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.
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.
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