Story # 25 Chased by drug dealers – Morocco

GOATS FROM CENTRAL MOROCCO: A REMARKABLE EXAMPLE OF ADAPTATION.

Unable to find a single blade of grass, goats from central and southern Morocco have adapted to climb tree branches. This info was given to us by a tourist on the ferry bound to Ceuta, and we received it with some skepticism. 
                               Once in Morocco, we noticed

postcards showing goats on trees in every souvenir store and dismissed it as a montage; in fact, the same shops also displayed montages of mermaids, curiously endowed with a fish head and a female body from the belt down! Imagine our surprise when, at the side of the highway, we spotted a tree crowded with goats. From there on, it became a regular sight.


 

Story # 25 Chased by drug dealers – Morocco

 It’s only a matter of time. Extended travel in any land of the planet, be it by public transportation or by your own RV or sailboat, sooner or later will turn into an exciting adventure. The degree of its emotional intensity is often directly proportional to one’s involvement and, in extreme cases, to the extent one is willing to push one’s luck.

 

Long stretches of gray desert as flat as a pancake, scattered with black pebbles and fossil ammonites, the asphalt ribbon cutting through arid landscapes so devoid of grass that the goats have to climb the rare trees for food, winding orangey dunes in the distance, refreshing stopovers in well-spaced out oasis or in picturesque towns with mazy medinas, castles and mosques, soft mountain ridges and hills covered with expanses of weed, indented rugged cliffs both on the ocean in the west and the Mediterranean Sea in the north: these, fished from the memory well, are the sequences of Moroccan landscape that we had seen speeding in our direction from the cabin of our motorhome.

 

PICTURESQUE OASIS, MOROCCO

But, there is a point where, even supreme beauty manages to saturate eyes and mind. What to do in such a case? For sure slowing down. And so, Patrizia and I resolved to take a month’s break, after five months in Morocco, during our journey around the world. Even the third passenger, a beautiful cross between a Labrador and a Weimaraner, voted in favor of our sensible decision.

Our choice fell on Al Hoceima, a pretty town off the beaten track on the northeastern coast, bathed in the Mediterranean sea and sun. Adventure sometimes strikes unexpected, like a crack of thunder in an azure sky. And yet, in most cases, one has a feeling of what to expect. Our “side trip” was no exception. Before setting out along the scenic Rif mountain highway between Ceuta and Al Hoceima, we should have smelled the tempest beforehand. A casual acquaintance had given us worrisome forecasts: before and after Ketama, a village lying at an altitude of about 5000 feet above sea level, we should expect a crowd of people selling drugs. He described them as unfriendly, very persistent, and difficult, if not impossible, to get rid of. No big deal if we had consumed drugs. Since we didn’t, a problem would arise for sure.

We didn’t take it too seriously, as experience inclined us to consider it the typical exaggeration of a “Sunday tourist”; an expression Patrizia and I had coined for tourists with little traveling experience who tended to exaggerate the situation and see dangers at every corner.

Anyway, aware that verifying the facts for oneself always adds flavoring and experience to a trip, the information turned out to be an incentive rather than a deterrent to us traveling there.

As our four-cylinder diesel engine trudged uphill along the winding mountain road, the traffic became less and less heavy and, after a certain point, almost non-existent. All the time, I had been wondering whether we would even identify the trouble spot.

My uncertainty came to an end when Patrizia, breaking the silence, said, “We are probably about to enter Ketama area.” Her remark had been motivated by the sight of several boys and girls at the side of the highway, all of them holding a little package and waving it at us.

Suddenly, behind a bend, we spotted the first houses and soon after the figure-eight shaped village appeared on the left of the road, with its white houses sloping down towards the green valley below.

“Patrizia, all those boys and girls on the curb… holding what looks like a replica of the same package. They are waving it at us! Well, they cannot bother us, can they?”

“Nope, but that thing undoubtedly will,” Patrizia said when a Mercedes with two people onboard overtook us and gradually slowed down. When I realized their intention, it was too late: I had no alternative but to stop just behind the car’s back bumper. Our adviser had not warned us of such aggression. And yet, I began to suspect that, after all, he had not overstated the matter.

“We might be in trouble, with this thing here,” I said referring to our motorhome. “We have no chance against their car. Even if we could escape from here, we are too slow and heavy.”

Two guys boldly stepped out of the car, banging the doors after them. One of them strode to my side. “Would you like to buy some of this?” he said showing us a closed little package.

“What is it?” I asked, feigning not to understand, to show him we were not regular customers.

“Hash,” he said unwrapping the package. “Superb quality. Not expensive.”

I hesitated, reflecting that a drastic refusal would have caused us only troubles. “Well,” I said, “I am not sure. We are on our way to Al Hoceima. Let us think it over. We never tried it but… who knows… maybe for a change. We’ll have to come back through here, anyway, there is no other road.”

“Fair enough,” the guy said, “but when you come back, look for me. Don’t go anywhere else.”

