Tuesday Feb 24th : Observations

The site has a surprisingly large Italian community. They are hearty campers and hail each other from great distances- “Hey, Alberto, buonjourno!” etc. A gathering of 6 or more Italians is also guaranteed, sooner or later, to burst into song (sooner, if fuelled by quantities of alcohol), let by a self-appointed Pavarotti, who will lead the assembly in murdering a selection of popular operatic arias.

Saturday saw the obligatory local dancing, laid on by the site. There were several different troupes. The photo shows men in white who danced with trembling shoulders to the accompaniment of drums and small flutes. Of course, it all looked strange and exotic as intended, but probably less bizarre than morris dancing appears to foreign visitors to the UK.

Small “put-put” motorbikes are used by locals of all ages, carrying up to 4 people, but rarely wearing crash helmets. The guy we were keeping pace with in the photo had his dangling from the handlebars, observed a police check down the road, so quickly put it on. After riding past the policemen, he whipped the helmet off and restored it to its’ rightful place on the handlebars.

Feb 17th- The Camels are Coming!

Here camels are kept like cattle. The only difference is that, because the food supply is so sparse, they move around under the charge of a camel herder. This morning a herd of about 50 appeared on the hillside overlooking the campsite to graze the scrub, and we decided to walk up for a closer look. The camel herder came across and shook hands, all very friendly, and as one does here, we gave him a small tip to take some shots of his camels.

The road repairers are building a retaining wall between the road and the campsite. Whilst on the job, they stay in these make-shift tents at the side of the road. It’s the practical solution to accommodation while moving around in a low wage economy: as an example, workers on the campsite get around £8 per week.

Feb15th: Paradise Valley

Paradise Valley is a full day trip from the campsite. The narrow road follows a beautiful palm tree-lined river gorge and then climbs way up to a mountain town near which there is a stunning waterfall. Today is Sunday, which is “family day” in Morocco, although the holy day is Friday. So the whole of our trip was shared with thousands of Moroccans from Agadir who picnicked all along the valley and at the waterfall, some also washing their clothes in the river. Picnics generally consisted of a barbecue or tajine, both of which are cooked over charcoal

In these parts the locals appear to live subsistence lives using donkeys and hand-tools for cultivation. Small children frequent the roadsides attempting to sell bunches of herbs. But, wait a minute, even the meanest dwelling has a satellite dish, a real Flintstone-esque touch when surrounded by all this primitive lifestyle of yesteryear.

On the way back is the village of Arouir where a number of shops sell the locally grown bananas. And that’s all they sell – bananas. How can they survive selling just bananas at 64p a kilo? In the footwear trade that’s the equivalent of a shoe-lace shop!

7th Feb to 13th Feb: The Immediate Area

Nice beach. Usually more waves, and popular with surfers.

Lots of scrubland, good for birdwatching. Jane’s standing by an argan tree where the argan oil comes from

7th to 13th Feb: The Campsite

Atlantica Park is a modern site with 1000 pitches. We’re in the annexe by the beach.

Some unusual facilities are available on site, for instance, your own individual mural painted on the caravan. Lots of campers have them done and the cost is reasonable.

Now, beware, it CAN happen to you! This burnt-out Winnebago belonged to an Irishman and was located right next to the shore, but without electrics. The site authorities decided to give him a temporary connection from an pole carrying the current to the site. Whatever they did overloaded the camper’s circuits and they just managed to get their passports out before it burst into flames: everything else was lost.

Feb 7th to Feb13th: Supermarkets

Supermarket shopping is new to Morocco, Today we went to Marjane, one of the few big players, with about 20 stores. All Tesco shoppers would be at home here, but there is a Moroccan twist: big loose spices area, 25 kilo bags of flour, no pork products etc.

An unexpected quirk as we waited to pay is that the supermarket trolleys are too wide to pass through some of the checkouts. What you have to do is unload your purchases onto the belt and then run round through the entrance with the trolley, and then load it with your now paid-for purchases so you can push them to the car. We are certain that the supermarket designer must have a brother who organises the road improvements and another who runs Tangier port.

