The Flavour Narratives — Adventure towards the Moroccan Sahara Desert

“Be careful when you lift the bricks. There might be scorpions.”

Welcome to the desert.

We’re in Bani Hayoune, a village near Tagounite, living with a Workaway host. When booking our coach, there was a look of surprise from the man behind the desk. Fair enough - we were 15 hours away.

"It is the second last village before the Sahara. You know this?" His eyebrows rise so high it almost makes up for how low his swivel chair has sunk behind his faux marble desk. We knew, but the draw of adventure was stronger than the impending discomfort.

Hills on the south side of the Atlas mountains — *Hills south of the Atlas Mountains*

The 15 hours took us all the way from the surfing, sunset paradise of Essaouira on the west coast, north to Marrakech, and south east again across the Atlas Mountains. By the time we make it, we're in the final half dozen on the bus, the sun has long since set, and we've downed a packet of biscuits in the last hour. It is about the only thing keeping us awake.

Said, our host, comes to meet us off the bus. He's in his thirties, quiet but alert, and caring, wrapped up against the cold in a big coat and his cobalt blue Tuareg turban. This may be the desert, but it is still winter.

Tagounite main street is long, wide, and straight. No need for bends where there's not much in the way. Few buildings are above two storeys. We're outside a shop, its frontage opens to the street, plastic chairs and tables face the road. People watching is a sport in this country.

I remember a Palestinian friend who called this street parliament and smile to myself.

Palm trees blurring past in the dark on the tuk tuk — *Palm trees lit up in the dark from the back of a tuk tuk*

We lean on our suitcase as Said catches up with two men who walk past - there aren’t many people Said doesn’t know here. Their conversation comes to an abrupt end as a tuk tuk pulls up, an open backed truck pulled by what can only be described as a motorised tricycle. We jump in the back, followed by our suitcase, a bag of tomatoes, and 48 eggs in an open square carton held together with string.

What follows is a drive that it will be hard to forget. We leave the street lights of Tagounite. Palm trees appear, silhouetted, to be sucked away from us into the dark of the road behind.

The motor roars as it negotiates the scars of all the cars that have come before.Later we learn how the roads follow the water canals that cut through the landscape. I concentrate on wedging my feet into a nook in the metal floor of the tuk tuk, one hand hooked around the eggs, the other hanging onto the cold metal edge.

"Look up!" shouts Alex from my side over the sound of the engine. I hold on tighter, and tilt my head. A rogue amber street light burns into my retina (bad timing on my part) but as the orange glow fades, the night sky opens up above us.

It's like someone's thrown phosphorescent confetti into the air. The streak of the Milky Way dissects the sky above, its edges blurring into the constellations that I know.

It's all the right stars, just not necessarily in right order*.

The stars at night — *The Tagounite stars, taken by Alex*

I look back at Alex who catches my eye. His smile turns into a grin, and we laugh, hard and loud. Our driver must think we've totally lost it. And to be fair, we had. An all-encompassing sense of gratitude, awe, and cold. Pretty special.

We turn off the road, over a small steep bridge, and come to a stop. A dog launches into full guard dog mode, breaking the brief moment of silence we had.

Out of the dark, a mobile phone light walks towards us, illuminating the bottom of a mud rendered wall.

"Hi, I'm Linde," a voice says, "can I help you with your things?"

"I'm worried we've turned up with omelettes, not your eggs. I hope some survived."

Linde takes the bag of tomatoes from me as we jump down from the back of the tuk tuk. Alex pays our driver just as Said arrives around the corner on his motorbike. He'd been following behind. I wonder if he caught our laughter on the wind.

I heave our day sacks onto my shoulders and follow Linde along the wall, under a wooden lintel, through a metal door, and into their home.

A large open space with five doorways - two bedrooms, one living room, one kitchen, one bathroom. I walk across the inner space past an open fire place in the middle, to the kitchen, and pass the eggs (minus one breakage) to Linde, who places them besides the four gas burner stove.

A small grey cat sits in a Moroccan fire place in a house near the Sahara — *Mouse, the youngest of the cats to have adopted Said and Linde, sits in their indoor garden*

In the light of the kitchen I can see Linde now. She's wrapped deep within a thick, black snood against the cold. Originally from the Netherlands, an artist, early thirties, I remember reading from the Workaway profile.

"I'll show you where you're staying, and then we can eat."

The tuk tuk drives away from outside, and we're left with the silence as I follow Linde across the room. A heavy blanket that is nailed across a doorway is pulled back from inside and we meet Russell, a fellow workawayer, Canadian, and the epitome of chilled.

He motions us in. A long room stretches out to the left. Thin mattresses are lined up down the length, one has a rucksack leant by it. The walls are the same dark brown of the wall outside, one patch a slightly different texture. The roof is surprisingly high. To our right, a double bed. I take off my shoes in the door.

"Don't feel bad about taking the bed," says Linde, "Some other people left this morning so it's all yours."

I immediately feel the guilt, but place our bags there nonetheless.

"We can eat now, if you like. It's late."

*The inside of our new home, the moon in the sky*

Later that evening, when we have eaten our lentils and rice and said our goodnights, I sneak to go to the loo. Our heavy blanket door is doing its job, the cold bites at my body as I push it aside.

A freshness in the air surprises me. Out of instinct, I look up.

There, framed by the high walls on three sides, and bamboo roofing rolled back on the fourth, the stars sit, hanging silently in the sky. Earlier they were cloaked by our hunger and adrenalin. Now, I realise that our main living space connects the land to the sky.

As a cat walks past me on the way to find some warmth, I smile to myself.

We have some adventures ahead.