TRAVEL FEATURE - MOROCCO JEREMY TORR
PISSING IN THE WIND
Amongst the dunes of the Moroccan Sahara , I ’ d found myself at a music festival at M ’ Hamid al Ghislane , a place where the desert nomads gather once a year to play their unique style of music .
With a couple of weeks spare time , a cute little second-hand KTM Duke 690 , some dodgy throw-over panniers borrowed from my mate Dave , and a paper map I felt like Lawrence of Arabia , without the fancy headgear .
After riding across Spain , the ferry had been caught to Melilla . Multi cylinder BMW riders festooned with widescreen GPS , Bluetooth headsets , hard luggage and desert-proof underpants looked sympathetically at my small , single cylinder , floppy luggage , paper map-equipped bike as we queued for the on ramp . Undaunted , I disembarked successfully and headed optimistically south , running parallel to the Algerian border . Straying over the borderline itself seemed a bad idea — according to my map it is studded with minefields following a bitter territorial war some 20 years previously .
The first night saw arrival at the Auberge Riad in Tougedite . This tiny village nestled in the foothills of the Atlas mountains had just one place to stay , with part of the “ hotel accommodation ” cut cave-like into the side of the hill . My room was functional ; dirt floor with carpet , a wooden bench with rugs on it to keep you warm as you slept , and tiny windows cut into the thick , bluewashed wall .
The owner - I think his name was Ayoub - heated a welcoming shower for me ; an oil drum full of water with a wood fire beneath . More hot water ? Just throw on some more wood and open the tap a little more . It was brilliantly reviving after some of the roads the Duke and I had
TRAVERSE 51