rtw

The Good Samaritan

The next morning, as we thought things couldn’t get worse we had to put on our wet riding gear and head down to Marrakech. But as we left our parking spot Louise complained about a grinding noise from her back brakes. We checked and the brake pads, (which we had checked before departure) were completely worn… There was no way we would ride to Marrakech like that, but where to find a bike mechanic who knows about anything bigger than a moped, in Casa, at 8am? With no real plan we rode around looking for a garage but gave up pretty quickly.

We stopped and looked at each other in desperation when our guardian angel Rachid appeared out of nowhere. In his late 50s with a shy smile and bad French, Rachid asked if he could help. We explained the problem and he told us “let me get my moped, follow me; whatever happens i’ll stay with you until we get this sorted”. In about 20min we were sitting at a cafe across the street from a local mechanic, waiting for it to open. When they told us they were out of croissant Rachid jumped on his moped to go find us some; how kind is that!? Once the brake pads were replaced with shiny new ones, Rachid even showed us the way out of Casa and put us on the road to Marrakech. The only thing he ever asked from us was would we come stay and eat at his house. I wish I could thank him more than I did. I hope he understood how grateful we were for his help and his time. He took it upon himself to help lost westerners on big bikes with a problem to solve. He stuck with us for 3 hours and was happy that he could help. Thanks Rachid!

We rode the whole day in a thunderstorm with very strong side winds which forced us to avoid the highway and stick to the smaller, slower roads. We saw next to nothing of the changing landscape as we were 100% focused on the riding but we did notice how everything in our peripheral vision became a warm shade of red, the colour of Marrakech.

We spent 36hours in the city and frankly, for both of us it was enough. We thoroughly appreciated the peace and quiet of Hotel Le Toulousain but were underwhelmed by how dirty the medina was and how aggressive the touts were. We also spent as little time as necessary on Jema el Fna with its awful shows of monkeys on tight leashes being forced on tourists’ shoulders for money and street sellers looking for the most vulnerable bus-tour/sandal-and-sock-wearing victim. I may sound harsh about Marrakech and I’m sure that there’s is much more to it but one needs to dig deep to find authenticity and disinterested kindness. We did have a wonderful dinner in a beautiful haven of a restaurant where we met a friend who happened to be in town.

Lion river

Oued Zem was a real crossroad town and somehow it was a happening place for locals. At least the place next door to our hotel room… I woke up at night wondering how it was possible for men to be so rowdy without booze or women! Maybe Muslim men have better imagination than us westerners.

We woke up early and made our way to Rabat in time to collect our Mauritanian visas from the embassy. We found our way easily but the rain was still haunting us…we stopped at a service station outside of town to dry off and eat but of course, being Eid it meant no where was selling food. We managed to buy some over priced bits and pieces for a make shift lunch and were allowed to eat it in the cafe with our mint tea.

When we joined the small queue of people we had first seen at the Embassy when we came the first time Louise was in real travellers mode and decided to drop her bike trousers to dry her long-johns. She did ask around if that bothered anyone to which she was told “it don’t bother me but don’t try this in Mauritania!”.

Visas in hand we felt we were finally moving on after the delay. We could now focus on making progress south towards warmer climes. We high-fived each other and head out south west towards Casablanca where we would spend the night. Our curse was still not over and we were rained on horribly. Our wet clothes which had tried to dry were now soaked again and as we entered Casa our spirits were at their lowest. The traffic was unbelievable and the visibility nil. It was like if someone was hosing us down. I had a low speed collision with a moped rider who was trying to push me out of the way… I won. To raise our spirits we treated ourselves to some nice seafood and even had wine! We thus broke a 10 day dry spell!

London in Marrakech

We had a fun day exploring Marrakech today followed by a fantastic evening sharing stories with Stefan, a London friend who ‘was in town’. Souk Kafe has the BEST cous cous imagineable!

