel's backyard and camels!  Many camels! And camel drivers!  It dawns on us that we have driven a total of three hours and been almost drowned while we could have just come here, ridden the camels, and been dry.  But what fun would that have been....

At breakfast a tally is taken and we determine that roughly 50% of the group is now debilitated with the very nasty G.I. affair that had taken down Stan and Mickey the day before.  Mickey is so bad that she wants to stay in Erfoud but Khalid reacts in horror due to the lack of medical acumen in the area. This is the point where the group really starts to pull together.  Lomotil, Cipro and Immodium are shared.   There is enough Cipro in the group to deflect a major Anthrax attack. Mary (a very travel-savvy Australian) has packed dried electrolytes that will become critical in the following days.  We are, simply, a very disgusting group of people at this point with far too much discussion of bodily fluids taking place.

The itinerary bills this day as "astounding" as we will view the Todra Gorge (forged by the Todra River--ahem!) and the Dades Valley which is known for its roses.  By the time we are on the bus it is raining heavily again.  We have hours to opine on what has caused the virulent illness that is taking down our people at a rate of about one every three or four hours.  Stan (Australian Stan) comes up with the winning argument.  It was that damned buffet in Erfoud!  Not to dwell on this illness, but we were like a weird experiment in individual reactions to a common stimulus.  Some people just essentially keeled over, others lingered "somewhat/very ill" for days, some got it right away, some had a delayed reaction and some (only 4 out of 22) never got it. Michael and I attribute our two years of copious eating in Mexico to our never coming down with it.

Having beaten that topic to death, we on the bus began to focus on what was rapidly becoming a "deteriorating" condition on the roads.  First Khalid informs us that the "astounding" Todra Gorge will have to be bypassed because the equally astounding Todra River has risen to the point where the road has been washed out in multiple areas. We grab some lunch (by this point most people are eating nothing but yogurt or soup) and get back in the bus to view the Dades Valley (did I say VALLEY?) through the torrential rains. The water is rising.  When we ford the first "wadi" we are all excited and feel very adventurous.  We cheer on Mohammad, our driver and he waves cheerily back at us. Things are getting a bit more grim by wadi #9 or so.  Now there are cars pulled to the side unable to make it through.  By wadi #12 there are large trucks pulled over.  Huge jams of stopped vehicles.  By wadi #14 or so, Khalid is leaping from the bus, jogging to the front of the jams and clearing a path for the bus.  He is VERY forceful. By wadi #16ish, I look at Bill  #1 and we just shake our heads.  This looks REALLY bad.  Strangely there are two Bills, two Stans, two Michaels and two Franks on this tour.  Out of only ten males that is odd.  And often confusing.  In any case, the water is almost over the tires and the current is fierce.  We make it, see a clearing of about 300 yards littered with more trucks and cars before the next, even more horrific, wadi.  We all realize where this is going.  No choice but to do it because at the rate this water is rising there is not going to be ANY clearing pretty soon.  I ponder if Michael ever got that new Will his sister Theresa was drafting. And then we're in it. The bus is silent.  We finally feel the tires grip on the far side and every person on the bus decides that Mohammad is getting a VERY big tip at the end of the road.

In the beginning we could see the square posts that delineated the edge of the road...

but as we passed successive crossings these began to disappear under the raging torrents of water,

with more & higher water being encountered at each crossing.

Riding On the Marrakech Express

Of course not.  We're on a bus.  But we are headed to Marrakech, it is no longer raining and the High Atlas Mountains promise to offer spectacular scenery.  We have spent the night in Ait Ben Haddou in an area with movie studios where Lawrence of Arabia, Indiana Jones, Gladiator, The Game of Thrones,  The Queen of the Desert and others were filmed.  Regrettably, this stop was probably the nadir of collective group health and basically no one did anything, but a few hardy souls (Michael among them) who hiked up to the grainary at the top of the mount.  But we feel we may be on the upswing (untrue) and good feelings abound as we head to Marrakech.  I will just say this.  Do not take a bus load of gastro-intestinally challenged people on a five hour drive over  high altitude switch backs with rapid ascents/descents.  Enough said. The scenery WAS spectacular however. And, horrifying as the floods had been yesterday in the Valley, we were all relieved, as we passed rock slide after rock slide, that we hadn't been trying to cross the High Atlas during the storm.  Finally, we are in Marrakech.  Finally, Mickey gets a doctor, so does Kelly.  Stan suffers quietly (both of them). Life is comparatively good.

