Woke at 6.00am, fell asleep and woke again when I heard doors banging at 8.00 am. Rushed to breakfast room which was full of UN soldiers all dressed in military uniforms. Only had time to grab a croissant but stilll charged for full breakfast, my fault for getting up late. I quickly packed and joined the others outside loading the bikes. After last nights antics, I half expected the others to pack up and leave without me. There were numerous police checks in the first few miles until we cleared the town completely. The scenery was stunning and apart from the roads themselves the landscape could have been from another planet. We came across a herd of camels so it was a good chance for a photo stop albeit in direct sunshine. We were about 25 miles from the next town and I suggested that we stop there briefly for a drink but the group decided to just ride through. I asked John if he wanted to stop and he agreed so we agreed to ride ahead to allow us time to stop very briefly. As we entered Boudour, John and I stopped at the first petrol station to refill. The strategy from Western Sahara southwards is that whenever you find a petrol station that is open and has petrol available it is wise to fill your tanks. I was surprised when the other 5 riders rode past without stopping although Glen turned in to the next petrol station down the road. John and I pulled up next door at a small cafe for a quick tea and coffee. Glen said he didn't want to delay at all as he wanted to get to Dakhla early to have time to explore the city. Just outside the town the other 4 riders had stopped on the cliff edge for photos I assumed. Having only just stopped a few minutes earlier, I decided to continue but was surprised when John and Glen also turned off. So now I waas riding by myself for the first time since France. I rode on enjoying the freedom of riding at my own pace and stopping whereever and whenever I wanted.
One place I had to stop was at a petrol station about 100 miles before Dakhla. This is where my car had blown up in 2005 and I had spent several hours here waiting to be rescued when I was taking part in the Plymouth Banjul Challenge. This time I just stopped for a quick photo and I was soon on my way again.
I was amazed at the improvements to the roads and general infrastructure since I last visited 5 years ago. Glen had told me that morning that our planned destination in Dakhla was the Regency Hotel. Riding into town I saw a massive sign for Regency Sahara which I assumed must be the right one. After our cheap downmarket hotel last night, we were clearly back up to our usual standards. I still can't get used to this idea of adventure motorcycling but staying in luxury hotels. Last time I stayed in Dakhla it was at the travellers campsite as you come into town but this time in in the poshest hotel in town. My room was massive, you enter into a central reception room and walk through into the spacious bedroom with quality furniture, flat screen TV and balcony. Also from the central room is a walk through dressing room leading to the toilet whilst another door takes you to the large modern bathroom. First thing to do was strip off the hot biking gear and dive into the decent sized bath. Suitably freshened up, it was time to explore the rest of the hotel and find the bar for my first beer in a couple of days and over 750 miles. At last the weather is properly hot and I can feel the sun burning my skin. I must remember to retrieve the sun lotion from the very bottom of my pannier. The hotel had wifi but no computers to use so I walked into town to find an internet cafe. It was a suitably cheap looking place up a flight of stairs into a small room with 9 PC desks and I was allocated no. 9. I wriggled the mouse and hit the enter key but nothing happened. I was just about to complain that the PC did not work when I realised I hadn't actually switched it on!
The internet connection was terribly slow with each page taking up to 3 minutes to update. It took me 2 hours to update one day of my blog and post messages to friends, some of whom were complaining that I had not spent enough time updating this blog! By the time I left the internet cafe it was dark and the temperature had dropped significantly.
At the hotel the other 6 bikes were parked outside the entrance but there was no sign of any of the riders. I asked the receptionist which room John was in so that I could find out if they were still around somewhere. John answered his door and told me that the group was very unhappy that I had rode off on my own today and had not waited with the others. This subjest was raised again when we all met in the bar for pre-dinner drinks. We had a "full and frank" discussion of all issues to try to clear teh air before we embarked on the next stage of our journey into Mauritania. I offered to break away from the group and make my own way to The Gambia as, after the incident at the restaurant the previous night, I did not feel part of any team spirit. However, I was wrong, as I realissed after our exchange of views which succeeded in clearing the air and settling our differences and misunderstandings. We all had a decent meal in the hotel restaurant and agreed we would aim to leave at 9.00am next morning for the ride down to the border with Mauritania.
