First night of going home. Not looking forward to the trip, a nightmare on the bus, sitting for long hours without sleep, in a state of dizziness, a broken state of mind, thinking that in a certain way it might be considered a positive experience, as such a long and weary travel is necessary to help me gauge the size of this continent, like travellers had done before. You can think of it as an extra: time travel. At least in thought. Just forget all the satellite dishes on the moroccan roofs and the constant noise of the bus.

I usually manage to doze off twice, for about 1,5 hrs each. I am lost in a soft and enticing dream, of things almost real and just before waking it feels like home, in my own bed. Then I realize that we are still on the bus, and will be for 3 more days. I sit up, and Miki puts his head on my lap. It is his turn to try to sleep. In about half an hour we change again. I watch the electric light spangled dark landscape roll by.

I remember camp sites. Things I have not photographed, dust on my skin, a pair of eyes in the crowd, the people on the bus, those in the first rows, and those in the back, so that a few people's name I still don't know and some I have never talked much to, that in a strange way it takes us a long time to get acquainted and also some trouble, like Anna's foot getting burnt to start speaking and sharing. Perhaps I am still tired of introductions, or simply too cautious to spend efforts lavishly on people who seem just nice enough. Perhaps I just need 3 weeks away from work, solely with my husband, always looking for his hand, and he looking for mine.

Introductions. The evening of introductions (as originally planned) turns out to be an evening of talk about what we may come across on this trip to Morocco, from mountain climbs to scorpions. This is the first night we spend at a camping in Spain. We catch some names, but it is one of the guides who talks most of the time while some people are drinking Sangria, and we still have some sandwiches from back home.

Wait and see. It's all a bit different now, looking back. Ceuta had an already familiar face this morning as we got on the ferry and left the coast of Africa, three of us standing on deck, talking, later looking at the vapours and the rainbows by the side of the ship, cast by the sun. Even camp sites are familiar the second night you stay, except we did not stay much. We left in the mornings, and put up our tent at a different camping in the evening, sometimes in the dark, then cooked dinner in a hurry, and ate right from the pan. New bumps on the ground, almost each night. I wonder what it may be like to the guides, who have been through this a couple of times already. Does it feel a lot less distant, and are they tired of telling people about how to be careful with what you eat and where you step?

Eat and drink equals bread and water. Of course, not all the time, but last night I was happy to savour half a flatbread. I sat munching in the dark, while most of the people on the bus were asleep. Or at least they pretended. Each bite had to be special, as it always is, when you are hungry, except having the same food all the time you realize that food is not satisfying anymore.

Mosques, suks, people, dirt. Lots of dirt, even the dust on Toubkal in the High Atlas feels like it may be harmful to breathe in, or pools contaminated like the Cascades D'Ouzoud, where you should not even stand in the fine spray coming from above. Unlike a young arab man who goes in underneath to bathe for show, then comes up to you and reaches his hand out for money. One dirham, please.

One dirham, madam. Monsieur. Give me one dirham. Stylos? Bonbon? Constant begging. The fifth muslim law, that you should give to the poor. I wonder if Europeans started this trend, or whether it is really an ancient principle of the arab culture. I can't tell if they need the money at all, sometimes I can't see beyond the fact that they live in such a tranquil world of easy everyday routine of tasks they carry out together.

Villages hiding in valleys. On hillsides, built from adobe, the houses do not obstruct the view, instead they live together with nature. The adobe bricks are made from local soil, which gives them all a wonderful disguise.

Harvesting walnuts. People walking with long sticks in the valley, donkeys going up and down, causing heavy traffic on narrow roads, carrying heavy sacks, taking one step at a time, slowly, thoughtfully, like we do as we are led from camping to camping, or up to Toubkal, in dust and among yellowish gray stones. Terra rossa is left to lower places, but it enters the bus on the second week of the trip, and later gets mixed with desert sand from Erg Chebbi, and a 1,5 l bottle full travels underneath my seat in the bus.

Medinas. In Fez we have a guide who takes us to the tanniers and a traditional pharmacy, through narrow streets bereft of traffic and goods, as it is Friday, and as we try to have a peak and clog up the road to the entrance of one of the big mosques the door is shut before our eyes. I understand we are not welcome here, except if we offer them money, simply to give, or to buy at whatever price they set.

