Back home through history.

My slow meander north enjoying some of the best that France had to offer continued as I crossed the Loire and picked up a number of voies vertes that provided memorable rides. A mystery with navigation in the van was solved when I realised that as I was inputting the Lat and long coordinates for overnight aires I was forgetting my proximity to the Greenwich Meridian which meant I overlooked the E/W element of the location!

The spectacular TGV was enjoyed from a bridge vantage point before I reached Normandy where with the 75th D Day celebrations approaching there was much activity - numerous historic military vehicles were assembling in the area as world leaders were due to gather later that week and along one cycle route there was an interesting display of old photos relating to the liberation of the local area.
A VV out to spectacular Mont St Michel was a long day (80m) and the destination in its modern form came as something of a shock - when I last visited 32 years ago in a Morris Minor van the shore was a hauntingly beautiful but desolate expanse of low lying marshland with the iconic village in the distance - now there is a massive tourist infrastructure of accommodation, eateries and massive car parking plus the frequent shuttle buses that run visitors across the short causeway - whilst no doubt MSM itself has been preserved I think the new developments have taken away from the mystical atmosphere.

A day sailing to Portsmouth was smooth and enjoyable with a good view of the English preparations for the same event and the various ships around historic Portsmouth plus the latest addition to our fleet looked sublime under a setting sun. With no issues at Customs I headed north, a journey enlivened by the van smoke detector shrieking for half an hour as trapped by roadworks in a contraflow I was unable to silence the offending device. Once home a blow out of Moroccan dust restored the thing to working order.

After a good sort out of  the van - much needed after 8 months away - we headed down to Clyro where the 2019 Horizon's Unlimited UK gathering was a great success despite unsettled weather. Some inspiring presentations and the excellent venue made for a great event and my humble submissions seemed to attract favourable comment.

Back in Sheffield I ordered various parts for the van before taking off to Snowdonia, Lake Vrynwy and the bothies of mid Wales for a look round. With two new bothy projects on the horizon it is an area I will no doubt return to in the near future. The existing bothies were in good order and after a couple of days at Llangurrig I headed to Brecon and then Abergavenny to meet Mandy off the train.
This was in preparation for an RV with friends from Bristol at Rhandirmyn where in sweltering conditions we enjoyed good walks including a visit to Moel Prysgau to clear rubbish and check things out prior to the August work party. We even enjoyed a dip in the river as the sun beat down. A tough bike ride through the Cambrian Mountains was hugely enhanced by meeting up with members of the Elenydd Wilderness Trust who had had an AGM at the Dolgoch hut and were happy to offload teas and cakes.

A quick trip to the Upper Swansea Valley allowed a catch up with friends from my old neck of the woods before we crossed the Western Brecon Beacons and headed up to Tregaron for a walk round the Cors Carron bird Reserve.

Two nights at my favourite hideaway gave us a chance to cool off in the ponds before heading north to call in on Penrhos bothy before staying on the shores of the Trawsfynydd Lake. This is another very special place, now with new owners, and we enjoyed the perimeter cycle ride, reflected on the lengthy timescale required to decommission an ageing nuclear reactor and enjoyed refreshments at the waterside cafe before heading back to Yorkshire.

A busy weekend was spent clearing the house in preparation for a complete rewire and once our plans had been given to Andy and his team we headed off to a simple field campsite just a couple of miles away leaving them free rein on the house. A day trip to Cleethorpes was a treat for Mandy's Mum and cousin and with work well underway on the wiring we headed over to Pocklington east of York for a long weekend. Here we met a friend for a peaceful bike ride through deserted lanes heading towards the coast and after diverting to South Dalton to admire its 208' church spire discovered the excellent Pie & Glass pub with its amazing herb gardens - definitely one to go back to.
Due to a music festival in the town the site was quite busy as we cycled over to York to meet family and they in turn came over on the Sunday after most people had left to enjoy a picnic and buffet outside the van.

By Wednesday the wiring work was more or less done including replastering so we returned to tidy up and wash down before finally I packed up for a return to Wales.
Here outside Brecon I fitted new pads, discs, rear springs, rear shocks, handbrake cables and all flexi hoses to the van whilst keeping an eye on a friend's small farm. The brakes were bled and air and diesel filters renewed and with 4 new tyres fitted yesterday I hope for a clean bill of health at next week's MOT.

Somewhat unexpectedly there is now the chance of a brief run to Switzerland next week over 6 days as friends are moving there so that may well be the focus of the next blog.

Until then the latest pics should be here.

A Drift (Not adrift) North Through The Pyrenees & Across France

We enjoyed a couple of days crossing Aragon with its empty vistas stopping at one point where fallen livestock are left for the birds of prey to feast on - the mirador had a braille landscape interpretation map - which was a first for me. We also pulled up alongside one of the giant turbines of a nearby windfarm to be enthralled by the sheer scale of these installations.

At Cretas we stayed two nights giving us the opportunity to visit Valderobbres where a country fair and market added to the charm of the place.

An overnight in the short stay car park at Barcelona airport put us conveniently in place for Mandy's return flight to Manchester which via the Easyjet app I tracked as it passed over me late that morning and then across my favourite area of mid Wales where I am also heading albeit at a much steadier rate.



