TRAVERSE 76 steps into the courtyard with orange trees and I was suddenly aware that I was in another continent. Different vegetation and culture … Arab; Islamic; squat toilets; busy markets; people dressed in long cloaks, heads covered. Another world on Europe’ s doorstep. But still European weather and the next day, the rain was so bad it prevented me from moving on.
the problem was diagnosed by friends as far flung as Delhi, Australia, Sark, Bristol and Cornwall. They thought it was either the coil or the condenser. The symptoms fitted with a faulty coil. I arrived in Jerez which was at its wettest for decades, settled in a pretty posada and found a mechanic to sort out the bike. My poor Spanish was enhanced by pointing at pictures in the manual. They understood! A new Toyota‘ bobina de encendido’ did the trick. No more racing, cranky engine at the end of the day. The steering had become rather wobbly by this time.
The days spent with my daughter at the flamenco festival were outstanding as well as sunny and dry. After much dancing, tapas, performing horses and sherry, she flew home. I wanted to explore now it had stopped raining.
At Tarifa, the jumping-off point for boats to Morocco, I exchanged maps and travel stories with a motorcycling friend on his way back to the UK after a six-month tour of Africa on his Trans Alp. He inspired me to see what it was like, too.
As the ferry approached Morocco I felt that mixture of apprehension and excitement that comes before entering a new country. No matter how experienced you are, it’ s always a thrill. The border crossing was straightforward at Ceuta and I was issued with some bits of paper to keep until I left.
My bike insurance had just expired and I didn’ t buy any for Morocco which, being non-European Union, was not covered by my insurance anyway. As usual I hoped for the best and rode along good roads with views of the lush mountains, dry for all the fifty-four kilometres to Chefchaouen. At the Hotel Bonsai, I rode down the
TRAVERSE 76 steps into the courtyard with orange trees and I was suddenly aware that I was in another continent. Different vegetation and culture … Arab; Islamic; squat toilets; busy markets; people dressed in long cloaks, heads covered. Another world on Europe’ s doorstep. But still European weather and the next day, the rain was so bad it prevented me from moving on.
In the medina( marketplace) with tiny streets which on a map would look like a heap of spaghetti, I immediately got lost. A man who sold his own hand-knitted hats, gloves and jumpers offered to close his shop for the afternoon in order to warm me up.
“ My name is Love” he crooned. Had he known I was wearing three jumpers, two vests, leggings under my jeans and plastic bags on my feet inside my boots, he might not have offered. I declined but he did cheer me up!