By Tineghir, the Moroccan diet finally had its wicked way with Heather's insides. We asked directions from someone, thinking we'd be safe as he had a stall to mind, but no, he came with us and spent about an hour trying to sell us jewellery, or better, swap some for Heather's blackberry! In the next town, Boumalne, our taxi refused to brave the 'piste', or track, up to the hotel. We had a long hot walk and then were faced by a river and a bridge, which looked fun to Gavin but Heather could tell there were trolls underneath. Rather than walk many miles round, Gavin carried over the bags without any appearance from the trolls, and valiantly helped Heather across. Called the Perle du Dades, our hotel was run by two lovely people, very hospitable,
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