Leaving Barcelona I set off for the Garrotxa National Park which covers an area of dormant volcanic activity characterised by numerous volcanic cones (puys), old lava flows and abundant tree cover - mostly beech, the famous fageda scenery. Historic Santa Pau was remarkable with a central square and streets little changed in centuries and on the edge a small aire provided a base for a couple of nights and two good walks. These included visiting the small church nestled within a puy and the former quarry that created an inside view of the cone's structure - really quite remarkable.

A via verde heading towards Girona provided a good bike ride before I moved on to St Joan de les Abadesses which had a beautiful mediaeval bridge just next to the overnight parking. From here another VV took me down to Ripoll with its spectacular monastery in the centre of town.

A lovely road over the Cadi range brought me in to France for a good shop and a bottle of gas before returning to Spain via the dramatic Tunel de Cadi that passed beneath my next destination.
The foothills of the Pyrenees provided a stunning landscape to pass through as I headed to the Cadi Moixero National Park where I intended to tackle Pedraforca at just over 8,000' whose giant bulk dominated the valley. I drove up to the start point to get the feel of the place where over a decade ago a winter attempt with Bill and Amber was thwarted by icy conditions. With perfect weather forecast in two days time I decided to drop back to Saldes and then take the road up to the starting point for Gallina Pelada, another fine summit.
This was reached by a steep climb through pine forests that emerged on to an alpine plateau where near a spring lay a mountain refuge. From here a long ridge with extensive views south took me to the summit - the distinct ridge of Montserrat near Barcelona very visible in the distant haze.
Moving along the Sierra Blanco, a narrow ridge of limestone gave me access to the start of an alternative descent that was at first quite challenging, settled in to steep scree and then rejoined the pine woods at the tree line. From here on a craggy bluff I watched an eagle soaring before descending to a forest track that eventually returned me to the van meeting en route a small chamois.

I parked up with a perfect view of Pedraforca in a forest clearing and checked the planned route and weather before an early night.
An early start saw me back at the Mirador de Gresolet below Pedraforca and on my way by 10.00.
Passing another mountain hut the footpath wound it's way up steadily through pine forests on the north side of the mountain whose gullies still held plenty of snow and ice several thousand feet above. At my level many of the gullies held huge boulders and debris as the area had been hit hard by heavy storms last summer and in places the path was washed away. However I eventually reached the col at the point where we had turned round years before and whilst it was warm and sunny a gusty wind blew. The final route up to the first summit was steep and rocky with large icy patches that would have merited an axe and crampons but by scrambling on some rather exposed rocky outcrops I eventually reached the top using the fixed ropes for the last few metres. Up here it was strangely calm with 360 degree views and a route onwards marked by yellow dots that initially descended slightly before finally bringing me out on to the summit of Pedraforca itself. I had seen no one all day and took time to enjoy the remarkable vista over lunch. I was reluctant to return the same way as I figured the scrambling would be a challenge and knew a route to the south was marked on the map. Shortly I heard some cursing and a Spanish guy emerged sweating profusely having taken that route up. Thus reassured that it was possible I dropped off on steep rocks and eventually reached the col between two of Pedraforca's lower tops. From here ninety minutes of tedious scree dropped precipitously down to the tree line -no wonder the other guy had found it hard work. Another ninety minutes through the pine clad slopes had me back at the van and I returned to the previous night's base very pleased to have ticked off a substantial top. The following morning a Spanish VW van pulled alongside and the driver's daughter explained that her dad had recognised me from Cretas a week previously and was keen for a chat about van life. She acted as interpreter and seemed intrigued by my unusual lifestyle.

After spending the night on the aire at Sort I took the minor road north and then branched off on a rough track - only open from May to November that took me through high mountain scenery to the remote church at Montgarri which during WW2 had offered shelter to many thousands of refugees fleeing the Nazi onslaught in France. It was a place to reflect on such a stark history that took place in such superb surroundings. The van had coped well with the track but unfortunately on a raised cattle grid left exposed by erosion , and despite using my ramps to compensate the final bar put a hole in my fresh water tank and dumped 70 litres of water on the ground.
Still it looked repairable so I headed in to Vielha, stuck a wash in at the laundrette and went off to the DIY store for ideas. Later that evening I stopped on a quaint campsite by the river - the owner had yet to cut the grass so amongst a carpet of wild flowers I sealed the hole with  sealant and then added strength by using a two part plastic repair compound - by morning all seemed to have set so I filled up and headed south through the 3 mile long Tunel de Vielha then heading west to Ainsa where a spacious aire on the edge of the village made a perfect base. I walked in to the traditional village on a sunny evening and was lucky enough to spot a robin's nest hidden in the church cloisters. The eco museum made an interesting diversion but as I returned to the van the long line of dark cloud that had loomed away to the north approached steadily. Around 2am I was awoken by a single magnificent thunderclap after which it rained torrentialy until dawn with more sound and light effects. I noticed a couple with their young child and 3 dogs occupying a SWB VW T4 with a pop top had at some point moved well away from the electrical transformer  for the village.

With diesel being cheaper in Spain than France I filled up before taking the road north, passing through the Bielsa tunnel and emerging rather surprisingly in to 4 inches of snow - the northern (French) side of this range obviously having seen a more wintry version of last night's storm.
Anyway after descending several thousand feet things improved as I began this final leg of my 8 month trip.

