I ended up working in Morocco for a month a few years ago
Myself and another brit were working with a local guy, Hassan, on the edge of the Sahara desert. We were doing long days in extreme heat, and the hotel we were staying in was - charitably - basic. After a while we started to get a bit itchy and when Hassan suggested we go for a drive to an oasis he knew about to have a splash about and some really lovely food, we jumped at the chance.
Early on a saturday morning we piled into the back of the un-air conditioned work pick up with Hassan and his brother, who it turned out, was the one who knew where this place was. We asked how long it was going to take 'Oh not long'
after an hour of driving the heat was building and we were starting to stick to the vinyl seats. 'How far is it?' 'Not long now'
after another hour, civilisation, such as it was, was a distant memory, and any sort of landmarks are become rather sparse. We'd got no water with us, and us two brits are crammed uncomfortably in the back of a very hot car with two uncommunicative Moroccans. We start to get a bit grumpy.
It was only in our 3rd hour hour in the car, as we drove along a dead straight 'road' that stretched from horizon to horizon through a featureless desert, with no other vehicles on the road. My brit colleague broke down and loudly screamed
'OK OK! I'll talk! I'll talk! Just stop the torture!'
We eventually arrived at a fetid stream that dribbled odourously past a truly disasterous restaurant that gave us all food poisoning. The relief that we could get out of the car was rather spoiled by the knowledge we'd have to get back in it to go home.
( mictoboy shitting in your cunt since, Fri 15 Jul 2011, 13:10, 1 reply)

So...
...what happened there, exactly?

Was it deliberate torture, or did he just get you all lost?

Clear as a fetid stream.
(Stiltzkin, Tue 19 Jul 2011, 15:01, closed)