The grainary at the top of the mount.

On the hike up we encountered this charming individual with the snake.

We also saw this collection of "desert roses" where the sand hardens into these petal like structures.

The view on the hike up the mount.

A list of all of the movies made at Ait Ben Haddou.

The gate in the background and the structures have appeared in many of the movies listed above.

The scenery of the surrounding country side made the hike up well worth the effort.

The iron oxide in the soil shows up clearly.

Once more the minaret stands out in the town below.

On the hike down Bill decided to go "native".

Culture Clash

Marrakech is a case study in worlds colliding.  In the medina, in the square, is the old Morocco. Snake charmers, story tellers, Barbary Apes on leashes, food stalls, women doing henna designs on unwitting tourists.  In the new city, high rise hotels, and multiple dance clubs and bars per block. Women totally veiled eating breakfast at the hotel next to a table of girls in mini-skirts and skimpy tops.  No liquor in the medina.  Liquor everywhere in the "new town".  Camel and pony rides in the middle of the city.  I expected to like Marrakech the most on the tour but actually liked it the least. On a cultural note, all of the women on the tour were amazed at how many women in Morocco were heavily veiled.  We wondered if there were more now than say ten or twenty years ago.  This seemed an impolitic question to ask Khalid, so we are still wondering.  It was somewhere around this time when we received an email from our friend Wes in Ajijic that struck us as both touching and very, very ironic.  He was concerned for our safety in view of the beheading of the Frenchman in Algeria (next door so to speak) by ISIS.  How often does someone in MEXICO send an email wondering if YOU are safe?  We spent three days in Marrakech sight seeing, shopping, pool lounging and licking our wounds and then were off to Essaouria.

Donna providing relief to the "stricken".

This give you an idea of the twisting, winding road through the High Atlas mountains.

The red oron oxide is even more evident in these mountains.

One of the very calm dogs we encountered in Morocco.  Cats are king in Morocco but the dogs seemed to be doing OK.

In Marrakech they try to disguise their cell phone towers as date palms.  Right down to the fake fruit.

The intricate designs on the arch & on the ceiling in the Bahia palace.

The very interesting patterns on the dome of the Bahia palace.

After seeing stork nests all over Morocco, in Marrakech we finally found a stork with its nest, ...

as well as a stork perched on a rooftop & not in a nest.

In Ajijic we have dogs who wait patiently for a bone or scrap of meat from the butcher, but in Marrakech the cats wait patiently.

An all too common form of transportation in Morocco, even in the cities.  They out burro Mexico maybe 50:1

The square, which is relatively empty during the day, comes alive with restaurantr stalls at night.

All sorts of food is available for purchase to take home as well.

Even a one hole putting course is set up in the square.

Hey Lady, Got Good Hash

Just when I thought I was over the hill, and hopelessly middle class, my ego got a boost by being approached by a young lad selling hash in Essaouria.  Michael tried to rain on my parade by saying,"Oh come on.  They say that to everyone."  However, I queried our bus mates and found I was unique. So there.  This little seaside town was refreshing.  It was small, friendly and nobody haggled much.  Haggling can get old really quickly.  Once more we were in a riad which was charming and hosted by very obliging folks.  The first thing they obliged with was furnishing a Doctor, who appeared to be about fifteen, who took one look at Stan and immediately consigned him to the hospital. Nothing had helped Stan.  He'd been really sick for over a week.  Electrolytes, Immodium, antibiotics. Nothing did the trick.  One night in a Moroccan hospital did the trick.  Whether it was actually the medical care or the thought of another night in a Moroccan hospital that cured him is uncertain.  Stan had vivid descriptions of the hospital that would curl your hair.

