October 31, 1996

Morocco is teaming with them, Berbers and Nomads all vying for the attention of tourists. This isn't the heavy tourist season, so when even a few morsels are spotted, the hoards descend. Today we were the food. We'd driven into the Sahara, a hot dusty endeavor that left us searching for shade. There it was, on the edge of the Chebbi Erg (Morocco's biggest sand dunes), a lone tree. It seemed to call to us. But it was calling to others as well. Within minutes of stopping we were surrounded. Some arrived on bicycles, others on foot, all with faces wrapped in scarves.

One bite for so many to chew on. "Come, just over there, my family camping," one said. Another pointed into the sun. "Camping here. Good view. You come now." From the youngest, "Here no good, stay at my home." They laid their bikes in heaps near the van; escape without destruction was impossible. "Where you from?", "How long you stay?", "You want ride on dromedary?"

Explanations of any kind were futile. What we really wanted was to be left alone, to relax by the tree, to experience the Sahara in peace. We left the van and began walking. "Do you think they're following?" I asked John. I was afraid to look, it might be construed as an invitation to do just that. We meandered by the tree, picked up fossils, then hiked to the top of a small dune. Alone at last.

Well almost alone. "I am Zazi," came a voice. "Camping better at kasbah." The young man was shrewd; he had attacked from behind. "Within ten minutes, ten people will be here," he said. You come with me to kasbah now - quickly."

"Yes, we know," I said. "Actually you're number eleven." It didn't evoke the chuckle I had expected. "Please, we want to be alone here." But alone in a vast expanse of desert seemed to be something only our minds could conjure. Zazi continued talking, some words in French, most in English. All tumbled out at a rapid pace; the sense of urgency was paramount. "It is no good to stay here. Come quickly." I didn't listen; I let his words swept over the dunes with the wind.

Finally I'd had enough. "Ok, ok," I said. "You win. We're leaving." We turned and walked down the dune to the van. It was still surrounded.

"You see," Zazi said pointing. "Ten people already."

I handed John the keys. "You take these, get in and start the engine. I'll distract them. Pop my lock and get ready to go." I hated to do this, to run away. They were expecting us to entertain each and every one of their queries. To give freely of our money for souvenirs, of our belongings because we had so many and they so few, of our time, because here in the desert time is endless.

Escape was slow. Our route was hampered by washboard pistes. The men on foot gave up easily but bikes were gaining quickly. "Go away," I yelled behind closed windows. "Go away." We managed to outrun all but one boy - Zazi. His blue scarf trailed behind him as he peddled faster and faster. John slowed the van and allowed him to approach. "What are you doing?" I said. "We could have made it."

"Just here," Zazi said pointing behind us. "The kasbah. You will not be bothered here. For camping you pay very little." Defeat stared us square in the face and we knew it. John turned the van around. Zazi led the way and we pulled into a shady spot on the edge of a tall mud wall. The view was magnificent, golden sand in mountains behind us. And just as Zazi had promised, we were left alone; his work finished he vanished.

I hated to admit it, but Zazi had been right. It was much nicer here that near the tree, certainly quieter. I had been so frustrated there that I was ready to point the van back to Erfoud and forget the dunes all together. But I couldn't - John was driving, and that was a good thing because we would have missing a highlight of Morocco.

We spent two days at the edge of the erg. I skied the sand dunes (more like I pushed myself down); we walked along sand ridges until the kasbah and the van disappeared from view; we helped round up the dromedaries; made funny shadows in the sand; and we watched Sahara sunsets that deserve journal entries all their own. By the evening of our second sunset I had completely forgotten that we had been prey two days before. But I was reminded.

Vultures come in many forms and people, once friendly and welcoming, can turn. The owner of the kasbah hotel became frustrated with us. We hadn't bought a dromedary ride; we hadn't payed for a two day trip to the oasis; we hadn't bought his food; we hadn't bought any of his fossils. Four strikes - we were more than out. It didn't matter that we were paying to camp there nor that we wanted to relax in our own way. He became hostile, pushing us to ride the dromedaries, badgering us to see his hotel, to eat his food. We wanted to stay a third day, but when he pulled me to his small souvenir stand, wrapped a dusty shawl around my face, pulled it tight and held me there, it was clear that it was time to leave. I freed myself and ran to the van. "John, it's time to go. Start those engines."

"You go to the lake now?" Zazi asked. "I take you there as your guide. Later you come back and stay here." "Tomorrow you take dromedary ride," the owner added. It was starting all over again it seemed.

Zazi rode his bike ahead of us, five kilometers to the desert city of Merzouga and another three beyond that. He pointed down one of the pistes that diverged from where he stood. "That way to the lake." he said. Somehow we managed to convince him that we didn't need a guide and waving goodbye, he turned and pedaled away.

There were vultures at the lake too, but we were prepared. We accepted the first offer to show us around. With an escort we could enjoy ourselves without shooing away all the others eager to take a nibble. Once we accepted, Ali was gracious. He led the way on his Moped showing us a good route around the water and where to get the best view of the migrating flamingos. He did, of course, show us his collection of fossils, but he didn't seem too bothered when we declined to buy. "We'll send you a photograph when we get home," we said. But he didn't seem to be listening any longer. A new group of cars had driven up to the lake's other side and he was mounting his bike. There was more food to be had and the vultures were hungry.