Welcome Home

Fri 23rd Jan

It is the early hours of the morning when we walk back up our garden path, feeling almost as we did when we left...as if we were away for a weekend! But is wasn't, we had been on a incredible adventure. Over the past six months we have driven Fay out to the Russian border and down to the Sahara, we have touched three continents: Europe, Asia and Africa. Not to mention our little dalliance in Pakistan. For all of that time we have been each other's constant companions, never more than a couple of meters apart, we have each been to the other what ever the other needed. Together we have seen so much, done so much and learnt so much. We have had a ball!! Indeed, much of the homeward leg of our journey has been spent discussing "where next?" There are so many places still to go, places that we missed, places we want to return to and places we have yet to discover. Fay has been brilliant, any future modifications will be mere tweeks.

As we open the door, home feels warm, a dear friend has cleaned so no six month layer of dust! There on the kitchen table, a welcome home card, bottles of wine and beer, a bouquet of flowers, fruit and chocolates! It is not just the central heating that makes us feel warm, it is the special feeling of knowing we were missed and that friends and family are pleased we are back.

We make a cup of tea, then take it and one of the bars of chocolate to bed. Hmmm, the last time we slept in a double bed with crisp white sheets was in the hotel in Istanbul. Sleep comes easily and we dream the dreams of weary travellers...coming home wasn't so bad, after all.

We would like to thank everyone we met along the way. Each of you were a part of our adventure.


78083k mileage when we left home.
98343k mileage upon return home.
20260k distance Fay covered from 09.08.2014 - 23.01.2015

The Rain in Spain!

Tue 20th Jan

With only the pigs in the field beside us for company, we open the curtains whilst drinking our morning cup of tea, in bed. Richard is chattering on about possible, future trips, plans and destinations. "Look!" I say, he doesn't instantly react, attempting to finish what he was saying. "Look!" I say again, once more cutting him off mid sentence. He turns his head to see what I am being so insistent about...large, white, fluffy snowflakes falling all about us!

When we landed in Spain from Morocco, we made the decision not to explore this country. It was too large and we didn't have time. Now we are back here from Portugal, Spain has decided to keep her treasures under wraps until we return to take a proper look. Today, Spain is hidden by dark skies, white snow and grey mists. With the weather closing in, we keep to the motorways and reach Bilbao just before nightfall.

Wed 21st - Thur 22nd Jan

The weather is truly awful today, we are glad we made the decision to reach Bilbao last night. Our ferry is due to leave at 3pm but we have fiddle through the day easily, without being bored. 3pm comes and goes. Finally, the ferry which turned out to be a small tub, rather than the large cruise liner type we had before, departs two hours late.

As soon as we leave the safety of the harbour, we are at the hands of the still angry Atlantic! Somewhat disconcertingly, the first thing that happens is a demonstration of how to put a life jacket on! For someone who fears drowning over any other death, this is not good!! Our thoughts of ending our trip with a celebratory meal in the Al a Carte restaurant are dashed. One, because this little tub doesn't have one and two, because it is soon clear that eating is not going to be on my list of things I want to do!

We meet a couple in the bar, who are about to embark on an overland trip to the Americas. Unfortunately, however, interesting their conversation maybe I have to excuse myself. A sick bag is calling me! Ugh!

All night the boat tosses and turns, rolling this way and that. The sound of the droning engine interspersed with unseen, far off, un identified things smashing. At some point during the night, the ship stops, effectively doing nothing other than tread water. By the time it is daylight we have been back underway for some time, long enough for another sick bag to write my name on it! Ugh, again and yes I have been taking travel sick pills!!

There is an announcement over the tannoy, we will be six hours late docking in Portsmouth. 5pm had seemed such a reasonable time to get in, now we won't be home till the early hours. It could have been worse, the ferry could have been cancelled. We try to look on the bright side.

Portugal's Parting Gift

Sun 18th Jan

The rest obviously did me good, as today we are ready to move on. Further up the coast we go, trying but not succeeding, to keep to the more major roads and so avoiding quiet so many side tracks. We will have to return to Portugal, there is so much to more for us to see and do here.

As if to underline this our night spot proves to be a case in point. We find ourselves on a small peninsula, we ended up heading this way for no other reason than that at the end is a place called Troia. This, of course, reminded us of Turkey and as such we took it as a good omen that this was the road to take. As it happened we didn't reach Troia. The land all about us was sand and pine forest, the pine made a change from the miles of cork trees we had seen earlier toady. How strange they looked, half stripped of their bark, which had been harvested in preparation for the day it would maybe "pop" in celebration, be sniffed by some connoisseur or simply discarded with no thought of how it made its way into the bottle, only the best way to get it out!

Back on the peninsula, much of the sand is too deep to drive on. We laugh at this scenario having recently come from the Sahara! Then we see an accessible track. It leads through some woodland, just as we are reaching the edge of the wood two large, brown furry creatures run in a lumbering fashion across the track before us and on into the the next wood. We assume they were coypus? Although, they had fluffy tails with a sort of black Pom Pom on the end?? Until we have internet and time, we can identify them no further.

