The guide book and travellers we met told us about the numerous police check points in the Western Sahara and the need to get photocopies of your passport made. To this we had to add, our mothers' name, our fathers' name, our occupation, and our visa numbers. We had about eighteen copies of these ready for the police. The copies could be left with the police so that the taxi could continue on its way without having to wait for everything to be hand written in the huge logs at the check points. We thought we would take the bus on the Moroccan side and the copies would be used by the bus driver for the police. We still have every copy made as we only had to get out of the taxi once to show our passport and state our occupation. Maybe the taxi driver gave the police a steady supply of cigarettes!
The road to the border was a newly sealed smooth one and the ride was very comfortable. The two men behind us were a bit cramped, not having any leg room and the old man in front had swollen legs that were covered with festering sores. He seemed the most uncomfortable. The taxi was driven into a huge shed at the newly constructed border post where a scanner checked it for contraband, along with every other vehicle passing through. We had to find a shady spot to sit and wait.
The section of No Man's Land between the borders was sandy and rocky in places. Maybe both countries couldn't agree on who should pay what to have the road sealed! We didn't need visas for Morocco and once again the border guard had no idea where NZ was and had to check with his superiors. It shows that not many New Zealanders travel this part of the world.We had a smooth ride to a brand new hotel complex that had Wifi, a tiled courtyard with a fountain, huge palm trees, a garden, and waiters in the restaurant dressed in white shirts with black aprons. The hotel, built about 3 stories high wrapped around the semi-circular courtyard and seemed so out of place in the middle of the desert. The other passengers washed their face, hands and feet and headed for the prayer room and then ate in a small area sitting on the floor.
The driver dropped us off at a hotel that Anette had recommended. It was very comfortable and in a quiet part of town not far from the bus offices we needed to continue our journey. It had free Wi fi which we were able to use from our room and a hot water shower. The head-scarfed lady at reception did not speak much English so with a bit of French we were able to communicate. The teenager receptionist who came on at night spoke excellent English.
There was still a coolish wind blowing and lots of people had only their eyes peering out of their veils or scarves as the wind blew lots of fine sand and rubbish about. We had definitely arrived in a modern place. No thatched mud houses here. Tall apartment blocks painted in their favourite pink colour. The footpaths were paved and used by pedestrians and not cars or stalls. There were no open drains or smelly sewers. The street lights all lit up at night and there were traffic lights that the drivers obeyed! We walked along the corniche and watched some of the locals taking their pet dogs for a walk on a lead, things familiar to us at home! John came to Morocco in 1975 and it was not as modern as any of this.
We found a busy local restaurant to eat in the evenings and enjoyed the grilled chicken, beef kebabs (called brochettes), and real salad, with delicious flat bread that didn't taste anything like a baguette (air bread, we nicknamed it). Along the street were dozens of cafes. All the seats at the small tables face the footpath and the men oogle the men as they go past. They sit for hours with their green tea and mint or small glasses of coffee and catch up with their mates. The cafe is the man's domain while the kitchen is the woman's.
One evening, after dinner, we walked past a pool room and a group of about five teenage boys came up pointing at us, shouting and jeering. It was really strange behaviour and felt uncomfortable. When I gestured what, they swore, " f... you" and went back to their game. We were at a loss to explain why they did this. We were both covered up in the important places, and wondered if they thought we were Americans and were expressing their displeasure at what had happened to Osama Bin Laden, or if there had been some other event that we had not known about that could cause such a negative reaction to tourists.
The parks at this time were busy with women and children enjoying the cool of the evening to play football or just run around. We saw babies in strollers for the first time for many months, no one was carrying goods on their head or babies on their back. A few women were all in black but most were wearing multicoloured scarves and dressed beautifully. Several young girls were wearing jeans and tops without anything on their heads. Most of the younger men were in Western dress with the older men preferring the gown and embroidered cap.
We were able to Skype our daughter and heard that the family cat of nearly 20 years had died. He had a great life but was showing signs of senility over the last couple of years.
Bought a bus ticket for the government run air-conditioned bus to Marrakech the day before we needed to head out. We were asked if we had photocopies of our passports, well that's what we think the conductor asked us. So we were ready with our unused copies from Mauritania. At the first stop we showed the policeman the copy but he wanted our passports. At this check point a young policeman in his green and red uniform accompanied us and we never stopped at any other check points until Marrakech 22 hours later.
