TOURIST TAT

You'd reckon in a place like Egypt, there would be tourist tat everywhere you looked. There sure is! Although in this case, I'd call it Tourist Tut. Couldn't resist buying one of these!

To go with all the other el cheapo bric a brac I buy to remind me of my travels. It has to be cheap and tatty, that's my only rule.

Today we visited the old original Egyptian Museum conveniently located across the street. A lot of the original stuff found in King Tut Ankh Amon's tomb is still here. A lot of other stuff has been relocated to the new Egyptian Museum that they have been building since 2001 out at Giza, from where it will overlook the Pyramids. It's costing billions. A giant statue of Ramses the 2nd has been moved out there also, and they had to shut half of Cairo down to move it apparently. You can see the forecourt of the old museum through the murk in this shot from our alleged Nile view hotel room. Pity we can't see the Nile most of the time either.

Or in daylight. It's the pink building.

The old museum is pretty tired and daggy, and very dimly lit, so it's hard to see what's in there, but it was still cool to see stuff made up to 4700 years ago.  King Tut's death mask is in the museum, and three of his burial suits made of gold and silver. The gold one weighs 110kg, making it pretty valuable on face value, but of course it's true value is incalculable. Hope they've got a good burglar alarm, there's a long history of grave robbing in this country! No photos are allowed in parts of the museum, especially the Tut display room. But I have a reasonable facsimile thereof in the first photo above, and it's value was very calculable. About $10 in fact. 

We are pretty well Egypted out, and look forward to leaving for home tomorrow morning. Not looking forward to sitting in the stocks again for 23 hours of misery to get there though. But even the recycled air on the plane will be a relief from the carcinogenic smog weve been breathing for days. Win some, lose some! 

Will finish the blog when I get home and access all of the best photos from the trip, most of which were taken by other people who knew wtf they were doing.  🖖 Live long and prosper!

PS: Here's a bit of late news.  The photo below shows the smog level in Cairo as we are about to head to the airport. The tower just to the right of the Ritz Carlton is barely visible.

Latest air quality index has Adelaide at 16, Sydney at 30, Cairo at 160. 🤮🤮🤮 and it's morning!! 

PPS: After going through dozens of airport security checks over the years, and quite a few on this trip, I finally got stopped at Cairo airport after the baggage xray. The guy reckoned he saw a handgun of all things. Had to open the bag, he tore the contents to bits, couldn't find anything, I had to send it through the x ray machine again, he still couldn't find anything, so he dismissed me imperiously. I had to repack my luggage on the floor, in my socks because the shoes had to come off too. Yes, I was annoyed but what can you do? Then I walked through the metal detector with coins in my pockets and wearing my watch, I didn't  trigger the alarm. This is the first time I have NOT sent the alarms into meltdown since I had my second knee replacement. Go figure!! Still unable to identify what the guy thought was a handgun. Some security! And while getting the passport stamped on the way out of Egypt, the guy in the booth was watching a movie on his phone while checking the passports. 🙄🙄

MORE OF CAIRO

Now that we have survived the initial  cultural onslaught of  Cairo, you might think we'd be starting to mellow out a bit. Well, you'd be wrong. Today we took a taxi to Khan Al Khalili bazaar to get a real sense of going local, which is to say " is there anything we haven't stepped in yet?" Sure, there was plenty! Here's just a sample.

We put our shoes in a plastic bag when we got back to the hotel. Then, right in the middle of the squalor, you find buildings like this.

And then you see this

This was the spice market. I found out cumin is bigger than you think. So are pomegranates. 

CAIRO AND THEN SOME!

This is out of sequence, but I'll  sort that later. Talk about being where the action is! There is a Peace Summit in Cairo today. We arrived about midnight last night, and checked into our hotel right next to Tahrir Square in downtown Cairo. Security at hotel is incredible. Truck barriers that sink into the ground (only ever seen these before at the White House. But after the Marriott hotel demolition by a truck bomb in Islamabad in 2008, I guess they have become more popular with property owners), sniffer dogs, x ray machine in entry doorway, armed cops in the lobby etc. While out checking the surroundings this morning we wondered why security is all over the place. Army and police with flak jackets, riot gear, bomb squad trucks etc. Have a look whose in town! Excerpt from Reuters:

Getting the once over from the cops in the riot van outside the hotel. One bloke had the habit of using his pump action shotgun as a walking cane by covering the muzzle with the palm of his hand. Firearms training 101??

Note the turret with the machine gun. That's crowd control! 

Entering our hotel. Now you see'em.....

Now ya don't! And while that's going on, the bomb sniffing German shepherd sticks it's nose into the boot, engine bay, and under the car. That's not my hat, by the way.

I don't know if the Peace Conference will achieve anything, but its certainly keeping the Egyptian cops busy. The US has already has one Carrier Strike Group in the Eastern Mediterranean and another on the way, with further reinforcements coming from the Indian Ocean via Suez. So it appears to be getting serious around here. (The answer is always send in a Carrier Strike Group. Sorry, what was the question again?)

Now that I've started talking about Cairo, I might as well keep going. Here's the obligatory pyramid photos. Just to prove I was really here. I don't know how to Photoshop anyway. I thought you took your film to the chemist to get photos.

Finally made it!! Like a lot of other people, this was on my bucket list. TICK!