Sunday, 7 February 2010
DAY 17 SATURDAY 23rd JANUARY 2010
Planned to leave very early but John was a bit unwell so we hit the road at 8.45am. John led the way out of town but unfortunately did not see a red light at the entrance to a large roundabout. I nearly missed it as well and skidded to a halt just in time. We got away with that and were soon out of town and on the road to Tiznit which is where the others had spent last night. At 11.00 we stopped for our tradional morning coffeee break but kept the stop short as we had a lot of miles to cover today. The riding today was fairly boring in comparison to the exciting roads of yesterday. The roads were mostly flat and straight and you could see for miles until the horizon. The monotomy was interrupted in the afternoon when a herd of camels wandered across the road causing us to brake suddenly. It appears that Saharan camels have the same road sense as Dartmoor sheep. We stopped to take photos of the camels but they continued to keep moving after we had parked and were sonn hundreds of yards away.
We encountered several police checks as we crossed from Morocco to Western Sahara and a few of them requested all our details. We had prepared for this by producing dozens of copies of these "fiches" which included all personal details you could think of.
There were strong winds blowing from the Atlantic spreading sand across the road. It even rained at midday but luckily we avoided the short downpour as we were inside under cover having lunch at the time.
We stopped on the outskirts of Laayoune to see if the other group had sent a text to tell us where they were staying but nothing had been received. As we rode into the town we spied their 4 bikes parked outside a cheap looking 2* hotel so pulled up to join them. The hotel room reminded me of the sort of cheap French rooms I used to use when I first went motorcycle touring nearly 30 years ago. As we were on the outskirts of town there were no restaurants and we had to walk towards the town centre to find some. Roger and Bhud walked on ahead and we explored other areas. John very intelligently thought to ask a local phamacist for directions on the basis that a pharmacist is likely to be an educated man and able to speak English. A fish restaurant was recommned and the 5 of us walked to it and then texted Roger and Bhud to let them know exactly where we were. John and I went in and the restaurant owner pushed two tables together to create on large table for 7. We ordered drinks and then saw Roger and Bhud cross the road and go into the next door restaurant with all the others. This was the real low point of the trip and John and I ate in the original restaurant and had an excellent meal.
We encountered several police checks as we crossed from Morocco to Western Sahara and a few of them requested all our details. We had prepared for this by producing dozens of copies of these "fiches" which included all personal details you could think of.
There were strong winds blowing from the Atlantic spreading sand across the road. It even rained at midday but luckily we avoided the short downpour as we were inside under cover having lunch at the time.
We stopped on the outskirts of Laayoune to see if the other group had sent a text to tell us where they were staying but nothing had been received. As we rode into the town we spied their 4 bikes parked outside a cheap looking 2* hotel so pulled up to join them. The hotel room reminded me of the sort of cheap French rooms I used to use when I first went motorcycle touring nearly 30 years ago. As we were on the outskirts of town there were no restaurants and we had to walk towards the town centre to find some. Roger and Bhud walked on ahead and we explored other areas. John very intelligently thought to ask a local phamacist for directions on the basis that a pharmacist is likely to be an educated man and able to speak English. A fish restaurant was recommned and the 5 of us walked to it and then texted Roger and Bhud to let them know exactly where we were. John and I went in and the restaurant owner pushed two tables together to create on large table for 7. We ordered drinks and then saw Roger and Bhud cross the road and go into the next door restaurant with all the others. This was the real low point of the trip and John and I ate in the original restaurant and had an excellent meal.
Friday, 5 February 2010
DAY 16 FRIDAY 22ND JANUARY 2010
As arranged, we all left theh Ibis hotel at 8.30 am but split into two separate groups again. We were determined to avoid motorways and major roads and instead wanted to ride on some real Moroccan roads. It meant we would have to ride due south through the centre of town before picking up the N203 to Asni. The main roads of town soon gave way to much smaller roads and for almost the first time on this adventure we were actually leaning the bikes over to go around the sharp corners. The altitude increased and the scenery became stunning through the High Atlas mountains. I had my Ipod playing good music, I was enjoying riding my favourite motorcycle on spectactular roads in the company of good friends and thinking how incredibly lucky I am to be experiencing all this. I thought it couldn't get much better but of course it could. The one missing ingredient is my wife Ann who I am missing so much and I wish she was here with me to enjoy it as well. Then I thought how she might react if she actually were on the pillion seat as I flew around these bends with 1,000+ feet drops and thought that perhaps she might not enjoy the experience as much as I was doing.