Haggling. In Marrakech we spend two days looking for things and haggling for things we do not even want, not daring to take photographs, as they tend to get pricey here. I am sure it is not about islam, or losing their soul to the camera, but simple materialistic thinking. They walk up to us even if there is no camera in our hands, to prove we have taken their picture, and I guess some tourists are stupid enough to pay because the people here insist enough. Or else, some of them really want the pictures.

Tourists. I am tired of them, they must be too, simply because they rely so much on what we spend here, that only a few show genuine friendly faces. I get a fair price for castanettes, and the man in the sweet shop is nice enough to remember. I buy very few items because of their attitude, and because I don't like to be called "Hey, my sister". I don't even want to go into a shop "just to look". There is a particular expression on their face as they think for a while about what price to set for you.

Sights. Djamma Elf Naa, the main and very buzy square in Marrakech. A man with snakes, blowing plenty of smoke in the face of his audience after 15 minutes of talk and a handful of mint leaves down his throat. He seems to be choking, then the smoke comes, spicy, exotic. Certainly not cigarette, and certainly not the mint. Wherever does it come from? A few steps away they are belly dancing. Now I know I should have said "No, Monsieur" to the dancer when I got really tired of how they tried to get money for a dance that was not even picturesque, erotic, nice, or personal, given that the dress covered them all, and those were hardly moves, but I was simply thinking I have never seen a woman with such huge hands. Well, I guess I haven't. This whole place is a farce, a comedy without respect for each other, most of the time. I remember the mocking expression on the face of a man when he does not get beer for some local product. I find it ridiculous to watch them offer their soul for alcohol, the forbidden fruit so badly. I am told they drink it, then drink some coke to cover it up, and say Allah does not watch all the time.

Toubkal, High Atlas. Mountains and stones everywhere, clouds in the valleys, and frost in the morning. It is one foot after the other, on the way up, and on the way down. I do feel protected, in a way, and part of nature, even if it is not all that friendly 4000 meters high. The water is too cold to wash the dishes, we don't shower for 4 days, and brush our teeth inside the tent, and spit on the rocks, then get back to try to keep warm. The Sun gains importance quickly, as it is freezing cold from from 4 till 10 in the morning. We go to bed at 4:30 and don't want to come out before the sun rises. I sleep for 3 hours at most, but lie there for way too long, simply waiting.

The group takes a while to develop. A café on the third day on the way home, near the Spanish-French border. The bus breaks down, so we are forced to spend the time talking with the girls. I dink café au lait, a gift, or rather, an offering, and Miki plays Magic. We speak of travelling, home making and belly dancing. We had a farewell evening back in Fez, and small gifts to each other in Spain, and two and a half weeks before that to get to know each other, but it seems it is the troubles that bring us together. We share the frustration and finally laugh. I think the people who I care about are those I sat together with on the first night in the camping in Spain, those who helped us get Anna back on her feet, and now we even have a common enemy to joke about, something we had talked about on the ferry to Gibraltar, while watching rainbows in the vapours by the side of the ship, and wishing for dolphins for company. Strangely enough, even diarrhea is benevolent in this respect - however much people have suffered from it, it has also brought them close, and gave them something to talk about.

Borders. The last one, after the worst night ever. Impatience fills the air, and minutes get longer by every meter as we get closer to Budapest. I can't sleep, can't even dream. Can't find my place in this seat, which has grown terribly small during the 3 weeks of the trip. I hear people speaking of never ever wanting to eat canned goods or plain bread, or in my case, tuna in tomato sauce. Some have already set a date for a dinner out, just like we have, some have called home and asked their Mom or spouse to prepare their favourite dish. We say good-bye at exactly the same spot where it all began on Sept 14. Words, kisses, addresses and phone numbers exchanged.

Home. The place seems huge as I enter. Or else the tent was small, though it did suffice. One day later, and I already miss the atmosphere from the bus. I miss being on the road, being one in forty-something, a seemingly silent, small blonde girl with her husband, hand in hand. Two days later I buy tuna in tomato sauce and eat it all up, right from the can. So much about promises of "never".

Click here to see pictures taken by me. (Not available yet.)

Click to see Miki's pictures.