The end of the first week already -- On the road in Morocco

The beautiful blue of Chefchouan -- a natural mineral colour found in the local stone

Day 8 18 March 2011

On our way into Rabat – again.. A bit of deja vu here – but that's the way of an expedition like this..

We drive in from one idyllic spot or another to the carpark at the Marjane – the big supermarket chain in Morocco. There we make our base for the dfay – do our washing (yes – our washing gets done in a car park with the line being tied from the truck to whatever is nearby and there, for all the world to see , our washing dried in the very welcome sun.

It rained from when wee arrived in Gibraltar, across the crossing and all the way to yesterday – wet, wet wet wet cold cold cold – today about half of us have the sniffles and coughs and splutters and feeling a little sorry for ourselves – but hey! Then the sun started shining yesterday and last night we slept on a beach west of Rabat – waking up this morning with mussel pickers down there om the rocks, two exquisite white herons wading in the water that remains on the rock ledge that juts out into the sea, the white foam from the waves crasjhi9ng onto the rocks floating off in the bree3ze, the reflection of the mussel pickers and white herons a perfect reflection of the themselves. Magic.

Kyle and Graham were responsible for .last night's dinner and this morning's breakfast and we started our day with a beautiful fresh fruit salad topped with fresh yoghurt, cinnamon and Moroccan honey.

The reason for our lengthy stay in Rabat is that we needed to get the visas we need here for nthe next few countries – Mauritania, Mali and Ghana. Burkina Faso we can get gt the border. The Ghanaian embassy had decided they are not issuing visas at the moment so we will have to get those in Bamako a few weeks down the line. The Mali visas were easy – the very tall, very big, very black very friendly Mali embassy officials busy having their buttery warm croissants over the morning's newspaper while flicking through the group's passports and asking about our intended trip through the continent, our first taste of black Africa. Then off to the Mauri5tanian embassy where the entire street is lined with cars with people sleeping there in the hopes of getting into the embassy the following day for their visas. Reminded me of my days sleeping on the cold grey wet dirty pavements of Brompton Road London at 4 am along with the dregs of humanity, waiting in hope to get into the French Embassy to get a visum for a trip to France across the Channel. We take turns to do the Embassy run, so it was Elissa and Suzanne who went to pick up the visas yesterday, only to return with all the passports except for Randy's – seems nondescript, non-est, non-anything Mauritania had decided they do not particularly want to welcome the only American in our group. My heart went out to him – he had a bad day all round – feeling flu-ish, stubbing his big toe and cracking off the entire nail – leaving a trail of blood behind him in Sale, and then to return to the truck to find he had been singled out as a dodgy applicant... However, we are now on our way back in to Rabat to go remedy the situation – and hopefully we will not have to leave randy behind to wait around until Mauritanians relent and issuer him a visa for their patch of sand on the African continent – while the truck continues south on our journey.

The cemetary in Sale -- across the wadi from Rabat. The graves all point south as the dead are lain down on their right sides in order that their hearts may point in the direction of Mekka.

It is Friday evening. We are parked in a huge quarry up against the foothills of the Atlas mountains and down below is a panoramic vista that stretches to forever. The sunset brought out a few cameras and put on a spectacular show for us. There is quite a bit of mud underfoot and no doubt the loose stones will add to an interesting night's sleep. It is David and Elissa's turn to cook tonight and the sizzling pots on the two charcoal braziers are emitting a delicious aroma. What awaits us for dinner tonight, I do not know yet, but one thing is for sure – we are eating like kings. I wonder how often it happens that everyone in an overland group is a good --- and innovative chef. Thjis group most certainly has a full complement of budding Raymond Blanc's and we are enjoying beautiful meals prepared on either the charcoal burners, the three-point gas burner or a wood fire.

Over the last four days since Chefchouan we camped twice in the spectacular Samaara forest of cork trees outside Rabat. Looking more like a parkland, ir offerend a tranquil and serene setting with masses of birds singing us awake in the morning. The second night that we were there the local police decided to pay us a visit. The man in charge obviously had had a bad hair day or had shoes on that were too small: he was just plain unpleasant,.

“You can't stay here. Go. Go Go Go.” Pulling our axe from a stump of wood and throwing it through the air to slide to a stop in front of our feet where we were sitting around the fire.

“No” said our intrepid captain, Mark. “We are not going. We are camping here for the night.”

“It is too dangerous, you cannot stay here. Go Go Go”

“Where do you want us to go? “ asked Mark Berber women on their way home after a day of foraging in the maarmara forest.

