DAY 13 TUESDAY 19TH JAN 2010

Finally, we have made it across on to African soil. Mileage reads 36,405 dock side in Tangier. Ferry took longer than expected then had to wait outside port for a berth to become available. You can feel the tingle of Africa immediately you land, the hussle of the locals trying to sell you the vehicle immigration forms that are available for free if you know where and who to ask. We were pounced on by these "helpful" locals offering us both the forms and assistance with co,pleting them. We politely declined as we were determined to enter the country without paying any backhanders to anyone. We had a very long wait before clearing customs but that gave me time to write up thge blog. After semmingly an hour of nothing happening I went to the customs office to find out how our papers were progressing. The Immigration process is the most inefficient imaginable. One man sits at an ancient PC which runs what looks like 20 year old DOS based software, where he very slowly single finger types the details of every person and every vehicle entering the country. I watched this process for half an hour not knowing whether to laugh or cry. A couple of weeks later this system would look a model of efficiency compared with what we later encoutered.
The process dragged on and on but I managed to obtain the papers for myself, John and Andres, all of whom had visited Morocco previously and therefore our details were already on the national police database. The others being first timers to Morocco had yet more forms to fill in more we could leave the docks.
It was decided to split into 2 groups of 4 riders rather than one of 8 which would be too difficult to keep together in Moroccan traffic. Our group comprising of me, John, Glen and Andres set off first out of Tangier taking care to adhere strictly to the speed limits which were rigorously enforced every fez miles on the main roads. There were a few surprises riding on Moroccan roads as they don't have the same Health & Safety concerns we have in the UK. Where workmen were working on the xentral reservation, they left they wheelbarrows unmarked in the outside lane!
Shortly after, we needed to syop for fuel for the bikes and lunch for ourselves. Despite the petrol station having a large sign saying "Cartes de Credit" they refused to accept our credit cards and insisted on cash only. The waiter in the nearby restaurant was friendly and spoke fluent English which he was pleased to use to welcome us to his country. We had some local speciality bread together with various cheeses and jams. I made a complete idiot of myself when he asked me what I wanted in the bread and I replied "Ham". In a Muslim country§ Luckily, I didn't ask for a bacon sandwich to follow.
Just over 120 miles later we entered Rabat where we needed to go to get our visas for Mauritania. By now it was gone 5.00 pm and the embassy would be closed but we wanted to locate its position for the following morning. Disappointingly, our satnavs only work partially in Africa, it can tell you where you are and where you want to get to but not how to get there as it does not have the road network in its memory. Timing wise, the rush hour in a Moroccan town is not the best time to be on the road. The driving standards are horrendous with frequent minor bumps considered the norm. On any gradient, various vehicles will roll back and collide with the vehicle behind which is especially scary when the vehicle in front is a large tipper truck and you are on a motorbike. At one junction an old Merc rolled back into another Merc leaving me trapped dangerously close to a truck which had started to move forwards. I sounded my horn to warn the dozy driver and he became irrate with me for hooting at him. He moved forwards but then deliberately swerved directly at me to try to knock me off my bike. I took immediate avoiding action then retaliated by aiming a steel toe capped boot at his rear door before disappearing through a gap in the traffic. Welcome to African driving standards.
The first hotel we found was full as was the second. We realised that it was getting late and we needed to find rooms as soon as possible. Andres and Glen sped away to the next hotel as soon as John had confirmed that the one he had just tried was also full. We soon lost them in the dense manic traffic and I was beginning to worry that we would not find a room and I was getting very hot in my riding gear. My main concern now was simply staying together with John as I didn't want to be alone in this situation. Whilst we were stuck in this awful traffic, two young kids on a 50cc scooter came alongside. In my best French, I asked the young rider (he looked about 12), if he could lead us to an available hotel. He consulted with his equally young pillion friend and confirmed he was willing to help us. Of course, on his tiny narrow scooter he could cut through the smallest of gaps denied to us on our heavily loaded bikes with wide panniers, although I managed to scrape through (sometimes literally) some very small gaps. He proudly deposited us outside a good looking hotel but I asked him to wait incase it was full. And of course, it was full as well so we were becoming increasingly desperate. Our young guides thought quickly and soon we were wizzing through the traffic to yet another hotel. By now, I was resigned to being told ever hotel was full so it was a reaction of surprise and delight to be told they had rooms available. I rushed outside to tell John this good nezs but he was on the phone to Andres who in formed him that he had booked us into a hotel back on the other side of town. Only problem was we had no way of finding this other hotel without the help of our young frinds again and again agreed to help. As we rode through the traffic a policeman tried to stop them, presumably for riding underage and riding with no crash helmets on! I signalled to the policeman that they were with us and they were OK. It was only later that I thought about how I would feel if anything untoward happened to these two kids. When they deposited us at the final hotel they went to ride off before we could even thank them. We both gave them the equivalent of a few pounds and they were genuinely surprised as they had been willing to help us for no reward.
I don't think I have ever been more relived to get out of my hot biking gear and have a much needed shower. Amazingly, a couple of British bikers we met at the motorwat services were also staying at the same hotel. Even more surprising was that the other group also found their way to our hotel so we were all together in one place again.
The hotel bar was a wonderful tiny smoky windowless dimly lit den with shady characters hiding in the shadows. One such character struck up a conversation with Andres and proclaimed him to be his best friend as he alledgedly loved the British so much. We were naturally suspicious of this instant friendship but again he proved to be totally genuine and had no alterior motive. After he had bought three of us beers we got it out of him that he was the owner of a nearby restaurant. We offered to dine at his restaurant but he never did give us the address. Instead we found a cheap local cafe round the corner where we had half chicken and chips with soft drink for about GBP 5.