Out of the woods there is a clearing, with a single tree. It stands in front of a modern but abandoned row of little blue and white cottages. We stop and nose about. The cottages are completely empty. There are a couple of smashed windows and it appears that any bathroom fittings have all been removed. Other than that though, they are very sweet. Well, here will do us for the night! To the right of us are the woods, in front we have a view, over the fields of an old windmill and an attractive, modern railway bridge, it is pale green. To the left are further fields, then tall rushes before the estuary and the wooded landscape on the other side. A few fishing boats bob about. Behind us are the cottages, only in the distance behind them on the opposite side of the river is there sign of industry but there is so much nature about us, we don't even look in that direction. This place would delight any bird watcher. There are birds of all shapes, sizes and type: marsh harriers, storks, giant and little egrets, great flocks of black water fowl (not in our bird identification book) plus familiar water birds, there were also the birds who preferred the woodland, those whose preference was the marsh and so and so forth. This was a good place to sit and watch the world go by.

Mon 19th Jan

We dawdled about leaving here, today but knew we must. As we sat in bed, drinking tea and watching the birds, we daydreamed about the potential of the little cottages behind us. How good it would have been to have stayed here, walked the woods looking for clues as to the identity of our fluffy tailed coypus; walked down to the river, maybe done some fishing. How much we wanted to see what there was at this Portuguese Trioa. None of that would get us to the ferry on time though. We put this place on the slate, left an OIU a proper visit next time and went on our way. All night the wind had blown, strongly rocking Fay and disturbing any chance of a full nights sleep. Though, lessened in ferocity, it still blew and we were glad. Trying to leave had it been warm sunshine on a calm, clear day would have been so much harder.
When we were in Morocco, we thought we were ready to come home. Actually, we were just ready to leave Morocco! Camp fires and jacket potatoes proved that to us. We will be glad to see family and friends, though and don't regret having booked the ferry and definitely still know it was the right decision. After all, this trip has to end at sometime and is it not always better to leave, wanting more?

We are strict with ourselves for the rest of day and cover a lot of ground via the motorways. By nightfall we are camped up a lovers lane, outside of Cuidiad Rodrigo, Spain.


Sent from my iPad

Back on the Atlantic coast

Fri 16th Jan

Having left the carpark before breakfast, we decide to stop at San Vincent for coffee and toast. This place is the corner of Portugal, it is where the Med and the Atlantic meet. Today, that meeting is certainly not an amicable one! The waves crash high up the cliffs, then swirl round in every direction making more white foam than a packet of Fairy Snow. The wind howls and the rain lashes. Is this preparation for home?

We continue on, exploring as we go. We are liking Portugal, even if it is a bit crowded. Tonight will have to be a campsite night. Sometimes, practical things like the need to empty the loo, overcome our preference to wild camp.

Sat 17th Jan

Today, I was a big whimp. Having been feeling a bit under the weather since we were in Chefchouan, today I gave in and stopped arguing about staying put for a day to rest. Rest? It sounds ridiculous, I haven't worked for nearly six months, what is there to rest from? Richard has been lovely; nursing me well, with kindness and a degree of nagging, about not drinking enough! Are these hidden talents sign of a missed vocation?!!

I am cross with myself, though. I don't want to spoil our last week.

Enjoying Portugal

Tues 13th Jan

We have arranged to meet a fellow Hiace owner, we have been in contact with for some time. He tells us of a fort further up the coast where we can wild camp. We make our way along the pretty coastline, popping into little coves and quaint villages as we go. The houses are mostly white, with blue paintwork and pale peachy, terracotta roofs. All of which add to the calm feel of Portugal.

We reach our rendezvous by late afternoon, which has seen the thermometer show an outside temperature of 26C! The view is lovely, across a pretty blue sea. On the cliff top, beside the ruins of an old fort, we set up the BBQ and look forward to once again, being able to eat outside, watch the sun go down and relax. This is what we have missed since being in Morocco.

Chris arrives, with his dog Rio, a little terrier of some concoction. Rio was a foundling, adopted by Chris last year, he turned up in the middle of nowhere and stayed. Rio's eyes never leave Chris but it is clear that the bond is mutual! We spend a pleasant evening discussing the finer points of Hiaces and travelling. Lubricating the conversion with a glass or two local plonk. We chat easily until the campfire is down to its last embers.

Wed 14th Jan

Unbelievably, we have just one week left before we will board the ferry at Bilbao back to Portsmouth. We are determined to make the most of this last week, so stay put, just because we can! We rise late, have a lazy brunch, gather more firewood for tonight and then climb down the steep cliff to the sandy beach below. It goes without saying, that I had a much needed helping hand to manage the ascent when it was time to think about getting that BBQ going again!

Thurs 15th Jan

Today, we do move, not far though only to the village of Sagre. Here we treat ourselves to lunch in a typically Portuguese restaurant. The weather has become stormy, so we take shelter in a small carpark for the night.

Portugal

Sun 11th Jan

As with Greece, we do not have time to properly explore a country as big as Spain. So rather than just taking a peek, we head to the smaller Portugal. From overland adventurers to middle aged Brits on the Algarve! Oh the shame of it!? Not to worry, we can drown our sorrows in a bottle of 75p plonk!! Happy holidays!

