I reached Merzouga after a long drive south through Morocco. I spent a few days near the edge of the Sahara, walking in the dunes and getting sand into my shoes, which turns out to be one of the desert’s more reliable offerings. There weren’t many other travelers around where I was staying. For three nights, I had a shared hostel room to myself.
When I wasn’t out walking, I found a small café-restaurant called Cafe Snack Hassi Lbid and kept going back. I didn’t speak Arabic beyond a few polite words. The owner didn’t speak English. I could say hello, ask how he was and thank him; he could feed me. Chicken tagine and fresh orange juice became a good reason to return, though I also liked having somewhere familiar to sit and watch the day pass.
I’m wary of calling every exchange on the road a life-changing connection. Sometimes you have a long conversation with someone you meet once. Sometimes you recognize a face for three days in a row and that is the whole thing. In Merzouga, that small routine made a place that was new to me feel a little less anonymous. The food helped too.
I like eating at places where the people who live nearby eat, and returning to one spot if I have time. Still, I don’t want to pretend my few words of Arabic gave me a deep understanding of somebody else’s life. I was a customer passing through. The owner had a business to run. We met there, in that ordinary space between a traveler and someone who lived in the town.
I think that’s why I remember it. After long days of moving from place to place, I could walk into the same room, order something good and say hello to someone who had seen me before. On a trip, that can be plenty.