Last week in Morocco then Spain and the Sierra Nevada.

So : Meknes...... A brilliantly central place to stay enabled me to do justice to this fascinating city with a walk through the stunning Bab Mansour gateway bringing me out in to the main square where from early evening people gather to socialise, small stalls selling a variety of street food materialise and a variety of acts from an ostrich via boxing, bands and henna stalls to monkeys and a raucous Maroc Telecom promotional van filled the evening with an atmospheric air and bustle. I walked round absorbing it all before discovering the covered market with its fabulous displays of colourful stacked spices, olives and fruits. I stopped for a spicy sausage burger loaded with coriander and eventually returned to the parking for a very good night's rest.

A long walk around the perimeter of the Royal Golf Course brought me to the site of a huge agricultural symposium with enormous marquees being erected for the big event next month - apparently it draws a million visitors annually and was initially proposed by the king to encourage new thinking towards this important element of Morocco's economy.
A little further on was the site of the now defunct Meknes campsite and nearby was the site of the old royal granary and stables. A few dirham saw me inside to first encounter enormous store rooms each with vaulted ceilings whose walls were thick enough to maintain a stable year round temperature similar to caves. In the stabling area water was raised by horse power from a huge lake alongside and apparently these impressive remains are one seventh of the original as much was destroyed by the same earthquake that raised Lisbon to the ground.
The famous mausoleum was closed for 'works' but I was more than happy to disappear in to the complex maze of streets and alleyways in the old medina that lies within the many miles of the enormous city wall.
Emerging eventually near Bab Mansour I then disappeared in to the many souks that largely divided themselves in to food selling, metal working, woodworking, jewellery and clothing and thoroughly enjoyed the immersive experience.

Back at the van I decided to stay in as the wind had picked up & indeed later there were a few showers of rain, the first for many weeks.
From Meknes I headed north east to Taounate avoiding Fez & finding some very empty roads before taking the sinuous R505 to Ketama stopping briefly at a small workshop to get the rear wheel raised so I could remove the broken spring pig tail that had been giving me an authentic Moroccan rattle over every bump for weeks.

Again the Rif were spoilt by the leering idiots in cars who overtook, slammed on the brakes gesticulated and generally acted like arses trying to sell me some hash - it is a great pity as it really does deter me from exploring what is an absolutely stunning area of mountains and valleys. There had been some heavy showers and just before Ketama a large souk was dispersing for the day with everything looking rather sodden.
I glimpsed the Med in the distance and eventually crossed the N16 as the sat nav set me on the route to Kalah Iris. WARNING - do not approach this place on the piste from the west unless you have a Unimog with the optional super low ratios and super high suspension - you will not get through. Suffice to say the many miles of steep, rough, loose piste with tight hairpins was one of the most challenging I have driven and with nowhere to turn and no hope of reversing I ploughed on absolutely astounded by the abilities of my FWD T4. From the highest point and where I could have turned round I could see the village a couple of miles further on so cautiously descended passing one section that I knew I would not be able to return up but fortunately I eventually reached the delightful Kalah Iris campsite - a small enclosed area right on the cliff edge with stunning views. The owner didn't seem to believe I had come in that way but soon had me parked up with one French, one UK and two German vans nearby.
It was a spectacular location and as the sun set fishing boats from the small port began to haul in their nets and return to base on a calm sea.

I spent the next day walking in to the village and having a sort out of tickets, vehicle import forms and the like as I had decided to head to Tangier the following day - Saturday.
Thus I was back on the N16 the following morning via a much better road and followed its swoops and curves all the way to Tetouan from where I took my first toll road - a few kilometres of motorway heading towards Ceuta with sporadic tourist development spread out along the coast. The Ceuta border point was teeming but I managed to avoid the worst and was soon on the last miles to Tangier Med with Spain and the Rock tantalisingly close.
I might have caught the 3 o'clock ferry but for the usual slow Customs Scanner so parked up as directed for the 6 o'clock departure only for us all then to be moved to another dock for loading. The FRS guy rather unexpectedly asked me for my outbound tickets but I had cleared out the last of what I thought would be unnecessary paperwork at the other dock so had to drive back there, root through the  bin and then return at speed - a good lesson learnt about being too ruthlessly tidy with documentation.

However we were all soon loaded and the last of the HGV's boarded - they seem to operate on a standby system so only load after the scheduled departure time meaning the boat is always late.
Thus it was after dark when we arrived in Algeciras and the Spanish Customs were being somewhat thorough making me a bit late to be pulling in to the camp site at Tarifa. Fortunately I knew of a large free camping area nearby and was soon parked up grateful for the self contained facilities this van provides and quietly reflective on what another superb experience Morocco had given me.
I pulled in to the campsite mid morning, put two loads of laundry in and then gave the van a good sweep out before walking out to the beach for a lingering look across to Tangiers - I will go back as the country has become very special to me but for now there were practical matters to address.
The new van has proved to be as tough and dependable as the old - my main reason for sticking with the VW T4 but the superb engine which pulls me around does not lend itself to roadside oil changes and although only due every 10,000 miles I have been away 6 months and the clock was ticking.
Thus on the Monday I set the sat nav for the VW main dealer in Malaga where the friendly Reuben booked me in for Thursday 9am. I then headed out past the airport to a motorhome dealer who allows a month's parking and the option to actually camp at either end for people returning to the UK. 70 euros seemed a good deal as he has 24 hour security and sorts out a taxi to the airport so I agreed to return the following week.