An impressive achievement by any standards, no disputing that, and a fascinating monument to egotism. As for Cairo, it's a vast, sprawling, polluted craphole, and I'm being nice. The air is so full of fumes and other muck you can hardly see the Pyramids or anything else, including the sun. Most of the buildings are ramshackle tower blocks with air conditioners and satellite dishes tacked onto the outsides and laundry hanging over window sills and balconies. 

Unrepresentative photos, I admit.

We have sore eyes and have been coughing our lungs up since we got here, and after a shower, the towels turn brown as the layers of crud dissolve. 

The traffic is even more insane than Morocco by an exponential factor. I would never even consider driving here, let alone riding a bike! I guarantee I would be in a hospital or a morgue within the first minute. All the cars are clapped out, dented rustbuckets, the incessant cacophony of car horns would drive you berko, they drive at night without headlights, roundabouts are a lottery on wheels, (but great fun to watch), crossing the road is next to impossible, stand still for more than 20 seconds and somebody wants to sell you something or take you somewhere (across the road might be worth the money!). We got out of a taxi only to be asked by the taxi behind ours if we wanted a taxi. We were walking over a bridge when a taxi travelling in the opposite direction asked us if we wanted a taxi. ( of course we'd love to ride right back to where we just walked from, what are you, an idiot???). Same question in the same circumstances by a guy driving a horse and buggy!!  I never thought I'd say this, but it's right up there on a par with India for being constantly hassled, breaking a leg or spraining an ankle if you walk anywhere, dying in a traffic accident or being poisoned if you eat anything outside the hotel.

So, apart from these minor inconveniences, we are having a wonderful cultural exchange. I intend to exchange considerable cash for beer at the hotel pool tomorrow, and some old towels for some fresh ones about three times a day. It's not hard to rack up a big bill though. The Egyptian Pound is worth precisely $0.05 AUD or 20 to the dollar. 10 minutes in a taxi can  cost £200, but its worth it, just to get out!

Of course, these are only my first impressions. Stay tuned for updates.

AFTER MARRAKECH

OK, I am well aware that the blog lags far behind actual events. So, let me quickly recap. We are now back in Lisbon. Nobody died, nobody went to hospital, nobody crashed, and the trip is over. Well, the Compass part is over anyway. The last week has been a real blur, with a lot of riding, a lot of sightseeing, and a lot of stuff jammed into too small a time frame, but that's what happens. And that's why its so tiring. I found that there is a cumulative effect the longer it goes on, and you enter the twilight zone of complete exhaustion. The lights are on but there's nobody home!  So, I will go forward from here based on memory, and will post the best photos a bit later. We have two more days in Lisbon, and then fly to Cairo for three nights.

Getting out of Marrakech was a hell of a lot easier than riding in, we were all dreading a rerun of our chaotic and scary arrival at peak hour. But it was a non event and soon we were back in the boonies. We were heading for a place called Beni Mellal. This place had very few redeeming features and only appeared on the itinerary because we had to stay somewhere on our way back north to the former capital Meknes, and the nearby Roman ruins at Volubilis So we headed east from Marrakech, and the morning was uneventful. After lunch we found ourselves back in the mountains, and overlooking a spectacular valley which contained a huge reservoir. From this point onwards was one of the best riding days so far. The roads were quite good, there was little or no traffic, and we could really let it rip. Exhilarating riding with sweeping bends, exciting climbs and descents and great vistas, till finally we reached a point from where we could see a vast panorama of flat farmland, which heralded our exit from the Atlas Mountains.  Down on the flat again, it was hot and urbanised, Our hotel was underwhelming, services were lacking, but as I said, you have to stay somewhere. 

 

 

 

 This is a Moroccan road sign. Debate rages as to what it means or who it applies to!!

Dinner consisted of a halfway reasonable four cheese pizza but no grog at a cafe overlooking a major roundabout, accompanied by traffic noise, noxious fumes and flies. After which Cas and I went for a walk only because we didn't want to go back to the hotel, but soon decided that was actually a better option! Some days are like that.

The following day we continued on to Meknes, where due to the heat, and a stomach bug, about all I could do was lug the bags upstairs, have a shower and fall asleep. Next morning an early departure got us to Volubilis, or what 's left of it. It was once an important Roman satellite with quite a large population, set on fertile plains on a valley floor, and had a good water supply. Why was it here, I asked myself. The Romans didn't do anything by accident, and really made a commitment to build an entire city from blocks of stone. But I suppose it helps if you have an army and thousands of slaves. Without finding an answer to my question, I nevertheless found the thought that this was once an imperial outpost on the frontier of the known world to be exhilarating. That there was no knowledge of what lay beyond fascinates a guy like me who has always had an incurable wanderlust. I would just have to know what was out there, even though there was a lot of bugger-all!

Some haphazard and unconvincing restoration has been carried out by the French, but although it has a Unesco rating, its only a shadow of its former self. Currently there is a sign up saying that the Getty Foundation is financing some reconstruction. In much of the muslim world, America is of course The Great Satan, but thanks for the money. Photos to follow.

Over the next day or two, riding conditions varied from good, as we went through quite a nice National Park, to horrible as we found out where the National Park stopped. This was the only section of dirt (other than at roadworks) which we rode on, but it wasn't too bad. Had to get up on the pegs though, so the legs and shoulders got a serious workout. We also took a short cut through a backroad with almost no traffic on it, and soon found out why. This one had a narrow strip of bitumen, in deplorable condition, potholes, broken edges, drop offs. Real axle busting stuff. Quite intimidating, and the few oncoming cars refused to deviate, and I was forced off the road twice. Not happy, Jan! 

