With no chance of Tommy Cooper sending us the wrong way, we aim for Fes. A hop, skip and one tiny jump should do it.
Leaving the sand to do what it does best, we head north. A municipal camper-stop in Midelt lined up. The French have their bikes and baguettes. The Moroccans have their Phut-Phuts and farine. Especially during Ramadan.
The N13 takes us from Erfoud and onwards past several oasis towns full of palm groves lining dried up river beds. The most spectacular on top of the Gorges du Ziz. A lunch stop where we also discover the inside of our prized black coal is fake! Artificially coloured to dazzle and amaze. It did. We still likes it though.
Following day sees us edge warily. The camp site manager warns about an en route storm. We spot it in the distance. A short lunch break and it moves west. We head north-west and up. Don’t suffer the full wrath. Witness the aftermath.
Up on top the temperature drops to 6C!! Severe rain joined by lightning and thunder. Generates hail. Lots of it. By the time we’re passing through the Col du Zad some cars occupants are out of their cars. We think they’re in trouble. No! They’re taking selfies. Obviously this is rare.
Beastie tucks his tum in and we breath a sigh of relief as we scrape through. On the way down we pass at least forty dogs. Lined up on either side of the road. Waiting for a handout that never comes. Where have they come from?
We arrive at Azrou mid-afternoon. The entrance builds our hopes. The Emirates Euro camping pulls them down again. It’s all show with no go.
