Writing, the other day, about the group dynamics on our Exodus trip to the Sahara, I mentioned a trip Lindsey and I took to Lake Turkana in northern Kenya in 1985. On that trip, which went to Loiyangalani and back, was an English couple who wore hippie pants and were forever discussing between themselves whether something-or-other had happened on previous holidays on their first, or second, trip to Pakistan. It seemed important to them, but of course no-one else was fussed about this at all. Him, “We saw some gazelle on our first trip to Pakistan” – her, “I’m sure that was the second trip” – him, “No, it was definitely the first trip” – her, “No, on the first trip it was hog deer we saw” etc, etc.
I was desperate, on our recent trip, not to sound like those two, but the truth is I probably did. The thing about the trip Lindsey and I took to Morocco thirty years ago is that we can’t remember the route we took. We definitely spent some time in Marrakech, then Imlil, then Mt Toubkal, then the Tizi n’Test road over to the valley of the casbahs, and we took a bus to Tinerhir and Todra Gorge, where we were stalked by a dodgy looking man, and somehow we also visited Essaouira, on the way to which we were pulled off the bus by the police and made to stand in the baking sun for half an hour (for no reason we could understand – we were eventually ushered back onto the bus), which is on the coast. So at some stage we probably also went through Ouarzazate which we visited this trip. But the point is – it doesn’t matter.
The photos below were taken on the way to Telouet.