…I’ve been driving, and never hit anything more than a tree
stump…but today (9th May)
I’ve hit- or been hit – by 2 cars. Two “accidents” in the space of an hour, FFS!
But it’d taken a few days to get to that point, so to
backtrack a little. We’d spent an enjoyable couple of days crossing the Atlas
mountains and wild camped last night near the dam at Ouaomana. The
day had been a mixture of stupendous views and worsening weather so we decided,
having left the views behind us, to take whatever shelter from the rain and
wind that was available.
And what weather! We’d watched the skies get ever darker
since midday. By mid-afternoon we
were looking at a deep, forbidding blue – almost black – which forecast a lot
of wet. The lightning dropping out of it confirmed that we were trapped under a
succession of big Cumulo-Nimbus that were about to “unleash hell”. So it was.
As we drove – or rather surfed – through Beni-Mellal the streets were awash.
The water was up to the wheel rims in 5 minutes, and up to
the axles of most cars after 10. The roads weren’t roads any more, but torrents
of brown water that cut off one side of the streets from the other. Not a
trickle – a raging flood. Now, it’s all very well having a vehicle that can
cope with that, but progress is only going to be at the speed of the slowest,
and when that’s a Peugeot van which is up to it’s door sills in water, that
ain’t gonna be quick.
We searched for a spot to camp which, north of the
mountains, isn’t so easy. Most flat land is cultivated or otherwise “claimed”,
but we found a note in the back of our camping guide that brought us here:
A quiet spot with a great view. Obviously little used as a
campsite, it did have the usual canine residents close by, and one that Sue
found deceased under a small pile of stones. Hadn’t been there long – a little
whiskered nose poking out of the rocks….Sue writes up the menu at each camp,
and tonight’s special has been christened Dead Dog’s Dinner…
The 9th was clear and sunny, though, and we moved
northwards towards our planned nightstop at Fes. Passing
through Khenifra and in heavy traffic, there was a crunch from the back end…It
sounded worse than it was; a little scuffed paint on the edge of the rear
corner, barely visible under the mud. The other guy wasn’t so lucky. A new and
very expensive Range Rover Evoque. Immaculate glossy black paintwork, apart
from the bit now decorated in Elly Yellow. In backing away from us he’d also
hit the car behind, so altogether a Bad Day for him. We pulled over to the
roadside to check the damage. This meant we were blocking a lane at traffic
lights, so were now not the most popular tourists in town, as the honking of
many horns was suggesting. Quickly making our minds up that 1. It wasn’t our
fault and 2. there wasn’t any significant damage, took some photos,
commiserated with the Range Rover driver and we were about to drive off when
The Law arrived in the person of a very attractive female cop. Unfortunately
she had the feeling that despite the obvious – and admitted –circumstances she
needed to check all our paperwork, and then report the incident to her
supervisor, who insisted we wait for him to come along. This took 30 minutes,
with the local drivers getting increasingly irate and the Range Rover driver
getting more agitated by the minute, waving his arms about and pointing at his
watch. We had a cup of tea, the advantage of carrying a kitchen.
Eventually Inspector Clouseau arrived, very smartly
uniformed and with lots of rank and gold braid. It took him 30 seconds to
decide we had “no case to answer” and wish us Bon Voyage.
Less than 45 minutes later and we’ve made the close
acquaintance of Mr Said B….a, a Peugeot driver whose lane discipline is as
loose as most but who chose his moment to wander from his appointed lane as we
were overtaking him. Crunch.
The result was, once again, no damage to us but a scraped
wheel arch and wing mirror for him. It took an hour to do the paperwork for
that, with Mike doing all the writing as Mr Said didn’t seem able to understand
the form written in French. Luckily we’d found the forms and downloaded them at
home, which saved a lot of grief. We parted friends, in fact. Mr Said gave Mike
a big friendly hug and an apology as we parted, and we followed him towards Fes
for the next 2 hours….with his lane discipline clearly not improved by his
recent experience. We’re still trying to contact our insurer, though.
Annoyingly the web address doesn’t work and the answerphone multi-choice
questionnaire is in French. Having selected what seemed to be the correct
option, we’re promptly cut off….ho hum.
So, Wednesday night in Fes. The site
we used some years ago had not improved. The same wolf pack prowling the
boundary and the same cold showers. Promised as “chaud” but, once again, the
boiler is inexplicably not working today. A pity, as with a little TLC it has
the potential to be a great site. We assume that because Fes
is such a popular tourist town, and Camping International is the only one in town
that’s accessible, no additional effort is required to generate a profit. Arriving
after a visit to the first Marjane in 4 weeks, it left us time to do some
housekeeping:
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| British Army issue desert boots, the finest quality money can buy, obviously. |
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