Rue Thami Lamdouar

The last stretch of road to Rabat brought us back to the 21st century. The back roads we took between Ouezzane and Souk El Arba du Rharb saw us in real rural, agricultural Northern Morocco. We rode through beautiful rolling hills with bare fields and beaten road surface. We crossed tiny tin shack villages and had our first picnic on the side of the road – sardines, bread and bananas – sheltered from the strong wind by our bikes. We then emerged at the back end (literally; the dumping ground) of Souk El Arba and saw what can only be described accurately as a souk… hence the name I suppose. Thousands of people were trading goods and food, mechanics were wrenching on old cars and tractors and no one looked both ways before crossing. The number of fat sheep being pulled around must have rivalled that of turkeys in America in this Thanksgiving season. The difference is that for Eid, the Muslim holiday, Moroccans buy a whole live sheep and push, pull and carry it all the way home! And there must be something in the air because none of them go easily; I reckon they know what’s coming. On a different note I spotted booths for public scribes (ecrivain public)! Talk about a different era…

On arrival in Rabat we crashed at our hotel, Hotel Central (past it’s colonial glory but adequate and well situated). The road had been exhilarating but long and exhausting. We also knew that we needed to do the dreaded visa procedure at the Mauritanian Embassy the next morning. Most overlanders will have a story to tell about this. What we had heard didn’t sound good at all. We’d been told in Chefchaouen that they had stopped issuing visas, that an American biker had to drop his plans of riding in sub-Saharan Africa because of this. Tommy of http://www.rtwdream.com was at the embassy 12 days ago and wrote on his blog that it took him several attempts and that hundreds of people had also tried their luck amid scenes of chaos…a knife was nearly drawn too! So with this in mind we woke up at 5:30am so as to be first in line and secure a “hearing” with the guy with the rubber stamp and the shiny suit during the Embassy’s working hours; 9:30am-11am. Upon arrival we were indeed the first and were joined slowly by about a grand total of 12 very friendly overlanders like us, all with interesting travel stories to tell! We all had a nice chat, shared dried dates and the more seasoned helped the others fill in the paperwork… We spoke at length with Robert, a retired South African who had sold his house in Scotland and was making his way down to Cape Town on a Ural side-car outfit. Robert has no planned route and all the time in the world.

So our time outside number 6 Rue Thami Lamdouar couldn’t have been a nicer experience! I think our timing was good though. Tomorrow is the Eid; this probably means that everyone who had to go back to their families south of the Sahara were in the same queue as Tommy; those that showed up today were not desperate to get home on time for the celebrations.

With our passports safe at the embassy waiting for another stamp (and, I’m sure clearance from the Mauritanian secret service database…right!) we set out to sort something that had been bothering us since our entry; Moroccan bike insurance. We have all medical and travel insurance but third party motorcycle insurance needs to be purchased in Morocco. We had planned to buy it at the border but all the agencies were already closed. We then thought we could get them in Chefchaouen but none would insure us; “only in Fes and Tetouan” was the common answer. So we walked a thousand miles and then a thousand more to find an insurance company in Rabat that would insure our foreign bikes. After many attempt at finding the elusive “assurances Hazzan” we came across the lovely Housna, a 22y/o computing student who told us she didn’t know where it was but she would walk with us and help us find it. How nice! After a 30min walk and a good chat with Housna we finally found it! (FYI for overlanders it’s Axa assurance 87 avenue de la Resistance assazam@menara.ma) They relieved us of 1200Dhm and the worry of riding uninsured.

We could then enjoy what all the walking had made obvious to us; Rabat is a really nice city! I’m impressed by it; it is clean, has beautiful colonial architecture and a laid back attitude despite its bustling energy. The best in my mind is that it’s people are extremely friendly and at no point were we hassled by anyone. To the contrary, everyone wants to help or give us something to taste and there’s lots of traditional goodies around for Eid. I would recommend visiting Rabat to anyone who wants to experience the real urban morocco; as I write we have just come back from a long walk in the huge medina which by far beats that of Marrakech. When I was there 6 years ago I was disappointed at how much of a tourist attraction it was, with all the negative implications. Rabat, on the other hand, is authentic and very friendly. No hassle.

Oh, and I forgot we dipped our toes in the Atlantic Ocean; pretty cool to have ridden until here.