The poverty of the subsistence farmers in the mountain regions was emphasized when we stopped and they looked at us as if we had come from another planet. Inthe mountains especially the humble donkey is still used as the main means of transporting all produce down the road.
We spent so much time simply enjoying ourselves on these fantastic roads that we didn't cover the desired mileage and would not get much further tan Agadir. John had previously visited Agadir in 2007 so he was elected to lead us into town and locate us a suitable hotel. He even managed to find the same deluxe hotel he had previously stayed in. They agreed a special off season deal for large rooms with sea views at a bargain price. This was originally meant to be a hard core adventurer expedition but so far the most we have roughed it is one night when we stayed in a 3* hotel rather than our usual 4* fare. So yet another luxury hotel had to be endured...
The panoramic view of the bay of Agadir was lovely when I hung my laundry out to dry on my balcony.
John led the four of us down to the seafront to find a restaurant. Many of the places were closed which was odd considering Agadir is marketed as a winter sun resort. Andres inability to walk too far meant we chose a nearby restaurant and this proved to be an excellent choice. Perhaps it was the lack of other people about but the service and food was excellent. In the very short walk back to the hotel of about 200 yards we were approached and offered cocaine, heroine and sex openly! It was rather sad to see these desperate women trying to sell themselves and added a bit of a sad note to an otherwise amazing day. The other sad note was that Andres would be leaqving us as he had promised his family that he would not ride through Mauritania. Andres informed us over dinner that he had just proposed to his girlfriend and she had agreed that they will get married by an Elvis impersonator in Las Vegas this coming summer.
The poverty of the subsistence farmers in the mountain regions was emphasized when we stopped and they looked at us as if we had come from another planet. Inthe mountains especially the humble donkey is still used as the main means of transporting all produce down the road.
We spent so much time simply enjoying ourselves on these fantastic roads that we didn't cover the desired mileage and would not get much further tan Agadir. John had previously visited Agadir in 2007 so he was elected to lead us into town and locate us a suitable hotel. He even managed to find the same deluxe hotel he had previously stayed in. They agreed a special off season deal for large rooms with sea views at a bargain price. This was originally meant to be a hard core adventurer expedition but so far the most we have roughed it is one night when we stayed in a 3* hotel rather than our usual 4* fare. So yet another luxury hotel had to be endured...
The panoramic view of the bay of Agadir was lovely when I hung my laundry out to dry on my balcony.
John led the four of us down to the seafront to find a restaurant. Many of the places were closed which was odd considering Agadir is marketed as a winter sun resort. Andres inability to walk too far meant we chose a nearby restaurant and this proved to be an excellent choice. Perhaps it was the lack of other people about but the service and food was excellent. In the very short walk back to the hotel of about 200 yards we were approached and offered cocaine, heroine and sex openly! It was rather sad to see these desperate women trying to sell themselves and added a bit of a sad note to an otherwise amazing day. The other sad note was that Andres would be leaqving us as he had promised his family that he would not ride through Mauritania. Andres informed us over dinner that he had just proposed to his girlfriend and she had agreed that they will get married by an Elvis impersonator in Las Vegas this coming summer.
DAY 15 THURSDAY 21ST JANUARY 2010
Two weeks ago I was buried in snow back home in Devon, now I am in the warm sunshine of Africa. Two lots of bad news this morning. Firstly, Glen is ill and has been up all night with the runs. He takes some rehydration powder for breakfast and then sits outside hotel vomitting in the bushes. Secondly, Andres limps into breakfast room on his crutches and announces that he has broken his leg! Luckily, it is only his artificial one so he only needs a few rivets to repair it Typical biker humour followed with questions asked as to whether it was covered under BMW warranty and had he bought a spare with him. He took it in the spirit intended although the leg was clearly causing him some discomfort. He would have to find a local engineer to hand rivet a repair and this would delay his departure by a few hours. John immediately offered to stay behind to help Andres and with Glen seemingly too ill to ride it looked like we would revert back into our two groups for the ride down to Marrakesh.
Meanwhile I checked out of hotel, walked past a vomitting Glen, climbed on to my bike and rode around to the Mauri Embassy to try to sort out the problems with my visa. Riding in the morning rush hour was actually great fun, hte air was cool and I was loving the cut and thrust of the driving.
