Money, stylo! Money, stylo!

At some point during the oppressive, energy-draining, unseasonably unbearable heat of the past few days Jon looked over at me, sweat beading down the sides of his face, sighed, and said, "You'd think we were in Africa or something."
That's how it has been here: one minute you are driving down the street next to a shiny BMW or Mercedes and the next you are being cut off by a dirt bike carrying a family of four or a donkey laden with bags and carrying his owner side-saddle; one evening you have pizza and the next you are downing brains; one morning you wake to the sounds of birds squawking and the next it is the call of the muezzin from the nearest mosque. I won't say its easy to forget where I am, but perhaps more that the blend of cultures is more surreal than I expected. European culture, especially French, is everywhere, but with a flair that makes things distinctly Moroccan.

We are impressive to the Moroccans as well, especially those removed from the city.  Of late, one of the more interesting adventures has been driving around in the Water by Nature van, a huge 16 seater covered with rafting decals and usually pulling a sizable trailer.  Between Marrakech and the river the van must drive through miles of countryside and numerous small towns that rarely see tourists.  The kids spot the van from a distance and come running to the road, some to wave so hard it looks like they might dislocate their shoulders, some to smile shyly and then yell "Bonjour!" as we are almost out of earshot, or, my favorites, to run next to the van yelling "moneystylomoneystylo" in a refrain that is at the same time demanding and hopeful.  It makes me want to stop the van, to empty my pockets of change and my purse of pens just to reward their persistence, but there are just so many of them.  They come out of everywhere.  Sometimes we drive for miles without being able to see houses, even with the rolling hills providing what appears to be a plain view, and still there are people everywhere, selling melons, or waving, or gaping at a big rig chugging up their narrow roads.