Mon 12th Jan

We leave Monte Gordo, which is a nice place by the sea with a sandy beach and relaxed, calm atmosphere. Such a contrast to Morocco. We head along the coast, stopping here and there on the way. Portugal is very pretty. For the first time since leaving Sicily, tonight we wild camp! Quite a find in coastline so very, very popular with Motorhomes. A little bay that we have to ourselves, accessible only because we have Fay.

The bay is surrounded by sandstone cliffs of many colours. It reminds us of the intricate spice piles in the Istanbul Spice Bazaar. In places, amongst the scraggy surface of the cliffs, are lines of encrusted seashells. They shine out like a pearl necklace around the aged neck of a Granny.

Haven't we met before?

Fri 9th Jan

It is time we were heading to Tangier, so we leave the Rift Mountains and head on. The scenery becomes greener and more and more villa complexes start to appear. After a number of false hopes, we eventually find the one remaining campsite; all the others have been developed!

Sat 10th Jan

On the approach to the docks there are hasslers upon hasslers, trying to sell ferry tickets. We decline all of these thinking that once we inside the port, even if it costs a bit more, we will know we are buying an official ticket, from an official person, in a hassle free zone. Oh, silly me! We are still in Morocco, how could such a foolish thought have entered my head?

Immediately inside the port we are accosted by a hassler, herded to a ticket booth whilst being given the hard sell. We ignore him the best we can and manage to compare prices and sailing times as shown on the various ferry company boards. As it turns out, the one he is pressing is the first to sail. He seems pleased when we go for this one but then his face falls when I insist on paying by credit card. We get our tickets and return to Fay with our hassler still in tow. Now, of course, he wants paying for his services! Here, I will admit, I took the greatest delight in telling him in no uncertain terms what he, and all his fellow Moroccan hasslers, could go and do! I could pretend to be pious and say I was making a stand for all disillusioned tourists, that I was proving that not all white, gullible looking English women are mere cash cows but the truth was, that just for once, I wanted to redress the balance, to get my own back. I'm ashamed to say, that revenge was sweet but unladylike! He looked shocked by my outburst. Good! He was supposed to be.

Making sure that this time, we have got all the necessary stamps in our passports needed to leave the country; we don't want to make the same mistake leaving as we did arriving, we head toward the loading bay. Who should be there, checking passports, other than the very same policeman who had stopped us from entering! He recognises us, makes a joke about tea and coffee, asks us where we have been and wishes us a good journey home. We must have made an impression for him to remember us after all the countless people he must have seen enter and leave his country, since our arrival! We won't bother to consider just what that impression was, we will just assume it was our charm and good looks that stuck in his mind!!!

As we sail towards Spain, we recall our month in North Africa. We have mixed feelings, for a mixed country. There were many positives but there are also negatives. When summing up Pakistan, we called that a raw country; in summing up Morocco, the word rough is more apt. Many, many moons ago, I worked in a Travel Agency for a while. Back then "rough" was always how Morocco was described but then, it was in a derogatory way. Now I would use the same word but with different emphasis. We have seen terrain that is rough and rugged, met people who are rough and ready, witnessed sweet natured Abdul trying to ease the rough lives lived by his fellow villagers and yes, there are still campsites that can only be described as having rough standards. Not all of Morocco is rough though, near royal residences there is a definite smoothness. This same smoothness can be seen emerging from the numerous new villa building sites. As with Pakistan needing to retain a raw edge to maintain its identity, so Morocco we hope, will retain an element of its roughness (just in the right places though!) It is what makes it Morocco.

On whether or not we should return to this country in the future? It is a split decision. Richard feels there is "unfinished business" here. He sees the potential for off road biking in the mountains and desert. For me, it's not on my priority list. Not that is, unless it is to fly straight to the Sahara, jump on a camel and ride off into the desert!

Safely on Spanish soil, tonight we reach Cadiz, an attractive city. There are no campsites and it is too dark to find suitable wild camping, so we stay in a 24hour car park. There is no call for prayer wailing out, we in a public place yet remain un disturbed, the price for this - three times the cost of a campsite in Morocco! Welcome back to Europe!

Fay says "cobblers!"

Thurs 8th Jan

Richard is worried about going too much further on a plastic water bottle. Our choices are to continue into Spain, and hope that we don't incur further, more serious damage en route, then source a garage there or to find a mechanic here whilst we are at least on a campsite. The staff here speak pretty good English and seem reasonable chaps. We take the plunge and ask if there is a good local mechanic. The fact that it was us who made the approach, for me, changes the dynamics. We have a figure in our heads that we feel is a fair price. If the quote is less, great; if it's more, we will wait until we reach Spain.

A friendly, mature mechanic with nice eyes arrives. He looks at the problem, yes he can fix it. His price is within our predetermined budget. This is good, even if it is inflated we are unaware of it and it is within what we deemed to be fair. The job is done. I did have to shield my eyes as they resorted to using a hammer to crack some of Fay's nuts! Well, she's a modest girl and unaccustomed to showing her ankles to strange men. Very unaccustomed as it happens, her boots were all originals; after 19 years wearing the same boots it's no wonder she needed a cobbler!

We were impressed when the campsite guy, who had called the garage, came over to ask if we were happy with the job and had they stuck to the price quoted? We were and they did.