We then got to a point where we hit the coast, and basically followed the motorway all the way up to Asilah. A nondescript town, but it had a beach which some took advantage of. Not me though, I've studied a semester of public health! We had a quirky hotel, at which I was less than overjoyed to find our room was on the third floor, and there was only a narrow spiral staircase to get there. If I had a rope I could have hauled the luggage all the way up via the circular void in the middle. We had a ringside seat for the call to prayer at 5 am next morning. The mosque, with its bank of speakers like an AC/DC concert, was conveniently located in the street behind the hotel. However, let the record show that we enjoyed a wonderful dinner at a posh seafood restaurant, including drinkies, on the esplanade, courtesy of Compass. I think this was the best meal of the tour, by (as Donald Trump would say)....a lot. Which is a pretty solid margin, I'm lead to understand.

Next day was a biggie. As the brochure said, "Breakfast in Morocco, lunch in Gibraltar, dinner in Spain." A lot of riding, but a lot of faffing around too. Motorway to Tangier, Customs and Immigration at the Port, waiting for the ferry, loading the bikes. This time, it went like a breeze, and we were able to have a coffee and vittles in the lounge while watching Africa disappear and Europe loom on the horizon. Although due to a technical hitch (one of the bikes had been missed by the Moroccan authorities on the way in, and they therefore had no record of it on the way out, despite us having all the right paperwork, forcing Antonio one of our erstwhile van drivers to miss the ferry) the group got split up. 

The visit to Gibraltar was a much anticipated highlight, but was complicated by the fact that it was a bastard to get somewhere to park the bikes, then we had to queue on the Spanish side to present passports, etc. The Spanish want Gibraltar back, they are really pissed off that it was ceded to Britain at the Treaty of Utrecht hundreds of years ago, and they do as much as humanly possible to crap everybody off who wants to go in there. Unless you are one of the 17,000 Spaniards who work there and go in and out every day. That's fine, you just show a card to the uninterested officials and walk in and out unfettered. Anybody else, get in line and be prepared to wait. There was a queue of vehicles with Gibaltar plates that stretched halfway back to the port of Algeciras, it would have taken hours. I finally got to see the Rock, and its a biggie! But not much else. We did a quick bus tour through narrow streets clogged with traffic, the highlight of which was watching the driver skillfully manoeuvre the bus with military precision and still not hit anything. We saw a couple of British Bobbies walking the beat. Never seen Plod look happier, what a cushy posting that would be. Tried to see a Royal Navy nuclear sub, but nobody was playing that game! We scoffed a very Pommy lunch, walked back to Spain by crossing the runway. They close it to pedestrians when aircraft arrive or leave, true story. Its basically a tax haven with an 8% corporate tax rate, ridiculously expensive real estate, spiffy British car dealerships, where you can buy a Bentley or a Jag to sit in the queue to get in or out, or try to find a park, and about a million companies headquartered there. Worth a look I suppose, but not really worth the effort is what I'd say. You can see the Rock from Spain anyway.

Back on the bikes, and out onto the Spanish Motorway system heading East toward Marbella and Malaga. Thank God we didn't actually have to go to either of those allegedly feral tourist swamps, but turned off and took a fabulous bike road up into the mountains to Ronda. An interesting and unique town, more of which later.

MARRAKECH

I am now in Marrakech and taking a well earned break at the rather swanky Es Saadi Resort. And I want to make it abundantly clear that I do NOT appear in the following photo, nor do I endorse such offensive, boofheaded behaviour while I'm not there.

 We have racked up just over 2000 km since leaving Lisbon, about the half way point of the tour. Since leaving Fez, I have to say the riding has improved a lot. There is nothing like a bit of experience with local conditions. The driving is still totally nuts, but if you start from the assumption that everybody on the road has a death wish, a kind of inevitability allows you to enjoy the next five minutes before something else terrifying happens. Eventually, you kind of go with it. But you trust nobody. Road rules in Morocco must be obeyed unquestioningly under all circumstances, no matter what. Unless you don't want to. And there's the crux of the problem.

Did I mention that we are on a BMW GS 750, Triple Black Edition, (very smart). Made a mistake at bike selection time, and have been paying for it ever since. Had to take the top box off after the first hour, because we could not both squeeze onto the seat. Now we have stuff all over the place, and can never find what we're looking for. Coulda, woulda, shoulda. Even the 850 would have been tight, but I didn't really want a 1250 either. Maybe I should be in the truck!

A little about our group. We have two Canadian couples, two girls and a bloke from NZ (all individuals), four other couples from NSW/Vic (who have done rides together previously), a German/Aussie guy on his own GS850, a guy from Sydney, and the two of us. We have three Compass staff, a guy from the bike hire company, along with two vans. It is the biggest group I've ridden with on such a tour, and it brings its own dynamics with it. The ride gets strung out and /or split up more, you have to wait longer at corners and other stops, checkin/out, personality differences arise more frequently, etc. So far, so good, but I don't think I'll be doing another one.

From Fez, we headed due South and into the Middle Atlas Mountains. At one point we found ourselves in a beautiful town which looked like it had been transplanted from France. Told rather cryptically that it was a University town. Anyway, it had great landscaping and proper coffee. A little further on we stopped for lunch in a popular stop, populated by a freeloading band of monkeys. That was an interesting experience. We had to post a guard around the food and the bike gear, as they went for anything loose and fled up the nearest tree. Someone had a packet of chips or whatever picked from their pocket, while another had to fight for a glove. Finally a local with a biblical style slingshot (I kid you not) dispersed the troupe, and they reconvened across the road to pester another group. Which we enjoyed greatly. Its always funny when it happens to someone else!

