An eventful day.

We woke with the sunrise, fixed the leaking water tank, and set off for Marrakech. Not been travelling long when two rather handsome young men in uniform flagged us down. As there have been frequent police checks throughout our trip, we thought nothing of it, smiled and waved. This time we were not allowed to proceed. This time a speed camera appeared, with a picture of Delfin on the screen. Ooops, I had been caught!!
We had to hand over all the paperwork.The senior one said "300 dirhams now " "60 not 70 here "
I bowed and scraped, mea culpad and pardonez moid so much, that eventually he gave me back my passport with a 200 dirham note inside and he kept the other 100 note. Glad I didn't ask for a receipt. The pistol in its white holster, made him look like Wyatt Earp!
Today we were attempting one of the highest mountain passes in the High Atlas, the Tizi-n-Tichka.
Getting into a tizi has taken on a whole new meaning!

These are the mountains that have to be crossed if we are to reach Marrakech tonight. The colours of the rocks ranged from shades of red and brown to green and yellow.

The road is the N9, a major routeway but not with the safety barriers or passing places that you are familiar with . There are seriously deep chasms and evidence of landslides too.

That's our road ,,twisting its way ever upwards

There are always those who choose to take the easy option.These smiling lasses ran their own version of The Body Shop. They were selling argan oil, musk and amber at the summit. Needless to say, we succumbed to their charms and made a purchase.



On the way down we drove through mist and a little rain, which cured us of another problem. Ever since the sandstorm, Delfin has had the airbag light lit on the dashboard. A French guy had told us not to worry about it unless of course we had an accident!!

Bad hair day for this lady trudging down the hill.

Finally, after several arduous hours of sharp bends, crazy overtaking by lorries and coaches, avoiding the odd stone hurled by children and seeing a corpse being taken from its home in an open box, wrapped in a green and gold blanket, we reached the lowland and Marrakech.


Our first views of the city were these slums next to the rich man's golf course.

Then all along the outside of the city walls, there was a seething mass of humanity buying and selling just about anything that could raise a few dirhams.



We are undecided about whether to spend money on another guided city tour. We feel overwhelmed by the haggling and bartering required before a purchase can be made. The street vendors descend on tourists like bees round a tourist honey pot. The sea beckons.