The small aire at Condom made a good base for the voies vertes that headed east with visits to another historic village - Laressingle - and a bridge well known to pilgrims en route to Santiago de Compostella.
Then it was on to the Lot Valley for two days cycling on sections of the Veloroute 86 - the latter taking me down to Cahors with its beautiful turreted bridge and Albas providing another quiet spot to stay right by the river. 
Moving north again to the Creuse Valley  near Le Blanc saw more cycling along almost deserted cycle tracks with the magnificent viaduct at Le Blanc a main feature. The old stations and crossing keepers' cottages are largely restored and occupied and seem to be a bargain at around £100k.

Lencloitre near Chatellerault gave access to the Green Line a 40km route that was again almost deserted  - the whole area is largely agricultural with most old stations having grain silos in the marshaling yards. The flowers were superb whilst most of the track was shaded by trees whose blossom created a white carpet to ride on.

I am now in the Loire Valley and will move on tomorrow as I have a ferry to Portsmouth in just under a week - there are more VVs to do across Normandy and I expect to post again after the HUBB event in three weeks time.

Piccies here CLICK

Spring in Scotland, Easter on the Vias Verdes of Spain

After a quiet night at the motorhome dealer near Malaga I left the van in their care and enjoyed a smooth return to Sheffield where a planned fortnight of catching up with friends and family was overshadowed by an unexpected stay in hospital for Mandy.
Once discharged she began to recover well enough for me to return to plan A and on the Saturday I picked up a hire car for the journey to Scotland. We all met up near Penrith and then endured a rather lengthy journey to Inverinate as two RTC's en route meant we had to reroute via Inverness.
The comfortable cottage made a good base for our week and after a rather damp and cloudy trudge on the Sunday we enjoyed excellent weather, superb walks and good company. Some snow on the higher tops added to the enjoyment and on the last day's walking I managed to get sun burnt as we followed a classic ridge south in perfect conditions. With the hire car due back early on the Saturday I drove home overnight after a farewell meal with the odd stag adding an element of surprise between Inverinate and Fort William.

Sunday saw us on the rail replacement bus to Stockport and then a train to Manchester Airport followed by a short walk to the excellent Radisson Blu hotel for a decent room overlooking the runway and terminal buildings which kept me amused until we dined well at their restaurant before an early night.
The 6am flight back to Malaga went well and we felt like film stars as the waiting taxi driver held up a sign with our names on at arrivals. The van was in good order so we filled up with water, paid the 70 euros for almost a month's parking and headed off to a small ironmonger's for gas before driving north to Coripe a small halt on the Via Verde de la Sierra that I had spotted on my previous visit.
Surprisingly we had the enchanting place to ourselves and enjoyed two superb rides out to the end stations with Olvera providing an excellent meal in the sun spoilt only by a drunk British expat who lived in the village and accosted everyone in an intrusive and mildly aggressive manner.

Heading north we passed through Antequera and in the hope of witnessing one of the spectacular Spanish Easter Parades decided to stay the night. We enjoyed walking up to the castle and sneaked a look in to the bull ring but it appeared that most parades would be on Good Friday.






Conscious that Easter is a big holiday for the Spanish we decided to get to our planned base early and pulled up at Dona Mencia alongside the VV del Aceite where a good sized free aire was already filling up. Being small we were able to pass by the larger vans and tuck away at the end with only one neighbour, literally adjacent to the cycle track.
Three nights and two days cycling over the Easter weekend were enjoyed with meals in the converted stations and a nice encounter with Monty from Bristol who was linking a number of the VV's across southern Spain on an extended bike packing trip.








Cazorla in the eponymous National Park was a delightful town with a well maintained campsite (San Isicio) just on the edge. They had had very heavy rain over the holiday weekend and were spreading chippings on the muddiest areas - the Dutch owners were very friendly and the place had a lot of rustic charm. It's biggest downside however was the steep access and tight turns in to pitches which again due to our modest dimensions were not an issue but certainly provided entertainment when a large caravan and 4x4 attempted to pull in.
The town has an older centre with a remarkable either half finished or half ruined church dominating the square and a lively river running down the valley. Following this up to a waterfall made for a good walk and a longer 13 mile effort took us up to El Chorro where we watched eagles and vultures soar above the pine clad cliffs.
A coffee and ice cream parlour with seriously comfortable seating provided the perfect spot to give in to temptation whilst watching the world go by.
Passing through the Cazorla National Park in cloudy conditions meant we missed seeing it at its best and given the huge number of hiking possibilities it is definitely a place to return to. Segurra de la Sierra on the edge of the park was an attractive town with an imposing castle and quirky rectangular bull ring.
Dropping in to the Murcia region the weather picked up as we reached Mula to stay in the aire behind a swimming pool with the odd van in situ. After a few hours in the sun we walked in to town to see its pair of beautiful churches before a very peaceful night.
The VV del Noroestre took us through the arid lands that typify this area and ended in a geology park on the edge of Murcia itself. The forty mile ride was a good indication that M was returning to full strength.