At day's end we found ourselves just outside a remote old mining town, called Midelt, and in a very large and quite newish (20 yo) hotel that had almost no other guests. I started thinking about the Bates Motel, or that cartoon where Porky Pig and Sylvester checked into a haunted hotel in the desert. Anyway, nobody died, and next day we headed to Merzouga, which is the epicentre of the Camp in the Sahara industry. After changing at a nearby hotel, we all headed out for the obligatory camel ride into the Sahara. I remember as a schoolboy hearing about a purported book called "Across the Arabian Desert by Camel" by Major Bumsore. Well after two hours of bouncing around on top of this admittedly docile ship of the desert, my backside felt like I'd done a 10 year stretch in Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary. I fail to recall anything more uncomfortable. Cas, on the other hand, quite used to snapping pics from the pillion seat, did it no hands and took so many photos that others were asking for copies. After yet another battle with technology, I managed to find a few to post.

YEE HAR!!

Fact for all you sand lovers out there. The parts of the Sahara that I have encountered consist of extremely fine sand grains, and it's very, very dry. Just the thing for the hourglass industry.  But you do have to seive out the camel shit. Unless you're making a really, really big hourglass.

There were quite a lot of other camps in the nearby dunes, so its a business. But it was an ok experience. There were also heaps of other options, such as dune buggy tours, quad bike tours, dirt bike tours. Most of which were happening while we were trying to feel the serenity. As soon as that died down after dark, the Moroccan music started up again. It sounded like a hand grenade exploding in Billy Hyde's Drum Clinic. We did not have to endure a camel ride back to town, instead we were all relieved to find  a fleet of 4WDs ready and waiting. This lasted precisely up to the moment a certifiable lunatic started the vehicle and with Moroccan music blaring, took off up the side of the nearest dune and practically rolled the car. He only ever had one hand on the wheel, the other being fully occupied with holding his phone, which he was speaking into. In between turning around to ask the other passengers "You Like? You Like?? I go faster". At one stage, he even sent a text. I know this because I was sitting next to him, and getting decidedly jittery when the speedo hit 120 kph. 

Once back on the bikes, where it was comparatively a lot safer, we headed back the way we came in, which meant doubling up over 100 km of empty barren terrain to the west of Merzouga, then into the High Atlas Mountains and heading for Todra Gorge. By now, the riding was actually pleasant, temps down to 17-18 degC and the roads actually pretty good. But you never know what is lurking around the next bend or on the other side of the hill. Each habitable area is a lottery, with people and animals walking across the road with no regard for their safety or that of anyone else, and the usual unconventional moves from anything with wheels.

Todra Gorge was pretty cool, a giant vertical chasm carved from the rock by a river, which at the time of our visit looked pretty innocuous. Lots of other tourists, and all that goes with it. Including a small child with pleading eyes who held out her hand for whatever the tourists might put in it. I noticed she went back to a cave where the rest of the family was living. Learning the family business, I thought to myself. Yes, I gave her a coin, alright? At this town we entered an unassuming restaurant which turned out to be a hidden gem. A beautiful vine covered terrace overlooking the river, hidden from the sight of the heaving masses. Here we had, I reckon, the best meal of the tour so far. A great selection of barbecued shaslicks, local vegetable salad and a Coke in a glass bottle! 

The road between Merzouga and Marrakech is probably one of the most scenic and popular routes in the country, and clearly a must do with all the other bike tours, and there were plenty of those. It starts with vast open spaces on plateaus that stretch between enormous mountains. At times I was reminded of the Altiplano (high plains) of Bolivia, and parts of Pakistan, and indeed even the odd reminder of the US south west, or of good old Oz. (You know, everything below the horizon is earthy, everything above the horizon is sky, that kind of thing !!!). This route took us down as far as Ouarzazate, the most southerly point of our journey, and we commenced the trek northward from here. This was really up and down and very twisty, yet still with breathtaking scenery. Features of this section included the World Heritage listed mud brick village of Ait Ben Haddou, remarkably unscathed from the recent major earthquake. Chris Phillips and I were denied the chance to see the similar town, just outside the aptly named city of Bam in Iran, which had been totally destroyed by an earthquake just before we arrived there in 2008. So I regarded this as being due! It has been used for numerous movies, including Gladiator and Game of Thrones. I can just see Russell Crowe leaving his five star hotel in Marrakech and getting helicoptered out to site for a solid day's work of killing and maiming, before going back to his hotel for a pink gin at  cocktail hour. Oliver Reed died during the production of this movie, I suspect probably because he couldn't get a drink!

While I was there I bought this toy camel for my little grandson Gus.

After demolishing half the shop, because it was so dark in there and stacked to the rafters with similar tourist tat. I know I paid too much, but Abdul gave me the satisfaction of thinking I could barter properly. The guy was a real pro, every bit as good as Eric Idle. It was fun, and everybody's happy.