 Argan trees which only grows in this area of Morocco.

The nuts of the Argan tree from which an oil is produced used in beauty products, for cooking, etc.

The women at this Argan Cooperative demonstrated the labor intensive process of getting the  oil from the nut.

Each step of the process is done by these women by hand.

Eventually the oil is extracted from the nut.

and even the residue of the nut is eventually used.

A very contented cat sleeping on the carpets in the souk in Essaouira.

This sunset in Essaouira made up for the lack of a sunset in the Sahara.

Located on the Atlantic Ocean, fishing is a big part of the economy.  The Portuguese had an outpost here to repel pirates and you can see their influence in the colors and architecture.

Many of the fish caught were on display in the market by the docks, individually...

or in neat rows or in baskets, ...

including sea urchins and sea snails.

Colorful hats seemed to be a common theme of the trip.

The surf pounds the rocks below the fort built by the Portuguese as a stop over on their way down the coast of Africa.

The Michigan group on our tour.

This man braves the pounding surf to gather seafood off of the rocks.

Wooden boxes of various designs for sale in the souk.

Donna & Michael at La Fromagerie, an amazing restaurant 8 KM from Essaouira in the middle of nowhere.  We all had goat tagine and it was great.  Michael (Donna's son) was most gracious about being surrounded by geriatrics.

An  amusee bouche of goat cheese, lentils, bean sprouts and the most amazing sauce.

The most interesting course was the ten different types of goat cheese.

Texans aren't the only ones that can make chairs from animal horns and leather.

Back at our Riad that evening, we had a meal and entertainment.

Some of the group really got into the swing of things, ...

as the musicians played on.

Tony, Stan, Marie and Bill enjoyed the action from their seats.

Mary could not resist feeding the cats.  We are not entirely sure Mary got to eat anything on the tour.  The little rusty guy was our favorite.

And yet another beautiful sunset.

One Last Stop

Casablanca.  Not very Bogarty.  Although an enterprising ex-diplomat has started a bar (Rick's of course) to take advantage of American tourists.  We resisted.  Casablanca is the business center of Morocco and not all that interesting really.  There is, however, the second largest mosque in the world outside of Mecca.  Unlike many other Muslim countries, you can't enter a mosque in Morocco unless you are a Muslim.  We stayed in a five star hotel that wasn't nearly as charming, fun or air-conditioned as our previous digs.  So, only one night there and all of us headed off in different directions to our respective homes.  Some people didn't know how they were getting home (see Air France) until 8 hours before flight time.  We, along with 8 or 10 other lucky tour members, got to experience Royal Air Moroc one more, excruciating time.  And then it was over.

Boats in the estuary where oysters are being farmed.

The very large dozen oysters shared by Donna & me (the only members of the tour group brave enough to try them). Now Michael, be fair.  It was 10:30 AM and raw oysters are not the recommended food for the gastro-intestinally challenged.

Michael and Donna enjoying their oysters.

The ubiquitous McDonald's sign in Casablance.

The Hassan II mosque, one of the largest mosques in the world.

An individual sitting at the fountain of the mosque.

Yes Virginia there is a Rick's cafe, started by an ex-American diplomat.

It even has its own reserved parking space.

Oh, One More Last Stop

We ended up in Boston eventually  and ran around frantically seeing more friends, family and my adored Spanish class and then back to Ajijic.  Apparently, it has been raining non stop here since we left.  There have been four hurricanes off the coasts which dumped rain here-- and there are more in the hopper.  The Lake is filling up and we may have to exhort the Virgin to ease up a bit.  In any case, more on local life soon. Well, in a while.  To all of those we visited, thanks for a wonderful time.  For all those who we met on the tour, thanks for a wonderful, and bizarre, time.  And to everyone, please come see us when those winter winds howl.  Take care.