Saturday saw us bowling along towards Elche where  we checked out our planned stop for the night - the waterfowl reserve at the Pargue Natural el Fondo. The quiet car park alongside the visitor centre looked ideal and with time to spare we walked some of the boardwalks out over the water with excellent views of a range of birds including graceful flamingos, red knobbed coots and the like. That afternoon we visited friends based in their remarkable 40' Winnebago that is currently providing a comfortable base for Nina to recover from a serious accident before Christmas. Under Pete's tender care she has made great progress and is now waiting for the surgeon to approve initial weight bearing.
After a tour of their spacious and stylish accommodation Pete and I perused the various water, gas, electric and waste systems that underpin such luxury whilst the girls enjoyed the hot sunshine. Pete produced delicious tapas and a great paella to round off a very enjoyable afternoon and we returned at dusk to our base to be astounded by the vibrant frog chorus.
We had arranged to meet up on the Sunday so at noon P&N arrived in a borrowed car to run us all down to the coast at Santa Pola where we walked along the seafront before choosing a restaurant for a late lunch. Thus around five we strolled back enjoying a quick ice cream whilst admiring an old German brewery lorry that cunningly disguised a camper conversion. It was attracting quite a bit of attention, something that P&N have got used to as they have an impressive set up once all 3 slide outs are in place.
Back at the bird reserve we donned long sleeves and trousers, slapped on the midge repellent and took a late night walk out over the water to enjoy the remarkable cacophony of frogs, toads and waterfowl before sleeping soundly.
Monday the 29th of April saw us circling the bird reserve on flat roads and tracks reminiscent of the Somerset Levels (apart from the palm trees that almost transported us back to the oases of Morocco )
before moving on to the VV de Maigmo near Agost. The 15 mile ride north passed through tunnels and over viaducts and was an easy return being almost entirely downhill. We probably could have stayed in the old station car park at Agost but instead headed as planned to Castalla where the town's aire was handily placed for the centre. We walked up to the imposing castle but had an early night after the day's total of 40 miles in the saddle.
The town had a market the next morning but I disappeared in to one of the remarkable Chinese stores that feature in most towns these days to emerge triumphant with a plastic plunger for 60p that will I hope persuade the sink to drain more freely.

Our base that night was at La Bolla campsite near Vilena that sat right alongside another VV. The owner lived in a bizarre sphere house and put us on a shady pitch where we relaxed as a wash was done for a very reasonable 2 euros.
We left this drying as we took the VV to Biar crossing the high speed line to Madrid as a sleek modern train swished by.



Albaraccin was our destination up in the mountains near Teruel but as we arrived on the aire the heavens opened so we waited before walking down to the medieval town whose narrows streets and jumbled housing lay beneath a mighty castle and substantial defensive wall. Although the rain had stopped low cloud persisted so we didn't see the place at its best. However as it is very close to Spain's longest VV, the Ojos Negros, that runs over 100 miles mostly downhill (!) from north of Teruel to the coast I expect we will be back. The aire was very peaceful but as the following morning the sun was still sulking we dropped south to Navajas for two nights on the well run and ideally placed campsite, situated as it was adjacent to the VV. We cycled north (uphill) for 10 miles and then freewheeled back stopping briefly to look at a Civil War bunker lying between the VV and the live rail line. Remarkably the mining company  working north of Teruel decided in the last century that it was cheaper to spend 3 years constructing their own line almost parallel to the existing line as the latter's owners were charging too much for freight. It is the mineral line that now forms the cycle track and down at Caudiel we enjoyed drinks in the square with tortilla for M and snails with chorizo for me.
Today we walked in to the village for fruit, veg and meat before relaxing in the sun - this was a mistake as once we eventually got on the bikes to head south the heavens soon opened and we returned drenched, my first soaking in over 7 months away apart from a very wet walk in Langdale last November.

So we now head towards Barcelona with better weather forecast and a VV to do down near Tarragona before M flies home and I spend time in the Pyrenees around Andorra. I hope to climb Pedraforca in the Serra de Cadi and then check out some of the voies vertes in France before returning home in early June in time for the HUBB event - shameless plug below.



Piccies of the last few weeks here, next post likely to be from France in a week or two.

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.

North Across the Atlas

It was only a short hop along to Nkob and then a couple of km north on a good piste brought me to Camping Auberge Bassou which is well kept and pleasantly run by a French lady and her Moroccan husband. Perhaps understandably therefore all the guests were French, mostly in large vans with trailers on the back for a variety of quads and dune buggies. The facilities were good and on a hot afternoon I was content to stay cool and fresh in the van with all windows and vents open but the fly screens across to deter intruders.
Early next morning a group of the quaddies set off to explore the local area after which peace resumed once more and I prepared my bike for the day's ride. In such dusty conditions oil does more harm than good on the chain and with a rocky route ahead I dropped the tyre pressures slightly before setting off with oranges and 3 litres of water towards the Jbel Saharo whose tough terrain had thwarted my ambitions in 2015 and led to us limping home with suspension trouble.
The GPS showed the track accurately and after a steep climb I had a panoramic view in to the palm lined valley with its string of dusty villages. It was a pleasure to ride through and meet people, at one stage I raced a youngster whilst balancing his tiny brother on my crossbar much to their amusement and after a couple of hours reached a spot where I had camped 4 years ago. It was even at that time just a dusty patch of level ground with a couple of huts and a hole in the floor loo but now even this was gone but nearby a small brightly painted school was evidence of this nation's determination to improve the lot of rural communities, especially the largely illiterate girls and womenfolk.

