Way up High - Way Down South

A night in Marrakesh was enlivened by meeting a couple from Dumfries who have travelled extensively in South America - most notably perhaps with a motorbike and side car - and I hope to catch up with them in the UK to extract even more info.
Heading up over the Tizi n Tichka pass I was again crossing the High Atlas this time N-S but took a side turning to Telouet where I spent a  memorable night alongside the remarkable kasbah - slowly crumbling away but with a decorative inner sanctum that defies belief - the kasbah that is, not me. A Swiss couple had learned of a working salt mine nearby and we set off to find it - tucked away in barren mountains a few guys were drilling a seam of pure salt perhaps a foot thick working by gas light in primitive conditions - awesome.
I carried on down the valley which had a surfaced track contrary to the guidebooks' descriptions and passed through a remarkable landscape of rocky valleys, arid mountains and mud walled villages. A student was hitching some 20km home and on arrival I was invited in to meet her 8 siblings and various aunts before being fed with fresh bread, olive oil and honey whilst the kids sat equally fascinated.
A night on a site in Agdz was the introduction to the vast palmeries of the Draa valley which I then followed for many miles south crossing other mountain ranges to pass through Zagora and reach the edge of the Sahara at Mhamid where I experienced the vast stillness that settles over that endless landscape at dusk. 
Dawn of course saw the eerie call to prayer of the small mosque and I was soon heading north again as further exploration is the remit of the 4x4 or camel. Remarkably the Draa had been running south as well and disappears here only to reappear on the Atlantic coast  some 300 miles away. Passing the many kasbahs and palmeries once more I picked up a serene old guy hitching to Zagora who sat contentedly in the back and just gave a single wave as I dropped him off - the experience would be akin to me joining a Martian spaceship briefly and yet he seemed totally at ease with the situation.
After a longish day I parked up in the grounds of the Soleil Bleu Riad where camping was permitted - it had the best loo and shower facilities since leaving Marvao in Portugal a month ago and even with power was under £5 for the night.

The Gorges du Dades was spectacular but for the first time in a fortnight overcast conditions washed out much of the colour of the dramatic landscape as I climbed steadily up to Msemrir where the mostly surfaced road petered out. I did a few more miles of rough stuff but met two shepherds on mules who doubted I would get up to Agoudal. This was confirmed later in the day by a Belgian mountain biker who turned up - he had had to carry his bike in numerous places due to winter washouts and storm damage. Back in Msemrir a group of over enthusiastic kids managed to break my wing mirror glass as they scrambled for a pen each - they were hugely apologetic and looked terrified but later I made an invisible repair worthy of any garage with my shaving mirror and retraced my steps to spend the night in the gorge alongside a small hotel with 2 South Africans in a T5 plus Oz tent, a Dutch couple in a lime green micro caravan, 2 Irish guys in a hire car and 3 Spaniards.
Surprisingly there was light rain overnight but clearer skies in the morning persuaded me to head back up the gorge to retake my photos - which were enhanced by the fresh snow on the highest tops. The friendliness of the kids up in these mountains is remarkable - they have so little and yet always smile and wave - similarly the women folk who are hard at work fetching forage for the livestock, loading donkeys with firewood, washing huge rugs in the rivers or working the tiny patches of fertile ground dotted around the valley floor. Most people travel in the   ramshackle vans that ferry goods, people and livestock around and a lift is always appreciated as there are no fixed schedules to these 'berber taxis'. The stark landscape was some of the most impressive so far with the road zig-zagging between high barren mountain ranges linking up the dusty mud walled houses that formed the numerous small hamlets. Newer unfinished buildings were dotted around and the small bars and cafes all offered basic camping where space permitted so a return for longer next time is planned as the area has much potential for a little later in the season.
Tinerhir some 50km east has provided a place to catch up on the internet, source a slightly better wing mirror glass, chew the cud with a well travelled Ozzie guy on a 3 year cycling trip round Europe and North Africa ( and lose heavily at Scrabble) whilst a storm that came down from the High Atlas blew itself out to leave a fresh and starry night which bodes well for my exploration of the Todra Gorge as I enter my final week in this truly remarkable country.

