On Being a Girl Traveling Alone and Fending off Boys on a Full Moon in Dades Gorge

In total, I spent three nights in my little nest in the reception. I was going to leave after the second night because I was starting to feel a little creeped out, but in the morning, everyone seemed sober, everything seemed less sinister, and my trekking guide convinced me to spend another day hiking with him. I’m glad I spent two days hiking the gorge because it was beautiful. The first day, we hiked through beautiful valleys and desert, the second through ruined kasbahs and little villages in the gorge.

Day 1 hiking

Day 2 hiking

A rock formation called "Monkey Legs."
Let me tell you, there would be some good climbing here!

A ruined kasbah

Exploring the ruins of a kasbah. I was mildly concerned we were going to fall through!

But it was a kooky couple of nights to be a single girl in Dades Gorge. Night #2 was a comedy of errors, and Night #3 was ripped from a Midsummer’s Night’s Dream. Through it all, I could only laugh!

The Riad is owned and staffed by a family of brothers. Brahim lives in the U.S. but is home in Morocco to visit his sick mother. He handles all of the emails and seems like the get-it-done one of the family. He’s always driving up and down the gorge, saying hello to people, and giving rides. Hassan is the chef and runs the daily goings on at the riad. Atmane cleans and does some cooking.

The brothers who run the Riad and my trekking guide (in black fleece and jeans)
(I have to admit, I love how a Morroccan man can pull off a scarf!)

On the second night Brahim brought me home to meet the extended family who was keeping vigil over his sick mother at their family home. Back at the riad, Hassan was passed out from too much fig wine, so my trekking guide ended up making me dinner. Brahim said he knew where there would be some music nearby, so off we went in search of music. I was a little worried about him drinking and driving since Brahim had gotten in the car holding a flask of fig wine and I could smell alcohol on his breath, but he assured me that he was fine to drive and the wine was for the proprieter where we were going, not him. I had thought Muslims don’t drink, but according to Brahim, that’s open to interpretation.

In the hunt for music, we ended up at the hotel across the street where Brahim and a group of Moroccans pulled out some drums and began drumming and singing with seven drunk Spanish tourists who were motorcycling through Morocco. The Spaniards invited me to a glass of wine, so I joined them, and then spent the next few hours drinking, laughing, and fending off a creepy drunk Spanish police officer. Little did I know, the policeman had had his eye on me from the start. He showed me some photos on his camera that he had taken of me before I joined them. In other creepiness, he started saying that he liked younger women, and while some other guys liked only Spanish women, he was attracted to Asian women (is admitting to being an Asian fetishist a turn on for some girls?!). And he said he could tell I was a classy woman by the way I crossed my legs. And did I have a husband? And could he take a photo with me? In fact, could he have a photo kissing me? And did I know any Spanish guys sexually? What did I think Spanish men would be like in bed? And could he kiss me on my mouth? Could he walk me back to my hotel? I’d had a couple of drinks and joked along good naturedly, but when we all started dancing and he kept trying to pull me close, I pushed him so hard that he did finally stay away from me for the rest of the night.

I think there must have been a full moon or something because the next night, my trekking guide declared his love for me.

It’s rare that one feels like they’re living a Shakespeare play, but all I could think of was a Midsummer Night’s Dream when Cupid accidentally makes the wrong people fall in love, so while one person is ardently wooing (was it Lysander?), the other is utterly confused by the sudden torrent of affection (Helena?). So the night my guide declared his love for me, he walked me out under the moonlight and started telling me how I was an angel, that I fill his eyes (which apparently means that he never gets tired of looking at me), that it was destiny that brought us together, that the moon was brighter now like how we felt for each other, how beautiful I was, please kiss him, please hug him hard, how he admires me, how he wants to stay in my room until I fall asleep, how he is lost without me, how he’s not like this with everyone, how he’s never met someone like me, how the sun doesn't shine without me.

He was so completely earnest, but I have to admit it was hard to take it seriously. And when he asked me if I was surprised about how he felt about me... Um, yes!

He asked me to stay longer with him in Boumalne. “No, I have to go.” I insisted.

“No,” he said bitterly, “You don’t have to go. You want to go.”

True.

Time to hit the road again.