I took a track heading west that climbed towards the two rocky outcrops known as Bab and Ali which then became a rough footpath at the top of the pass before improving as I descended ever faster towards a distant village. En route I passed a beekeepers tent with its many hives before picking up another piste that headed south, climbed steeply for a mile or two and then gave me a fast descent back to the campsite. 


A Merc bus full of people and goods with at least half a dozen guys on the roof was lumbering along the track and all gave a friendly wave as we passed in the dust. Later the quad brigade roared in but were soon all tucked away in their vans and peace reigned once more.
Another short hop took me back to Camp Serdrar south of Tazzarine, a place that is always good to return to but this time I wanted to make use of their new washing machine to deal with accumulated laundry. The site was fuller than last time but the modest dimensions of the van saw me tucked away beneath the palms in a quiet corner. Leaving the washing to dry I rode back out to the road and then headed west for about 15km on a piste that was rough to begin with but much improved as it followed a palm lined valley via sandy track. The isolated village of Ait Ouaazik is the site of 'prehistoric rock carvings' claimed to be some 5000 years old and whilst the simple images of antelope, giraffe, rhino, fishing baskets, a sundial and basic hunting weapons were fascinating I'm pretty sure that they had at the very least been 'enhanced' with a modern pointy thing. Anyway the young guy in his stone hut was very pleasant and explained the images very well - he also answered my question as to what was growing in the area that needed polythene cloches in such heat - namely watermelon whose early growth needs protection from the cool overnight temperatures. Further research later revealed that Morocco is the world's 12 largest producer of watermelons with most of the 50,000 tons exported to France and production increasing by 250% in recent years - amazing considering that it is presumably a water dependent crop.

The return journey was enhanced by a group of camels grazing in the valley and a friendly guy balancing a large bag of oranges on his moped who insisted on me having a few.
The following day I rode the few hot miles over the hammada to Tazzarine for a tagine at the excellent small cafe we used last time and returned mostly via the smooth tarmac until a point where using the GPS I cut across the desert to reach Serdrar having lopped 4 miles off the journey. 
Back on the road I had met an Australian architect from Melbourne, Jack, who was cycling from Marrakesh to Prague over the next few months - we had a good chat and I offered him a lift across to Spain if our dates coincide as I will have a spare return passenger ticket.
On leaving Tazzarine I wasted some time returning towards Nkob as I had been told there was a new road across the Djebel Saharo heading north but I found no trace of it so took the standard route over to Tineghir, stopping only to exchange a gas bottle - some outlets seem tied to a specific supplier but others will exchange any brand but it would seem Total is a fairly popular one and of course their filling stations would stock it. A diesel top up confirmed a steady mpg in the mid forties and I pulled in to the Hotel Atlas once more only to find it more or less full. Not wishing to be squeezed in I decided to head up the Todra gorge and seek an alternative at Tamtatouchte. After securing the Go Pro to the windscreen and hooking up via wifi and the app to my phone I set off up this impressive gorge noting en route that the cluster of live in vans from last time had moved on - perhaps the local gendarmes had decided that the precedent might harm the tourist trade.
Work on the new dam was progressing and in the village I took a steep rough track up to a partly finished hotel and camping area that had the most remarkable view back over the village but little else going for it. The friendly owner showed me round the hotel which may one day be stunning if it gets finished - certainly the ensuite rooms he showed me were of a good standard.
He brought  tea over and then pointed out the limit to which the dam waters were expected to reach, some agricultural land and a few homes would be lost but he felt the benefits to the area as a whole would outweigh this.
It was a superb vantage point and I scanned the village with binoculars watching the life on the flat roofs that is rarely seen, noting shepherds bringing their flocks down from the rocky slopes to the south and watching a young couple booking in to a basic looking auberge whose rooms were unlikely to be as cosy as the van would be that night. At around 5000' the nights were fresh and the heater kept me comfortable in the evening and first thing before the sun warmed things up after eight.
With far less snow on the tops than on previous visits I had no qualms about taking the Tizzi Tirherhouzzine that reaches almost 9000' and was pleased with the sturdy power of this van that took the ascent mostly in third - the previous van had also coped but needed frequent changes down to second or even first.

