Passed the city of Meknes on the train. Lots of people got out, and my compartment was eerily empty until we arrived in Fez.
In the morning I walked through the wrecking yards in Inezgane. Its like a market made up of different car parts and metal scrap. I saw people covered in oil, bent over old engines, and old men stacking and oiling pieces of metal for some future customer who hope will one day point and say “that’s just the part I’m looking for.” Near by is a field where people without jobs spread out blankets and try to earn a living selling all manner of junk. I smiled and everywhere was greeted with a friendly “Salamaleico.” The first time I walked through, I felt self-conscious about taking pictures. I didn’t want to be that asshole tourist making a safari out of peoples lives in the slums. Afterwards I regretted not getting any pictures of such an interesting place, and decided to make a morning trip before I left town.
You often see people in Morocco measuring thread along a wall or between buildings. I wandered down a residential street in Inezgane and discovered a group of women winding thread onto spools. They all laughed when they saw me watching them.
I mistakenly thought that Inezgane was a separate town from Agadir. It turns out, its the city center, and a major transport hub. Its a city of motors; everywhere you turn, there are buses idling, taxis dropping of people, and motorbikes buzzing by. Every other business is a mechanic or body shop. In the grand taxi rank, drivers heading every conceivable destination in Morocco wait for hours for their turn, and the necessary 6 people to fill their taxi.
In the late afternoon, we arrived in the town of Taroudant. It’s a very relaxed, authentic place despite having a few tourists. I was struck by how silent the market was, as if everyone were whispering.
In Tazenakht, I ran into Simon. He lives in his van with a dog called Tawa. They offered me a ride west, and we camped together one night by the side of the road. Simon is from France. We talked in French and compared our experiences of Morocco. My limited vocabulary made it more difficult to express certain ideas, but because we had a similar attitude towards traveling, I felt like we could understand each other pretty well, even when words failed.
In the small town of Agdz, I saw local musicians perform. Before they started to play, two men built a fire and tightened the skins of the drums.