Leaving Chefchauen

The blue mosquito proofing of the painted medina was even more striking the in the bright sunlight. Abdul the receptionist was a gem and over breakfast we were briefed on a potted political history of Morocco, bringing us right up to date with the current Gaddafi situation. Climbing the tower of the 17thC Kasbar lifted our view out of the medina and presented the a lush green carpet beyond the dazzling city, watched over by the cloud topped Jebel El-Kelaa. On the way back down two giggling Moroccan girls asked for a photo but things rapidly turned in to a photo shoot in one of the side rooms, had they mistaken us for Boris Becker and Lenin?


As we rode through hills and valleys further south it was a good example of what can be done with irrigation; rusted orange car engines with long flapping drive belts pumped water from the rivers to fields of yellowy green crops while round about the sun was baking the hard soil and crisp vegetation. Off the main road the surface varied from deeply potted and ribbed Tarmac to baked earth and dusty gravel, a great gentle introduction to some mixed surface riding for us two 'newbs'!

When we stopped to check directions to Beni-Ahmed some friendly lads in yet another white mercedes van were concerned the bikes wouldn't make it through the river ahead, we were very proud to demonstrate our new found skills from the previous Drumclog testing sessions back home and a great bow wave of cool water in to and scrabbling out of the river bed was accompanied by cheers from the lads and a group of kids. The mercedes then proceeded to lumber through the rocks making it look like our own efforts had been quite a song and dance by comparison! We tortoise and hared them down the road for a few tens of kms, always with big friendly smiles waves and shouts as they bounced around the roof rack of the unstoppable great beast. I'll remember the smiles from today for a long time, everyone we met, to ask directions, who popped out a field or appeared in the middle of taking a leak(!) had time for a friendly chat, to offer help and to share a joke, all without a word of a common language! All very warm, all very genuine, brilliant people.
-Olly

The heat and the concentration on the road surface made it appear like the kilometres must have been flying by but when we checked the map we were less than even a quarter of the way to fez where we had planned to spend the night! Finally the road dropped out of the mountains towards a large green lake now beginning to shimmer in the early orange stages of the sunset. Ourtzarh seemed a good option for maybe breaking the ride and to avoid riding the remaining 80kms to fez in the dark. The last thing we expected down the sandy main street was the smell of popcorn and candyfloss quickly followed by dodgems and teacups! Unfortunately no hotel or even camping promised by the road signs so we had no option but to press on. I've never been keen on riding in the dark as I've ridden on dusty potholed roads in Mongolia before with with no idea where you are really going, plus the hunger and lack of energy meant I really wasn't enjoying it. My visor breaking earlier in the day just added to the spice of the whole thing! We stopped for a short bit when the road split with no signs and I suddenly realised how I was desperately lacking energy; a tasty but small breakfast of coffee, pain au chocolat and honey was long gone and my body was starting to shut down. It was a long crawl back to the main road over the remaining rocks and potholes but the free gps map eventually guided us in towards the medina. What followed was a scooter versus motorcycle dogfight of 'hey you want hotel!' through the narrow streets. It's was great to realise the rider we rejected was touting for the hotel we had already chosen and the receptionist called him in to translate! His later request for a 'gift' confused us when he rejected the idea of a few Dihrams, 'no, no, trainers or maybe fancy watch from your country'. From his expression the Walkers shortbread I'd brought to represent the national produce of Scotland seemed to fall a little short of his expectations.
-Robin