A Week? Has it really....?

...been that long? Sue's just been refreshing my memory using the Ship's Log, and there's a bit of catching up to do! The main reason for our long silence isn't because we couldn't be bothered, even though that might be a natural reaction to being on the Homebound leg. Fact is, we've been denied any decent internet connection for almost a week. A Web Log requires T'Interweb to work, and we haven't had it. This wasn't unusual in the Deep South of Morocco, but we expected to be better supplied with connections as we moved north. While other things might be in greater supply, wi-fi isn't one of them. Nor are wild camping opportunities. With the latter being the case, we were forced to explore commercial campsites. We have a "guide" to these, but a lot have closed since the guide was written. Helpfully, the publishers have decided not to publish an updated edition, but made the amendments to the book available on-line. This, of course, requires T'Interweb access. Which we didn't have. The result is that we spent some time chasing the proverbial wild geese around and about a number of Moroccan towns, finding the objects of our searches abandoned, weed-grown and with gates rusted shut. These might have provided attractive off-grid camping spots, but the usual residents wouldn't have made good company...leave that to your imagination. On one occasion we decided to take a rough track up into the hills but with no positive result other than to practice our Arabic with a rather irate local who was of the opinion that we must be blind. Could we not see that this was a field, not a campsite? I think that's what he said, anyway; we made our excuses and left, as they used to say in the News of the World.

So... we  left the "picnic site" camp on Sunday 17th and made our way north. The roads continued to be what might be described as "requiring sustained interest", with a great view - yawn..not another great view?...around every bend in the road. And there were quite a few. Our plan was to go north along the B-roads as far as Meknes, where the information we had suggested a couple of campsites might be available if other options didn't materialise. We passed through Khenifra and Azrou, stopping for fuel and provisions. As the day went on, the "other options", ie wild camps, seemed to be impossible to spot. In contrast to the landscape on the other side of the Atlas, everything on the northern side seems to be owned, fenced off or impossibly vertical. Oh well...having spent longer than we can remember just stopping somewhere convenient, we're now back to "civilised reality" and will have to behave ourselves.

Being on the "proper" roads now, the traffic hazards we had in the hills and further south have been replacd with others. We're wary of Moroccan traffic habits now, and Defensive Driving is the way to go. The locals don't bother with those niceties, though, but no-one seems to come to much harm so perhaps we're too sensitive. There's still the livestock wandering about and the flocks of sheep and goats are now mixed in with the trikes and overloaded carts, weaving mopeds, staggering Mercedes vans and arrogant taxis. Sometimes on the correct side of the road, sometimes not. As I said before, "requiring sustained interest".

 This poor chap - and I don't mean the guy dozing off - had three passengers, a load of shopping and several items of furniture on board. Try getting Tesco to deliver that lot and give you a lift home to boot.

Keeping an eye on the traffic sometimes takes the attention away from other things, though, and we were stopped by a young and very smart Gendarme who, it transpired, had clocked us speeding - 68kph in a 60 limit. I thought that this was a little "enthusiastic" of him, but as we presented all of our "papers" it became clear that he thought Sue was the driver. I'd handed over all my documents, pre-packaged for such an event as this. He didn't see his mistake until, having demanded the "driver licence paper, not this one", I looked suitably apologetic as I tapped the steering wheel in front of me...he let us off with a finger-wagging. We're not left-hand drive!

With weather and now time against us we decided to kiss off the planned exploration of central Meknes for a campsite that might not exist, and made for a "banker"; one that we'd used before near Moulay Idriss. The guardien remembered us, we recalled the fact that the last time we'd seen him was as we paid the bill the day we'd left and he was, in between doing the invoice, alternatively turning himself inside out over a bucket having contracted some bug or other. This was our first contact with "civilised" camping for nearly two weeks, and we both appreciated the hot water and porcelain sinks, amongst other things...It was so comfortable that we decided to declare a "Sunday" on the following morning and have a day off, our first since Figuig nearly 3 weeks before. Don't time fly when you're having fun? In fact, we'd have done this much earlier if we hadn't been fighting the desert wind so much.

This really was a dried camel pat - and they burn red hot!