The piccies HERE should give you a flavour of the past week and my whereabouts are revealed HERE

Half Way

Two weeks in to my month here and I shall be very keen to come back for longer next time as the country sits very easily with hassle free travel.
Leaving Zaida I took a back road across the Midi Atlas passing through Aghbala - probably the most chaotic place I had passed through to date. Stunning mountain scenery gave way to El Ksiba via a tortuous descent but with the planned stopover venue closed I carried on through to Beni Mellal navigated at dusk as the huge souk was packing up - mayhem.
Another climb in to the mountains found me a quiet corner before en route to the remarkable Cascades d'Ouzoud I picked up two hitch hikers Patrick from Poland and Lisa from Taiwan who both had good English and made good company for 24 hours. The falls were impressive and fairly quiet - I stayed overnight in a shady olive orchard for £2.
Marrakesh was left for another time as I passed by heading for the coast - a good site south of Essaouira did the job - power, a shower and a chance to hand wash some clothes.
The coast south to Agadir was sublime and a small site at Imsouane will definitely be one to return to. A transition to even hotter climes was marked by the appearance of camels and banana plantations and the sun continued to beat down from dawn to dusk reaching the mid thirties in the afternoon.

Taroudant provided a fascinating glimpse in to life in the kasbah with all manner of trades carried out in small open fronted workshops - I soaked up the atmosphere during a two hour wander before heading off to the notorious Tizi n Test pass.
A remarkably engineered road snaked its way to 2100m where I stopped at the small cafe and decided it would be a perfect place to stay. The Berber family I had picked up asked me to take them another 20km but as I had brought them 30k I stuck to my guns - they were soon on one of the precariously overloaded lorries however - I guess they just got used to the comparative luxury.
A three hour walk to a nearby summit provided dramatic views down in to the valleys of the High Atlas - this south side sees little snow but I decided against further exploration this time as my left knee was causing concern again despite almost a fortnight's rest.
Today I have returned briefly to Marrakesh to restock cupboards in a largish supermarket - the descent from Ijoukak to Asni proving exhilerating. The Tin Mal mosque, a souk in Ijoukak and the stunning mountains all made for a memorable day.
Now I head over the Tizi n Tichka to Ouarzazate and the south - proper desert they say - with the Draa Valley the next major destination.
Photos covering some of the highlights appear HERE and the usual locations are transmitted daily (or more) HERE
Any news or views always welcome via email - I will be back in 6 weeks time to catch up properly!

Moroccan Meanderings

After a smooth crossing enlivened by the grounding of a large German van on boarding I entered the frenetic customs entry point where despite having filled in online and printed off the relevant forms there was some delay due to a 'computer malfunction'. A friendly young gendarme also had most of the cupboards out and took a liking to one of my many torches but was content with a fancy pen whilst the other various 'helpers' were content with a basic biro and eventually I was off in to the late afternoon traffic of Tanger. The sat nav soon had me up a blind alley behind a military complex surrounded by goats but eventually took me to a bank where 500 euros became 5500 dirham. Cape Spartel provided a first stop and a chance to reduce the larger denomination notes a little by having a meal in the cafe overlooking the lighthouse where another huge camper got rather stuck in  the small car park.
Further down the coast at Asillah I stopped on the edge of town with a few other vans and walked in to explore the busy centre and narrow confusing medina. A noisy street procession of drummers and dancers combined with the myriad of tiny colourful shops, street stalls and the profusion of exotic aromas made for an amazing first encounter as I strolled around until well after dark. The guardien's fee of £2 seemed reasonable and I spent a comfortable first night.
Heading south on Saturday torrential rain turned many roads in to muddy pools and the towns were a mass of mud and debris - I stopped mid afternoon at a small campsite near Moulay Idris and the Roman ruins of Volubilis to give it time to clear and soon after saw the large Silverstream caravan I had passed earlier pull in - a cumbersome combination on anything other than main roads.
A perfect day dawned for my walk around the impressive Roman remains - I arrived long before anyone else and the friendly guide was a fount of knowledge - most of which I could understand as French is widely spoken. Moulay Idris nearby draped itself over a rocky hill and made for an interesting explore before I headed off to find a supposed campsite in Meknes. Located near the old royal palace both had obviously not seen occupation for many years so I continued on towards Khemisset where a picturesque lake provided a good wild pitch which once the many friendly picnicing families had gone at dusk was very peaceful.