Arriving at the Embassy, there was already a large group outside so Iresigned myself to a long wait outside the entrance. Then I had a bright idea and waited instead outside the separate exit door for someone to leave. As soon as the exit door opened I dived through much to the total surprise of the guard who was only used to letting people out and not having them coming in. I rushed up to the main building where there stood two large black men. One looked like a security guard ready to grab me and the other looked senior and important as he was very well dressed. I very politely greetedd the Senior one in French and explained the problems with my visa. He asked me if I had completed the form correctly and I confirmed that I had so he took me with him to the visa processing office. The surly official who had been so unhelpful yesterday, suddenly couldn't be more helpful and apologetic in the presence of his boss. They dug out my form and confirmed I had requsted a multi entry and therefore I paid the aditionl fee and he promised to process my visa "soon". He told me to wait outside and it would be brought out to me when completed. I used this time to write up my blogin the shade and learn to relax into African time again.
Whilst waiting I texted Andres to give him the good news that I should hopefully be back soon. Andres replied with equally good news that he had found a place near the hotel that was making repairs to his leg so hopefully we would not be delayed too long. John later told me of the strange sight of Andres hopping down the road on his one good leg with John walking alongside carrying Andres's artificial leg, apparently they got some strange stares from the locals!
Meanwhile back at the Embassy the hours were passing and nothing was happening. Finally at 11.30am he told me I wouldn't get it until 3.00pm as the Consul himself was not in the building to sign it. There was nothing I could do about it so I rode back to the hotel to join John and Andres who had kindly waited for me. Andres had fixed his bionic leg at a nearby saddlery centre and we walked a very short distance to the Magic Coq for lunch. I returned to Embassy before 3.00pm and as treated like royalty this time, ushered past all the waited crowd and taken inside and presented with my passport with big smiles from everyone. I made a big point of thanking them all in French and we all left happy and smiling. John and Andres had refueled next door so we were ready to set off for Marrakesh. Four hours and 200 miles later we stopped outside Marrakesh to find out from the other group where they were staying. They had texted us the GPS coordinates of the Ibis on thering road so we were able to easily find our way there.
It was decided to take 2 taxi into town to go to the famous Marrakesh square. We ate in the square then visited a barbers shop where most of our group had a haircut and/or a decent shave.
A long day but a fantastic adventure.
Meanwhile I checked out of hotel, walked past a vomitting Glen, climbed on to my bike and rode around to the Mauri Embassy to try to sort out the problems with my visa. Riding in the morning rush hour was actually great fun, hte air was cool and I was loving the cut and thrust of the driving.
Arriving at the Embassy, there was already a large group outside so Iresigned myself to a long wait outside the entrance. Then I had a bright idea and waited instead outside the separate exit door for someone to leave. As soon as the exit door opened I dived through much to the total surprise of the guard who was only used to letting people out and not having them coming in. I rushed up to the main building where there stood two large black men. One looked like a security guard ready to grab me and the other looked senior and important as he was very well dressed. I very politely greetedd the Senior one in French and explained the problems with my visa. He asked me if I had completed the form correctly and I confirmed that I had so he took me with him to the visa processing office. The surly official who had been so unhelpful yesterday, suddenly couldn't be more helpful and apologetic in the presence of his boss. They dug out my form and confirmed I had requsted a multi entry and therefore I paid the aditionl fee and he promised to process my visa "soon". He told me to wait outside and it would be brought out to me when completed. I used this time to write up my blogin the shade and learn to relax into African time again.
Whilst waiting I texted Andres to give him the good news that I should hopefully be back soon. Andres replied with equally good news that he had found a place near the hotel that was making repairs to his leg so hopefully we would not be delayed too long. John later told me of the strange sight of Andres hopping down the road on his one good leg with John walking alongside carrying Andres's artificial leg, apparently they got some strange stares from the locals!
Meanwhile back at the Embassy the hours were passing and nothing was happening. Finally at 11.30am he told me I wouldn't get it until 3.00pm as the Consul himself was not in the building to sign it. There was nothing I could do about it so I rode back to the hotel to join John and Andres who had kindly waited for me. Andres had fixed his bionic leg at a nearby saddlery centre and we walked a very short distance to the Magic Coq for lunch. I returned to Embassy before 3.00pm and as treated like royalty this time, ushered past all the waited crowd and taken inside and presented with my passport with big smiles from everyone. I made a big point of thanking them all in French and we all left happy and smiling. John and Andres had refueled next door so we were ready to set off for Marrakesh. Four hours and 200 miles later we stopped outside Marrakesh to find out from the other group where they were staying. They had texted us the GPS coordinates of the Ibis on thering road so we were able to easily find our way there.
