Barking Chickens Outing??

My accountant boss has got something to do with this guy....  he is playing in Ciren on 31st May ....

http://www.markharrisonrootsmusic.com/shows.php

Tony fixing stuff

Day-3.

see attached i hope.

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Slept well, about to start
the haul up to Tiz-n-test in the high Atlas, plan to eat lunch with a view

Welcome Back

We're glad you had a good time but we missed you! 

Day 16 - Et Fin

Without going into detail  (sparing you reader!) – I was pretty much out of action with food poisoning (it was the slow roasted lamb knuckle) for the trip through mid Spain – I tried driving but could only manage two hours before I had to do the toilet dash. Tony was a man mountain behind the wheel - a real star.

So here I sit in Bilbao ferry port, feeling a million times better than the last thirty-six hours. We have done the tidying up, packed away the smelly socks, had showers - and yes you’ve probable guessed it - shown a group of people around the truck. We are all ready to board the boat - both looking forward to seeing our families again.
A couple of things before I finish...
On Sunday the 25th of March, we went to Siddington point-to-point horse races, Tony mentioned he was itching to go and do a Morocco trip and test the truck, and did I want to go? We left five days later, my chief role being mate, photographer, blog writer and translator.
Thank you to Susie, Ben and Slim for allowing me the freedom to go. Slim - thanks for your understanding - and next trip you're coming.
Thank you to Tony for giving me the opportunity to visit Morocco again (despite my flippant remarks about the place and its people, it is a wonderful country) and thank you for the care when I was feeling like death warmed up.

The truck was great – 3437 miles at approximately 55/ 60 mph without a problem, working out at 14 mpg (The most 'Frequently Asked' of the Frequently Asked Questions - will take laminated hand-outs next time!)
That’s it…..
FIN

Day 15 –Wet –Tummy

Not a great day really – we left Essoiura at 8.30 am and began the haul up north, past Safi, towards Casablanca, Rabat etc.

The country is clearly more fertile the further you go north, more tractors, combine harvesters and larger fields. People are healthier; cows no longer have their ribs showing. Bananas grow under huge polythene greenhouses. I would have loved to have seen more of this, however twenty minutes into my driving stint, the dreaded Moroccan 'lergy' struck, having to pull off the road, to avoid serious accident, I spent the rest of the day rolling around in bed. I could hear the rain pelting down on the roof cab (I heard later that the rain had turned to six inches of snow on the mountain passes we had been through a few days before).

We stopped just past Tangier in a motorway truck stop – hardly the most atmospheric camping. It wasn't the best- trucks coming in and out all night, car alarms etc.

Fwd: last photos

Day 14 – Weather and watches

Once again the surf gods had deserted me, and my now 'well-travelled neoprene' was to remain dry, so I washed my socks and undies instead. Tony headed of into some small dunes and scrub on the quad.

On Tony's return we held the usual Q and A session about the truck and trip (tyre pressure, oil colour, fridge temperature, deodorant choice etc) to the assembled motor-home masses. The owners of 'Desert Explorateur' and 'Galaxy Adventurer' being interested in the suspension, 'Wild Nomad' the cooker and the 'Wilderness Adventurer' just seemed to be hanging about. 

We refused to talk to the couple with the air brushed 'Lonesome Red Indians staring into middle distance with Wolf cub' picture on the side of their van.

After receiving the plaudits, we decided to take a trip into town - well worth it. Bought some stuff, woodwork mainly, and took some photos of the back streets of Essoiura.

Once in town we some saw evidence of homophobic graffiti on some of the walls of the Medina. Morocco being a mixture of Islamic and Catholic is not overly tolerant of homosexuality except within its clergy and activities such as use of pedestrian crossings, drinking decaffeinated coffee, and other overtly 'gay activities' are likely to be frowned upon.

It had been threatening to rain for some time (would the socks get dry?) and the temperature started to get a bit chilly. We headed back to the truck, fell asleep reading- showered and changed ready to go out for our last meal in Essoiura. We returned to town in the truck due to the rain being of biblical quality and the quad bike not being licensed for inland waterways.