The other main feature of this route is the incredible Tizi n' Tichka Pass. Yes, that's how you spell it. This is a famous descent often featured in bike mags or tour brochures, and a photo I have no access to, so google away. Probably taken by a drone I suspect, but it's one hell of a ride. In fact its only a part of a much longer fantastic bike road coming down from the Atlas mountains to the flat, hot plains where Morocco's biggest city Marrakech has sat for a few thousand years. And it was back into 37 degC and crazy traffic. All good things etc! Morocco clearly has a plan for improving its road network. Parts of this route are world class. Now if only they could join up all the bits! I might make that suggestion on an official basis. I came around a sweeping bend of perfect bitumen, cranked over hard and wringing a healthy 7000 rpm in 3rd from the willing Beemer, to be confronted by a pile of loose railway ballast - it was too big to be called gravel - spread out before me for 100 metres. Anxious moments followed. They don't use road signs, they let people sort it themselves. Very reminiscent of India or China, ie let the gods decide. We also had a duel with a nitwit who drove an overloaded small car on whatever part of the road he felt like, while maintaining a safe distance of 3mm from the nearest vehicle. I decided the best place to be was well in front of this guy, so I ripped past him at the first of very few opportunities, only to have the guy overtake me 10 minutes later on a blind corner. I guess in the overall scheme of things, this matters not. If he wants to die, that's his business, or its the will of Allah. Well, I'm saddled with that Western belief in cause and effect, and I don't want to be part of his destiny, all due respect to Allah. I doubt I'm the first foreigner to be bamboozled by the way of doing many things in this crazy, crazy country.

GOING LOCAL

 I'm a raghead already!

FEZ PLEASE

That's what the conductors used to say on the buses when I was a kid. Well, that's what it sounded like to me anyway. Along with "move to the back of the bus" and "you kids stop that" etc. Little did I know that one day I might actually be in the city of Fez, but here I am. The short 200km ride from that blue place whose name I find a lot harder to spell than Fez, was hot. Bloody hot. Most of the time 37-38 deg C, but with an occasional stint of 40. Doesn't matter if you're wearing vented riding gear, its still hot, especially when you're stuck in traffic. So at each stop, off it comes. But the riding, though still crazy dangerous, did get a bit easier. I guess we are getting a bit better at it. We finally rode into the Marriott at Fez, and straight away the parking wallah ran across and ordered everybody to park their bikes back end first up a slope.  What is it with these people? He got the same treatment as the last guy. We are here for two nights, so a chance to catch up a bit. And make the most of the facilities. eg

And do some laundry. I took a photo of that too but well, you know how it is. I'll post it if there's enough demand! Last night for the second night in a row, we arrived late, hot and knackered, and were taken out to dinner with only enough time for a quick shower and change. They eat late around here, and the service is mostly hopeless. So everybody was dehydrated, despite drinking all the water available in the room and my camelback. You have to beat someone to death before they bring you a bottle of water. My tongue felt like a roll of carpet, and I struggled to even speak. Anyway, we now know what to expect and will solve our own problems our own way. And forget beer. You're lucky to get a stubby a day at the rate they serve people. So despite the mass of food that finally arrived just when I was dreaming of breakfast, and the headbanging troupe of musicians (and I use the term very loosely), the belly dancer, and the magician, (who bore an uncanny resemblance to Groucho Marx crossed with Carlos Santana with his trilby hat) and the obvious enthusiasm of the other punters, all mostly whoopin and a'hollerin locals, we failed to get in the groove and sleep was never more appreciated than when we finally got back to the Marriott.

This morning didn't start all that well either. First it was no coffee, then it was the lukewarm dregs of several older pots of the stuff, followed by removal of cups, followed by fresh coffee but no cups. Again, we now know what we're dealing with, so we hope for improvement. 

Later we spent the morning in the labarynthine maze known as the medina, This is the oldest part of the city, and a market, and people live in there. This was freaky, claustrophobic and revolting all at the same time. Especially the meat and fish stalls! You could go in there and never come out, I'm not kidding, if you were crazy enough to go in  there by yourself. Photos to follow later,

The other thing they do in there is treat animal hides for tanning into leather. I had heard of this, and seen photos, although I have to confess I thought that happened in Marrakech. Nothing can prepare you for the stench of this part of the place. As we went in, a guy waved a fistful of foliage in my face. I thought it was just some guy trying to sell something, but it turned out they give every visitor a handful of mint leaves to stick under your hooter. It helped, but nowhere near enough. It was sickening.

The white vats on the left contain limestone. Hides are dumped in there to remove the hair, and then the rancid putrefying residue is scraped off by hand. Then they start the dyeing process using such natural organic materials as urine, pigeon shit, and I can't remember what else. There are guys who stand in these vats all day long dipping their arms in it to move the hides around. But its ok, its all natural they kept saying. The used liquid goes into the river outside, but its ok, its all natural. I think this is the most disgusting thing I've ever seen or smelt. But I've never been to the FBI Body Farm in Tennessee or wherever it is. We were then taken to lunch, but having a fair idea of where they shop, I abstained. (Ok, so I ate some olives).

Oddly enough, the leather products they sell are actually pretty good. Cas even bought some stuff. But it does make you think. I'm starting to like plastic. That's made from really old decayed crustaceans and plant matter. So where's the harm in that? Its ok, its natural.

I took these photos from the vantage point overlooking the vats. Check out the satellite dishes. Also, some of the adjoining buildings. Thank God there was no earthquake today.

Oh, ps. The hotel lost my laundry and sent me a pile of female intimate apparrel in lieu thereof. I'm keeping it. It's never too late!

