- 23 October 2009
- Filed under
Jenny BlakeLonely Planet author
Image by Gavin Oliver
Goats in trees? Don’t believe you, said my friend John! And why would he. They don’t have opposable thumbs, they’re not named tree-goats. Nevertheless as I rounded the corner on a bus trip in southern Morocco, that’s the sight that greeted me. A veritable flock of goats swaying in the breeze on a small tree. Not down on the lower limbs either – way up on spindly little branches.
None of the Moroccans on the bus batted an eye. They all knew the goats were there to eat the fruit of the Argon tree. It’s one of those moments that feels even weirder when you’re travelling by yourself – like on the plane across to Casablanca from Abu Dhabi where everyone threw their blanket over their head, so it looked like some sort of ghost convention. There are moments in travel where you feel like Alice in Wonderland.
Goats in trees. In the end it took a fridge magnet to convince John.