Driving into the Atlas

On Wednesday we set off due South from Fes, into the middle Atlas Mountains. We passed some time discussing what we had eaten differently (as I was ill and Stefanie not) and there were pleasant scenes of Cyprus forests as we turned off onto smaller roads. 

Steffi got ticked off by a policeman for not coming to a complete halt at a stop sign, which I admit I did not see either. And in the very next town she got pulled over for apparently doing 72kph in a 60 zone. This was very unfair, as we had just been passed out by every other vehicle on the road, including a bus, and had been driving very slowly all day. Anyway after some discussion the proposed €40 fine was negotiated to €10, and the police directed us to a castellated hotel, where we were the only guests. Behind are orchards, then snow capped mountains and Berber country.

 

Shopping in Fes

The only bad thing about Fes was the attentions of "guides", which became quite tiresome. The first thing to do after parking is to identify the genuine guardian and not the imposters: These will greet you in French, Italian, Spanish etc. You would think that if you are planning a career in annoying tourists one of the basics would be the ability to identify the nationality of a licence plate. 

Pea soup - so good we went back next day

We spent a long time in a perfume shop; Stefanie sampling various oil; I chatting with a young man who wore the clothes and beard of an observant Muslim. He was critical of the political situation in Morocco and the rich/poor divide, but blamed it on the West, and the US in particular. Like many he believes that the US wants to wage war on Islam, for oil. The terrorist attacks in the US and Madrid and London are the work of those governments, as an excuse to invade Muslim countries. I tried to argue that western countries have a free press and independent courts that keep governments from behaving like that, but he just asked how do I really know. 

Mint tea was consumed of course. Whenever we say "sans sucre" there are slightly incredulous looks; and the tea will arrive with four sugar lumps on the side in case we change our mind.

Fes, Morocco

Very leisurely drive to Fes, with plenty of excuses to stop - oranges, pomegranates and olives, all direct from the orchard.

It was Steffi's turn to drive and she soon adjusted to driving a right hand drive car - at least it is 'her' side of the road. The high suspension and roof weight takes getting used to.

Amongst the olive trees, the ground is carpeted with fragrant red/ orange/ white flowers, and teeming with butterflies and birds.

We are staying in the middle of the old part of Fes, no driving today.

Chefchaoen, Morocco

We overnighted at the Queen's Hotel in Gibralter and I'd say it saw its prime at the time of her coronation; we were happy to leave. The crossing to Ceuta, a Spanish enclave in Africa, was smooth, the town Sunday quiet. 

The same cannot be said of the border, which seemed to be under the management of the Marx brothers. One hour and many forms later we were on the road South and could start to enjoy the day. The Rif mountains rear over green fields with sleeping shepherds, almond trees in blossom, cattle ploughing in pairs. It is quite a change from France and Spain, where the countryside is deserted, with even the animals indoors. 

We were flagged down by a family who were out for their Sunday picnic and managed to get their little Renault van wedged in a ravine. I was looking forward to using the winch for the first time, but it was not possible as the nose of the car was a bit buried. In the end it was easy enough to just bounce the car into a better position and drive it out. 

We turned off the road to this little mountain town, which is like a white and blue painted anthill. We parked right outside the medina, the warren of stepped streets in the centre, and found a pension with a bright room on the roof terrace; €10. The owner claims to recognise Con, who's passport copy is on the same page as mine. It's possible. 

The place is completely relaxing, only 10% touristy, the rest full of little workshops and hole-in-the-wall shops. Lovely cafés, no beer, but mint tea and fresh orange juice. This is the view from our room, and the main square.

Unplanned Pause in Guadalajara Garage

The first indication that something was wrong was the dropping fuel guage. I seemed to be using a lot of fuel, even allowing for a strong wind and less than ideal aerodynamics. Then I noticed a suspicous cloud in the rear view mirror.

I pulled in at a petrol station, and found diesel literally pouring from under the car. A fuel line had sheared, and I must have left one third of a tank on the rather nice road that runs south from Soria towards Madrid. It turned out to be the line that returns excess fuel to the tank from the injectors, which is why I had been able to keep running, obliviously.

The station owner was very helpful. No running repairs were possible, and an hour later there was the sad sight of the car up on a transporter for the short run into the Land Rover dealer at Guadalajara. Like yesteray, I arrived just in time for the two hour lunch break, so there was plenty of time to explore town. Slightly down-at-heel, graffitti, chill air, smokey cafes, it felt like Ecuador.

By 5pm a new fuel line had been found and installed and I was on the way. There was no particular reason for it to break, just nine years of vibration at a bend in the metal. I´m happy it happened now and not somewhere remote.

So I was a bit later than planned on the A4 south of Madrid, driving in darkness, which was horrible. For a motorway it has some terrible bends and surfaces, and the combination with speeding cars is not good. I saw several accidents, and one spectacular one must have happened sixty seconds before I arrived- a fuel tanker had jack-knifed in the opposite lanes, come through the barrier, and the cab was lying across the fast lane on my side.

This morning I took back roads through fabulous olive plantations, and have reached Granada, on track to meet Steffi at Malaga airport in a few hours. Tomorrow, Morocco.

Car Stuff

Five countries on one tank. The fill in Naas got me to Spain, just. The low fuel light had been on for about 80 miles when I crossed the bridge to Irun yesterday. There was no sign of a border, but the diesel was suddenly 20c/litre cheaper than France. Managed to get 156 litres into the 150 litre tank, so I think it was pretty empty (surely the pump could not be wrong?). That´s 8.2km/litre, or something less than 20mpg, over the first 1000km.

The coast road to Bilbao twists through the pyrennean foothills, and it worked the suspension hard, resulting in some new and interesting sounds. So today I looked out for a Land Rover garage to have a look at the underside. I found one in Vitoria, and after a couple of hours waiting (a long lunch), they put the car up on the lift. When the mechanic called two others in for a look I suspected the worst, but it turned out they were just admiring the heavy duty engineering, and annouced that it was built like "an armoured car", and the sounds were just the effects of a lot of weight on the back - the sooner I get a good fat passenger up front for balance the better!

Tonight in Soria with Ana and Oscar (and Naas the dog) who send a big ¡hola! to anyone reading who knows them.

Some snaps

Dawn Arrival in St Malo

On the beach near Guernica

The fleet at Bermeo, near Bilbao

Guggenheim Museum, Bilbao