We ate the same restaurant as the previous evening (inside this time), Islamic mosaic tiles covered the walls and floors, brick red paint work where the walls were exposed - very tasteful. The food was once again excellent. A magician was doing the rounds from table to table – he was a-ma-zing, demonstrating the ball- cup-hand-ball-change-to-mandarin trick.  He managed to remove my watch without me having the slightest idea - the manager came over to me and presented me with a thank you box?  – I opened it and thought he was being rather generous giving me a watch - until I realized it was mine! He then proceeded to do it again with another trick.  A great evening, returned home fell asleep –we have a long drive up north tomorrow.

(p.s. my socks dried out OK)

Day 13 – Fights, sweaty boys and horse riding

We started the day with domestic duties, wiping surfaces, cleaning floors - quite a bit of dirt and dust accumulate with it being dry and windy. There was no rush to hit the beach as the tide was in and both Tony's planned horse ride and my surf were better as low-tide activities. 'Tone' had arranged an 11 a.m. meet with the horse riding guys - but the timing was pretty flexible.

We met at the beach shack/restaurant/board hire place to do our thing. We decide to have a little bit of lunch before heading off (we both had a pork terrine) Whilst dining we watched the dynamics of the touts on the beach, all vying for business – horse hire, camel rides, quad bike hire – the surf/ windsurf/kite board outfit was pretty professional – good kit, well maintained staff. Then it all kicked off - much shouting in Arabic, one tout had pinched the clients from someone else – a fight followed, spilling over onto the terrace in front of the restaurant – one guy ended up with a cut eye.  It's a serious business, mucking about with other peoples livelihoods, it was upsetting for the children in the restaurant who had to witness it.

Where as riding horses on flat beaches can be considered great fun, surfing on a millpond is something I have always struggled to find the enjoyment in. Tony went horse riding; I took the quad into town to look for 'action'. Surfing wasn't happening for me today.

I wandered through the streets of the town centre, the shop girls admiring my swarthy paunch, ankle socks and off-white tan. The men looking with envious eyes – not understanding the spell that men like Tony and I can weave over the innocent female. Feeling the eyes of an army of females on me, I ducked onto a male enclave to seek sanctuary – the barbershop. Sitting down, I chatted about football (Casablanca beat Tetouan in the final) men's health issues and the latest 'Morocco's Got Talent'.  I emerged with a decent haircut and beard trim – the girls went wild.

Back at the beach, Tony had been given 'Silver' a fearsome stallion only recently broken. Frothing at the mouth, full of attitude, hairy and wild - Tony made the perfect rider. A bond of pure sinew, muscle and hair, merging together to form this hell fire relationship – riders at the gates of a brave new dawn, brought together to turn back the tide, to 'collide with the very air they breathe', to smite the devil and chase him to hell. But before that, there was a short health and safety briefing.

Tony's riding partner was a young lad 'Greggy' who was in charge of the route and general leader. It soon was apparent that he was quite inexperienced, flapping around on his steed like some rag doll, his horse out of control for most of the ride – Tony took charge.

After meeting up back at the beach shack, we spent time talking to 'Greggy' and his tout. It was interesting to get their perspective on life in Morocco – generally they were happy with their lot. He said the King of Morocco was great (but then we probed a little deeper, it seems people disappear for public dissent in Morocco).  We asked for some advice around nightlife, places to see, and things to do etc. We fancied a traditional Hammam – bath/ scrub/ massage.

We went back to the truck, drank - read book - fell asleep - woke up – got sorted went into town for Hammam and food.

We didn't want a white tiled, white toweled, merchandise in the reception lobby kind of experience – we could get that in the U.K. We weren't disappointed.

Leading us down a narrow lane – the lady who does the 'bookings' led us into a dark dome shaped brick room, hot marble slabs on the floor. Two sweaty young men were there to greet us, buckets of water and running water. After putting the images of 'Midnight Express' behind us we took most of our kit off (I had previously nailed my swimming trunks on to prevent slippage). Without going into details it was very pleasurable – washed – scrubbed (layers of dead skin rolling off) – soaped – rinsed- massaged – then oiled with Argan oil (local tree oil).