THE BLUE CITY

OK, now that we have finally stopped long enough to think, I reckon I might have figured it out. Goddamned technology. Here are some trial photos of Chefchouen. If successful, stand by for a flood of catching up.

 

 

I DIDNT EXPECT THE SPANISH INQUISITION

Because nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition. Except Monty Python fans! Anyway, I didn't get it. It was more like the Moroccan Inquisition. After that great segue, let me explain. After a scintillating ride from Arcos on very good roads, past some very impressive solar farms and an awful lot of wind turbines, we reached the port of Algeciras where we were to embark for the ferry to Tangier. The Spanish have embraced renewable power in a big way. Shades of things to come, whether we like the look of it or not. Personally I don't mind the odd wind turbine, but thousands do look bizzare and out of place. Don Quixote would be doing a hell of a lot of tilting around the south of Spain.

We had to wait a while in the heat for the ferry, but it was finally loaded reasonably smartly once the process started. Bikes on the centre stand, then strapped down by the crew. I expected that we would be on deck admiring the view as we crossed the Straits of Gibraltar, but that was overly optimistic. I did see the Rock in the distance, and at one point it was possible to see both Europe and Africa at the same time, the Straits being narrow at about 15 km. (OK, so fact check me!). Tried to get my head around how many ships pass through this gap every day, in fact how many, what type and who had passed through here in the last few thousand years. Just about everybody you've ever heard of really! But my musings were cut short by the fact that they do the paperwork during the crossing, so we spent almost all of the time inside, in a queue waiting to get our passports checked. When I say queue, there were actually three different queues which it turned out all merged into a single one, creating a milling throng at the counter of the one guy who was quite unflustered as he officiously took his time. It was about as big a shitfight as I have seen anywhere, with the exception of India, as people continually pushed in and tempers became frayed. Welcome to Morocco!

Finally, we were able to ride out onto dry land. I was now in Africa. This was a particularly satisfying moment for me, as it marked the moment my wheels hit Continent number 6. I have now ridden on all of them except Antarctica, and I'm not planning on going there (although I'm lead to believe that it has actually been done). Next stop was Customs, which was pretty straightforward, but they had the drug detector dogs, all serious looking German Shepherds, very busy poking their noses into everything. Several camper vans loaded to the gunwhales were ordered to remove every item out onto the tarmac, so the dogs could jump all over the pile. Funny,  I thought the flow of drugs might have been principally in the other direction. you know, coals to Newcastle and all that. Next to a spot for changing money into Moroccan dirhams, and we were on our way out of the port and into the Moraccan road network. We had been briefed to expect the unexpected, and were a little nervous about it. And with good reason.

Our first overnight stop was at Chefchaouen, the fabled blue city, about 2 hours away and up in the Rif Mountains. We had to ride through some busy city areas which were pandemonium as far as I'm concerned. NOBODY will cut you any slack whatsoever, and its quite a frightening experience. You just never know what people will do. If you slow and leave a gap, somebody is in there immediately. OK, I've ridden in similar conditions quite a few times, but I must be getting rusty. On our way up into the mountains, we were hit with very strong swirling winds which monstered the bikes. Then I saw a few goats on the road which brought back the memory of my unfortunate incident with a goat in Nepal. Not long after, there was a donkey on the road, and soon after that, rounding a bend, there was an entire flock of sheep on the road. We had been in the country about three hours and I was starting to plan my funeral! Roadworks, potholes, bumps, trucks, people. The sheep actually have more road sense than most of the pedestrians. The last few kilometers were a little easier, until we hit the town. Then it was on again. 

A few missed directions, followed by U-turns, steep hill starts and claustrophobic traffic, compounded by a slippery coating of dust on the road all made for a deadly combination. We finally made it to the hotel car park in Chefchaouen. It had been a long, hot and frustrating day, and a great relief to finally stop and to still be alive. The hotel car park was made of rocks and potholes, and jammed with cars parked at crazy angles, as if there had been a tsunami. I was about fourth bike into the car park, and followed the other three into some free space abutting a wall, parking alongside. For some reason, this upset the cretin who was in charge of the parking lot, and he came running up to me, protesting and jabbering at me to park on the other side of the first bikes. Knowing the rest of the group were just coming in behind, and that we all had to fit in, I had a problem with this obsession with detail at my inconvenience. So I smiled politely, and with as much courtesy as I could muster, got off the bike, told him to get fucked, and turned and walked into the hotel. Quite a day.

LA FIN DEL MUNDO

Well not quite the end of the world, but the end of Europe. Sagres, Portugal is the most south westerly point of Europe for those interested in such trivia. Sagres is also the name of one of the most popular beers in Portugal, which I include for the same reason. Our escape from Lisbon was pretty hairy. New bike, new group, wrong side of the road etc. Traffic was cut and thrust but we crossed the Tagus over a monstrous suspension bridge, then off down the coast heading south. The country was dry, harsh anď basically boring, and the Atlantic was mostly out of sight. However, there is plenty of surf along the coast, and Sagres is a bit of a surf mecca. It also has an old fort on a prominent point jutting into the sea, built by Henry the Navigator some 500 years ago. Distinguished alumni from this learning academy include no less than Vasco da Gama and Ferdinand Magellan. Only a few years before, people thought that the earth was flat, so it was a time of rapid advance.

