I am on a bus, to where I hear you cry? Well, if I have done everything right on this beautifully sunny Friday morning, I am on my to way to a Berber village at the foot of the Atlas Mountains, if I haven’t, well I guess some other adventure awaits.
In the haze of the morning, the dust and the sand from the almost forgotten deserts are only just allowing
me to see the mountains in the distance as we leave the city. They are peaking their peaks through the haze while they are being slowly warmed by the early morning sun. They are a welcome sight as I rarely get to see them in the city, thanks to the man-made object obscuring mother nature’s wonder.
Along the route that I am taking is a Marrakech I have not seen before, many building sites building better housing for the poor under the great leadership of the king’s authority and other buildings which will house tourists while they are here hiding from the city, sipping cocktails by the pool and soaking up the Moroccan sun.
The smell on this bus is the same as any other bus I have been on, nostrils just as overcrowded as the bus and the city. I am pretty sure I am now on the right bus and as we leave the city and start seeing villages and open mountains roads everything begins to start making sense.
A little nugget from my upcoming eBook and something I wrote while out on an adventure.