The Expedition hits Spain - Again.

A day of riding/driving beckons as we need to get from Rabat in Morrocco to Seville in Spain. John takes the plunge in the hotel pool at 7.30 and worryingly decides to make it a skinny dip (and I hadn't even had breakfast - appetite lost). More photographs outside the Hilton Rabat and the hotel ask if they can use the photos as publicity shots - first time a gnarled looking GS rider and an Atom with the Morroccan flag has visited them, that's for sure.

On the road to Tangier by 9am. A long drag punctuated by coffee and petrol stops, where I meet a fellow Spanish GS rider heading for Ceuta (the other port near Tangier) who tells us a horror story of his mate, also riding a GS who was intently watching his low fuel gauge when he plowed in to the back of a slow moving lorry near Casablanca. Visit to a hospital sounds dire, and the bike loaded on to a recovery truck in pieces for shipping back to Spain. We regale each other with 'travellers tales' (how fast you need to go to avoid detection on the police radar traps (105mph apparently); why to avoidTangier as an embarkation port (slow and officious); why to avoid off-motorway petrol stations (watered down petrol) etc etc.

John gets stopped - again - for speeding on the motorway but this time the Gendarme is only interested in asking him about the Atom (this is becoming habitual).

Get to Tangier Port and run the usual gauntlet of guys earning a living trying to convince you that they know how to process you through the bureaucracy for a few Dhirams or Euros. Make it on to the ferry to Tarifa with minutes to spare. The roads in Spain, once you head away fron the coast, are spectacular, and we find ourselves blasting up to Seville (150 miles away) in no time.

Eventually find the Cartijo El Esparragal at Gerena, some 20 kms north of Seville - a beautiful Hacienda where in years gone by bulls were run - it still has a private bull ring. We find ourselves the only guests and have the run of the place. Rooms are in fact suites and are bigger than the average house, filled with antiques, and oil paintings of the places colourful history. Refreshed after showers we leave the bike and head out for a cross country blatt in the Atom, up and down the winding country roads north of Seville. John lets me drive for the return journey to the Hacienda and I oblige by worrying the living daylights out of him by my impression of Lewis Hamilton.

Dinner and cigars and planning for tomorrow's continued adventure....

And for dinner..........?

Lambs brains, yummy

Done

Into the High Atlas - Eventually

Today’s plan was simple. Get up early, head South in to the High Atlas to Oukaimeden in the Ourika Valley and take the winding road up to the foothills of Mount Toubkal before heading back North to Casablanca and Rabat. Plan scuppered from the start as John’s Atom wouldn’t start. Battery dead as he’d left the ignition switch on all night. His take on it was that in the night someone had removed the full-over body cover, fiddled with the switches, then replaced the cover perfectly. Yeah, right. Push starting the Atom isn't an option as the immobiliser needs power to switch off and get the fuel pump working, so we try to elicit help from the hotel porter - his lack of English and our lack of Arabic/French has us resorting to the international language of hand gesture. (Really should have paid more attention to French at school). After an hour of negotiation, the hotel porter rides off on his pushbike in search of jump leads. Arriving back another half hour later brandishing the ropiest set of jump leads we've ever seen (with claws at one end but not the other), the hotel chef is now involved as he has a van and we can use the van's battery. Looking like something out of a Carry On movie, with the porter and the chef holding one end each against the battery terminals (with lots of smoke pouring from the Atom's battery), they eventually succeed and the Atom fires. Smiles and claps all round (we've attracted quite an audience by this time), and we have another cup of strong Morroccan coffee before setting off, after having suitably rewarded the chef and the porter for their troubles.

Head South out of Marrakech for some 60kms, we start to climb up in to Ourika Valley and on to Oukaimeden - a truly stunning area with views as far as the eye can see - we climb to around 4,000 metres and the lake at the base of Mount Toubkal, where the road runs out. On the way back down we see dozens of Berbers brandishing rifles as they head off to hunt. I drop the bike in soft gravel as I lose my footing. A fully loaded 1200GS is a heavy beast and I am helped by a local who appears from nowhere, laughing at my stupidity. The photos below show various images from the route up and down the mountainside - too difficult to pick the best photos from so many we took (spot the Atom in the second photo below - the "long and winding road"):

Back into Marrakech and on to the Autoroute for a 200 miles blast to Casablanca and Rabat. John's Atom predictably attracts attention from everything we pass, and we are followed for 50 miles by a group of young guys in their hot hatch - waving and photographing us at high speed.

