Days 12-14???

We've quickly learned that Dr. Aomar Boum's (Boomy's) description of a 3-hour car ride from one city to the next is not exactly accurate. Let's just say that we left Zagoura - the last stop for the caravans as they made their 52-day camel journey to Tombouctou - at somewhere around 9:00 a.m. and arrived about 12 hours later. What took place in between was an endless mixture of surreal moments, breathtaking landscapes and unforgettable inside jokes. Melon stop, anyone? We passed through multiple small villages, listening to everything from Moroccan rap with its mixture of English/French/Arabic to Bonnie Raitt, all while passing donkey carts and earthen houses. Crazy. After eating lunch in a kazbah (and me falling asleep afterward - was it from the 46 degree heat or too much Berber whiskey? -- another inside joke - it's just mint tea), we made our way onto a dirt road headed down into a canyon into a different kind of oasis - a desert waterfall. After taking a refreshing dip in our clothes and the boys swimming with the melon to chill it (picture three adult men playing catch with a huge watermelon), we ate MORE melon and thoroughly enjoyed this much-needed rest from the car. Not too far back on the main highway we had car problems (or maybe it was driver Miloud's excuse for another break?) and ended up stopping by the side of the hghway, overlooking a cliff and had the craziest, most spontaneous dance party on the rocks! Everyone jammed out to Michael Jackson, Mambo #5, etc., while waving to every passing car and Babel bus (we were on the highway from that scene in the movie where Cate Blanchett gets shot) that passed by. I can only imagine what the passengers were thinking! We finally made it to Ourzazette, home of our three Berber drivers, and had a fantastic meal at Abdullah's home. It was so good, in fact, that we gave up dinner at the hotel (worst pasta ever, but better than another tagine), and went back for the leftovers the next evening. Moroccan hostpitality is never-ending, as is American craziness. Thanks to Jersey Bill, we ended the night with an obnoxiously loud game of Jenga-lah (our new favorite made-up word for Jenga). We finally had shopping time yesterday and bought more Moroccan potions and creams than the guys knew ever existed and spent HOURS bargaining for Berber carpets (kudos to Jake for being our new best shopping girlfriend - you rock!) Last night's World Cup final was an unexpected cultural experience no one expected. The drivers took us to a local cafe where we were the only females, as if we didn't stand out enough as foreigners. It was great, though, and Bill and Jake and I butchered our white T-shirts (picture to follow soon) to make Netherlands jerseys (all for not) and found our new favorite Arabic word - Hollinda - for Holland. Now that's one I can remember! We're off again today for Foumzguid (Boomy's village) where we'll have a three-day home stay and total immersion into Moroccan village life. I can't wait to do laundry in the river and shower with a bucket!

Day 11

I'm sitting in the sub-Saharan town of Zagoura where you can float in the pool and stare up at date palms, do group yoga by the pool while listening to goats in the background, and fill up on okra tagine and mint tea until you're so stuffed that all you can do is crash on the overstuffed cushions while the warm air of the desert surounds you. Each day I find myself saying, yet again, "I can't believe this is my life!" Fortunate doesn't even begin to describe the sense at being invited to no fewer than two Berber weddings (and we're only in week 2). The first one showed a very exhausted-looking, over-celebrated young woman decorated in layers of colorful shawls over her dress, and adorned by layers of jewelry and a crown made from old coins. The fact that the crazy foreign women were given a special blanket to sit on and served the first tea illustrates how important hospitality is in Morocco. Last night's wedding (with us as the "invited" crashers) had a different feel, with 12-15 couples getting married at once. What does that look like? Close off a street and have everyone in it singing and dancing - brides opposite of their grooms - and that sums up the first day of a three-day celebration. I could barely survive one wedding day, with all the stress and planning, I can't imagine three! Our days are so packed it's hard to remember to record all that we've done, but in a nutshell, in the last few days we've gone from the "erg" sand desert, riding camels into a camp, to the "reg" rock desert, where the 46 degrees Celcius of the sub-Sahara found us eating our over-ripe melon under an acacia tree. In our driver Azaddine's village of Tinghir, his family graciously fed 15 hungry Americans a four-course meal, gave us the proper nap time afterward and even put decorative henna designs on our hands - and all this is something that Moroccan families relish. It makes me want to try to be more gracious to new people I meet near my own home. Tonight we're off to tour through the oasis and see the place where the caravans left on their way to Timbuktu. It just keeps getting better each day.