I stopped to offer assistance at a broken down car at the top of the pass - they had not checked their coolant, boiled over and by the lack of compression on turn over had clearly blown the engine. With little else to do other than leave them 5l of drinking water they were facing a lengthy wait for assistance which they were busy arranging by phone - again the network availability across Morocco is remarkable.
Soon after Agdoul I reached Imilchil and 5km north of there pulled in to the superbly located but somewhat careworn Auberge Tislite whose sole but major attraction was its location on the shore of the beautiful Lac Tislite. I parked up on the shoreline with a remarkable view across to distant peaks and the water a brilliant shade of blue. There was a fresh wind  but I parked to give me a perfect view with shelter, opened up the solar panel and  enjoyed a few hours in the sun after a spectacular drive.
Overnight temperatures dropped below freezing so I was glad to have secured the thermal screens around the cab windows and doubled up the down sleeping bag but a bright day dawned once more as I set off around this lake to head towards the larger Lac de Isa. Here I met group of Moroccan lads from Casablanca who were on a camping trip but had been very cold overnight camping by the first lake.
Again it was a very beautiful scene and I followed the track for a few more miles before it dropped down a valley crossing the stream several times before after a short gorge a small village appeared, miles from anywhere. I decided to explore further another time and returned to the van passing a few shepherds, women collecting brash for firewood with their donkeys and a large French 4x4 camper based on the Iveco Daily.
I woke after another comfortable night despite sub zero temperatures on my 59th birthday and enjoyed contact with friends and family before taking a series of tracks down and round to Imilchil where I celebrated with a hefty meat tagine and met the camping lads who were heading home. The busy village has on the outskirts a mobile medical unit and it was sobering to see the many people queueing patiently outside for medical care, we take our own access to top quality health care for granted and I was quietly grateful for the interventions that sorted me out 8 years ago and Mandy only last year.
Reluctantly on the Saturday I headed north and down on a sinuous road that after a couple of hours reached the main road linking Fes and Marrakesh. Turning right brought me in to Khenifra for a cash point and surprisingly a modest Carrefour supermarket where the range of goods came as a sharp contrast to the last few weeks buying fresh meat, fruit and veg plus bread, milk and yoghurt from the markets and village shacks. It struck me that much of what we buy at supermarkets is mass produced, usually highly processed junk food that is largely unnecessary so I was glad to throw in the biscuits, Pringles and some camembert as life's too short!
I had decided to head for the lake up in the cedar forests of the Middle Atlas mountains and climbed steadily away from Khenifra before turning left to Aguelmame Azigza where I had stayed on my first trip in 2013. It was as lovely as before but the nomadic Berber families were very much settled in around the lake with their livestock, tents and belongings so I felt it inappropriate to intrude and retraced my route for a couple of miles to a large level grassy clearing in the woods that was a popular picnic place for families from Khenifra. It was a great atmosphere as children played whilst parents cooked on open fires but as the sun set everyone left leaving just myself and a couple of live in trucks tucked away. One family had managed to flatten their battery playing music so I nipped across with the jump leads and they were soon on their way.
It was a memorable place to stay the night and with no urgency to my timetable I decided to stay another day and used the GPS to plan a route following the many forest tracks on a roughly 35 mile circuit. As I was re inflating my tyres as I expected to be on mostly hard surfaces two young boys came over very shyly and showed me their rather soft footballs - the look of sheer delight as they became far more footy friendly was worth a million dirham and their Dad called out gratefully as I headed off.
The ride was superb passing a couple of lakes where Berber families were in residence - behind each tent was an enclosure of thorn branches for the overnighting of livestock - and I noticed a well with windlass was alongside each camp. The ride followed a long fertile valley before climbing back in to the hills and after several rewarding hours I was back as the last of the families were departing. I noticed a German lorry head towards the Aguelmame and sure enough  he was back shortly and pulling in rather closer to me than absolutely necessary given the size of the area available. However they were very quiet and we had a good chat in the morning - they have been over for 8 weeks and were also heading slowly north.

I took the mountain roads towards Azrou that had been cold and snowy 6/7 weeks ago and stopped briefly at a point where a troupe of shy Barbary apes were skittering around in the tree tops before arriving at Camping Amazigh that had looked so bleak in the hail and sleet. It was now warm and sunny and I took the opportunity to give the van a good clean, especially the shower enclosure as I had opted for hook up and had plenty of hot water on tap. The loo was emptied and water tanks filled as I didn't anticipate using a site for a few days but I had a poor night's sleep thanks to a distant dog that yelped from dusk till dawn and then didn't make a sound.
I took a very indirect route from Azrou to Meknes by heading west and then north via Oulmes passing through a very different scenery strangely reminiscent of the Yorkshire Wolds with dry limestone valleys, rolling hills and almost no traffic. At one point we had to wait as two tractors struggled to recover an HGV from a ditch but before long I was on the outskirts of Meknes slightly concerned about dealing with city traffic after so many weeks out in the sticks. However the city is well laid out and I was soon following the huge walls of the Royal Golf course that form part of the Imperial Palace as directed by various soldiers to reach after a very tight right turn through an arch the area that serves as an aire for Meknes. The parking gardien asked me to wait a few minutes until a space was vacated after which he saw me in to a tight spot tucked between a large Iveco 4x4 camper and a German motorhome. At 50MAD a night (£4) with such good supervision from the many guards, soldiers and police it appeared to be an excellent spot for a couple of nights. The report on Meknes will appear next time, possibly from Spain as I leave this amazing country within the week.

Photos re the foregoing appear here.

Long term readers will be familiar with my involvement with the event below : last year was a no show for me but I aim to be back in time to attend this year. I will probably be lurking around the campsite ensuring everything runs smoothly and may even give a presentation or two.

It is a well run and hugely enjoyable event with good discounts for signing up early.

Have a look at the website and make a date in your diary.

Solo in the Anti Atlas

Of note for future trips Agadir Airport is very simple and has flights to the off shore non Moroccan Islands such as the Canaries which would enable you to exit Morocco before the 90 day visa expires and then after a few days in 'Europe' re enter for another 90 days. As airport parking is very secure and right next to the terminal building at £3/night this would seem an excellent solution and it appeared by the number of camper vans and 4x4 expedition vehicles parked up that plenty of people were doing just that. Overnighting in vans seemed to be tolerated as well which bodes well for future early departures as strangely vehicles can stay up to 12 months.