It was decided to take 2 taxi into town to go to the famous Marrakesh square. We ate in the square then visited a barbers shop where most of our group had a haircut and/or a decent shave.
A long day but a fantastic adventure.
Friday, 29 January 2010
DAY 14 WEDNESDAY 20TH JANUARY 2010
First thing to do on waking was to check the bikes which had been left parked overnight outside the front of the hotel.We had paid a guard to keep an eye on them all night and Roger had risen early and found the guard watching over the bikes. So I was a little disappointed to find someone had fiddled with my seat and tank bag mounts but nothing was missing or damaged. After breakfast, two taxis were ordered to take us to the Mauritanian Embassy to apply for our visas. There were numerous purposeful looking overland vehicles parked up and down the street and a crowd of at least 20 people when we arrived just after 9.00 am. Apparently, the officials had opened the doors at 9.00 am, handed out the required forms to the waiting xcrowd and promptly locked the door again? At least half an hour later the process was repeated and this time I grabbed 7 forms in the scrumage to enable all our group to start completing them. Once all forms were completed we formed an orderly queue in typically British fashion. However, once the door was opened a fez inches there was a rush forward like Sales Day at Harrods as everyone pushed in and none of our crew were successful in getting inside. Lessons learned, we regrouped for round 2 with Roger and myself in pole position and with a firmer attitude. At the second attempt, we succeeded in getting past the burly "bouncer"controlling access. The clerk behind the glass window was a miserable looking character who merely grunted the minimum amount of words needed to perform his task; "Passport, Photocopy of Passport, 340 Dirhams". Damn, I had left my copy of my passport back at the hotel with all my copy documents. So when the demands were were fired at me I told him that Ihad a copy back at my hotel and would bring it when I came to collect the completed visa. I was stunned when he agreed to this, took my money and issued the receipt. We advised the other riders to tell the same story and that he only accepted Dirhams and not Euros. He then left his small office and came around to tell Roger and myself not to talk to th eothers as we had already been processed and that we must leave the area.
We immediately left and walked to a nearby bank to withdraw some more Dirhams. But first we had to cross the busy road. In theory, there are 2 lanes in each direction but in reality of Rabat there are up to 5 lanes on each side as drivers try to squeeze up as much as possible. It looks like total chaos but it actually seems to work and the traffic seems to keep constantly moving. Which is great until you take your mife in your hands and attempt to cross it. Roger and I agreed that it would be tragic to survive over 2,000 miles of riding and then be run over crossing the road. The prospect of being in an African hospital did not appeal either so we walked further down the road to a set of traffic lights in the mistaken belief that might make it easier to cross. Once safely across, we got our cash out of the hole in the wall machine and then had to cross back.
We flagged down local blue taxis for the return trip to the hotel and the fare was one fifth of the outbound fare.
John and I consulted my Berlitz guide to Morocco and wanted to explore the old part of the town on the hill. Grabbing a local taxi, he took us to the Medina across town for a very reasonable GBP2. Not long after entering the maze of the Medina, we were aproached by a local guide, John and I both agreed that we were prepared to pay for a guide to get the most out of out visit and this pleasant chap spoke excellent English. He led us around the narrow streets and pointed out all the points of interest including the vast Muslim cemetry besdie the seashore. After luch came the call to prayer and he abruptly ended the tour. I offered him the equivelent of GBP 10 for his 20 minute guide but he stunned us by demending GBP40. I made it clear he was not getting another penny out of me so he turned his attention to John who agreed to double my stake up to GBP20 or 200 Dirhams. Unfortunately, John only had a 200 Dirham note and there was no way on earth he was going to get any change from this shark. The guide then hurried off to his mosque no doubt to give thanks to the prophets/profits.
We wandered down and found a pleasant cafe to have cakes, mint tea and the strongest coffee I have ever seen. The bottom half of the glass was solid tar but it tasted surprisingly good.
Below this area was a wonderful souk that catered mainly for locals with just a few selling tourist related merchandise. John was able to source an Ipod charger to replace one damaged in Spain when he had a minor electrical fault. Further down this fascinating street there was a beautiful aroma of frying fish. A corner stall was doing a brisk trade selling freshly fried fish in traditional Moroccan bread with an assortment of vegetables. They were absolutely delicious and very cheap. You really could find everything under the sun for sale in these streets from food, clothing, electrical goods to tortoise. I was intrigued by the two boxes of tortoise for sale, one with what I assumed were fully grown ones and the other with very small young ones. I stopped to take photos of these and the stallholder noticed my interest and came over. H ethen opened a large box filled with dozens of baby chamelions. Not something you see at ASDA.