By now it is late afternoon, we walk the long and steep descent into town. Chefchouan is a pretty blue and white town, nestled in the Rift Mountains. We wander the streets and souks and into the old Medina, where we find a restaurant. My last tagine in Morocco, it is very nice but Abdul still holds the crown, his was the best meal we had in Morocco.

Fay needs 1st Aid!

Tues 6th Jan

We keep to the main roads today as time is chasing us. The roads are clear but snow lies along side them, another reason for sticking to the main roads. The scenery changes to one of cedar forest, then we find ourselves in the most un Moroccan of towns; western style houses, with familiar slated, apex roofs; housing estates, even a park with a duck pond and neatly clipped shrubs. Had we been beamed here, we would have no idea what country we were in! Then we see Ifrane has a royal residence.

Arriving in Fez by late afternoon, we pass a real supermarket, the like of which we haven't seen since last we were in Northern Morocco. There is much difference between the north and the south. It is as we return to Fay, from the supermarket, that Richard notices a problem - grease where there shouldn't be grease! Fay has split one of her boots! Oh Fay, not here, you've done so, so well. Is this a protest at the thought of going home? Are you not wanting to stop playing? Or are you trying to tell us that yes, it is time to go home, you are getting tired?

We find a camp site and before we have even pulled in the gate, we are approached by a faux guide! Once inside we are then approached by an " official" guide, wanting to give us a tour around the city. This guy even seeks us out later. At about 8.30pm, there is knock on our door, the guide again, to see if he can interest us in a tour tomorrow. We tell him we have maintenance to do tomorrow; miraculously, he knows just the right mechanic!!!! Guess the old man,up the mountain, didn't cure my cynicism after all.

After phone calls home, for technical advice the decision is for Richard to bodge it as best he can and nurse her into Spain. Whether our doubts are founded or not, we will not know. I just feel sad that we have them. Morocco, your hasslers do you no favours!

Wed 7th Jan

Sightseeing in Fez is abandoned. Fay is our priority this morning. There are times, when Richard is mending things that I can usefully pass him bits, even offer support and words of encouragement; then there are the times when keeping a low profile is much more appropriate. As he settles down, armed with duck tape and cable ties, I disappear to have a very long shower!! Say no more!

And so it is, with an old water bottle, duck tape and cable ties in situ that we leave Fez, fingers crossed. Our route and potential lunch stop sites are heavily curtailed as we keep strictly to good roads and level parking places. We will not reach Tangier tonight so stop at Chefchouan, whether or not we get to look about this blue and white town remains to be seen.

Fay needs 1st Aid!

Tues 6th Jan

We keep to the main roads today as time is chasing us. The roads are clear but snow lies along side them, another reason for sticking to the main roads. The scenery changes to one of cedar forest, then we find ourselves in the most un Moroccan of towns; western style houses, with familiar slated, apex roofs; housing estates, even a park with a duck pond and neatly clipped shrubs. Had we been beamed here, we would have no idea what country we were in! Then we see Ifrane has a royal residence.

Arriving in Fez by late afternoon, we pass a real supermarket, the like of which we haven't seen since last we were in Northern Morocco. There is much difference between the north and the south. It is as we return to Fay, from the supermarket, that Richard notices a problem - grease where there shouldn't be grease! Fay has split one of her boots! Oh Fay, not here, you've done so, so well. Is this a protest at the thought of going home? Are you not wanting to stop playing? Or are you trying to tell us that yes, it is time to go home, you are getting tired?

We find a camp site and before we have even pulled in the gate, we are approached by a faux guide! Once inside we are then approached by an " official" guide, wanting to give us a tour around the city. This guy even seeks us out later. At about 8.30pm, there is knock on our door, the guide again, to see if he can interest us in a tour tomorrow. We tell him we have maintenance to do tomorrow; miraculously, he knows just the right mechanic!!!! Guess the old man,up the mountain, didn't cure my cynicism after all.

After phone calls home, for technical advice the decision is for Richard to bodge it as best he can and nurse her into Spain. Whether our doubts are founded or not, we will not know. I just feel sad that we have them. Morocco, your hasslers do you no favours!

Wed 7th Jan

Sightseeing in Fez is abandoned. Fay is our priority this morning. There are times, when Richard is mending things that I can usefully pass him bits, even offer support and words of encouragement; then there are the times when keeping a low profile is much more appropriate. As he settles down, armed with duck tape and cable ties, I disappear to have a very long shower!! Say no more!

And so it is, with an old water bottle, duck tape and cable ties in situ that we leave Fez, fingers crossed. Our route and potential lunch stop sites are heavily curtailed as we keep strictly to good roads and level parking places. We will not reach Tangier tonight so stop at Chefchouan, whether or not we get to look about this blue and white town remains to be seen.

Old guy rules in Dades Gorge!

Sun 4th Jan

For the first time this trip, we awaken to find ice on the inside of the windows! So much for following the sun!! Still, think positive, it will prepare us for back home.

The Gorges du Dades was fabulous, we have missed out on other gorges earlier in our trip but not this one. It really was a cracker! Hairpins and switchbacks take us up and then down, deep down to the river below. Each side of us tower the massive orange walls. From the high view points we see rough dwellings clinging to the rock sides, with little visible means of support. Not for the first time since being in Morocco, we are transported back to a similar scene in Pakistan.

