Moroccan Marvels

The Algeciras to Tangier Med sailing across the Straits of Gibraltar went very smoothly with good views of the Rock as the Rif mountains loomed ever closer. After 90 minutes we were docking at the new container port and in contrast to the hectic chaos at Tanger Ville two years ago both our and the van customs procedures went very smoothly and we were soon on the road to Tetouan where we eventually found an ATM prepared to dispense dirhams at the rate of about 14 to the £.
The amazing roads in the  Rif climbed and swooped as we took the El Oued back road through gorges and small villages before reaching the campsite high above Chefchaouen just after dusk, despite the sat nav dumping us vertically beneath the site in a dead end construction road. Having stayed at the site two years ago I was aware of the dodgy electrics and primitive sanitation but we received a friendly welcome from the gardien and were soon installed on a terrace under the trees.
The 'blue town' was as stunning as ever and we nosed around the old medina with its narrow streets before heading out to look for an old washing machine hose that I could salvage some connectors from to make it easier to use the Moroccan tap fittings. After various comical exchanges we found a stall that had what I wanted and we later sorted a few cards and stamps for folks back home who are not online and enjoyed a meal outside opposite the old kasbah.
Our final deed for the day was to visit a tiny shack of a shop where the friendly lad sold us a Maroc Telecom USB dongle and 3G SIM, took the trouble to ensure that it worked in my old netbook and charged us the princely sum of £14 which included a month's usage up to a 10 Gb limit - amazing.
Back at the site we chatted to an Oz couple in a UK van that they had bought secondhand (or more) in London to explore the UK, Europe and for the last 3 months Morocco - whilst in the desert it had rained and they had got stuck with bridges washed away and roads cut off! They were now heading to southern Europe before moving north to Scandinavia and took on board my recommendation to do the Kystriksvein and Lofoten Islands.
After a second morning in Chefchaouen we returned via the spectacular El Oued gorge to the Mediterranean coast and then turned east following numerous hairpins and long climbs. From a lofty vantage point we were able to Skype Mum back home using the dongle and then dropped in to El Jebha where again Sarah experienced a headlong introduction in to Moroccan life and culture. In the port fishermen were busy mending nets, scruffy cafes were teeming with men doing 'business' and the market was in full swing out in the streets. We had decided to camp on a stony beach on the edge of town as a French guy in a van seemed to think it was OK and indeed despite (as he had warned us) two soldiers knocking on the door two hours after dark to see our passports all was well and we slept soundly.

Visits to Kalah Iris, another small fishing port and nearby El Torre provided stops for lunch before we climbed up and over the Rif to Targuist and then a quiet backwater to Taounate - the contrast between the rural villages and chaotic towns was startling and we filled up with diesel at 60p a litre before heading across the Rif proper towards Tazza. Up in the hills a new barrage that was absent from maps and sat nav provided we hoped a place to stay the night but as we walked the narrow but high dam walls a gendarme advised us that staying was 'interdit'.
However a couple of miles further on high above the water we found a superb vantage point and settled down under a starry sky with a few remote villages dotted across the surrounding hills.
On our way down a rough and remote dirt road to Tazza (and much to Sarah's consternation) we picked up two lads waiting for the 'Berber bus' - ramshackle old Merc vans that ply these routes overloaded with goods and passengers. They sat silently for an hour as we dropped out of the mountains and crossed the plain to the busy town - they insisted on giving us a large bag of dried figs as thanks - before we found our way out in to the Jbel Tazzeka National Park where I had last time descended the Gouffre de Friatou. The bare Chiker plateau was dotted with herds of sheep and goats each carefully watched by a well wrapped up shepherd and we eventually chose to spend the night in a picnic area well off the road and sheltered from a very strong wind by cork oaks. The setting sun was followed by a starry sky and the wind easing off leaving an overnight temperature of 8 degrees but the van staying at a cosy 20 degrees thanks to the extra insulation provided by unfurling our two thermarests and side screens to cover the windows. Half a dozen tealights added to the homely atmosphere as we started to watch a film but soon dozed off after an amazing day.
The sun soon warmed things up the following day and we were away by 8.30 only to stop fairly shortly to do one of the signed walks in the area. Sadly even here in a national park the ubiquitous litter and rubbish problem that plagues Morooco was evident. Broken bottles (many surprisingly beer or lager), plastic bags, yoghurt pots, cardboard and food waste were strewn around and the crumbling toilet blocks were beyond belief. With no bin provision or recycling facilities anywhere even we have had to resort to just burying our rubbish which leaves us feeling very uncomfortable.
On our final descent back towards the main road near Tazza we came across a market in full swing and parked up on the football patch (not a misprint). Diving in to the throng all our senses were overwhelmed by the sights, sounds and smells of food cooking, animals dying, fish melting and voices calling. Every manner of fruit, veg., ironmomgery, clothing, pulses, spices and the like were on display and we gradually built up a bag of fruit, nuts, dates and herbs before returning to the van with what for under a tenner seemed like a huge haul of goodies.
Our route south took us via Sefrou with its large city walls and again we plunged through an arch in to a maze of alleys and covered passages where again all manner of produce was on sale. Sarah coped well despite initial misgivings and I enjoyed the experience immensely as we weaved in and out eventually emerging at a small bakery where the shy Moroccan owner was delighted to sell us a box of treats. The 27 degree heat was enjoyed as we returned to the van where the gardien accepted a couple of dirham as thanks for keeping an eye on the old girl.

