An early arrival in Casablanca last night afforded a chance to drop our week-old dirty clothes on the floor of the shower stall and give them a quick sluicing. The water runs dark grey for a minute or so as the caked in diesel and airborne muck comes out of the fabric. It is dismaying to think that this same muck is going though our system as we weave through the traffic.
The clothes were not dry in time for our departure this morning, so we have them strapped to the rear of the bikes and flapping furiously in the breeze looking like a mobile Chinese laundry.
(the photo in this post is a street scene from Settat, enroute to Marrakech)
