Morocco (1)

	With our new sprung suspension and electronic ignition we drove from Zuric to Genova in an afternoon and evening, sleeping at the port in a truck park. On buying the tickets, there was an offer on for camper vans with first class accommodation, Julie's eyes lit up and I could see tiny visions of luxury cruises swimming in the back of her eyes. I was however thinking more along the lines of something less than a Formula1 motel. I was aiming a little high. I remember travelling to Ireland by ferry when I was a child, grubby carpets and dirty paintwork, but this had something else I cannot explain, a kind of African dereliction that reminded me so much of first class on the Mombasa-Niarobi express. Broken I can accept, but unclean just gets on my tits a little. We both managed to fall ill by the evening of the first day, Julie had ordinary flu but I had very bad Man flu. I’m not sure if we caught it off the old sea-sick stains on the wall, or just being foreign blood in a new culture, but combined with loud Arabic music and smoke from the bar below, huge seas, poor ventilation, and regular barking tannoy, I’ve had better nights.



					By the end of the second day we decided a change of room was in order, the staff were very understanding and after a couple of Paracetamol the second night passed far more comfortably. We shared our dining table with a lovely Italian couple called Franca and Gianni, they were on there third trip to Morocco in their motorhome and speaking French between us we made good friends and learnt a lot about Morocco.


	We had been told so many horror stories of how much hassle and time it takes to enter via Tangers that when we left the port after only 30mins and with very little stress we were rather surprised (even more surprised that they didn’t mention the moped). So much as well for not looking Military, as we arrive in the port we get saluted twice and shot at with fingers.

	It was dark so we just tailed Gianni and Franca to a free campsite at Larache right on the junction of the Autoroute exit and joined them for supper and a glass of Chateau Neuf. I was amazed that the free campsite had hot showers, but then not surprised that they were not working, but still a hot bucket of water is better than a cold one (unless you scald your newly liberated frostbitten toe)

	On the way to Fez we nearly killed a man. Whilst cycling along a dangerously strait section of road in particularly dry conditions the wee man managed to sprawl his entire body across our side of the road. As the 4 tonne monster bore down on him he did that cartoon thing of swimming madly in one spot on the tarmac with eyes on stalks. We stopped in at Mekenes briefly to collect a couple of items.


	In the Camping International at Fez we met two fantastic couples. Campbell and Linnéa, they were emigrating from Biggar to SA where Linnéa is originally from and Leon and Claire from Holland who were trying to find the warmest route to India. Unfortunately when we arrived Campbell and Linnéa were being subjected to the African ‘sting’. They had broken down on the road and were then delivered into the hands of mechanics arranged by the site manager. The clutch lever had broken inside the housing and needed replacing. So the sting goes like this. ‘Sir your clutch is broken you need a new clutch plate’ (first lie, the plate was 2 months old and fine), you give me 6800Dhm and I will get you another (second lie, new plate 1800Dhm, a difference of £300). So then they welded the clutch lever because they couldn’t find a replacement and pocket the original plate as pure profit.

	Thankfully Leon was on their shoulder throughout the whole deal. As the mechanic had hidden the plate above the axle wrapped in a t-shirt, speaking in Dutch he directed Claire to swipe the plate when he shone his torch in the mechanics eyes (pure Bond). When the mechanic realised the plate was gone he went for the other classic African sting and opened the air bleed screw on the diesel injector. ‘Sir your car still has a problem, I can fix it for you’. Again as Leon was still on guard he spotted the obvious and the mechanic was sent packing. Amazingly he managed to recoup the majority of his money and so really just paid for a spare clutch plate. Whilst all this was happening we managed some fairly major alterations to the truck. We removed the bike, the back chassis extention and water tank to get as much weight of the rear springs as possible. (Sorry Glynn, but we were dragging our ass like a dog with worms!) We flogged the bike and got our money back on it, apologies to Lucy’s brother who was looking forward to photos of the bike in exotic places, not just under some fat Moroccan’s arse. What was fantastic was to have our first night around a campfire with other overlanders spinning yarns in Africa. You make new friends so quickly when travelling.