Moroccan voyeur

Rated 4.40/5 based on 719 customer reviews

You need to get to Checkpoint One in order to receive the rest of that day’s coordinates — and stories of competitors driving the entire day and never finding their first red flag are common.

The Rallye philosophy surmises that Gazelles never get lost, they just “stray”, so although cars are tracked for safety reasons (and for the entertainment of organisers and anyone with a computer), teams will not be rescued unless there is a medical emergency or mechanical impasse.

(Wright also appears as a wizened Orrin Hatch in a Weekend at Bernie’s bit that is one of the best gags of the night.) And Annette Wright? Her deadpans and eye rolling fourth-wall breaks are a mainstay of any Voyeur production.

May she forever reign as Heavenly Mother, Peggy the Liquor Store Clerk or a Hannibal Lector Orrin Hatch. I’ve seen Voyeur regularly over the years, and every time, no matter how silly or convoluted each year’s particular farce is, I’m invariably impressed with the gusto with which the SLAC song-and-dance team tackles the material.

Can you believe the Russians are the bad guys again?

As a middle-of-the-pack Gen-Xer, I caught the last wave of anti-Russia pop-culture vilification at a young age, mainly through Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons featuring the dastardly duo of Boris and Natasha, bomb-throwing spies who were always out to “get moose and squirrel.” Those hilarious accents, the cold sneers, the vodka, the fur hats and fishnet stockings and spy-versus-spy slapstick are all on glorious display in this year’s Voyeur.

Moroccan voyeur-78

Moroccan voyeur-90

Moroccan voyeur-47

Moroccan voyeur-89

In the usual Voyeur insanity, this setting morphs into a confab for Russian spies working to blackmail Utah Rep.

And, even though we wear loose-fitting clothes in deference to Muslim custom, our interaction with the few Berber nomads and village children we pass by is largely through the rally car’s window. Despite ‘international’ aspirations and a handful of English-speaking teams, the entire event is in French — who knew? So on top of the physical stress of draining hours, little sleep and lots of towing and digging, and the mental stress of navigating untracked, gnarly terrain with nothing but an outdated map, a compass and a Volkswagen ute, I have long periods of utter incomprehension.

I am driving with my friend and fellow journalist, Samantha Stevens, and when we meet in Paris we are naively laid-back about what this unique race entails.

I assure you no joke is left behind this year, which is what it what it is. It’s a big dumb thing we do in Utah and this year it’s heavy on the borscht.

Craving moisture, I grope in the door pocket for our water atomiser and, instead, spray deodorant point-blank into my face.

Leave a Reply