We took a taxi back to the hotel where teh others had just arrived with their completed visas. John and I jumped in yet another taxi and sped around to the Embassy to collect ours before they closed. We kept the taxi waiting as we ran into the embassy and got our passports complete with the all important visa. Back in the taxi I quickly check my visa and found they had made two mistakes, the dates were wrong and it only allowed single entry whereas I would need two entries to allow me to ride back north again. I asked the taxi driver do do a quick U turn back to the Embassy where I tried to explain the errors to a bored and disinterested official who simply told me to come back tomorrow and buy another one. I was not happy but I had no other option.
Once back at the hotel; I told the others that I would be delayed in the moring and Andres very kindly agreed to stay behind and then ride down with me to Marrakesh.
In the evening, all 8 of us walked to the Kasbar and found a marvellous authentic Moroccan restaurant where we enjoyed the traditional Moroccan dish of tagine (or "tangine" as some called it) which is a piping hot stew with a choice of flavours:
Overall an excellent day enjoying the experience of Morocco.
We immediately left and walked to a nearby bank to withdraw some more Dirhams. But first we had to cross the busy road. In theory, there are 2 lanes in each direction but in reality of Rabat there are up to 5 lanes on each side as drivers try to squeeze up as much as possible. It looks like total chaos but it actually seems to work and the traffic seems to keep constantly moving. Which is great until you take your mife in your hands and attempt to cross it. Roger and I agreed that it would be tragic to survive over 2,000 miles of riding and then be run over crossing the road. The prospect of being in an African hospital did not appeal either so we walked further down the road to a set of traffic lights in the mistaken belief that might make it easier to cross. Once safely across, we got our cash out of the hole in the wall machine and then had to cross back.
We flagged down local blue taxis for the return trip to the hotel and the fare was one fifth of the outbound fare.
John and I consulted my Berlitz guide to Morocco and wanted to explore the old part of the town on the hill. Grabbing a local taxi, he took us to the Medina across town for a very reasonable GBP2. Not long after entering the maze of the Medina, we were aproached by a local guide, John and I both agreed that we were prepared to pay for a guide to get the most out of out visit and this pleasant chap spoke excellent English. He led us around the narrow streets and pointed out all the points of interest including the vast Muslim cemetry besdie the seashore. After luch came the call to prayer and he abruptly ended the tour. I offered him the equivelent of GBP 10 for his 20 minute guide but he stunned us by demending GBP40. I made it clear he was not getting another penny out of me so he turned his attention to John who agreed to double my stake up to GBP20 or 200 Dirhams. Unfortunately, John only had a 200 Dirham note and there was no way on earth he was going to get any change from this shark. The guide then hurried off to his mosque no doubt to give thanks to the prophets/profits.
We wandered down and found a pleasant cafe to have cakes, mint tea and the strongest coffee I have ever seen. The bottom half of the glass was solid tar but it tasted surprisingly good.
Below this area was a wonderful souk that catered mainly for locals with just a few selling tourist related merchandise. John was able to source an Ipod charger to replace one damaged in Spain when he had a minor electrical fault. Further down this fascinating street there was a beautiful aroma of frying fish. A corner stall was doing a brisk trade selling freshly fried fish in traditional Moroccan bread with an assortment of vegetables. They were absolutely delicious and very cheap. You really could find everything under the sun for sale in these streets from food, clothing, electrical goods to tortoise. I was intrigued by the two boxes of tortoise for sale, one with what I assumed were fully grown ones and the other with very small young ones. I stopped to take photos of these and the stallholder noticed my interest and came over. H ethen opened a large box filled with dozens of baby chamelions. Not something you see at ASDA.
We took a taxi back to the hotel where teh others had just arrived with their completed visas. John and I jumped in yet another taxi and sped around to the Embassy to collect ours before they closed. We kept the taxi waiting as we ran into the embassy and got our passports complete with the all important visa. Back in the taxi I quickly check my visa and found they had made two mistakes, the dates were wrong and it only allowed single entry whereas I would need two entries to allow me to ride back north again. I asked the taxi driver do do a quick U turn back to the Embassy where I tried to explain the errors to a bored and disinterested official who simply told me to come back tomorrow and buy another one. I was not happy but I had no other option.