Speaking of rapid advance, we did a bit of this ourselves as we left Sagres and headed for Tavira, a coastal resort town further to the east. We detoured through the twisty back roads in the hinterland instead of the heavily trafficked coastal highways. It was hot and thirsty work, and the pool and a few of the chilled articles were on everyone's mind. Followed by dinner at a riverside bar where the meat dishes came out on a vertical skewer/tower thing and were ceremonially delivered with great flourish. Reminded me of seeing a haggis piped in to a formal dinner in Scotland!

In the morning it was back to work as we crossed the Spanish border into the Andalusian region to our next night's accommodation at a hacienda at Arcos de la Frontera. This place has been in the same family for over 500 years and they know how to treat guests. The roads around here are terrific riding, and not far from the famous Jerez racetrack. Couldn't resist dusting off the old Spanish at fuel and coffee stops. It was pretty pathetic though because boy they speak it fast. At the hacienda, I presented one of the staff ladies with a few little toy koalas for their hospitality, telling her what they were called. She was quite excited and disappeared inside. Next minute a rapidfire stream of Spanish floated out the window, punctuated by a definite KOO- ARLA and peals of laughter. This is one of my favourite things to do when I'm  travelling and is always genuinely appreciated. 

BEM VINDO A LISBOA

That is to say"Welcome to Lisbon"in the local lingo. So far so good. We have spent a couple of days wandering around the cultural heart of the city. Food terribly greasy, but we have managed to find this tiny little place hidden away in the backstreets where they serve cheese and onion crisps and Watney's Red Barrel. Does that ring any bells? Sorry, I couldn't help it! Although strictly speaking Eric Idle was referring to the Costa Brava in Spain.

I am having real trouble loading photos from my camera using this ancient laptop running Windows 7, in fact the whole Blogger thing is geriatric, like its user. Have managed until now, but I should have sorted it before we left. Its a giant plot to force me to use Facetube or whatever, and that will happen just after Hell freezes over. So maybe we'll have a slide night at my place when I get home, if I can find the old Bell and Howell projector. Meanwhile, I shall continue to make my whimsical observations in text whenever I get the opportunity.

One thing I can tell you already is that having a business selling bras in Lisbon would be about as lucrative as having a lawn mowing round in the Sahara.

Reminds me of sitting on the Barr Smith Lawns at Uni, having a lunchtime perv and hoping for a cold snap!

 

 

 

 

LA BELLE FRANCE. NOUS SOMMES ICI !

Right then. After being jammed into a straight jacket called a plane seat till everything merged into a painful blur, and time itself stood still, we arrived at Charles DeGaulle Airport. Wrung out, strung out and particularly testy. Its a bloody long flight, and I'm getting past it. Took forever to get through immigration, because only two people were working at the checkpoint. Apparently this is normal. Thought it might have been because of the Rugby World Cup just about to kick off in France. More on that later. Down to the luggage carousel to find Cas's trolley had been damaged by the gorillas employed as luggage handlers, and the retractable handle would not extend. This made it particularly difficult to move. This is despite the "I love luggage handlers" tag on the bag. Should have bought one with a picture on it. There was a throng of touts, taxi drivers, limo drivers, bus drivers hanging out near the exits, like sharks waiting at a river mouth for hapless fish to swim straight into their open jaws. "Taxi?" Yes please. First mistake! Before we knew it we were in a spotless Tesla being driven by a guy in a sharp suit, heading to central Paris. We had just hired a chauffer driven town car, about the most expensive option available. 

Poorer but wiser, we reached our hotel right alongside the Gare de Lyon. Dropped the gear in a smallish hotel room, which we were then obliged to vacate, because it was either people or luggage in there, but not both at the same time, so we decided to go for a walk to check out the neighbourhood. In our zombie-like state, we nearly got run over by 5 cars and a bus, and that was just crossing the first street! Nevertheless, we were both proud of the achievement, so we had a celebratory drink and gave the rest of our money to a waiter. Going well sofar, I thought. Sleep could not come quickly enough. Next morning we had most of the day to sightsee. 

Caught a taxi to the Basilica de Sacre Coeur (where is spellcheck when you need it?), walked around and did a bit of oohing and aahing, and grabbed another cab to see the Arc de Triomphe. On the way, we passed the Moulin Rouge, and went through the Pigalle area, which was every bit as sleazy as I remember it from 1977. In fact it brought back moderately happy memories of accidentally walking into a backstreet bar where it seemed to be pumping. It took me a few minutes to suss it out because it was dark and I was fairly liquored, but I do recall thinking that these French chicks are bloody big and hefty, not to mention butt ugly! Most of them had faces like a robber's dog. My first and last Drag Queen venue. But that was then, and this is now. 

We got to within about 200 metres of the Arc, and the cabbie said the road he wanted was closed, but the Arc was just up there. And so it proved to be. Problem is that the cops had a barricade across the road. And every other road within cooee of the Arc. And they were all big mean looking bastards, tooled up to the hilt and packing serious firepower, like automatic weapons. There were police vans parked everywhere you looked, hundreds of them. The area was locked down tighter than a fish's arse. I thought of saying "thanks guys, no need to go to all this trouble just for us", but the year 8 French language skills were not up to par for that. Turns out King Charles 111 (that's the Third, not the one hundred and eleventh) was in town to open the Rugby festivities along with President Macron, right there at the Arc in a couple of hours time. But I've already seen Charlie a few times in the past (one in particular at Royal Ascot, when he was in a horse carriage being drawn down the main straight and I was in an open top double decker bus parked on the infield with a bunch of fellow Aussies who had been on the turps since sunup. I wonder if he remembers me?). 