Out of the gorge and on to the pass. The single track is dirt and rock. Will we get through? It is very rough and this is apparently the good side. Once we reach Agoudal, if we do, it is reportedly worse. Some way short of that village, we meet two motorcyclists coming toward us. We stop to ask them about the road ahead. They have had to turn back, the first snow drift is passable but not the second one they say. It is nearing lunchtime, so we decide to drive as far as the snow line have lunch and then back track.

Fay has on board as much fuel as she can hold, we knew there would be no fuel until we reach the main road, we have enough for that distance. However, there is a point at which we have to be sure we can get through, or else, turn back. Fay doesn't have capacity, even with her new big tank, to carry enough fuel to almost make it and then have to go all the way back. At the "make your mind up" spot, we still haven't reached the snow but it was a good place to stop. No sooner was the kettle on, than an old man on a moped pulled up behind us, coming from the direction of the snow. He spoke no English but we understood that he had come through the drifts but that the snow was half way up his bike! Had the young German bikers been too wide, with their panniers to get through, or was it simply that they lacked the years of experience of this old man and his simple bike?

To dispel my previous thoughts as to the motivation of Moroccans, he asks for nothing, tries to sell us nothing; instead he offers to share his bread with us. How to feel guilty, in 3 seconds flat!

As we pack up, a vehicle carrying Japanese tourists passes by. They speak good English and confirm what the old man was telling us, it is impassable, they too are retracing their tracks. We knew today was a gamble and, yes, we have lost a days progress but it was far from a day wasted. The scenery has been spectacular.

Mon 5th Jan

Back through the Dades Gorge, the magnificent rock faces take on more of a butterscotch look before the suns rays finally penetrate the gorge and turn butterscotch to barley sugar. In the river, at the bottom of gorge, women with red, chapped hands do their washing in the icy water.

Once on the main highway, we make good time and reach El Rachida by mid day. Not long after lunch we pass through the Ziz Gorge but it is not a patch on the Dades. On this good road, we have probably reached Midelft in the same timer as the pass road would have taken. We both agree that since Christmas, we have seen what is for us, the best of Morocco: the desert, the mountains and the gorges.

Left on our list of places to see before we go: Fez and Chefchouan, then back to Tangier and the ferry to Spain. When we left Turkey we weren't ready to return to Europe but now as the pull of family and friends increases; the thought of Euroland isn't so bad this time.

A different Highway Code??!!

Fri 2nd Jan

Although we have turned, there is still much to be enjoyed before our trip ends. So from desert sand we head for mountain snow and the High Atlas. We take the famous twisty, twiddly N9 towards Ouarzazate. The road takes us past huge palmeries, along the way are many stalls selling dates. We stop and buy some, the succulent fruits tasting deliciously, Christmassy. Soon the road is rising and falling as it winds it's way up and down valleys and gorges. Then into view come the snow covered peaks of the Atlas.

We stop at a view point, wanting to take some photos. No sooner had we parked, than from nowhere, a man appears trying to sell dates, almonds, wicker baskets, do we have T Shirts etc etc. not this old chestnut again? Where had he sprung from? It saddens me to say that we are much harder now and merely bid him good day. As we drink coffee, we watch him. He hides behind a rock on the opposite side of the road. When a Moroccan car pulls up, he remains put but when a foreign car arrives, up he pops again! Are we right to be cynical?

Preferring not to stay in busy towns (too much hassling,) we find a campsite just outside. A gentle man greets us, we are the only campers and he is keen to show us his new accommodation block. It is indeed very tastefully done but with the severe shortage of tourists in Morocco this season, yet to be fully used.

Sat 3rd Jan

There have been many times, since being in Morocco, that we have pondered as to the cause of excessive hassling, begging and would be scamming. Is it that the people doing it are genuinely so poor? Is it simply that tourism is to blame? To westerners the cost of living is cheap here, so a few Dirham here or there makes no difference. The locals think tourists are an easy touch, whilst the tourists themselves shrug it off as just a couple quid. The problem with this is the way in which it escalates. We have seen posters in towns showing money changing hands with a cross through it; not dissimilar to the "don't feed the ponies" signs in the New Forest! What starts as a seemingly inconsequential, benevolent act becomes a nuisance. Or is the hassling just part of the Moroccan culture? Not having a degree in Moroccan Sociology, who can say? Today, though we may have got the answer without any swotting at all!

On the road to Ouarzazate we overtook a heavy, slow moving truck. He was doing about two miles an hour. Here we hold our hands up and admit that to pass this lorry, we had to cross the very faded white line. Before we had gone too much further, we are pulled over by the police. They do not speak English but make it clear that we have committed an offence, for which there is a fine of 700 dirham! Knowing that there is no point doing anything other pay up, we scrabble around to claw together the amount asked for. Because of where we have been lately, it has been sometime since we had access to an ATM. With all the notes we possess plus some coins; it was like raiding the piggy bank, we just manage to accumulate the 700. It was to find an ATM that we heading into the town!