We emerged into the dusty alley, clean, slightly wobbly and in search of food and some music. 'Taros' was the happening place – music – good food – fantastic location and cool décor. The guitarist singer was pretty good, singing a range of western stuff, he was followed by a young girl (singing the obligatory Adele stuff). Buoyed on by the polite applause from the diners, she brought her two giggly friends up (all X-factor wannabees).  Forgotten words, giggling, off-key, it was beginning to turn into open-mic night. Thankfully the owner, had a polite word with the guitarist- basically 'get this * off and play your *-ing guitar' and all returned to normal.

Bedtime.

Fwd: Day 11 & 12 Photos

Day 12 - Driving and Fish

The drive to Essouira on the coast was easy: good roads made for faster progress. The countryside here starts to show a more commercial side to the agriculture, more tractors, larger fields with crops intended to be sold, rather than kept for home consumption. There were still some very long stretches of dry barren ground though.

We eventually spied the sea – hooray - Essouira is a resort town, people on the beaches on holiday, camel rides on the beach, surfing etc. Many of the women still wear the traditional burkahs on the beach - they come in three types, Factor 30, 25, and 15.  Many of the Muslim ladies sport 'Camel eyes' like 'Panda eyes' for skiers - but in negative.

On riding along the beach road, many of Essouira's beach hotels offer massage treatments; we were warned that in some of the cheaper establishments the so-called 'essential oils' are in fact low-grade engine lubricants. So those with sensitive skin or an aversion to being covered in petrochemical by-products should exercise caution.

We had a look around the town for a few hours- the fishing port is well worth a visit, full of life (apart from the fish). It makes a change to see Moroccans working and engaged in activity with some degree of urgency. Lots of different fish seem to being caught, I recognized large eels, a tuna, small sharks and a whole range of smaller fish. As you would expect the restaurants around the port sell mainly seafood, however, one large restaurant 'La Fruit de la Mare' (as the name suggests) sells just horsemeat.

Over the last two hundred years pirates have ransacked the port garrison on no less than sixty occasions, until it was decided to point the cannons out to sea. The cannons are still there- a reminder of the violent past.

On returning to the campsite we dropped in on the part of the beach that offered a range of water sports- surfboards and windsurfers for hire, quad bikes, horses to rent. Camels were being led up and down the beach with tourists perched on top – a bit like Blackpool but slightly more exotic. We plan to return tomorrow.

In the evening we returned to town, looking for a restaurant. Tony was feeling a bit 'off color' so we avoided the seafood and had a wander through the market area that surrounds the main square- much more vibrant than Marrakesh, the street vendors were less aggressive, it had an almost French beach resort vibe – I liked it.

In search of food and live music we were directed to a little restaurant, the three players restored our belief in Moroccan music, churning out a hypnotic beat with a drum, 'three string guitar' and a 'tinny castanet'- sounding definitely 'Africany' they played away while we ate our meal. We emerged from the restaurant at about nine-thirty and the street vendors were shutting up shop- not a late night then.

We looked out for a nightclub to try and catch the local dance performed– the 'Cutasucre' or 'The Cane Cutters dance'.  It is an exuberant men's dance performed blindfolded, intoxicated and with machetes, it's complex rhythms clapped out by the dance leader with his one remaining hand, is accompanied by the 'Tubron' a local woodwind instrument producing a sound likened to water going down a narrow drain-hole. Both the 'Cutasucre' and the Tubron have failed to capture the imagination of the youth, and unfortunately this part of the Essouirans cultural heritage will be soon gone forever, as will the 24-hour 'drop in' reconstructive surgery theatres.

Without finding the dance club, we walked back to the quad to return to the truck- I liked the atmosphere here, definitely a tourist feel, but with an edge. The quality of goods on sale was much better, as were the prices. Tomorrow we surf.

*Note – In the interests of continuity and sanity of the writer some of the information given above may have been embellished or may even be 'slightly' false. This account should by no be means seen as the definitive guide to the region.