“To town. There are lots of hotels there.”

“We don't have money for hotels,” said Mark “and there is nowhere in town we can park our big truck.”

In between this dialogue which was not going anywhere, the police officer was constantly on his mobile phone. A second car arrived. More police. This time all dressed as if on their way to a royal military parade, medals and shiny brass buttons.

“It is dangerous here. There are lots of bandits. In this forest”

“We can look after ourselves thank you”

One moment we realised we had no choice and some of us started to dismantle our tents. The next moment Captain Mark had dug in his heels and stood his ground and not even the tow truck and a third car full of officers could budge him. Custer's last stand. And this time Custer won.

Two of the smartly unformed and medalled officers stayed behind in one car for the duration of the night, spending a very uncomfortable and very very cold night sleeping in their car. (We did make them strong coffee with lots of sugar...)

A little kitten ran away with our hearts in the beautifully restored medrassa (Koranic school) in Meknes

21 March 2011 Old Medina, Fes

Already the 21^st! I cannot believe how time flies!

We arrived in Fes three days ago – staying at a lovely camp site outside the city, called Diamand Verte. Great to have hot water showers, but for some reason the nights are extra cold cold here – if that could at all be possible! I am now looking like the Michelin Man when I crawl into my tent at night – with every piece of clothing that I own on and a few bits and pieces more that I have been collecting along the way in the hopes of getting some warmth from them. But at least the rain has stopped and the days are glorious with the bluest of skies and almos t hot sunshine weather. Almost everyone in the group now has had or still have colds and there continues to be a lot of spluttering and sniffing and snortling going on.

But not even that can dampen the spirits of the group. Elissa continues to regale us with facts about Finland – with a quiz the following day to test our knowledge and a Finnish flag sticker to the person who gets the answers right the first. Slowly but surely we are getting to know each other better as little bits of information slips out or funny little habits and quirky little idiosyncracies starts manifesting themselves. (Still bet on this being a good group a ll the way – I know I tend to be a bit of a Polyanna in these matters, but let's see how long before I have to eat my words. I hope not before we reach Istanbul in January 2012...)

The road from Rabat to Meknes and then Volubilis was just so incredibly beautiful – breathtakingly so – with the majestic Atlas Mountains in the background, the green rolling wheatfields, Olive trees, Argan trees – and of course the decorative citrus trees, laden with rich orange fruit, enough to make your mouth water, and dotted along the countryside against the hills the mu d houses, women in the brightly coloured robes working the fields, and men riding their donkeys to who knows where. In fact, the road was so amazing that I threw a red button out the window! –

(Nici gave me a bag of red buttons – different sizes and shapes – with the instruction to leave a red button wherever there is a very special moment/memory/experience. My first red button was left behind at our fire pit in the Maarmara Forest where we spent two incredibly beautiful nights under the cork trees -- and in the rain...
I shall be leaving a trail of red buttons right through Africa – and who knows, whoever finds these buttons may then gain a whole lot of joy and pleasure from it as well!)

Question: If you lived in Fes and an old friend who is busy travelling through Africa and sleeps in a tent and has almost forgotten what it feels like to stand under a hot shower, knocks on your door to say Hi, wouldn't you offer that friend a warm bed for one night and use of their beautiful bathroom? I know I would. Perhaps that's just me.

A few glimpses of the colour and smells and sounds of Fes, the Medina and it beautiful architecture, its people -- and our own amazing photographer, Kyle who, with his South African smile, charmed his way right into the heart of the tanneries

And a last comment for today: This is quite a strange experience. Every day we are either
driving through the most amazingly Moroccan/African countryside, looking at the people who are so completely different to anyone we have ever encountered before, the houses which are so different from what we know, eating the food that have different tastes and aromas and textures, walking through medinas and experiencing a culture and traditions and hearing a language which is so foreign to where we come from, and then, every night, our little group gathers around the fire next to our truck – and we could really be anywhere in the whole world. When we sit around the fire after a good meal, the pots and pans washed, flapped dry and packed away, the rubbish cleared, everything neat and tidy, and we huddle close together around the wood fire somewhere in a campground or in a forest or in a quarry up against a hill, watching the flames and chatting about places and people that are far away, that in itself is another little world that only we live in, and that world could be anywhere, peopled with only us. Mmmmmmmm I shall try to word that thought a little more clearly at another time.

Time to catch up on a bit of letter-writing home, flapping dishes dry, waiting for the laundry to dry (at last -- sunshine and able to get some laundry done!) and sewing on a few buttons. (Randy, Orm, Graham and David)