Trust can be defined as remaining calm when you open your eyes to see your deaf Moroccan barber about to shave your jugular area with a razor blade he just disinfected by dousing it in alcohol and lighting it on fire. Now imagine the same scenario playing out but only a few minutes after you noticed what looked like a Canadian flag on a cassette tape the barber had in his stereo that you removed to show him (he's deaf after all !) but that wasn't really a Canadian flag but rather, as he explains to you in sign language, a religious tape that he uses to pray to Allah five times a day. Ooops. Thankfully this barber understood that I was trying to build international relations and not destroy them like the infidel I am and both Gord and I walked out with the cleanest, closest shaves we've ever had for about two bucks each (that's with about $1.20 tip for goodwill in the event that I had actually violated some sacred tenant of Islam).
The half an hour spent in the barber's chair probably wasn't the type of relaxing down time my mother suggested I take after getting sick yet again while overseas but it did mark the end of the motorcycle-riding portion of our trip as Gord and I shaved off the two weeks of attempted biker beard we had grown. After being bed-ridden in our respective rooms for the past two days with some sort of gastrointestinal bug we woke up this morning and decided it was probably best to get a lift back to Marrakech instead of trying to ride the bikes 300kms when our bodies were still weak and our minds still focused on where the nearest bathroom was instead of on the road.
It seems that the salad we ate at lunch a few days ago, the same salad that we figured was safe because busloads of European tourists before us had eaten theres, was cursed with some sort of hate for us.Yes I know you should never eat uncooked veggies in a country like this but it did seem as if they ran a brisk business and unluckily that they would poison unsuspecting tourists day after day. If it wasn't the salad it may have been those damn omelets we ate.... likely made with eggs that sat in the sun for two or three days before they made it to the frying pan. In any case,dozens of bottles of water, rolls of tp and prescribed antibiotics later we called this portion of our trip quits and decided to rest so that we could try and enjoy the last few days in Morocco before heading home.
We couldn't have picked a better place to get sick as it just happened to hit us at the nicest riad we've stayed in the entire trip. The French owner took good care of us by giving us our own rooms, making special meals for us and calling the local doctor to our room on two occasions (including once to give me two needles in the butt cheek to stop the pain I was experiencing). The staff we left tips for certainly earned them,(especially the poor maid) and I'm pretty sure Yves will be getting complaints from his neighbours who may have heard me cursing away throughout the night between calls to prayer.
I don't seem to be doing much to follow Obama's call to help bridge the gap between Islam and the west this trip do I.
We're off to Marrakech for the last few days in Morocco before heading back home via London.
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| The less graceful side of exotic travel.... me getting a needle in the butt cheek. No... I don't normally wear black socks with shorts, it was cold ! |
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| Thankfully this guy didn't have Parkinsons |
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| Not quite how we wanted to return the bikes to Marrakech... |
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| Our auberge/hospital in Taroudant |