So we hoofed it across the Champs d'Elysses heading for that Eiffel Thingy. Tick! (again). It was considerably more difficult to access these days, compared with the 70's, a sad reflection of the times we live in. Then it was taxi back to the hotel, which turned into another sightseeing tour because of all the aforementioned road closures and subsequent traffic chaos. We got back there just in time to see the end of the fly past down the Champsd'Elysses, consisting of the RAF Red Arrows and the French equivalent, about 12 jets in all, trailing red white and blue smoke, making an exit turn right over the Gare de Lyon. So that was an unexpected freebie.

It took us a while to figure out the train workings to get to our TGV train for the trip down to Montbard. Is it too much to ask for some bastard in a train uniform who works in the place to ask for assistance? Well, as it turned out, yes it is. On top of that, the train was delayed by 25 minutes, amended to 58 minutes. The irony of  a super fast train that starts an hour late was not lost on us. Picked a great day to visit Paris!!

Anyway, about an hour later we reached Montbard which is some 240 km south east of Paris, so it doesn't muck around when it works. Collected from the station by Chris Phillips, the man with whom I rode from Singapore to England in 2008, we were driven for about 30 mins to Origny. Chris and his wife Claire live in a 200 year year old farmhouse which they are renovating in this tiny, ancient village. A BBQ dinner with sufficiently copious amounts of vin rouge was just what we needed, as we proceeded to catch up and tell each other stories, some of which may have been true. Or at least contained an element of truth. We are here for a few more days to relax and get over the jet lag, so we are at full throttle for the tour. We fly to Lisbon from Paris on Sunday afternoon, then spend a couple of days sightseeing before official departure. New country, new language. But the French language revision might help a bit when we get to Morocco. We shall see. 

How much cheese can you eat before it becomes toxic to one's vital organs? I don't know either, but I'll let you know!

 

 

YOU WOULDN'T FREAKING WELL BELIEVE IT, WOULD YOU?

 Greetings Readers, Well haven't the last four years been a hoot? There was a thing called Covid that wreaked just a little havoc on the planet. You must have heard of it, it was in all the papers! Donald Trump said it was a hoax. Then the climate went nuts. most parts of the world were, and still are, either underwater or on fire. Hundreds of years of rainfall and temperature records have been smashed as the world reels from one climatic disaster to the next. Donald Trump says its a hoax. Russia invaded Ukraine, mainly just because Putin thought he could get away with it, and is now getting his arse kicked. (Go Ukraine!!). Donald Trump says that's not a hoax, but it is fake news, and he will sort it out within 24 hours when he gets re-elected. Might be tricky to get that done from a cell in the joint, Dickhead!  Besides, all this hoo-hah is just a witchhunt. Well, you know the thing about witchhunts is that sometimes they actually find one, then they get burned at the stake! 

So pretty soon the choice facing American voters will be a befuddled geriatric shuffling around the streets in his pyjamas, or an amoral, lying, criminal egomaniac. Unless of course Trump gets jailed and replaced by some minion. Some choice! Report Card: Can and must do better.

That pretty much brings us up to speed, but enough of this gay banter. As you may infer from my opening gambit, I've spent most of the last four years being a couch potato, flat out watching a lot of TV news while I have been confined to quarters. Also had my other knee joint replaced, so there was rehab for that. In fact I've been so inert I even wore out my armchairs, and had to go buy some new ones. I even turned 70 a while back. Can't remember exactly when. I've also been to too many funerals. But now that I'm allowed out again, I reckoned I have one more decent riding adventure left in me, not withstanding the fact that I have porked up a bit during the enforced layoff, and had to diet my way back into my riding pants. Lucky I've now got two load bearing titanium knee joints! And so it has come to pass. The Blog has been reinvigorated, and here we go again! Strap yourselves in.

We have signed up to visit a few new countries, and revisit some old ones. We will be riding with the almost defunct but now fortunately reconstituted Compass Expeditions. Covid almost put them out of business overnight. They refunded customer's deposits, and were on the point of selling off all their asetts, when, encouraged by a deluge of support from previous clients, (including 3 time client me), they were able to restructure a bit and get moving again. I reckon I owe them another trip, just because that kind of commitment deserves support. And I don't reckon I'd be alone on that score. Apparently their forward bookings are going gangbusters.

So on 18 Sept, Cas and I leave for a trip starting in Lisbon, and doing a big figure-8 loop down through the south of Portugal and Spain, then down into Morocco, and eventually back to Lisbon. We have added a visit to France before the ride, and a stopover in Egypt on the way home. Bucket List items are being ticked off here.

We are in the process of packing right now, just as a massive 6.8 earthquake has hit Morocco 2 days ago. In particular, Marrakech, which is on our agenda, has been badly affected. We don't know any more yet, other than there has been a lot of deaths and devastation. The disaster relief effort hasn't even cranked up yet. What I've seen on TV looks horrible, and I can't even imagine what it would be like to be in the middle of something like that. What affect this will have on our journey is an unknown, but at the very least Marrakech might be off the itinerary. I can only hope there are no more tremors to come, and that wherever we bed down, that the building doesn't collapse on us during the night. I haven't got any room for camping equipment this time, so I hope we haven't just bought tickets on the Titanic. And I hope all the hash hasn't been buried. Oops, did I say that?

It's medicinal, OK!