CAMEL-ROLLERS OF MOROCCO.

Hokitika Guardian, 21 May 1921, Page 4

CAMEL-ROLLERS OF MOROCCO.

A SUPER-EXCELLENT ROAD TO

ALGERIA

(By John Prioleau)

TLEMCEN, Algeria

If I ever said anything remotely approaching the disagreeable or the critical about the Moorish Customs Department, I wish to take it all back. Yesterday we crossed the frontier into Algeria, and I had to demand the repayment of nearly 2,000 francs (nominally £80), which I had paid for the privilege of landing Imshi (the car) at Casablanca. In support of my claim I had nothing bin a miserable scrap of paper with an illegible sum of money mentioned on it, a stamp and the county index-letters and number of the car hastily added to the margin, as an obvious afterthought. A most civil and obliging officer explained to me that I should have had quantities of other documents, but that nobody could expect “Casa” to have any sense. He thereupon paid me my 2,000 francs, on the flimsiest possible evidence that the ear was the one in question. ITe also promised that if ever I came back along that road and past his most sensible office, the business of readmitting me to Morocco would not take 20 minutes, and expressed a pious hope that the Shereefian Government would be bullied into accepting the Triptyque system as soon as possible. A REAL ROAD AGAIN.

After her adventures among the riverbeds and lords and her paddle o\oi the desert of wet clay, Imslii was delighted to find herself on a real io.nl once more. AYh.cn we left faourirt, the strange rock fortress looking for all the world like a battleship with its tv o great wireless mass at either end, vie found an excellent metalled road awaiting us, which took us over (50 miles to Ourja in two hours and a half. It is a beautifully made road, and it is kept smooth by camel-rollers. Every now and then you come across the warning sign “Cylindrage,” which anywhere else means “Steam-roller at

work,” and when you turn the corner you see a team of smirking camels very slowly and reluctantly hauling a kind of hand roller backwards and forwards over the stones. It must be a painful business for the camel, rather like walking out to bathe at low tide ovci shingle, hut lie gets some of his own back by taking his own time over the job. And a camel’s time may he a very long one. Oudjda, the eastern frontier town ol .Morocco, is chiefly remarkable for the number of small hoys who swarm round every car with yells lor the appointment of watchman while the owners have luncheon. “Garder, garder! they scream and hurl themselves on to the running boards and climb on to the back springs like flies on jam. They were bavin ga splendid time yesterday as there were at least half a dozen cars in the town. When we came out after luncheon we found three claimants foi the fee, and it was a reafening affair. It was finally settled, but one young man was very persistent in his do - mauds, lie had nothing to do with Imshi at all, and his behaviour was sheer highwnymanry. When we had explained this to him his reply was, “Well, give me that box of sardines then.” “Why?” 1 asked in astonishment, “liecause 1 like them.”

It is perfectly impossible* to be cross with Moors of any age. NEWS—ON THE FRONTIER.

And so across the frontier, along a super-excellent road to Lallia Marnia, the Algerian frontier-post, where again we met with the greatest civility and the promptest attention to our wants at the hands of the Customs officer. It was here that we hoard the first news oi the outer world since leaving Fez. It was given to us by the officer, and it was this: “The Allies have mobilised. Me inarch on Berlin to got that money out of the Boclie ourselves.” It was unfortunately too good to be true. The road continued super-excellent, and after an easy climb up through beautiful wooded hills over the Col du .Juif, we came out at this historic French outpost, of empire. It is a charming little town, lounded in the 11 til century by that Saharan Napoleon Yusef-bcn-Tacbfine, whose walls still stand at .Marrakesh, and during the whole of the Middle Ages the capital of Central Morocco. To-day there are f*w traces left of these shadowy times, and it is a little French provincial town, very neat, very shady among its planes and eucalyptus trees.

Our hotel stands just outside the walls, an excellent wooden bungalow built by the Transntlantiquc Company and managed by the most obliging and courteous people. l.t reminds me rather of Norwegian inns, especially ns the 1 fills all around are densely wooded, very close to us, and full of the music of falling water. The air is also decidedly northern in feel, as Tlemcen stands 2,8001't high; and the radiators are go-

ing briskly in every room. We bear rather depressing tales of the roads between hero and Oran, our next stop. It has been raining again, and the mountain sides are flooding the lowlands, it seems. I am quite prepared to lielieve that, but 1 have given up listening to tales of roads. They so very seldom have any relation to facts. All the same 1 shall make mv long-suffering companion get up pretty earlv in the morning.