With over a day to relax, we had the chance to do some overdue maintenance on Daphne, sweep out some of the dust from inside, and use the woodburning stove for the first time. We brought this little beast along because it was useful on previous trips and gives a nice homely feel to a camp. Provided you're not being blown off the surface of the planet, that is, when the last thing you wanna be doing is messing about outside - shemagh, goggles or not. So the prize for Most Useless Item We Should've Left in the Shed goes to our little stove, but we'd probably bring it again 'cos when you can light it, it's just brilliant! I can't say the same for the windbreak, though. This much-trialled feature works well back home, but it needs the awning poles for support. If it's too windy for the awning to stand up, you don't get a windbreak...doh! Anyway, we cooked supper on the stove and had to stand well back from the heat.

One of the major advantages of wild camps is that you get to choose, pretty much, who your neighbours are. Ideally none within a large number of miles. Not only does this remove the likelihood of Fat Frenchmen snoring all night, but also the chance of packs of feral dogs shouting at each other all night too. The FF was boxed up in a hard-shell rooftent (equals lots of vibrato) and I knew he'd be noisy so we parked as far from him and his mates as we could. It wasn't far enough. The dogs, too, displayed their usual ignorance of human sleeping requirements and gave it max all night. It does have a pattern though. At about 11-30, Fido starts an argument with Towser. They wrangle loudly for a minute or two, then Spot joins in. The stakes now raised, so are the voices, and the occupants of the next lair, Rover and Rex, add their opinion. This escalates into a full-blown Loose Women, Let's All Talk At Once shouting match until, suddenly, they stop. This is almost as if either 1. they've all been struck by lightning or 2. you been suddenly struck stone deaf. In your half-awake state you sigh with relief and begin to drift off to sleep....Then there's a tentative, barely audible woof........woof......and then.....wait for it.......
BARKWOOFWOOFGRRRSNARLBARKWOOFBARKHOOWWWLLLL and the whole cacophony begins again. Until 0430, then it suddenly and reliably stops. Dead. Two minutes later the first cockerel starts up and by the time he's in full song the muezzin, with four tape-fed loudspeakers per tower, gets the Muslim day going. I tell yer, if they don't use alcohol to get some sleep, I'd like to buy some of the alternative....Then the thunder started.

Our Rest Day didn't include access to the internet, so Mike got bored after doing the greasy jobs on Daph and set up a radio mast in an attempt to snare some broadband. We managed to get something, but not enough to be useful. We spent the evening huddled around the stove - we're now in a much cooler climate with rain and overcast cloud - and listening to an argument going on in the team of French off-road racers that arrived earlier. Sue wasn't impressed to find a bunch of pot-bellied hairy frogs in the ladies showers, but once she'd seen off the pond life the French blokes were still in there, shouting at each other.

Once out of Camping Belle Vue the next day, we debated the merits of another nightstop in Morocco and the early ferry on Thursday, but with no campsites within striking distance of the port we decided to catch the late afternoon boat and be in Spain a day earlier than we'd planned. Oh, and the campsite we'd planned to use had tumbleweed and rusty gates, again. Arriving at the ferry check-in we found the ticket office for our carrier closed, with two of the uniformed employees lounging about outside. There was also a small group of other hopeful travellers loitering. The Uniformed Blokes suggested that the office would be open in 15 minutes. That's a Moroccan 15, of course, so Mike returned to Daphne and Sue for a cuppa. A return visit, 30 minutes later, produced an estimate of "5 minutes".
Watching the queue from Daphne some 30 minutes later, it's obvious that Something Is Happening in the office. The former queue has dispersed in disgust from the looks on their faces (they were Germans, after all) and the Uniformed Blokes are still there. One of them is now sitting on the railings outside the office, having a fag. His mate apologises for the delay, says the office is now open but would I mind waiting while the other Uniformed Bloke - the one who can write, presumably - finishes his cigarette, having just had a demanding five minutes work to issue the Germans their tickets? How shall I put this....? The suggestion was declined and we got our tickets toute, as they say, sweet.

Now we're in Spain, again. Not much to say except that it's a bit warmer than the last time we were here, although nothing else has improved. My pet hate this trip has got to be the Free Wi-Fi trick. You get what you pay for, they say, and we've no problem with paying for something we need, like a hot shower. And wi-fi. Now, if the tariff advertises these things are extra, we pay and expect to get what we pay for. If, on the other hand, they're advertised as "free" you can bet your backside that they exist, but only for 20 minutes a day or with a bandwidth so narrow you couldn't slide a piece of paper between the endstops. Sideways. Pah! I'm just off for a shower, and it's better be 'ot, or there'll be bother.