I then headed out on minor roads to cross the Midi Atlas entering a high barren limestone landscape with some pine forests, rough grazing and numerous herds of sheep tended by young boys who were always ready with a friendly wave. Their Berber camps were rough and simple - tarpaulins stretched over wooden frames and various donkeys, poultry and dogs scuffing around in the dust. At the Azigza Lake I decided it would be a perfect place to stay the night and was rewarded by a troupe of Barbary apes playing in the pines in a quiet corner. In a very humbling encounter a nervous young Berber mum came over with her 8 year old son who had toothache - with no dentist for 40 miles, only a donkey for transport and probably no funds she was very distressed and there was little I could do but give her some of my painkillers for him - it must have taken great courage for her to approach me and I felt very sorry for them both.
I visited the source of Morocco's largest river with its spread of tea shops and stalls having given a couple of locals a lift there - hitching and overcrowded pick ups (the Berber taxis) are the default mode of transport in these isolated areas
The sat nav developed a serious case of Tourettes as I tried to find my way across the ranges following successively rougher tracks with washouts, landslips, erosion, fords, gullies and debris all slowing my progress. The van performed beyond all expectation but we were finally defeated by a snow drift which although not too bad showed no sign of other tracks and I decided to return to the lake for another amazing night. The temperature at this altitude (5/6000') dropped to minus 2 but I was 'cosy as' thanks to down bags, insulation and a dozen tealights - the same dog slept alongside all night and was rewarded with a hunk of bread and pate.
Today has seen a successful route across incredibly barren mountain scenery to Zaida where I have stopped at a small but surprisingly smart campsite (by the standards of the region). Berber camps miles from anywhere on almost bare ground with patches of snow confounded belief as to how they survive - very much on a par with the indigenous people of Australia's red centre with which, apart from the mountains, this landscape shares many similarities.
 En route in a small village I consumed a delicious and filling lamb tajine whilst alongside a driver removed his lorry's gearbox and a guy cut up a large beef carcass - so much of this reminds me of my time cycling round India 25 years ago with the same friendly people who seem so much more at ease than the people back home despite having so little. A tankful of diesel cost less than half the UK price, lunch was £3 and the camping with (unexpectedly) hook up about £6 so life on the road remains particularly cheap and certainly very cheerful.
Anyway piccies HERE will give you some idea and my location will be reported daily HERE which updates every time I send a message.