So with a couple of days to spare I headed away from the busy coast to Antequera up in the hills and parked alongside a few other vans on the edge of town. It was a lovely place to spend a couple of days with a number of beautiful churches, the impressive castle and some UNESCO dolmens a short walk out of town. With temperatures in the high 20's I was glad of a cool beer near the impressive bullring and the small fan I keep in the van. I am amazed that Spain seems to be able to employ large numbers of gardeners, street cleaners, various orders of police forces and have lively active high streets with few vacant shops, plenty of cafes and bars and the bigger supermarkets as well - it seems to contrast sharply with our rundown scene at home - where do we spend all our civic revenues?
On the Wednesday I decided to check out the Camino del Rey at El Chorro as their website seemed to indicate that every day was fully booked for weeks ahead and as I arrived I was surprised at the large number of visitors - many come up on day trips from the coastal resorts so most tickets are block booked and as I couldn't even book for when we are back in late April ( I guess because it is Easter - one of Spain's great holiday times) It will have to wait until an off season visit one winter.

I drove across a couple of the dams to find a site for lunch and then dropped down to Torremolinos where overnight parking is tolerated almost on the beach in the access spurs to an as yet unfinished housing complex. I walked along the beach with its towering hotel and apartment blocks and failed to see the attraction of this popular resort despite the long stretches of sand and the blue of the Med.
After a very quiet night I was soon booked in at the garage and two hours later for what seemed quite a wedge of wonga both oil and filter were done and I was away once more.
I had decided to return to the Alpujarras after more than a decade and after failing to find anywhere that stocked Campingaz (it was so easy in Morocco) I eventually passed through Orgiva after a fast dash along the coastal motorway. From here a steady climb brought me to the second highest village in Spain, Capileira, high above the Poqueira valley and tucked in to the slopes of the Sierra Nevada.
Above the village was a quiet parking area with extensive views back to the Med and once settled in I walked down to the 'pueblo blanco' for a refreshing beer. I had been considering a local walk along the valley but a more ambitious plan was forming and I returned to the van to consult my books, the web and my GPS.
I took the mountain road as high as is permitted and parked up. From there I cycled some 6 miles climbing 2,500' to the point where in the summer a minibus relays people for the start of the 6 mile round trip and another 2,500' walk to the summit of Mulhacen the highest mountain on the Iberian Peninsular at 3,400m. From the Mirador de Trevelez  I could see that the low winter snowfalls (as seen in the High Atlas) mean that an ascent of this summit was feasible for the following day. The return ride took twenty minutes as opposed to ninety up so I was back in time to enjoy the panoramic views from the picnic area and see the refuge warden's 4x4 pass the barrier and head on up for the weekend. Later on a few cars arrived and walkers set off on the 3 hour walk to the refuge so I expect to have company somewhere along the route.

It was a fresh night up there at around 7,000' but the Eberspacher was quietly running so all was well.







Since writing the above the mighty Mulhacen has indeed been achieved - more than a decade since my first attempt which was thwarted by high winds after a long walk up from Trevelez.
I followed the plan and rode up to the high point - the Alto de Chorillo - once more, locked the bike up and set off on the five hour return trip to the summit. Perfect conditions and an obvious path brought me to Mulhacen 2 meeting en route a guided group of young Brits who were descending and staying at the Poqueira Refuge. Shortly afterwards I spotted some shy ibex moving slowly across the stony screes.
From there another half mile and several hundred feet with the last section crossing some slushy snow brought me to the rocky summit where a couple of moufflon were in residence but otherwise I had this remarkable vantage point to myself. To the NW lay the city of Granada, to the SW the Rif mountains of Morocco were just visible, to the SE along the coast of Almeria what looked like a great band of snow was in the fact the vast expanses of polythene for the horticulture that so dominates (and ruins) that area and to the east lay the valley containing Trevelez.

The return walk was straightforward enough and the fast return by bike required an extra layer despite the clear skies and full sun.
Back at the van I decided to stay a second night and opened a bottle of red - my first wine in two months - by way of celebration but as is often the case after a day's exertion had trouble getting to sleep later that night.

So today after a comfortable night I returned to Capileira where just before the village an air ambulance was landing in a cloud of dust to meet a waiting road crew - with such slow and winding mountain roads between these villages such a service must be vital. A route through more of the pueblos blancos (Bubion, Pitres, Capilerilla and Busquistar) brought me to the campsite at Trevelez where I drove up to one of the terraces with its stunning views and pitched up.
Hook up, a tank of fresh water, and the cassette emptied put me perfectly organised to spend two nights here with the likelihood of a walk in to the village tomorrow although there is hint in the forecast of an unsettled afternoon.

With my return to the UK on Thursday this will be the last post for a couple of weeks.

Next post probably from the UK so enjoy this lot  finishing off Morocco and this lot covering Spain.