“Sure,” I replied, and to make it more credible I said, “Give us your name and address, so we can find you more easily.”

He gladly received the piece of paper and wrote down his details. They started towards their car. “But, remember, look for me,” he said gazing over his shoulders.

We breathed. They were gone.                                                                                       

“That was easy,” Patrizia said. “In a month, when we pass through here again, we shall see what to do. We don’t have to worry about it now.”

We had not yet traveled a kilometer when the same Mercedes overtook us again. What unnerved me most, this time, was the sight, in the rear-view mirror, of another big Mercedes closing in fast on us. Patrizia saw the second car too and grew restless.

“This time we’ll get really trapped,” I said while slowing down for the second time, as in a replayed film scene, behind the Mercedes which came to a halt before us. As if at the wheel of a fast sports car with some chance of getting away with it, I managed not to stop too close to the front car rear bumper. And I left the engine idling. Definitely two useless precautions which, besides, might irritate our postulants. In the meantime, the car in the rear had stopped close to our back bumper.

Two guys got out of the first car and strode towards our RV with a swaggering, puffed up gait that foretold nothing good.

“What did I tell you five minutes ago?” I said to the same guy that now appeared more insistent and aggressive. I deliberately altered the tone of my voice, pretending to be slightly annoyed. “Why are you insisting like that? Didn’t we agree on something?”

“It’s better you buy some now,” he said.

Two guys were standing out of my window and Patrizia had two more sentinels from the back car guarding her door.

“Better for you or better for me?” I asked with a pinch of sarcasm.

“For both,” was his dry, vaguely threatening answer.

“All right. All right,” I raised my hands above my head in a posture of surrender. “You know what? Patrizia, would you mind passing me the wallet?” I said in French, to enable everybody to understand and relax.

I glanced quickly in the rear-view mirror. There was nobody at the wheel of the car in the back. While Patrizia was fetching the wallet in the glove department, I whispered to her, “Watch out, brace yourself. We are going for a ride… NOW!”

I shifted into the first gear as fast as possible, flooring the accelerator. The engine roared wildly making me fear for a moment it would not stand the pressure.

The guy who had spoken, in spite of his corpulence, leaped sideways to avoid being run over. His brutal scream gave me goosebumps. In the ensuing confusion, everybody was shouting, turning about, bumping into each other to avoid being swept away. I sped past the unattended car before us. My spirits quailed, for I sensed that something horrible might come out of that bold move.

“Are you crazy?” Patrizia screamed. ”They will kill us.”

“Only if I let them overtake us. You’ll see they won’t find it so easy to overtake on such a narrow mountain road.”

“But I’ve just heard you say our RV is slow and heavy… they are much faster than we are!” said Patrizia with a worried gaze.

“I know. Being slow is a big drawback. But heaviness… Here lies our force. Just watch! There they come! With all that intimidating array of lights in broad daylight. I hope they are not armed. They are upset. They are blowing the horn like crazy. This is what I call intimidation.”

“I would venture to say they have not liked the little jest you played on them!”

“One car is trying to overtake. Watch this, Patrizia.”

On the right, the road was cut on a steep mountain slope. On the other side, the ravine dropped several hundred yards.

“Hold tight,” I said when I saw the car start overtaking us. “NOW!” I abruptly swerved to the left, blocking the way to the Mercedes, which, as I had anticipated, made a sudden stop risking to end up off the road. The brakes squeaked on the asphalt.

“What delightful music!” I had the guts to brag. The ears of my mind rang with a mouthful of names hurled at the “foreign bastard”.

“Spectacular! Surely they have worn out half of their tires!” said Patrizia, intentionally exaggerating. Her trepidation was for the moment lost in the thrill of the chase.

“I bet you are beginning to get excited! Mind, we shall hear this music a few more times, even though in a more subdued key, now that they know what is waiting for them,” I remarked.

When the car came to attack a second time, I implemented the same strategy. The message was clear: you try to overtake us, you end down the ravine. As the intensity of the excitement grew with the passing of the time, I tried to imagine the frustration of our pursuers. But there was little they could do: I had managed to place them at a clear technical disadvantage.

“See? Haven’t we always held that movies are a pale reflex of life? This is real life. This is the stage! How thrilling! Unless they devise something more creative, they’ll be the losers.”

“Obviously they are not armed, otherwise, by now WE would have ended up down i the ravine.”

“With the reassurance we are in no mortal danger unless they overtake us, we shall be able to enjoy the thriller until the end.”

Then something unusual occurred in no time. A thick blanket of fog rose from the valley and began to engulf the landscape. The weather change did not please me but I kept my worries to myself. In fact, I knew this unforeseen circumstance would now benefit our pursuers. Why? Because since the rearview mirror now gave me only 50 yards of visibility, they could suddenly pop out of the fog close behind us at full speed.

A potential accident with a vehicle coming in the opposite direction would dissuade them from overtakingon blind bents however, on straight stretches I had to keep my eyes glued to the rear-view mirror.