Things Hot Up

Leaving the cork oaks and vines behind the Serra da Monchique hills were an almost deserted rolling landscape of umbrella pines and eucalyptus with evidence of the damaging wild fires that hit the area a year or two back rapidly disappearing under a swathe of luxuriant new growth. The sandstone fort of Silves dominated the landscape whilst further on the sleepy border village of Alcoutim belied its former role as a smuggling centre for goods boated across the Guadiana.
The town of Riotinto was a former source of mineral wealth with a huge expansion in to opencast mining as a result of RTZ's development which included the construction of a British style Victorian housing estate with tennis courts, bowling greens and a polo field that sits bizarrely to this day in the dry Spanish hills. 
Heading south towards Seville I stopped to explore the walled town of Niebla where the storks were making seemingly precarious use of the fort turrets and church towers to construct their nests - smaller bird then build theirs in the ramshackle collection of sticks and debris.
Seville was the largest city seen this year and the sat nav took me swiftly and accurately through the network of  roads - in contrast to rural Portugal when on a couple of occasions I had been merrily led in to the middle of horticultural units or unmade dead ends.
Vejer la Frontera sat high up on a hill was pleasantly cool and refreshing as by now the weather had turned to hot sunshine and clear blue skies in marked and welcome contrast to the last fortnight.
Down at Tarifa I pulled in to Rio Jara - Europe's most southerly site -  having already had a rather awesome view across the Straits of Gibraltar to the Rif Mountains of north Morocco. The huge expanse of beach gave way to a narrow stretch of water through which an endless line of enormous vessels were slowly threading their way between the Atlantic and the Med. Amazingly the van had passed this way to and from Australasia and I well remember following the container online as it headed towards Suez.
A cycle in to Tarifa enabled me to price my ticket and watch one of the large cat ferries arrive after which I, returned to the site to give the van a discrete oil and filter change, check over the bike and service the genny.
The following day I purchased my tickets and explored the old medina quarter behind Tarifa's old walls - the remnants of Moorish rule very evident here with a maze of back streets, shaded squares and a strong whiff of the changes to come as spices, herbs, incense and oils were on sale in many of the small shops. Back at the van I completed the Moroccan vehicle import forms online and then printed them off which should make life easier on arrival. Two last loads of washing were done and hung out to dry - at 2pm the temperature was sitting at a rather comfortable 30 degrees with a gentle cooling breeze coming off the Atlantic
Today - Thursday - has been a day of exercise with two bike rides in the cooler parts of the day exploring the local hills and beaches : at one point the council were dealing with a huge drift that had put 60' of sand across the road for a mile or so between lines of the distinctive umbrella pines - no schools were closed though.
My ferry sails at midday on Friday giving me time to do a major food shop - mostly non perishables as back up - with a journey time to Tanger Ville of around an hour which given the prevailing conditions should be perfect. Around the site are a few other vans heading the same way - perhaps most intriguing a 6' Italian in a small Renault Kangoo kitted out as a rather compact camper with, according to his stickers, Mauritania his destination. Another somewhat dented VW T5 has a Camp Gambia sticker so clearly there is potential for further adventure on a return trip.
For now though I look forward to a fact finding month with the usual flexible itinerary and a return on my 53rd birthday in March. I have no idea what internet access will be like so monitoring my progress will rely on clicking here to see what should be daily Spot messages. 
Pictures are up to date here but as to the next blog update - well watch this space.
Last but not least HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my brother and our father who celebrate over these last days of January - save a beer for me!

Storming South

Camping Asseiceira is one of those places where life sits so comfortably that moving on takes something of an effort. Well serviced and maintained it sits in a peaceful part of traditional rural Portugal with much to do in the surrounding area - thus my planned two nights drifted in to four. At the Sunday social gathering  I spoke at length to a couple who had sold up in Kent and now run the main campsite on Mull but hope to travel full time at the end of that contract - as proud owners of a large and thirsty Winnebago with an  'A' frame car towed behind it will be rather a different style of trip to my compact arrangements.
On the Monday a meandering bike ride through rural lanes and tracks passing cork oaks, olive groves and grazing goats brought me round to Beira whose unused station walls display a remarkable collection of painted tiles displaying local scenes. I saw these four years ago and was pleased that they still survive although I wonder for how much longer as the tracks are unlikely to spring back in to life. Lunch in the sun by an old ford was followed by a number of punctures as the strong winds had brought down thorny debris from I think the oaks but all were swiftly dealt with and I returned to the site on a warm afternoon after five hours in the saddle.
A blustery Tuesday saw me drive round to Castelo da Vide for a shop before it cleared up in time to walk that afternoon and then do some hand washing.
A wild Tuesday night saw trees down when I left on Wednesday heading for the coast passing orange and lemon trees in full fruit and almond trees in blossom - early spring flowers were also blooming and it turned noticeably milder as I clocked up the miles. A rare L'Eclerc supermarket enabled me to buy 4 inner tubes, a pack of patches and a spare pump so I can resume exploring again - for the Portugese these large and sophisticated malls are totally at odds with their traditional retail outlets - tiny non descript shops with limited stock and opening hours.
The pounding Atlantic breakers rolled in as I parked up at Vila Nova de Milfontes for lunch and later they could be seen crashing far below as I parked up just south of the Cabo Sardao lighthouse a few miles down a cliff top track for a memorable night as the sun set way out west.
Following the coast south I visited Zambujeira Do Mar and the many small coves and extensive beaches that  are reachable by rough tracks. West of Aljezur I stopped again for the night high above the sea and walked south to an abandoned cliff top village before another very wild wild pitch as the strong winds persisted.
After calling in at exposed but dramatic Cape St Vincent I have headed inland to the Serra De Monchique and will continue to head east over the next day or two - progress can be followed by clicking here and a few piccies - limited by the unsettled conditions are here.

