Pushing pineapples, shaking trees

On the roads to Agadir and beyond to Tiznit we've seen the landscape begin to change. For some kilometres now the earth has swapped from red to yellow and back again, areas with water or active oueds across the stoney plains stand out against the dry background with their oasis like greenness; cartoon style palm trees sprouting out of the deep cut stream beds. On the road Merc 240s are giving way to Japanese pickups, wooden backed lorries doubled in height with tightly bound bundles of rope and plastic and ever obedient Eeyores; equal in length nose to tail as they are stacked high and wide, trotting along the roadside. Every few kilometres a flock of sheep or goats are picking through the sparse verge between the Tarmac and ploughed ground, under the care of the robed shepherd sometimes with a slingshot to control the stragglers; a wave and a smile is always returned sometimes with a shout.
Where there are areas of agriculture producers are selling at the side of the road and each area seems to have it's own specialisation, men with boxes of small melons follow pyramids of potatoes stacked with short planks to form a procession of proud potato figures marching along the roadside.
We could see the dark Atlas mountains guarding the horizon on our left (the south) when suddenly the clouds opened to reveal the bluest of skies, beautiful against the orange and green landscape. It was such a powerful image we simultaneously both pulled over to take it in, like a classic Saharan postcard.
The buildings have also changed colour, they are now pink, most still single story with few windows except those facing the road. Across the landscape are many tall walled yards from 10 to 100 yards across, each with a single access point like impenetrable agricultural fortresses. Whether house or yard though every wall is crowned with characteristic pyramidic castellations.
The people are also changing, they seem slighter and the dress more traditional, the women often wearing bright materials wrapped top to toe with only the face or just eyes exposed, the men mostly in jehlabas now without hoods, and around Tiznit we start seeing our first faces wrapped up against the desert wind.

The wind has been quite something for the last few hundred miles! Always from the west we have to wrestle the bars at times as it races across the plains or roars through a village or valley. Further north the wind brought the scents of coriander, celery and marijuana and now it thankfully disperses the smell of diesel fumes on the busier roads that choked us in the Rif. It's persistent and we were just lucky to find the old road past  Khemis de Beaoidine following some trails, to drop down to the sheltered waters edge where it now disappears into the flooded reservoir. It was a beautiful night under the stars. No tents necessary we pulled the wagons around to make camp on the broken post apocalyptic Tarmac and fell asleep counting shooting stars.