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.
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