We eventually arrive in Rabat and search for a hotel. Failing miserably, we are helped by a couple of young boys on their push bikes who lead us to the Rabat Hilton - 3kms of slow, but entertaining riding, where we reward them with a fistful of Dirhams and they leave us howling with delight.

Tomorrow Tangier, the boat to Spain and Grenada (if we can eat the miles up).

The Expedition reaches Marrakech

Very early start to get to Marrakech (400 miles of Autoroute) in a day. We are warned by Abdel to stick to the speed limit (120km - 80mph) as there are lots of Moroccan Gendarmerie along the way. We get away with it for at least 300 miles and we start to get a bit cocky - blatting past radar checks with no effect. Big mistake. With John in the lead I spot a policeman with a radar gun cunningly hidden under a bridge support. Half a mile later and his colleagues are standing right in the middle of the fast lane waving John down. He manages to screech to a halt from a, shall we say, 'swift' speed. I pull up behind him and watch with some amusement as John has to produce all his documentation and a wad of Dirhams. After ten minutes of gesticulation and pigeon French (being unkind to pigeons) - the Gendarme kindly decides to hand everything back to him, including the cash, admonish him and wave us both on our way - saluting us as we get back onto the road. Our sensitive riding doesn't last long and we soon throw caution to the wind and ramp the speed up again, surviving all the way to Marrakech without further interruption. Upon entering Marrakech we stumble across several camel trains, and finally a little bloke on a scooter who riding beside us promises to take us to a hotel he knows. Slumming it for £25 quid including breakfast, we check in to the Redouane Hotel, a short taxi ride from the Medina.

After a very brief freshen up (cold shower only) we head into Djemaa-el-Fna, the square in the centre of the Medina where snake charmers, belly dancers, artisans, food stalls all vie for trade. Thousands of people, lots of noise, lots of hustling. Claustrophobics should give it a miss. Before we get to the square however, we witness a couple of unusual events - firstly a horse pulling a cart collapses and dies on the road, then a bus which has hit a taxi causes a full scale punch up between the drivers. Our own taxi driver stops to try to separate them, which he does successfully after 20 minutes of negotiation.

Back to the Medina - John decides it's time to have a shave and heads in to the casbah where he finds a small barbers who brandishes a cut-throat razor, and whilst watching the local football match on the TV, flashes away at John's stubble. An expert job completed for Dhs 30 (a couple of quid).

Up to the rooftop of a local restaurant for a beer, and a great view over the square, we are disappointed to find that the whole of the square is 'dry' - alcohol-free beer only.

Head out of the square to find somewhere to eat and a bottle of wine - we end up in Les Jardins De La Koutoubia - a 5 star hotel where we wished we'd checked in to! On the toss of a coin we decide dinner, Indian or Morocca, John's double head coin chooses Indian!

Heading up into the High Atlas mountains tomorrow - if the car and bike are still at our flea pit when we get back there.

Into the Labyrinth

John's addicted to mint tea. He even has it instead of coffee at breakfast. I need my injection of caffiene to wake me up, then it's into the Medina with Abdel, our new friend from yesterday. Before we enter the labyrinth, we visit the Royal Palace where the King of Morocco stays when he's in Fes - 160 acres of stunning architecture surrounded by an enclosing wall and an ornate gate.

Then up to south hills to visit the south castle - one of two fortifications protecting the Medina in the years gone by. We are both immensely impressed by the artisans creating intricate ceramic mosaics up in the pottery cooperative where clay tiles are shaped, baked, fired, coloured and broken up in to tiny fragments which then make up stunning designs as tables and fountains.

Heading in to the Medina is like walking back in time - it's a cliche, but an apt one - this 9th century walled town as 9,500 streets, some only wide enough for a single person to walk along at a time - dark warrens where it would be all too easy to get lost, and vendors selling everything from pomegranates to jewelry, clothes to meat.

At one such place we watch while chickens are despatched, plucked and butchered with expert precision. A highlight for us both is the view over the tanneries of Fes - the famous vats where animal skins are prepared, coloured and dried read for making in to leather goods. We are warned about the stench as we climb the steps to the roof for the vantage point, and are each given sprigs of mint to hold over our noses. We pass a couple of Americans on the way down who warn us to keep them pressed to our faces at all times. Rising to the challenge, we goad each other in to seeing who can last the longest....our true grit carries us through and we survive the ordeal without the need to cover up. The stench is pretty intense though and I recall a National Geographic article on the "10 worse jobs in the world" - the "tannery boy in Fes" was high on the list!.