Anyway the flight was on time and in fact arrived almost an hour early in Manchester so Mandy was soon home whilst I negotiated the numerous busy roundabouts of the Agadir peripheral road. This eventually splits with the N8 heading inland to Marrakesh whilst I took the N1 coast road passing a large stretch of tourist development that will inevitably destroy the very reason for coming here. Endless apartments in various stages of completion looked across the beach and bay whilst above Taghazoute which caters for the western surfing brigade stands the Hyatt Place luxury hotel whose heavily irrigated golf course stands out surreally on Google Earth in what I personally regard as an obscenity in a country where water is scarce and many of the rural women spend many hours carting water of dubious quality significant distances just to survive.

After passing Cape Rhir I turned inland stopping to pick up an old guy hefting a huge sack of rice and depositing him at the top of the climb to a dramatic limestone escarpment. A stunning road followed this round for miles and I found a place with excellent views across to the coast to stay the night.

Heading east through stunning scenery I eventually crossed under the main Marrakesh road and parked up in Imi N Tanoute to pick up fruit, veg, milk, eggs, yoghurt, bread and meat for the few days ahead. Whilst returning through the back streets I was tempted by the smell of grilling fish so took a seat in a tiny cafe and enjoyed a plate of grilled small whole fish, a lentil dahl, olives, bread and water for the remarkable price of 30Dhm.

Beyond Amizmiz I took the twisting mountain road over to the salt mines at Azegour and then after collecting another local with a heavy sack took a stunning road over to Iberdaten. As we dropped in to his village the tarmac finished and the road narrowed to a rough sandy track between high walls that almost scraped the mirrors. It got worse as the gradient increased before I reached the dry river bed and took a sharp right after which there were houses on one side and a long drop in to the valley on the other. I was very grateful to have such a compact vehicle as there was nowhere to turn and after a few hundred cautious yards things opened out. From the look of the locals - adults and children alike - I was something of a novelty but still received friendly waves and greetings.

A couple of miles of track led to a pass beyond which lay Adassil but I decided the clearing to one side would do me for the night and as dusk fell was surprised to see four different shepherds and their charges returning from what looked like bare grazing higher in the mountains and a group of cheerful young women bent under heavy loads of fodder and firewood. As so many times before I find it hard to comprehend the joviality and friendliness of people living such harsh lives compared with the social media obsessed and apparently angst ridden youth of the Western world who really would have 'issues' if they had to live with even a fraction of the deprivation that these mountain people endure daily. I am well aware of my privileged status and hope that offering lifts, shopping locally, taking the time to meet people, have a chat and just share our lives may do some good in a divergent world.

The following morning I had decided to attempt a distant summit of some 10,600' that as the crow flies lay 3 miles away. Setting off up a new track carved in to the hillside I soon reached a small hamlet where a number of guys were awaiting the 'Berber bus' , those ancient overloaded Mercedes vans that link these remote villages carrying substantial numbers of people and all manner of goods and produce. They were very friendly and indicated a path that led off uphill and was even shown on my GPS, asking as to whether or not they thought I was mad initiated a variety of responses few of which I really understood but there were cheerful comments and smiles as I headed off soon passing a small school room where my presence distracted a group of small wide eyed infants repeating their numbers in unison.

The next four hours took me over rough ground (with a small diversion as a tethered donkey was threatening to bolt if I got too close and the young girl risked severe injury trying to placate him) before the path ended and I climbed up an increasing gradient towards the snow line. It became exhausting and my rate of progress dropped off a cliff, something I felt prone to as the rocky slopes disappeared to my right. By 2 o'clock with only half a mile and 500' to go I had to call it a day as although if I could have reached the ridge my descent would have (probably) been easier I knew that final stage would take at least an hour. Thus I descended carefully across steep screes and finally staggered back to the van after 8 hours, 6000' of ascent but only 5 miles. As I recovered from one of the hardest walks I've done recently the same shepherds returned from the same barren grazing and the same women came in from a different direction with their heavy loads leaving me truly humbled and reflective.

Returning the next day to Amizmiz via the same tortuous track I then began to climb through the ranges that led over to the Tizi n Test pass which I joined at Ourigaine. I had crossed the river by a bridge that when I was last here had stood bizarrely unfinished but was now freshly painted and incorporated in to the road - a sign that however slowly Morocco is upgrading its infrastructure across many sectors. 

Solar powered water pumps are transforming agriculture on many scales, drinking water quality and availability is improving, the cellular phone network is comprehensive and the road network is improving. Many towns are building water treatment works, a few even have rubbish collections but sadly this latter issue seems to me to be one of the biggest facing the rural population and the long term effects of the plastic being left everywhere are likely to be significant. This and broken glass are to me the main problem areas, metal and paper can be absorbed in to the environment with I assume relatively little harm.

The weather had turned overcast and dull with even a few flurries of sleet at the top of the pass so I descended to the plains and turned off at Aoulouz intending to see if the back road to Toubkal ws open after the enormous rockfall that had prevented me from passing this way last time. As it was evening by now I had intended to stay at a spot overlooking a new reservoir that had only been partially full last time. However not long after parking up a friendly guy knocked on the door and said he thought I was taking a risk as there had been the murder of two Scandinavian girls before Christmas up at Toubkal's main village Imlil, some 30 miles away. I considered his advice carefully, particularly as on leaving he had given me his cousin's adddress who happened to own a campsite in Taliouine.