Richard is taken across the road to the police car and hands over the money, upon which he is given 500 of it back! "No receipt, OK" says the policeman, pocketing his 200 Dirham bunce! We had neither enough money or enough virtue to insist upon a receipt and pay the correct 700 fine. So now we too have perpetuated what, without the benefit of a degree, we have concluded to be the Moroccan culture of corruption. If even the police force are out for a fast buck, then what hope??

We leave the policeman, not sure whether to be relieved that we have got away with what amounted to less than £20 or to be angered by the principle of what had just occurred. We find an ATM in Ouarzazate and replenish our resources, then do a bit of shopping. As always, it strikes us that the cost of groceries bears no relation to the cost of eating out. Perhaps it is what we buy, or where we buy it? Eating out is definitely a cheap option, though.

The road takes us through the Valley du Dades, with views of snow covered mountains one side of us and large palmeries the other, on to the Gorge du Dades. We are surrounded by giant red rocks. I had thought that it was the colour of these rocks that lends its name to the neighbouring Rose Valley but then we start to see shop upon upon shop selling products made from Rose water, so maybe not?

Tomorrow we will continue on this twisty road, through this mountainous terrain in the knowledge that we may have to turn back. If the snow is too low, this pass will be closed and we will have to retrace our steps and take the long way round.

Having heard from family that Bill's funeral arrangements have been made and that it is to take place just a week earlier than we had intended returning home, we book our final ferry sailing. We will arrive in Portsmouth the day before Bill's formal farewell. I wasn't there when those dear to me needed a hug, this time I will be.

More New Years Day pics

Camel Ride in Sahara

Thurs 1st Jan 2015

We are sad to see 2014 leave us but we have 2015 to look forward to. One year maybe gone but our adventure is not ended yet. To underline that, we rise early and greet the first sunrise of 2015 back on a sand dune. We walk to a different dune this morning and sit, quite alone watching as first the sky and then the sand begin to change colour. Soon the first rays appear as the New Year sun peeps over the horizon, peeking at its first view of 2015 before crowning the dune in golden light, casting long shadows over a lone camel so that it appears to have a mate on the far dune. Wow, what a way to greet a new year!

We descend the dune and head back to camp for breakfast. Shoes once again full of the wonderfully soft sand. Then for the moment I had been long awaiting... To ride a camel in the Sahara. I could have stayed on that camel all day! It's soft feet plod through the sand as with a swaying motion we round the dunes. From my high perch the views of sand go on and on. This is my highlight of Morocco and not just because Richard was offered 300 camels for me! I was flattered, not a bad price all things considered but where would he keep them? The back garden at home is simply too small, so he turns down what could of been the sale of the century in favour of keeping a wife who takes up less room and who rarely has the hump!

All too soon it is time to return to the jeep. We take a different route back to M'Hamid, it is late morning by the time we arrive. A young couple have turned up and are wondering whether or not to book a desert experience themselves. We take tea with them and tell them of our wonderful night. They are interested in our travels, so we regale them with some of our tales. We are flattered.

They have come from Marrakech and like us, have become exasperated by the hassling all tourists have to contend with in Morocco. It is a shame that even young visitors are feeling put off of a country that could offer them so much excitement. I doubt the hasslers consider such consequences, even for a moment.

After thanking Ibrahim for our stay at Hamada-Sahara, we leave and for the first time know that we are no longer heading south. It is time to go north and choose a route which will lead us homeward.

There being no other road, we return to Zagora but not before taking Fay to play in the sand! Having been out in the jeep, we had a good idea of the terrain and what we could and could not expect Fay to achieve. We had noticed an old fort on the Zagora road when we came; we had stopped at it for a cup of tea but at that time, we had ventured no further down the track. Today we knew Fay would be more than capable of reaching the first dune. Down the track we went, then on to the reg, not too fast as it makes Fay's teeth rattle, then over the hard sand, she is doing brilliantly. We reach the dune, park her front wheels in the sand and have lunch. Now we can honestly say Fay has driven from as Far East as the Russian border to as far south as the Sahara desert. Well done Fay! When we first got Fay, she was in semi retirement up in Scotland; what a new lease of life she's had since then. I bet she never even dreamed of such adventures as she sat quietly in the Scotch mist.

We return to the same campsite we had left a few days before. We look at the other vehicles, this is a campsite popular with overlanders. Surrounded by those big trucks, we can say with pride, Fay has earned her place on this site. It is a nice little site, as soon as you park a mat is placed by your door, together with seats and a table complete with table cloth. Within minutes a pot of mint tea is before you. This is also the only site to have a Christmas tree, the one and only one we have seen this year.

The sands of time - 2014/2015

Wed 31st Dec

We wake excited by the prospect of our desert experience. After breakfast we sort out our cold weather gear in preparation for a night in the Saharan sands. Ibrahim brings us our head scarves, a black Berber one for Richard and a blue Tourag one for me. So, suitably dressed, we are introduced to our driver and our guide. They will take us by jeep out into the Saharan dunes.

We are not far into our journey, in fact only just across the river, when we discover that our driver is a sand virgin! This is his first time as driver, normally he works in the kitchen!! He neither knows the way nor how to operate anything other than the normal gear stick. Under the direction of the guide we venture into the desert. It is not long before Richard is giving him instructions into how to get the vehicle into four wheel drive and demonstrating high and low ratio!! They are pleasant chaps but in definite need of lessons from our Pakistani jeep driver - boy racer, Ischard and guide, Karim.