Any Port(ugal) in a Storm

Leaving the Galician coast I cut across to the impressive Garganta de Cil and followed a narrow road winding its way high above the swirling waters. Eventually I picked up the motorway to head swiftly east and arrive at Sanambria just north of the border. A site that claimed to be open 'todo el anno' was unsurprisingly shut so I tucked away in a lakeside picnic area as it was getting a bit dark to be moving on. Breakfast after a peaceful night was interrupted by the arrival of first one and then a second police car - apparently the area was a national park and camping not permitted. I pointed out my 2013 guide listing the supposedly open site and confirmed I would be moving on soon which seemed OK and after taking my personal and vehicle details off they went. An hour later I spotted them in the local town and received a friendly wave so all was well.
Crossing in to Portugal on a minor road in to the Montesinho National Park subtle changes rapidly became apparent - smaller villages with narrow cobbled streets, mostly traditional stone cottages, donkeys standing patiently with carts and even more obscure shops and businesses tucked away unsigned behind door curtains. Braganca's mighty castle and walled old town provided interest whilst in the empty church excitement was provided by a large candle in the nativity scene which had toppled over and was in danger of setting the whole place on fire - disaster was swiftly averted!
The upper reaches of the Douro form part of the 'port' producing vineyards with small terraces of vines clinging to the granite strewn countryside but very little in the way of dwellings or populace. A good vantage point at Lagacoa looked across the Douro in to Spain whilst Castelo Rodrigo provided another walled old town of considerable character and the star fort at Almeida a defensive structure of considerable size before I passed a quiet night tucked away in an old loop of the recently straightened  road. 
Heading towards the Serra Da Estrela a smartly dressed guy was hitching a lift so I stopped - he had missed the only bus that day to Guarda which was on my way so a rather stilted conversation about football ensued - my knowledge of Portugese exceeds my knowledge of football so it was something of a non starter.
Outside Manteigas a site looked closed but the girl in the adjacent ski slope's reception seemed happy to open it up and I took off in to the mountains reaching the summit of Torre (Portugal's highest mountain) at just under 6000' with plenty of snow and a thick mist. Dropping down the remarkable glacial Zezere Valley I returned to the site where the power but not the hot water was on - and even then  the power was only sufficient to run the fridge and lights as switching on the kettle or fire tripped the fuses : hey ho!
An unsettled day dawned making further exploration of the mountains pointless so I headed out on a circuit to explore a succession of old walled villages with a variety of castles, forts, keeps and churches : Belmonte, Sortelha, Sabugal and Penamacor arriving finally at Monsanto. Here on a wild night I tucked away in a small car park as the heavens opened in the heaviest rain of the trip so far.
The following morning roof tiles were on the ground and branches down as I headed south east at one point rounding a bend to meet an HGV lying on its side with its pallets spilling out of the curtain sides. The driver was OK and on his phone so there seemed little point in stopping lest football became the topic once more and I continued cautiously across the Beira Baixa landscape of olive trees, granite boulders and some pasture where sheep and cattle had their backs turned to the surprisingly strong wind. In many cases shepherds were tucked in to boulders or walls as here they still follow their flocks during the day - a lonely and tough occupation at this time of year.
Briefly re entering Spain I stopped for lunch by the large graceful bridge across the Tajo before picking up the return route in to Portugal's Ribatejo Alto and a familiar route in to Marvao.
I last visited 4 years ago and was pleased to see that Camping Asseiceira was as unspoilt as ever tucked away in the quiet countryside of olive groves and tiny farms. Gary explained that the stormy weather had been affecting most of central Portugal but was due to abate soon and I was soon pitched up with 4 other campervans - the first I have seen since leaving the Picos, apart from, bizarrely, two ladies from Carmarthen parked up in Belmonte and heading for the Dordogne.
The power was out locally but the excellent new facilities block still had plenty of hot water from its solar array and after a couple of hours the lights also flickered back in to life and all was well. It would be very tempting to stay here for a few weeks as the site, host and surroundings are all excellent and indeed I plan to return this way after Morocco as it would be good to do the Estrela properly, take a nose at the Peneda - Geres NP and then cross the Cantabrian ranges for another dip in the Picos.
However for now it's chill time - a few tweaks to the bike, a service of the genny, some online research and imminently a social gathering in Gary's cosy house on a slightly damp but mild and overcast day.
I became aware of the startling variety of doorways in the old villages so apologies if they rather dominate the pictures to be found by clicking here but no such quirks affect the eye in the sky found by  clicking here.
Onward plans include a return to the unspoilt Atlantic south west coast of Portugal for a few days wild camping before a whiz east via Seville to Gibraltar to book my ferry and possibly a diversion to Salobrena if time permits.
Snow bound Wales seems a long way away but surprisingly my trip as far as it is planned is already one third completed - ooeerrr.

