|Yvonne: Will I see you tonight?
Rick: I never make plans that far ahead.
At 8 o'clock we're assembled, two Dutch girls, an English couple, Jack and me, and head down to the grande taxi that will take us to the trailhead. It's a squeeze as ever, and I'm in the back with the English couple to my left and one of the Dutch girls between me and the door. The ride is uneventful, with us all crammed in so tight that the Dutch girl's generous left boob smacks into my ribs every time we take a sharp right turn, which being in the mountains is quite a lot. When we get there, me with dead legs and a pleasantly smarting right ribcage, we discuss with the driver when he should meet us again, and as he says the round trip is three hours decide on five hours. We set off down the well worn path, most of it through woodland, crossing and recrossing the same river, jumping on wet stones and sodden tree branches to do so, with groups of locals running past. Two hours in and we're still not there when we come to a set of rocks culminating in a large pool being fed by an approximately 200 foot high waterfall, so high in fact that it's impossible to fit into a camera shot. I take off my shoes and clamber over the wet muddy rocks before slipping into the water and then wading in. Water is damn cold and a brief swim is all I manage before walking out again and then with some difficulty climbing up through the wet rocks, mud and tree branches to where my stuff is. Dozens of locals are there too, mainly men, singing football songs and mucking around in the ice cold pool as if it was bathwater. We get dressed and head back, knowing that we're going to be late. Monkeys shake the trees in the thick green canopy covering the near vertical cliffs about 1/2 mile away, with a few carefully making their way across the bare rock face itself. By the time we get back, wet-footed, muddy-bottomed, not to mention achy-limbed and hungry, it's 2.45, though the driver doesn't seem to mind, which is just as well as he gave us the bum info.
First thing we all do when we get back is have a shower then head out for some pizza, which we take out and eat on the terrace of the hostel. Head out again and enjoy an ice lolly, sitting on the kerb by the square watching the locals. Go back to the hostel and after a short nap, return to the terrace to read, whilst Jack starts to sketch the vilage laid out before us, with some talent, as you'd hope for from someone studying graphic design. I get talking to Kat about the Middle East, which as an archaeology graduate and someone who spent three months out there last year, was extremely interesting, to be all the more savoured as I don't often get to talk history with someone so knowledgeable. The talking continues as the dusk sets in, accompanied as ever by the sunset call to prayer, with what sounds like live Moroccan rap being pumped out of some area of the village below. After the pizza, don't feel hungry enough for a full meal so we head down to the small store next door and buy some biscuits and water and carry on talking about everything and nothing. Kat's off to Tanger tomorrow which is a shame, as she's good to talk to, and wears her knowledge lightly.