Alcohol is sold in a strictly limited number of places, Marjane being one of them. To emphasise its’ taboo nature, it is located in a separate area with its’ own checkout. Standing in line to pay for my few beers with seedy looking religiously relapsed locals, it felt what I imagine it’s like attending the VD clinic.

Feb 6th- Essaouira to Agadir

Heavy rain overnight, but a cheery greeting from our guardian and a glass of mint tea. Delicious! The morning is bright and dry, so we decide to have a quick look around Essaouira. It is a fascinating place full of old alleyways and tiny shops selling everything imaginable. Jane is pointing to the herbal viagra display. The town has a laid-back image that attracted hippies in the 60’s and the likes of Jimi Hendrix and Cat Stevens.

Moving on, the road passes through hillsides of argan trees from which oil is produced, and there are many road-side vendors. Argan oil is used in cooking, like olive oil. We stop for lunch a few miles before the campsite, right by the Atlantic which you can see contains a seam of mud from the swollen rivers’ discharge of recent days. It’s sunny, and warming up nicely, and we arrive at the site, 15 miles north of Agadir, to be welcomed by some friends who we thought might be there but with whom we hadn’t made any definite arrangements.

Feb 5th– Casablanca to Essaouira.

If yesterday’s weather was bad, this was atrocious. The motorway finished 50 miles beyond Casa, so we shared normal roads and torrential rain with battered vehicles and donkey carts, some of which had rigged up covered wagon style weather protection.


By the middle of the afternoon, the road itself is starting to become impassable. In many places rivers of rainwater are washing stones and mud across the road, and deep puddles are forming. The traffic is light and manages to keep going. Conditions start to improve….breathe a sigh of relief…. only 25 miles to this evening’s objective- the campsite at Essaouira. But shortly we hit roadworks. They’re constructing a motorway out of the normal main road and have diverted all vehicles along a rutted, pot-holed track, 10 miles of it @ 5-10 mph. This is worse than anything the weather’s thrown at us so far and is of purely human (some would say sub-human!!) doing.


We do eventually arrive at the campsite, which is full. A man appears and marshals us to an open space in front of his house, adjacent to the campsite. We agree a price (about £5). This is free enterprise at its best: he connects our electric cable through a broken pane above his front door and fills the water barrel from inside. He is totally helpful. Later, he brings us a bowlful each of harira, a delicious Moroccan soup his wife has made. We take back all the day’s chuntering about Moroccan weather and road-builders.

Feb 4th – to Morocco

A rapid crossing on the sea-cat, averaging 35mph: look at the wake. But rough: actually, very rough! 35 minutes might not seem a long time, but it is when you’re feeling queasy (Colin).

Tangier port is a model of gross inefficiency. It took 2 hours to clear the 20 or so vehicles through customs. Police, customs officials and semi-official form fillers (who expected a generous tip) all doing roughly the same jobs, including directing the vehicles, combined to create maximum chaos.

The chaos seemed to spill out into Tangier itself, where road users and pedestrians competed to throw themselves at, or under, the car & caravan. Even on the motorway, cows were grazing on the grass verge and vendors had set up stalls on the hard shoulder. So, if you break down, you can stock up with fruit & veg while waiting for the Moroccan AA.


We finished our day near Casablanca, having come through high winds, driving rain and a sand storm (from the beach, not the desert!). The site was somewhat charmless and run-down, but cheap. The pitch markers clearly represented the tombs of the unknown campers!

Tarifa

Our campsite is 5 miles from the port of Tarifa and set in pine trees 400 metres
from a beautiful sandy beach. The walks through the wooded hills behind the beach give some lovely views, as per the picture that looks towards Tarifa with the hills of Morocco in the distance. Tarifa is reputedly the windsurfing capital of Spain and the wind’s certainly blown hard for most of the time we’ve been here. Doesn’t bode too well for the crossing tomorrow!


To put all our anxieties and exertions into perspective – just look at this guy, the dung beetle. All he’s worried about is rolling his ball of dung up the slope. Kind of “pack up your troubles in your old kit bag” attitude.


And to finish, a picture of the adorable little stray dog who has befriended us. We’re very tempted to take him with us, but without the doggie passport tests, injections and paperwork, the Spanish authorities won’t let him back in on or return from Morocco.