Taxi rides, singing and beautiful children; a trip through Morocco

A loud throbbing hum followed by a series of bone shaking bumps wakes me from a light sleep. I had dozed off with my head against the window and had therefore just received the equivalent of a punch to the face. Rubbing my sore temple, I look up just in time to see the driver's head snap up from his chest. Feeling a sharp veer to the left, I'm temporarily glued to the door of the battered old car as we make our way jerkily back up onto the road, throwing up a huge plume of brown desert dust behind us. No one else seems to have noticed. A browned fist with gnarled fingers reaches up to rub bleary eyes and whilst holding the steering wheel with his knees, he searches his pockets to find cigare


This site was designed with the
website builder. Create your website today.
Start Now