Once back at the hotel; I told the others that I would be delayed in the moring and Andres very kindly agreed to stay behind and then ride down with me to Marrakesh.
In the evening, all 8 of us walked to the Kasbar and found a marvellous authentic Moroccan restaurant where we enjoyed the traditional Moroccan dish of tagine (or "tangine" as some called it) which is a piping hot stew with a choice of flavours:
Overall an excellent day enjoying the experience of Morocco.
Thursday, 28 January 2010
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.
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.
DAY 12 MONDAY 18TH JAN 2010
This morning, for the first time ever, I was first down for breakfast. We wanted an early start to get to the tyre fitter and be ready as soon as he opened. Monday morning for Spaniards obviously doesn't start until 10.30 am when the owner of the Ducati and Harley dealer rolled up for work. His tyre changing equipment consisted of a blanket to go on the ground, two tyre levers, two blocks of wood, a manual press to break the beads and a compressor. When another Spanish customer asked why he didn't have any automated hydraulic machinery he replied "That is for cissies. Real men change tyres by hand". Unfortunately, our real man worked at typical Spanish speed in which the term "glacial" is considered rushed. After an hour and a half he had managed to change 3 tyres out of the 10 required. At this point we realised that this tyre changing task was going to take considerably longer than originally anticipated. It was decided to do the tyres first for the riders who still had to sort out their couriers for parcels home of winter riding gear that was no longer required. As the other riders are planning to fly their bikes back from The Gambia, they have no further use of the thick heavy winter wear that was essential for the first week of this trip. It therefore made much more sense to package it all up and send it home rather than have the weight and bulk of carrying it through Africa.
In contrast, I intend to ride back on my own own and return through Spain and France at the end of February so I will need all my gear. It was only later that I thought that I should have left my gear at this hotel in Spain to collect on my return journey but I never thought of that at the time.
We tried to hurry up our tyre fitter buy staning over him and even assisting in the task to keep him working. Eventually at around 2.00 pm the last tyre was fitted and we were away. The riders who needed the courier service had returned to the hotel to arrange this. I stopped off to get some cash on the way back and then returned to the hotel. Unfortunately, they had not been able to arrange the courier so we would have to stay over another night and not get the ferry until Tuesday. I wad bitterly disappointed as I was impatient to get over to Morocco. To add further insult to injury, the hotel moved us to inferior rooms which did little to improve my mood. After writing up my blog for an hour I had chilled out enough to enjoy a game of crazy golf with John, Glen and Andres. Despite claiming to have never held a golf club before, Andres managed to claim overall honours whilst I trailed in last place which obliged me to buy the next round at the 19th hole, the hotel bar.
When Roger and the other returned they advised that they had negotiated a good deal on the ferry crossing and had booked on to the 8.30 am sailing the following morning.
The buffet dinner at the hotel was again excellent and I could smell the fish soup before I entered the restaurant. Another mmod lifter for me so by the end of the meal I was chilled and relaxed and decided on a very early night before our moring crossing.
In contrast, I intend to ride back on my own own and return through Spain and France at the end of February so I will need all my gear. It was only later that I thought that I should have left my gear at this hotel in Spain to collect on my return journey but I never thought of that at the time.
We tried to hurry up our tyre fitter buy staning over him and even assisting in the task to keep him working. Eventually at around 2.00 pm the last tyre was fitted and we were away. The riders who needed the courier service had returned to the hotel to arrange this. I stopped off to get some cash on the way back and then returned to the hotel. Unfortunately, they had not been able to arrange the courier so we would have to stay over another night and not get the ferry until Tuesday. I wad bitterly disappointed as I was impatient to get over to Morocco. To add further insult to injury, the hotel moved us to inferior rooms which did little to improve my mood. After writing up my blog for an hour I had chilled out enough to enjoy a game of crazy golf with John, Glen and Andres. Despite claiming to have never held a golf club before, Andres managed to claim overall honours whilst I trailed in last place which obliged me to buy the next round at the 19th hole, the hotel bar.
When Roger and the other returned they advised that they had negotiated a good deal on the ferry crossing and had booked on to the 8.30 am sailing the following morning.
The buffet dinner at the hotel was again excellent and I could smell the fish soup before I entered the restaurant. Another mmod lifter for me so by the end of the meal I was chilled and relaxed and decided on a very early night before our moring crossing.
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