We are running out of Benguerir on this, the last leg of our North African adventure. It has not been a continuous journey; we have bounced here and there over the past month, in and out of 5 different countries.

Still, we have covered many miles on the road and carried the World Harmony Run torch extensively, through 3 nations capping the African continent.

Out of town, we are soon on a straight road that, for most of its length, is laser-direct, pressing sharply forward nearly the entire 65 kilometres into Marrakech.

It is a day on which a hot spring sun is muted by vaporous, whimsical cloud cover, making the day not too hot and not too cool.

The black asphalt is lined for much of the way with an even band of olive trees marching into the distance. The landscape grows drier and more arid with each kilometre we carry the torch.

There are still fields here and there beside the road, but most look so dry that it seems the grain they bear would not be at all like that grown on the rich fields back by Casablanca and the ocean.

From time to time I see irrigation pipes, but no evidence of if and when they are turned on. The only constant in this environment is flocks of sheep, which always look fat and shaggy with winter wool. In a few miles these, too, will be harder to spot nibbling on the thorny shrubs as they amble across the stony plain.

Despite the severity of the landscape, nature can still demonstrate wonders and can engender jaw-dropping amazement. Once, while nearing a small grove of trees, I could hear a thunderous chorus of birdsong swelling into the air. Sparrows spilled out into the sky, and swooped with aerodynamic splendor up and around and all above me. As I ran through this cacophony I could see nests, but never learned why they picked this spot or why they seemed so joyously acrobatic while I passed.

The vegetation gradually nearly disappears altogether. The ground becomes rocky and moon-like, and the vistas of mountains pressing up from the plain are mesmerizing. In most places now, there are just scarce, stubborn patches of dry thorny brush.

We come around one spectacular bend in the road after another. Then, as if we had wandered into another universe, we come across an ancient walled habitation cresting the top of a small rise. From the main road, a dusty track leads down to it. As we draw near, we see a little girl playing on the roof of one of the drab buildings.

The walled home and its other buildings is nearly the same colour as the landscape itself. It appears to be made of dark mud and brick and it could be hundreds of years old; then again, it could be more recent. There are no power lines leading to it, no signs of life other than a girl dressed in red, playing alone, at who knows what amusing game.

One cannot help but wonder if she is as fascinated by the World Harmony Run team, as it is fascinated with her fanciful world. It is so dramatically picturesque here that we take photos and video of runners carrying the torch by the buildings, the mountains spreading out and forming a dramatic tableau behind.

I can recall several other experiences that also fascinated me today. Running down the road, I saw a hunched shape slowly walking toward me on the shoulder of the road. It was an elderly man and his dark, wrinkled face betrayed his many years and hard life. His clothing was almost the same muted color as the stony landscape. He was walking, bent low at the waist. On his back, bending him nearly double was the obvious impediment to his steps, a neat bundle of sticks.

As I neared, I called out “Bonjour”. He did not reply, just offered me his smile, which opened wide across his face, showing broken teeth and a surprising burst of joy. He waved and paused, turning his head to follow me for a while as I ran on down the road to Marrakech.

For lunch, we stopped midway to Marrakech in a small village. It was not much more than a gas station and a long row of small, humble shops. There was a small vegetable market with colourful fruit and vegetables that, it seemed, could not have been grown nearby in such an arid, mean environment.

There were several motorcycle repair shops, and even more shops displaying portions of meat in the way much of the third world sells it - hanging down, red and fresh, from metal hooks attached to the ceiling.

We took our lunch-break here, and dodged as best we could the pungent aromas coming off the smoky grills, and the stench of grease and oil from the repair shops; it was a situation which you just have to make the best of.

We found bread and cheese and vegetables. A café brought us fresh cups of mint tea and with their adept culinary skills and little equipment and less hygienic conditions, Mila and Martina helped prepare a more than adequate lunch.

Wherever we go, we hand out stickers to small kids. During one stop today, one of the boys handed them out to a small group playing with a puppy in front of a very simple house. One very little girl was particularly overjoyed to receive this simple, small gift. When her mother came to take it from her, she screamed with such volume her mother immediately handed it back and comforted her with a kiss to her forehead.

And of course everyone will have run today. Every one on the team has held the torch, and helped contribute to an adventure that carries a wealth of deep experience.

Late in the day, with sirens wailing and police on motorbikes and in cars, we literally stop traffic on the busy streets of Marrakech. Some runners come out to spontaneously join us. High fives are slapped into the raised palms of those who just happened to be on a corner or beside the road and could not help themselves, compelled to smile, to wave, to reach out and join in.

We enter the open gates of the great walled city. To describe Marrakech is to portray the look and feel of the exotic past, blended comfortably with the dynamic, vibrant Morocco of today; the ancient past of the medina and the modern world of satellite TV and the cell phone, come together in a spicy blend. With one foot you can stand in the past and with the other, you can be hurtled into the 21st century.

The ancient ramparts rise up, an unusual pink. It is a shade that seems to be part red, blended with great quantities of the dark earth tones that fill the surrounding countryside.

As we near the city hall, we hear banging drums, the loud blasts of horns and the haunting cries of traditional song. The sound just builds and fills the courtyard in front of the city hall, and then as the bands parade behind us into the building, the great cacophony of sound follows us within.

The volume which was already loud, now becomes so enhanced it almost stifles your breath. It fills the air under the high, domed roof with a great wail of music. It is a sound that has been heard for centuries in these parts and it touches a deep, familiar core in us.

There are at least 3 groups of musicians. Women in violet robes sing and play drums; one beats a clay pot balancing on her head with a stick. There is a group of men in stripes and another group in green. Some have pointed yellow slippers and some wear hats with tassels that they spin about their heads.

This great assembled group of musicians sings and dances for us. Two 6-foot long brass trumpets wail into the sky and at unexpected moments, thin men dash out in front of us and dance and spin. The tassels of their hats twirl to the hypnotic beat of their song.

We are warmly greeted by city officials and representatives of the local sport community. One official tells the assembled gathering about the importance of peace and harmony, not just in competition but also between nations, as well as around the world.

We tell them where we all come from. We then sing our World Harmony Run Song into the vast room, filled with people who are now silent. No horns, no drums - just faces looking up, nodding, and trying to sing along.

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Distance: 65km

Team Members:
Utpal Marshall (Canada), Ondrej Vesely, Honza Minarcik and Mila Pisanova (Czech Republic), Mario Komak, Rasto Ulicny and Martina Madarova (Slovakia), Vladimir Balatskyy (Ukraine), Patricio Rodrigues (Portugal)

Gallery: See more images!

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