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.
No comments:
Post a Comment