Day 39 – We get a friendly welcome entering Morocco . . .

I like it when people mean what they say and say what they mean. Otherwise I find it all too easy to misconstrue a situation. Mary-Ann says I’m naive.

Beastie gets reversed on to the ferry last. Not unreasonably, he expects to be off first. He’s not. He’s off last. Just as well. We don’t have the full paperwork completed for entry. He’d have held up the queue. Morocco non-nationals have to import their vehicles when entering and export them when leaving. So certain forms have to be filled in. They’re all in Arabic with French translations that we can’t fully translate. The customs officials take over. At one point there are four of them leaning over Beastie’s bonnet. Concentrated con-flab in process. Seems they’re not fully au-fait either. Then Beastie gets frisked. Fire-arms and illegal drones with cameras the big concern. He’s clean – of course. Just as well alcohol wasn’t today’s priority!

Our first priority. Cash and SIM cards. In that order. Park up Beastie and head up towards the Medina. A friendly “Rashid” joins our party of two. We become a threesome. A mix of English, but mainly French exchanged. He’s going to guide us through the Medina. We don’t have any dirhams I tell him. We’ve just got off the ferry. He doesn’t want any money. “We Moroccan people very friendly. We like help visitors to our country”. We draw cash out. All big notes. We feel we should at least give him something. We stop and buy a melon and some oranges to get smaller change. Rashid shows us where the Maroc telecom shop is. Small pieces of ripped paper get handed out by the security guard. Each one with a penned number. Ours is 65. I remember reading that we need our passports to get a SIM card. We’ve left them in Beastie. Rashid assures us our driving licences will suffice. Thirty minutes later we’re fed up of waiting. Rashid does a swap with another waiting customer. Gets us number 56. We jump the queue. Only to be told emphatically passports are a must. Doh!

Back at Beastie I thank Rashid and hand him 20 dirhams. He refuses. I insist. He’s told me about his family. Surely the money will help? Why is he refusing? I push the money back into his hands. “You have a family Rashid, please take it” He repeats over and over “No thank you my friend”. I think he’s being ultra kind. Mary-Ann cottons on before I do. The note is the wrong colour! It transpires he feels his time is worth much more. In fact ten times more. A big blue note requested. He eventually accepts a brown one. Five times more.

We move on. In more ways than one. Take the smooth coastal N1 route southwards towards our two nighter at Moulay Bousselham. Stop off at Larache. There’s a Maroc Telecom shop there. They’ve run out of SIM cards! Get directed opposite to OPPO – a standard phone shop. Leave with happy faces. Orange 4G SIMS on board. No passports or any ID required!

Mary-Ann only drinks decaff. Else she can’t sleep. We order in French. It’s their second language. We presume they speak it fluently. They probably do. But maybe a slight variation. The waiter serves us two normal. Takes one back. Much confusion behind the counter. A few minutes later he’s back with an instant Nescafe sachet. Tiny, tiny writing we can’t make out. Is it or isn’t it? A young woman kindly intercedes for us. Transpires this cafe doesn’t serve decaff. Mary-Ann settles for a Lipton’s tea to accompany her cheesecake.

The route down is pituresque. Unexpectedly so. Where’s all the sand? Not a camel in sight. Green rolling fields roll by.  Nearing our destination we take a short cut. The metalled road is severly pot-holed. More like sink holes. Beastie’s suspension is taking a battering. We’re bouncing around inside like a couple of bunjee jumpers. It’s slow going. The road surface narrows. Starts to disappear at both sides. Then it’s all gone.  Friendly faces follow.  A few smile and wave. Some cars flash “hello” – or is it “Are you crazy coming down here in that?”

We arrive at camp just before sunset. Like a couple of martini cocktails that have been shaken and stirred.

Bonjour Maroc!