The road south forked an hour later and we decided to take the slighly longer route through the hills where for some miles we were behind a perilously overloaded straw lorry whose load had shifted and seemed in imminent danger of overturning. Once safely past we passed through remote and humble Boulemaine where patches of snow lay on the ground, women fetched huge loads of brash on their backs for fuel and donkeys plodded back across stony fields to tiny shacks with the next day's water.
All the time we received friendly waves and even the odd salute which left us feeling very humble at the kindness and friendship shown by such impoverished people.
The long road down to Zeida was initially an arrow straight stretch of tarmac where we reached 60mph for the first time in days but as the setting sun lined up straight in our eyes it deteriorated and became rather demanding as we passed through small villages where it was almost impossible to see the straying donkeys, dogs, children and other roadside obstacles. Coupled with numerous diversions on to muddy tracks to avoid roadworks it was a trying time, slightly alleiviated by the sun finally setting and us reaching the main road.
Zeida was a small but busy junction of two main routes harbouring numerous roadside workshops and mechanics outlets, the usual food stalls, small shops and groups of people awaiting onward connections and ten minutes further south lay the Timnay campsite rather grandly marketing itself as the Inter Cultural Tourist Complex. The camping areas were empty as we parked under the trees and connected up after a warm welcome and I was pleased that the loos and showers were actually working this time round giving us both the chance of a good freshen up.
Today we decided on an easier day so set off to find a small fort marked on the map which involved turning off the main road north of Zeida down a rough track that led in to a vast featureless plateau with bare rock, minimal vegetation and impossibly basic shacks appearing as if from the bedrock itself. The sat nav had by now gone in to withdrawal as we looped vaguley north with no sign of the fort or anything remotely like it. As we cautiously climbed out of a dry river bed the alternator light came on suddenly, followed by the loss of power steering and a loud flapping from the engine bay.
We drew up immediately and soon enough confirmed my immediate suspicion that the fan belt had shredded and in doing so had flipped off the power steering belt.
Thus we pulled in alongside a small house, drove on to our levelling ramps for improved clearance and I began to assess the situation. No real damage had been done and content that I had the tools, spares and know how to resolve the situation I donned a a protective oversuit as the dry ground was rough and dusty. A few local children, some youths and the family from the house came out to see the excitement and Sarah managed to engage them in a mixture of French and English as I removed the engine tray. The new belt sourced in the UK turned out to be 5cm too long ( Lesson 1 : never just trust your local motor factors to give you the right part.) but fortunately I had an old spare tucked away which was soon fitted. The power steering pulley is a V shape and splits in to two with shims to act as adjusters and proved quite tricky to separate as I improvised with other tools to stop the pulley spinning freely. However with perseverance the job was done and we ready to leave. The family had brought out a bag of almonds and apples for us and wanted us to go back for tea but we thanked them profusely and gave all the kids pens and the father a spare pair of boots of mine as we felt that their gifts were a major part of their farm income before setting off to waves and smiles all round.
After lunch in the hills we dropped back to Zeida where I asked in a small 'Pieces D'Autos' shack if they had another belt. He hadn't but seemed to think we would get one elsewhere in town. After stopping outside a small mecanique's shopfront the owner took the shredded belt and disappeared in to the back streets emerging 5 minutes later with a new belt of the correct size for the princely sum of £7. No doubt I could have haggled over the price but it is not something I feel comfortable with out in the sticks for something essential so we shook hands and were on our way.
Timnay's restaurant produced a delicious chicken couscous for Sarah and kebabs for me for £14 all in after which we retired to the cosy confines of the van after what if you remember had been intended to be an easier day!!


Lethargic wifi has finally uploaded some pictures here and our occasionally somewhat isolated locations can be viewed here - we head south again tomorrow with rain forecast for Tuesday but who knows.