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Morocco: heading home
On a bank holiday weekend
The piste had taken about three hours but with the early start it was still morning, so on reaching Tinerhir I opened the throttle on the hamada (rocky desert) sections and headed north to Midelt and Fes. For a change I tried the R503 through Boulemane, but in my opinion it's inferior to the beautiful N13 crossing the Col du Zad to Azrou. It was another long day, but my plastic side panel was waiting for me at the Ibis in Fes.
One problem though, my tyres didn't really have enough in them to get me through France, so I got my daughter to book Monday's 1630 Britanny Ferry crossing from northern Spain. As it was now Saturday night I had one and a half days to get from Fes to Santander, a good 950 miles which also involved the exit through Moroccan customs, plus crossing the Straits of Gibraltar.
Another early start was called for, and I took the fast route up the motorway from Larache which now runs to the outskirts of Tanger. When I got to the port there was more than an hour before the ferry, so I turned back to the town and had a last tanjine.
Big mistake. When I arrived at the port again there was pandemonium. It was Easter Sunday and it looked like everyone and their mother was wanting to cross into Spain. There were two queues for passports, and Sod's law said I would chose the slowest. One guy in front on me had a bundle of 45 passports to process. The time for the ferry came and went. I had missed it. So had many others and tempers were frayed.
Humour in the face of adversity: time to get out the washing line
The next ferry to Tarifa was in an hour and a half and even then I only just made it. In a display of contemptuous bureaucracy, a black-leather coated official with designer sunglasses insisted on checking passports one at a time on the entrance to the ferry ramp.
I half expected the crowd to lynch this guy. A dozen or so bikers didn't make the ferry.
HORNS BLARING IN THE VIDEO (right click, save target to desktop, then watch from there)
Wind turbines on the hills show why Tarifa is the windsurfing capital of Europe
I snoozed on the ferry. Fortunately during the entire trip I had remained on Spanish time for my body clock, so at least I wasn't being hit with a two-hour time zone change on arrival in Spain. It was nearly 1800 hours and I now had 750 miles to do by 1530 the next day. I hunkered down and set myself up for a long ride in the dark.
I finally stopped just before midnight at a roadside cafe/hostel, was up again and on the road before dawn and made the Santander ferry with time to spare. Some good company on the ferry to Plymouth with four other GSers, three in one group, another travelling with friends, so a most enjoyable trip home.
It's now just over a week since I arrived home and I can't wait to go to Morocco again. A wonderful country, with wonderful roads and wonderful people.
Tim
On a bank holiday weekend
The piste had taken about three hours but with the early start it was still morning, so on reaching Tinerhir I opened the throttle on the hamada (rocky desert) sections and headed north to Midelt and Fes. For a change I tried the R503 through Boulemane, but in my opinion it's inferior to the beautiful N13 crossing the Col du Zad to Azrou. It was another long day, but my plastic side panel was waiting for me at the Ibis in Fes.
One problem though, my tyres didn't really have enough in them to get me through France, so I got my daughter to book Monday's 1630 Britanny Ferry crossing from northern Spain. As it was now Saturday night I had one and a half days to get from Fes to Santander, a good 950 miles which also involved the exit through Moroccan customs, plus crossing the Straits of Gibraltar.
Another early start was called for, and I took the fast route up the motorway from Larache which now runs to the outskirts of Tanger. When I got to the port there was more than an hour before the ferry, so I turned back to the town and had a last tanjine.
Big mistake. When I arrived at the port again there was pandemonium. It was Easter Sunday and it looked like everyone and their mother was wanting to cross into Spain. There were two queues for passports, and Sod's law said I would chose the slowest. One guy in front on me had a bundle of 45 passports to process. The time for the ferry came and went. I had missed it. So had many others and tempers were frayed.
Humour in the face of adversity: time to get out the washing line
The next ferry to Tarifa was in an hour and a half and even then I only just made it. In a display of contemptuous bureaucracy, a black-leather coated official with designer sunglasses insisted on checking passports one at a time on the entrance to the ferry ramp.
I half expected the crowd to lynch this guy. A dozen or so bikers didn't make the ferry.
HORNS BLARING IN THE VIDEO (right click, save target to desktop, then watch from there)
Wind turbines on the hills show why Tarifa is the windsurfing capital of Europe
I snoozed on the ferry. Fortunately during the entire trip I had remained on Spanish time for my body clock, so at least I wasn't being hit with a two-hour time zone change on arrival in Spain. It was nearly 1800 hours and I now had 750 miles to do by 1530 the next day. I hunkered down and set myself up for a long ride in the dark.
I finally stopped just before midnight at a roadside cafe/hostel, was up again and on the road before dawn and made the Santander ferry with time to spare. Some good company on the ferry to Plymouth with four other GSers, three in one group, another travelling with friends, so a most enjoyable trip home.
It's now just over a week since I arrived home and I can't wait to go to Morocco again. A wonderful country, with wonderful roads and wonderful people.
Tim
