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