Lunch in a classic Moroccan restaurant in the Medina - great food and ambience, then off to be true tourists to buy a Fes hat each, and I succumb to a cashmere "jellaba" - the Moroccan cloak - simply because I want to be Obi Wan Kenobi from Star Wars.

Visit a Moroccan herbalist who promises he can cure John's snoring with a strange black herb which you use like smelling salts - almost knocks our heads off when we inhale it. No doubt i'll see if it's worked on the ferry back to the UK.
Tomorrow Marrakech - only 400kms away.

Pushing On South

Stupidly we forget that Morocco is an hour behind Spain (and on the same time zone as the UK) and wake up earlier than we need to. Conference over breakfast about where to go has us deciding to head South to Fes. Hit a new piece of toll road for about 15 km’s as we skirt Tetouan. The fast road runs out all too soon and we are on winding, narrow, poorly surfaced mountain roads – spectacular views but pretty slow – we reckon it’ll take us around 6 hours to cover the 186 miles to Fes.

Saw our first camel train shortly after starting out; lots of overtaking manoeuvres as we attempt to get a push on, and the usual amazed stares as we hit each small village and town. We latch on to a lorry that’s picking it’s way up the mountain range, as he indicates when it’s safe for us to overtake – this we do about four times as we keep stopping for photos coffee and petrol – each time we pass him he let’s out a blast on his air horn and a wave of the hand. At Loukous, a small settlement, we pull in for a well earned drink and are immediately mobbed by fruit sellers who take a fancy to the Atom. One of them sits in the drivers seat and rewards John with a couple of pomegranates.

Carry on for a further hour and come to the crossroads where the Meknes and Fes roads diverge and a work crew are putting up dozens of Moroccan flags on a roundabout. John nearly plucks up the courage to ask if he can buy one from them.
Fifty miles from Fes we stop for more photos when a car pulls up next to us. The driver, Abdelilah, tells us he is with the Moroccan Tourist Agency and promises to show us the best place to stay and eat in Fes, his home town. The road surface is so poor in parts that it’s subsiding along the edges and the Atom grounds out on several occasions. Finally arrive in to Fes at 4pm after 6 hours of hard riding, and check in to Le Merinedes hotel (where Abdel negotiates a 50% reduction on our behalf); the views over the old Medina are spectacular.

Abdelilah meets us in his car and drives us to a perfect small Moroccan restaurant where we eat the best food of the trip so far – taguine of lamb and prunes, followed by the obligatory Shisha pipe, with some strong Moroccan coffee. Decide to stay in Fes another night and relax to take in the sites tomorrow – with Abdelilah as our guide.

Into Morocco !

Nigel overslept alarm. Finally left Cordoba at 10 ish with lots of admiring and jealous glances at the bike and the Atom. New roads cause confusion for the Tom Tom and we eventually leave the city and head South. A few races with locals in Seat's and VW's along the motorway and we are heading for the coast. Hit Marbella and wonder WHY ANYONE wants to live here! Too much construction. Find a coffee shop selling tickets to Tangier from Tarifa (not Algeciras) on a catamaran that takes just 35 minutes to cross to Africa.







Head down to the sea wall (in Tarifa) to take pictures of the Mediterranean and the Atlantic coast before heading for the ferry. A small group of divers decide to strip naked in front of us as we are taking photos of the coastline. Head for the ferry and John gets chatted up by a buxom German woman who lives in Casablanca and gives him her address in case he is in town. We are convinced that she's promoting a swingers party - either that or his Atom has worked some magic. Within the hour we are setting foot (and wheel) in North Africa. Nearly 2 hours of administration and we are heading out of Tangier port and on to the roads to Tatouine. John spots a car on fire having been filled up too much with fuel at a gas station. It's starting to get dark as we head over the mountain passes from Tangier to Tatouine and dicing with lorries and locals in blue Mercedes taxis. Finally arrive in Tatouine and it seems like a million school kids are on the streets to ogle the strange Brits in their unusual modes of transport. It's dark by the time we eventually get to the Sofitel Hotel along the coast in Northern Morocco and we pay over the odds for hotel rooms - albeit pretty top quality rooms - in order to sleep the night. I have visions of us sleeping by the side of the road in all our gear to keep warm so the hotel is a welcome respite from donkeys and women selling flowers by the roadside.

Dinner is the best we've eaten so far - a classic Moroccan tagine. Studying the maps for tomorrow - decide to head to Fez - some 200 miles away. More wine (Moroccan Caberbnet Sauvignon - very good), then bed.




First photograph in Morocco.





Just for the record 203 miles in Spain today, and 53 in Morocco.