Summits to Seas

Reluctantly I left the Picos behind with plenty to do on a return visit - a final climb up to Covadonga Lakes passing the beautiful church reaffirmed what a superb area this has been and indeed the final departure through the Desfiladeros de Los Beyos was a fitting climax with tiny Soto de Sajambre's access through a tight tunnel adding a final flourish.




There : bet that woke you up -  a random image from the past!



Anticipating something of an anticlimax I was soon somewhat in awe of the rest of the Cordillera Cantabria as I descended in to a lonely high mountain landscape of remote villages, isolated farms and endless snow capped craggy summits. Travelling as I was east to west involved numerous tortuous climbs to cols around 4000', as the valleys generally run north to south but the van seemed to take it all in its stride and I made good progress. Reluctant to get stranded if it snowed I found a low level spot to spend the night and was pleased  I had as the little drizzle that fell would certainly have put a thin layer of ice on the remote top roads that would be unlikely to see the attention of gritters any time soon.
Another vias verde - the Senda De Oso - passed a large bear sanctuary whose occupants are normally hibernating at this time of year in observation pens alongside the 40,000 square metre compound. However the mild weather had woken them from their slumbers and one was idly mooching around in the paddock - an impressive sight. Rather too good a lunch saw me wobbling back the last two hours before a quiet night was spent in the village square of  San Martin.
Crossing more dramatic scenery with tiny hamlets and farms clinging precariously to the steep rocky landscape took me across to the Navia Valley and a descent to the coast from where a quick blast along the motorway had me in Galicia where the Roncadoira lighthouse  provided another memorable wild pitch with numerous small boats out in the bay and a few larger vessels riding at anchor.
Following the coast round included a series of beautiful beaches, rocky headlands, sublime views and a lonely cemetery containing the graves of British sailors lost with the sinking of  HMS Serpent in November 1890 off the treacherous Costa De Morte . 
A suitably dramatic burst of squally weather marked my arrival at Cape Fisterra after which I  turned up at a small campsite near Muros. Although supposed to be open all year it seems deserted but I have pitched up as the wifi and water are on although the hook ups and showers are not. Thus the genny is purring away quietly as after quite a few nights 'off grid' my leisure battery needs a top up - it isn't dark here until 6pm but similarly doesn't get light until well after 8am so keeping amused takes a fair old toll on its capacity. DVD's have been watched, local TV, news and weather forecasts consulted and the blog, diary and photos edited regularly - these tasks combined with the planning of routes and activities plus all the usual domestic paraphernalia fill the evenings whilst I still have a day once every week or so to do laundry and just rest a little - something I have had to adapt to over the last year or so.
Anyway piccies acqui and locations acqui tambien - Portugal beckons mid week - now that really will be a linguistic challenge.......