I think the constant reporting of bad news around the world skews our sense of risk - when things go wrong it is a personal tragedy of course but most homicides are by a known assailant and the press soon forget for example the horror of the insane Anders Breivik who killed the 69 youngsters on a camping trip in Norway.

However I also felt it wise to respect local advice whatever the possible ulterior motive and decided to trundle round to Taliouine and pull in to a small campground - but not the one suggested.

A couple of enormous motorhomes and a Unimog off roader were in situ but otherwise there was plenty of room and I was soon set up, still somewhat fatigued by the rigours of yesterday.

I had read about a good road over to Agadir Melloul and after a false start by the Tom Tom which put me in a mosque courtyard miles from the actual road, much to the amusement of the local mullah, I was heading in to some seriously impressive but desolate mountain scenery. A lunch stop in a dried up river bed was remarkable for the sense of isolation and after crossing the Tizi N Ousour pass I descended passing dozens of beekeeping camps where a hundred or more hives stood adjacent to each beekeeper's tent. From Tisnassmine the road headed south passing a large group of wild camels to Tissinnt where I turned east to arrive at Foum Zguid for the night. Camping Sable D'Or was a bit run down but provided a hot shower and memorable tiled floor and its walls kept the strong winds that accompanied a grey sky at bay.

Next day the dull atmosphere and strong winds decided me against an 80 mile ride along a piste towards Mhamid as the mausoleum that lay that way may not have been adequate reward for what would be a tough ride. (I believe Heike the German cyclist had done the through route but she was an exceptional character and probably almost half my age). Thus I walked in to town for supplies passing a large military complex as the Algerian border is only a few miles to the south and enjoyed a rest.

Heading north to Tazenakht I took a turning east across to Agdz and came across a camping 'a la ferme' that has turned out to be the best of my many camping experiences in Morocco. Situated a mile west of the town on the R108 which had passed a potash and cobalt mine before descending through a superb valley Ferme Maison Tanssift became my base for the next four nights. Run by Corinne and Sayed with the charming Brigitte a fellow camper it had plenty of level space amongst the palms and the most stylish and well kept showers I have encountered. After settling in Corinne invited the two of us to join her and Sayed for a meal that evening - this was a thoroughly enjoyable experience with delicious food - a chick pea soup, grilled fish, olives and bread served with a bottle of Moroccan rose, and whilst the conversations were entirely in French I understood the gist of things with Corinne filling in the gaps with her excellent English. Brigitte was lovely and full of energy with a passion for travel since her retirement some years ago - she tours in a Fiat Ducato motorhome with a tiny dog and has ambitions to ship the van to Oz or South America at some stage. 

The following day I rode in to Agdz and spent a few hours exploring the palmery located in the Draa Valley meeting women washing clothing and carpets in the fast flowing irrigation channels, passing ancient kasbahs, some intact and providing housing or guest accommodation but many crumbling back in to the stones and mud they came from. 

Twenty absorbing miles put me back at the site ready for a couple of hours in the evening sun with the cat making good use of my solar panel - this seems to be maintaining my leisure battery very well as I don't think I've used a hook up for perhaps three weeks and regularly charge batteries, the lap top and other devices plus run the water pump for showering, lighting for perhaps four hours a night and so on. It is only a 40w panel but of course down here the sun is strong, high in the sky and reliable. Incidentally whilst on practical matters I have for the last five weeks been using two biological washing powder tablets in the loo's waste tank and despite the hot weather it seems to keep things fresh whilst also assisting with the decompostion of the contents - much cheaper and easy enough to find in any country. I use the tablets for extra convenience but no doubt loose powder would do.

Yesterday (Thursday) I passed through town as it held its weekly souk intent on exploring the palmeries to the south and had a thoroughly rewarding day. A good road linked the various palmeries which I explored on the intricate network of easily rideable sandy tracks. In the villages the children were delighted to wave and one lad accepted an offer of a tug and was beaming as we flashed past his mates. I crossed the by now dry river bed of the Draa which appears intermittently until way south of Zagora it is lost under the Sahara to appear 300 miles away on the coast just north of Tan Tan - remarkable. 

The newly improved N9 incorporated a decent cycle lane - the first I have seen in Morocco - so I sped along until spotting on my right a huge kasbar on a prominent hill. I turned off and was soon climbing a rocky track to what I thought would be a posh hotel or private dwelling.

To my amazement it was neither being completely empty and despite its robust exterior very much starting to collapse inside. I explored cautiously in case it was out of bounds and was absorbed by the intricate carved pise decorations, remnants of old wall colourings and the substantial internal gateways and towers. A young lad appeared from nowhere who claimed to be the gardien but he was happy to let me explore unaccompanied so I gave him 20DHm before jumping back on the bike and literally losing myself for an hour or two in the palms on my return. 48 rewarding miles put me on track for an 11 hour kip and although I had planned to leave it was tempting to stay another day and thus this rambling reportage has occupied much of it.

I head to Nekob tomorrow with a ride over to see Bab and Ali planned so until the next post enjoy these piccies by clicking here.