Desert terrain is not all sand and not sand is the same. We drive over stuff called "reg" it is hard, black stones. There is also areas of hard sand. Both these surfaces are little different to the usual dirt road conditions. Tracks go off in all directions, it is easy to see how a novice would quickly become lost. Then we come to the really soft sand...no surprise, our driver fluffs it! We are stuck, he gets out, runs round like a headless chicken and tries to scoop the sand away from the tyres with his bare hands! The guide also gets out to help. Richard calmly gets into the drivers seat, selects the correct gear and ratio and easily drives straight out of this mini dune! We pretend to drive off and leave them, "no charge for lessons," we laugh to them.

Without further ado, we reach the Berber camp where we are staying tonight. There in the distance before us, we see the highest dune of Erg Chegaga. The top is our next stop, by foot. Keeping our eyes set on our goal, we cross the softest sand our feet have ever enjoyed; up and down the smaller dunes and then the big climb. At the top we are breathless and not just due to the exertion of reaching the summit; the view is stunning, every bit the desert of our imaginings.

2014 has been an awesome year for us, it seems only right and proper to watch its last sunset in such an awesome way. The changing light playing on the sand, the atmosphere and the sheer enormity of our environment was more than fitting for a year we will never forget. As the sun goes down, out comes the first star. Time to hold hands and make a New Year wish and just for good measure, seal it with a kiss. What a pair of old romantics we are!

Back at the Berber camp our accommodation is surprisingly warm, a mud hut with no windows, brown hessian roof and outer walls bedecked in sequinned blankets. In the middle of the camp a fire burns warmly. We sit on comfy, cushioned bench seats and are brought thick blankets for our knees. Musicians, in traditional dress arrive and play their unfamiliar instruments, sing Berber folk
songs and dance. A dining area is set up in a nearby tent, the tables beautifully laid beneath large filigree lanterns. We are served soup followed by couscous with vegetables and an enormous plate of various meats which we guess are chicken, mutton, possibly goat and possibly camel? Not being a meat eater myself, this leaves Richard struggling to even make a dent in the amount put before us. Surprisingly, we are served Saharan wine to accompany our dinner! The meal concludes with fresh fruit and mint tea. We then return to the campfire and the entertainment. There we stay until 2015!

Tourists not Adventurers!!

Mon 29th Dec

We wave our Dutch, temporary companions off as they easily traverse the river crossing. After final negotiations with Ibrahim, we book a desert experience for New Years Eve: camel,4x4, Berber tent, the works; this should be a New Year to remember. An apt way to see out what has been a most incredible year for us. And what a way to set the scene for our coming year, our adventures are not finished yet!

Fay and Richard have a rest from the road today, we go walking instead. Following a path Ibrahim showed us, we walk through palm trees, past Tamarisk trees and into the dunes. It is hard work reaching the top, through such soft sand and well worth a kiss at the summit! On the flat areas, the sun has baked the surface hard and it cracks into plate sized tiles. It is a strange experience, like walking over fine broken china. Even more broken once we've stomped on it!

There is a kasbah nearby, this is "the real deal" not a tourist attraction. Mud walls surround its dark, narrow alleys, dim doorways give no clue as to the reception that may await. We are not adventurers. If we were, if we had even half of the spirit of overland authors, we would have entered but, we are not and we don't. We walk on, keeping to within our comfort zone.

Along the path, as with the river crossing, overloaded, hardworking donkeys plod on. Here, as in Pakistan, they very much remain beasts of burden. I wonder if there is a Guinness Book of Records entry for how much can be loaded on one donkey? And for all their stoic efforts, a whack with a stick is their reward. These creatures couldn't begin to imagine the life led by their English cousins.

Back at the camp that evening we receive the sad news that Bill has passed away. My daughter,
Charlotte, was with him together with her granny, Bills wife. The staff at their care home excelled and Bill passed peacefully, in comfort and loved. I am so proud of Charlotte, the kindness and care she gave to her Grandfather and the enormous support she was to Betty. Like genuinely special people the world over, she is quite unaware of just how special she is. Between us, Richard and I have three daughters; we are blessed by each of them.

Tues 30th Dec

It is Charlotte's 28th birthday today.

Over night the wind has got up, Fay is a delicate, very dusty shade of orange! We laze about, the wind deterring us from venturing far. I do hope it subsides by tomorrow.

Ain't no river wide enough!

Sun 28th Dec

For the first time ever, Fay had a little splutter on starting. Please don't get sick here, Fay! Some dust in her throat maybe? It was just the once, then back to her normal bright and breezy self. Our destination today is M'Hamid, it is the last town before the dunes, the road ends here. After M'Hamid it is desert! The guide books all warn of the excessive amount of hassling to be endured the closer you get to the desert. As much as I want a camel ride, I will not be hassled into one. Cut my nose off to spite my face? Maybe, but that's how it is. We have hardened to these approaches. Is that what is meant when people say it takes four weeks to accustomise?

