22 April 2023, Tazzarine, 57.2km
Hotel Bougafer R1042 [DH547]

So, although Ramadan is over, today is a special celebration day. Nothing is open and everyone is dressed in their best. Charl, hovering outside a closed shop, was seen by the owner's kids who called their dad to open up for us and dispense cold drinks. We drink a lot of water on the road, kept chilled in our flasks, but find a sugar boost essential and pleasurable. Tomorrow at 3am, the clocks will be set back one hour. I confess to finding the whole time change thing confusing, but think this means an extra hour's sleep tonight.
Our pre-booked hotel is open, of course, though we seem to be the only guests in a sizeable structure. We ordered a Moroccan salad for lunch and were served, at a table overlooking the large and immaculate pool, a complimentary plate of biscuits and fresh dates in celebration of today. And Charl managed, for R120, to enjoy his fifth beer in seven weeks, a 330ml Heineken. (We were unable to eat all our salad, so I asked the old man serving us to keep it for us for tonight. "In sha'Allah" (God willing) was his response.)
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We slept well on our cement beds and shallow mattresses and were up and on the road shortly after sunrise. (Our host last night removed the battery from his landrover and strung a light in the open-sided tented structure for us. As we have our own lighting, this was unnecessary, but so thoughtful.)
We cycled a wide flat valley embraced by hills. The valley was surprisingly green with irrigated farming and spring grasses, their seedpods, backlit by the recently-risen sun, looking like tiny fairy lights strung along the verges.
A new section of the N12 bypasses Taghbalte, reducing a 68km day to a tiring but more manageable 57km. The trend was slightly up then through a Mimosa-dotted landscape. Quite lovely.
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Three quick shopping stories:
Last night, a driver passing our relatively isolated restaurant, paused to hoot and throw a small package from his car window - cigarettes for our host's cousin.
Hoping for honey in a small shop in Zagora, I mimicked the buzzing of a bee and was offered a razor!
And Charl, in search of the 'buckles' which close my panniers, all four of which have broken, popped into an upholsterer, sample in hand. "Just a few minutes" said the upholsterer, gesturing for Charl to sit. And with that he jumped onto his autocycle, to return a little later with exactly what we needed.