“Patrizia, don’t take your eyes off the mirror. Scream when they come out of the fog. We have to be cautious, though the last time I glimpsed at the phantom of their car when the fog had momentarily lifted a bit, they were over one hundred meters behind. I see no cars now. Have they given up?”

“Nope, not at all! There they come again, careful!” said Patrizia on a straight stretch.

That was one more failed attempt. If they had any chance of success, it would be on one of the rare straight stretches, but there, besides being overcautious, I sped up to full throttle.

“Undoubtedly exciting!” said Patrizia.

“At last! I thought you would never acknowledge it!”

Another unsuccessful attempt made me concentrate on the rear-view mirror. Then nothing more. As I kept driving and looking intermittently in the rear-mirror, I had visions of the Mercedes looming out of the Stygian gloom, as mythical enraged monsters fending the thick fog with the fiery infernal light beams of their eyes, their horns piercing the air with thunder blasts.

At one point the fog lifted. The rear-view mirror reflected a deserted straight stretch of three hundred yards. I did not dare hope they had desisted. Unless…

“You know what I am thinking? This has been going on for an hour. A long hour. Now that the road is getting wider and they would have better chances of overtaking us, they have disappeared. Odd… A logical explanation might be we are about to enter a different jurisdiction where they may not feel equally backed up.”

“And there it is!”

“Dammit, the Mercedes again? I see nothing in the mirror!”

“No, no, down there, ahead on the right, that parked car. Maybe you were right. It’s another jurisdiction.”

Patrizia had just spotted a police patrol, parked near a crossroad. It looked like a roadblock. I slowed down but they waved us to carry on. Instead, I stopped.

Glad they understood French, I informed them of what they might have already known. Besides, I told them I did not care if people sold drugs on the road. But the inadmissible thing was forcing people to buy them. They did not look too eager to help. And, when I told them in my country such attitude was known as “closing one’s eyes”, they shrugged, saying they could do nothing as it was a different jurisdiction (sic!) However, tourists we met later on, all  agreed that, after visitors bought the drugs, the police at the roadblock would search them, arrest them for possession, or ask them a large amount of money to avoid prison. After all, they played safe, they knew when the drug had been purchased. We departed, heading towards Al Hoceima.

Now, while driving without having to worry about the drug dealers, at least until our return trip, it occurred to me there seems to be a thin line between adventure and disaster, between life and death, fiction and non-fiction, myth and reality. Life is sometimes odd… Things usually happen to people… And yet, sometimes, one has no alternative but to make them happen. Buying the stuff and then throwing it out of the window, as somebody later on suggested, would not have affected our budget, but how cowardly of us to give in to such abuse! Neither of us considered it an option. The issue was a matter of principle. It was about keeping our freedom of thought and decision: something that was not negotiable.

As if reading my thoughts, Patrizia said, “You did the right thing to inform the police. Nobody has the right to intimidate anybody and force him/her to do a thing against his/her will or philosophy of life. Talking of intimidation, there they come again!”

“Whaaat!”

“Just kidding!”

In Al Hoceima we avoided, as usual, the big touristic places and the crowded beach. We parked, instead, out of town, in the east, a few steps from the sea-shore of a fiord-like cove, carved between two long steep rugged rocky walls, ending in a spectacular white sand beach. It turned out to be a relaxing and instructive month, carefree, in touch with nature, the sea and a bunch of fishermen who pulled their nets ashore every afternoon.

Two days before our departure we decided the time had come to think about a way to cross the conflict area as safely as possible. The solution seemed to be a departure at two in the morning. That would get us to the top of the crucial pass at 4:30/5:00 am, an extremely unlikely time for people to be around to sell drugs or chase RVs!

Unfortunately, sometimes even the best-laid plans end up in a water bubble. A late party with friends the preceding night caused us to be sound asleep at two in the morning. But it was a special day, and our philosophy of living the present moment as thoroughly as possible had won, once more, over our plans. On the other hand, postponing our departure to the next morning was impossible as our visa was about to expire.

We left at eight, expecting the worse but confident to find a solution. Around 11, a few kilometers before Ketama, well before the place where we had met the procession of boys and girls at the side of the road but just near the place where the Mercedes had forced us to stop the second time, something suddenly caught my attention. Not on the road but on the windshield. What was it? A bird’s dropping? Then I spotted more of them. Those fluffy things could not be the droppings of a flock of birds! Neither was it was raining. Sure enough, it was beginning to snow! The more we proceeded the more it snowed. In no time, a thin white mantle covered the asphalt.

“This is too good! If it goes on snowing, there won’t be a single living soul on the road.”

When we went through the dangerous area, all was deserted. One had the impression of transiting through an abandoned village. There wasn’t a single car on the highway! Everything was painted white. How reassuring was the color of silence and oblivion! When the wet black asphalt reappeared, we were motoring 10 kilometers past the village.

Hard to predict: snow on the eleventh of May! The night before we had enjoyed my birthday party and now, half a day later, I was receiving this priceless gift from nature!