The road soon becomes single track and rough, with large loose stones. One of these stones flicks up harshly underneath us with a loud clang. After this we hear a worrying noise from somewhere in Fay's undercarriage. Has something broken? Did the stone manage to penetrate a part of Fay not protected by the pre trip shield we had fitted in our efforts to armour her vulnerable parts. We pull over as soon as the road widens enough. Relief, it was only a stone momentarily caught that we could hear rattling. Now free of stones, we continue on, thankfully!

As per the book the closer we get to the desert the more people try to flag us down. We wave and drive on! As we pass the various campsites en route, we briefly look in. You can't stop too long or you will be descended upon by hasslers. Most campsites are all but empty. None take our fancy. The map shows two campsites on the other side of the river, more promising we think. The river will distance us from the hasslers in the town. We drive in that direction and see an attractive looking site on the other side only to discover....the bridge has been washed away! Instantly a young man on a scooter is beside us, tapping on the door, gesticulating that he knows a campsite, can get a god deal etc. etc. We have three choices. 1. Follow him and go to his camp? No, that is against the pact we made not to have any dealings with hasslers. 2. Turn around, drive back the way we came and try to find somewhere in the desert to wild camp? This would be an unknown quantity, it could be great fun or we could be beset by even more hasslers or 3. Take Fay for another paddle!!

We manage to loose our would be camp finder and make our way to a quiet corner, from here we can watch the river. We see donkeys being reluctantly urged across, then we see a Land Rover make the crossing. Richard watches its meandering route carefully and notes how far up its wheels the water comes.

Whilst I held my breathe and said a few prayers, Richard and Fay successfully negotiate the riverbed. Why did I worry? I worried because I really, really didn't want Fay to get stuck here; that would definitely be "invitation rip off."

We enter the Hamada Sahara site we had seen from the other side and are greeted by Ibrahim. He is impressed that we came across, he tells us how he has watched tourists in big 4x4's reach the river and turn back.

Ibrahim shows us around the tastefully and typically Moroccan decorated site. There is even a swimming pool, Hamada, restaurant and bar. The bar though is soft drinks only. We ask if there are other guests staying here. "Yes," he replies "they will be back later, they are all out on a dessert experience." We know that this site also arranges these Saharan experiences, yet not once does he push it. Unwittingly, Ibrahim, you have just made a sale!

A group of Dutch travellers return to the camp, late afternoon. They have spent the night in the desert. We all eat in the restaurant, our plates piled high with vegetables and couscous. We pick their brains about driving in the desert and reach the decision that, being alone, we should stick to what remains of the roads. Tomorrow they are driving across the desert in their 4x4's, a two day trip. They offer us the chance to go with them, which was kind but we decline. Fay could not be expected to keep pace with them and although it would be good to know if we got stuck, there would be plenty of help to pull us out, I don't want to get stuck in the first place! We have driven Fay from the Russian boarder to the Sahara and more, we want to bring her and us home, in one piece.

An interesting supermarket?!

Sat 27th Dec

The vastness of the area so badly affected by the floods, is quite mind boggling. We have almost crossed from one side of Morocco to the other and still roads are broken and bridges washed away.

Between Tata and Zagora (where we stop today) we start to see less goat herds and more camel trains. The big sand must be getting close! We also see mauve hillsides today. Mauve rocks?? No, this time is was flowers!

As we have reached these more remote areas so the number supermarkets has declined. Zagora is a large town and although the map does not show a named supermarket, it does indicate a "marche." I think we need an alternative translation, what we find is less of a supermarket and more of a super shed. It is little different in size to the hut shops, there is room inside for just the shop keeper and his boy. It is crammed floor to ceiling with all manner of groceries. As we ask for the various items we need, so the boy is instructed to locate them. When we request something out of his reach, I expect him to climb a ladder but no, a long stick obviously used for such problem items, is immediately grabbed and the kitchen roll is duly knocked off the shelf and caught deftly by his other hand.

The shopping done, we find another oasis campsite on the outskirts of town. Hopefully, tomorrow will see us reach the sought after big sand.

Christmas tweets!

Fri 26th Dec

After more telephone calls home and exchanging seasons greetings with loved ones, we were back on the road, pursuing our quest for big sand.

We follow the main road, which is still in a terrible condition due to the flood damage. There is a short cut on a smaller road, on reaching the junction we opt for that. It is barely damaged at all and we all but have the road to ourselves.

The scenery starts to change as we climb up over this small pass through the mountains. At one point we spy what we assume is vegetation in the distance but as we get nearer it is apparent that the green colour we can see is not grass. We amend our assumption to some sort of lichen? Again wrong, it was the actual rock itself that was green! In the valleys there are sporadic oasis's, with tall date palms and meandering streams. Further still and the hills take on the look of an unfurled skane of tweed cloth, with ripples of green and brown. No big sand today but it has been a good route.

On reaching Tata we find a small campsite set in a palmery. There is just us, a Swiss couple, the sound of unseen insects chirruping and small unfamiliar birds tweeting. Some the size of large sparrows are jet black with white skull caps, other larger birds perfectly camouflaged for the desert by their sand coloured feathers. Our European Bird book can give us no clue as to their identity; something to google later maybe, till then we'll make up our own names!