After crossing the mined border without mishap we had to really plan so as to ensure our trip through Morocco was not just a repeat of 4 years ago. We have always found when you revisit a place that you really enjoyed it never lives up to its memories.

Also we had learned from the Brazilians that you wild camp anywhere even though you regularly get moved on by the Police as vagrants.

So we began Morocco by camping in a Service station which did admittedly have a restaurant, and since we had completed the border formalities first of a long line of French, German and English Campervans, we found every 5 minutes or so one of them would catch up and park next to us. In the end there were 5 vans so we had a bit of a multi racial party, and I thanked the Frenchman who had crossed the minefield in front of us. He was a hoot though he could hardly speak any English he kept referring to me as My Lord. He was a retired Gendarme and anyone less likely you couldn’t have imagined.

From here it was on to Dakhla which has changed greatly with lots of investment, but now the Paris Dakar Rally doesn’t pass through Dakhla (or Paris or Dakar as it happens) it is not the same Overlander’s scene, so having got our Fridge mended (it was full and I mean full of Sahara sand) we got on our way.

Two brushes with the police ensued, as first I failed to stop at a road junction which had stop written in Arabic. This one we managed to brush off with a smile but then Janet was captured on Radar as doing 71 in a 60 zone. The fat greasy gendarme demanded 400 Dirham fine (30 quid) but reckoned without Janet’s expertise in dealing with the fuzz.

First we claimed it was not a 60 zone, and we walked up and down with the cop to establish exactly where it started. Next we claimed we weren’t doing 71 anyway and finally called his equipment into question. As he showed us his machine Janet said that could have been anyone’s 71kph, and where is the picture of our car, and how do we know your machine is accurate, and we are not paying so you had better called the Black Maria. He simply gave up …and said would we please go….we did, and as we drove away we realized that the Moroccan Gendarmerie are quite efficient, and certainly not corrupt, so we really shouldn’t have treated him like he was from Cameroon…still it worked.

We had to revisit Sidi Ifni as 4 years ago the Camp was in a major state of renovation and we wanted to see the new renovations. We found it in exactly the same state as 4 years ago with the same holes and the same dilapidated buildings. It had literally been frozen in time, except the prices had gone up.

On to Agadir and Essaouria which hadn’t changed much except the numbers of beggars had tripled. It’s strange that the number of beggars varies with the tourist figures, and I am convinced these people are as astute as any financier…they really do their economic homework. Janet very kindly saw a bedraggled girl sleeping on the pavement having 10

 minutes before been begging like a good un, and left her a loaf of bead and a bottle of water to wake up to. She woke up took one look at them and left them untouched as she continued her routine of rubbing her stomach and pointing to her mouth….bloody cheek

Anyway we had really come back to Morocco to do the Atlas Mountains and because we are real overlanders to traverse some of the higher passes just to show the Frenchies that they may have 56 feet luxury motor homes, but we have cojones.

There is a mountain pass just up from the Dades Gorge (which by the way is lovely) and after 50 kilometers of rough piste you get to the Todhra Gorge (which is even better). Most folk take the road which is about twice as far but not us. We did however check the status of the route as all the good books tell you. “C’est un bonne route” we cried to any local who would listen, and fortunately  the one person who understood our French said in perfect English…”not even a Centurion tank could get across to the Todhra Gorge there have been major landslides and floods and you have no chance”……  we took the main road just like the Frenchies.

At Todhra we met a very nice English couple just embarking on their journey (Sue and Paul) and we spent a very pleasant evening drinking Pails cider and exchanging stories. I’ve decided that a major downside of our van is that you can only keep one beer and one coke cold at a time so you can’t reciprocate the hospitality of a man who drives an 80 foot camper van with a 12 cubic foot freezer. In addition Paul and Sue told us of our next camp which should be in a field with dozens of wild cherry trees just ready for picking. We found it and the owner said if you can reach em you can have em (a loose Arabic translation)..We could, and we did, although an excess of cherries can have an amazing purgative effect on the alimentary canal…and it did. (This passage has been passed as fit for reading by the J George censorship bureau) 

The mountains were truly beautiful especially in early summer as the plants were in bloom, and if we were walkers it would be a wonderful few weeks of solitude.

Still this was about the end of exploration and from here it was a one day drive to Asilah

by the coast and near to Tangier.

Next day we bought our ferry tickets and sailed to Spain. An interesting corollary to the sailing was that by mistake we quoted the wrong measurements of our van and we got a ticket (very cheap) for a family car. Nobody checked or spotted this unfortunate error so we saved ourselves 50 quid which was promptly spent on souvenirs.