Welcome to Africa (23 October)

With the bikes sorted we made our plans to head south and make up for lost time. Destination Granada. Out of Madrid the roads started to become more interesting. Eventhough the wind was still strong and biting the sight of olive plantations along the road gave us the satisfaction that we were indeed making progress towards warmer climes. We then crossed the Sierra Nevada with its stunning snow covered mountain tops and arrived at our campsite for the night. We received a very warm welcome and were told that, had we arrived an hour earlier, there would’ve been paella for us…

We were glad we are carrying earplugs with us because the site was much closer to the busy road than we had expected!

Granada to Algeciras was a real high; the first part reminded us of the morning of our ride in California with Walt and Cindy Hastings as we could feel a Mediterranean air but were surrounded by low fog. This was followed by a 50km stretch in him drizzle until we came down the mountains and approached Malaga.

Here the weather became hot and the vistas opened up to a majestic Mediterranean Sea bathed in sun and populated by sailing boats. We both cheered in our intercoms; we had made it to the Mediterranean! Not a great achievement if you are used to driving down with the family for the summer but it was a real milestone for us on our 650cc bikes we commute to work with!

We had planned to cross straight to Tangier but the ferry timetable dictated that we should land in Ceuta; the Spanish enclave on the Moroccan side. We had been warned of the touts who make the crossing a nightmare but frankly, with a big smile some jokes and a determined air we managed to be left in peace. I think that looking Moroccan helped too! In fact, the first thing I was asked when we got the bikes through customs was whether I am Moroccan; a question I was asked a 100 times during my last visit and have already been asked a dozen times in the last couple of days.

Once I told the customs official “tonight in Chefchaouen and then all the way to The Gambia” he smiled, waved us through and wished us a safe voyage.

That’s where Africa began! As soon as we were on Moroccan soil things changed rapidly. The roadsides were populated by people selling everything and anything. Cars were mostly old Mercedes Benz 240 which had probably spent their youths as taxis in Germany but were now on a second or third life. Repair and reuse. People changed too, faces were darker, women wore veils and men robes. We also saw hundreds of sheep and goats whose days were clearly numbered (its Eid on Friday) and a few donkeys who probably wishes their end was nearer. Speaking of fauna, Louise spotted a camel! I didn’t though and am pretty upset with that; I usually spot things first…

So after a long day on the saddle we finally made it to the Rif mountains and the beautiful blue city of Chefchaouen. We found a guard for our bikes, Abdul, and our hostel for the next two nights, Riad Baraka. Funnily enough, as we were speaking to Joe, the owner, he told us that he gets adventure bikers now and then and asked us if we’d heard of “Tim Cullis who wrote a great review about this place which has increased business ever since. I over-heard him speak of Morocco and there’s no doubt this guy is an expert”.

So here we are, enjoying Chefchaouen for two nights. Unfortunately we have to go to Rabat tomorrow for a day or two to get our Mauritanian visas. We’ll take the small picturesque routes but it does mean that we’ll have to miss Tim’s recommended route to Fez.

And we’re off!

We made it to the ferry to Spain! We were up bright and early with little sleep due to the excitement. As luck goes we had an electrical problem in the bathroom last night…but why bother right?

We were lucky to avoid the rain that was predicted for today. But it seems it’ll catch up with us in Madrid.

Had a little smile this morning as we were on our way out of London and we crossed lots of big BMW GS bikes on their way to the office…

DIY top box

Top boxes on bikes are a really good accessory. You can keep a lot of stuff in there and it doesn’t affect the width of the bike so it’s great for commuting. Louise’s bike didn’t come with a top box and we have been thinking of fitting one for a while.

The consideration we had was that it would be very useful to have somewhere in which we could lock our tent on our trip to the Gambia. We looked at different solutions outside of aftermarket because no one makes a low profile box that is wide enough to fit 59cm tent poles. We looked at army surplus ammunition boxes but most are made of steel and weight a tonne. We looked at having friends build us a custom made box out of 2mm aluminium sheets but that fell through.

A couple of weeks ago I saw exactly what we needed in B&Q; a Stanley toolbox made out of plastic with aluminium reinforcement. We took our tent poles to the shop and they fit perfectly! The box is robust and light and has holes for a padlock. The best part is that it costs only £29!

We fixed it straight to the frame with 4 bolts. Hopefully it will be strong enough but I’m confident it is; after all it bears no weight; it’s only duty is to encapsulate gear that rests on the back frame. Time will tell!

Two Wheel Exploring