I hugged goodbye to all of my gardener men and my Moroccan wife Hanan the cook who questioned me "mariage" the night before then had a love heart tatooed on my arm. I was informed later that this was an official mariage symbol. I also shook hands goodbye to Cris and Miriam. It is amazing how though I had no english conversation with the gardeners, I had established a much more emotional conetction with them. Perhaps my words only impeede my relationships. We played a lot of shirades and had many jokes together. One boy while we were repairing a wall, disapeared for halfe and hour to return with an arm full of empty bottles saying wiskey and pointing at the house of missure Cris. Some folks are very religiouse and morolistic while others are happy to bend the rules and exersize self indulgence. Finally I hugged goodbye to Thomas my fellow Ben Stiller lookalike woofer friend who arrive halfe way through and hitched away from Peacock Pavilions/panik in Paradice. My destination Ait Benhadoo, an 11th centuary Kasbar village near Ourzorzate where many fims have been shot such as Gladiator and Lawrence of Arabia. The journey took me over the mountains of ston villages to the yellow semi diesert plains with indulatinbg hills and gorges. Ait Benhadoo is like a giand sand castle, or rather mud castle with decorative triangular reliefs. I explored the old town then headed over the hill into the desert where I found a secluded oasis to pitch my tent. As darkness approached I decided to take a walk into the village. I met a man outside his shop of old bereber jewlery, doors, rugs etc. He was dressed in his blue jalaba robe with a grat yellow turbin and spoke resonably good english. When I told him I had pitched my tent in the desert he offered me a spot on his shop floor for the night/ the month. We ventured back into the dark desert to pack up my tent then returned home where a collection of rugs was laid down for our beds. We spent the night listening to Berber Sahara CDs while he smoked a copiouse amount of hasheech until I told him that his eyes were as red as the rugs we lay on. He served us rice with sour milk which he downed literally in weed induced 10 second Swallow followed by another large bowel then fell dead asleep. The next day in exchange for his hospitality, I was to be his hustler to any english speaking tourists. It was very interesting to land on the other side of the salesman/tourist relationship and plunge from being the rude ignoring tourist with the blinkers up to the hounding pushy shop keeper. So I have now had my soal nibbled from both ends. I was not too pushy but simply told people that I was histeling them and would greatly appreciate it if they would follow me to my friend Ahameds shop so that I may forfull my end of the bargain. Imanaged to get a nice old english couple to buy a rug. Unexpectantly they then envited me to lunch and Ahamed gave a a 50Dh commission on my return. I tried to husttle a new Zealand couple from Nelson who happened to be related to my school friiend Laura Roberts. I wrote a letter to her for them to give her when they would meet her in 5 days time and put it in a little leather pouch I had made in Larache. Later that night I remembered that my friends name was actually Emma Roberts. I have no Idea who recieved my warm sentimental letter and handmade gift in 5 days time but I hope she enjoyed it. Ahamed was not huge on conversation but plodded through his daily rituals of laying out the carpets, making sugar tea, listening to music, talking to his passing village friends, husteling tourists and smoking hasheesh. His life seemed to consist of little more. He had no wife but often returned to see hid family in Mezouga. When I asked if he liked sport, his response was that he played smoking. I stayed a total of three night with Ahamen then hitched on towards the real desert near Mhamid.
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