Three Amigoes head South

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Postby wideload » Tue Jul 21, 2009 12:05 am

chazza wrote:Dad, why do you ALWAYS have to bring up that quote when I say RANDOM. Oooh scary word! :lol: :D :lol: :D


Have just spent two weeks with darling Rachelle being told I am OWNED all the time.......whats that all about........ :? :? :?
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Postby Tonibe63 » Thu Dec 24, 2009 8:39 pm

Tuesday 3rd June
I sleep really well. I thought Blue and Fossy snored but I didn’t hear a thing. We tuck into our first breakfast for three days and make the most of the eat all you can format. We decide that we need to get insurance so head up the road to an agent. Lady at desk is very friendly, keen to help and speaks good English so we soon sort out the paperwork including Fossy’s faxed copy of his driving licence-she was surprised that we had got this far without any insurance. She then asks where we are heading and I show her the rough route on the map. She says we must visit Sefrou and Midelt and then we could do our route on the return leg. Why not, after all that’s why we haven’t booked anything.
Blue had spotted the tiny Fiat last night and feels we must have a trip in one-what a laugh.
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We pack up the bikes and programme the GPS for Sefrou but within minutes we are lost trying to find our way out of Fes. We end up going down back streets and then riding between houses on rough ground just following the GPS, all the young kids are waving and smiling at us :D . Down in a gully about 8 foot deep we spot the corrugated iron roofs of a shanty town just like the TV news reports from South Africa-I can’t believe what I’ve just seen :( . Then within a mile we are passing massive brand new, exclusive houses with their own gates-the contrast is terrible :evil: . Finally we give in and ask a Policeman who soon sets right.
The insurance ladies route was a cracker. Mountains with snow caps, barriers that two months ago closed the road due to snow, long sweeping bends and incredible scenery.
Make sure you give the trucks plenty of room
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We pass several small towns and then start to ride a very long straight road that went on for maybe 20 miles without a single bend.
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Occasionally a truck would appear in the mirage ahead but apart from that we were the only living thing around-spooky. Thoughts of French Foreign Legion films come into my head and sure enough forts could be seen on the horizon. We come to a pile of rocks around the edge where the road has fallen away-this is why you shouldn’t ride at night. As we stop to look half a dozen kids appear from the village just up to the right, they must have been watching our dust trail approaching for miles. They ask for sweets so I give them a few mints and they are happy.
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This is an awesome place which makes you feel alive. Further down the road we come to a small town and we need some lunch so turn down a street which takes us into an informal market area. People have sheets spread out on the ground and are selling secondhand shoes, old bicycle parts and stuff that we would just throw away. As we ride through all eyes are upon us, there is an uneasy feel to this place :? . Small groups of men look on suspicious of us until I wave and say hello-then they return the gesture and smile-time to move I think. As we travel out of the town we spot a funeral procession carrying the coffin along the main street.
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So we showed some respect and stopped at a small cafe for food to avoid riding through the middle. The owner speaks no English, has no menus for us to look at and my French catches very little of what he says. He beckons me to follow him into the kitchen to where his wife is cooking the food-always a good sign. The kitchen had a bare concrete floor with a gully in the middle of it, the work surface was bare concrete and the cooker was a gas ring with a bottle at the side of it-in England you would have walked straight out but this is real Morocco and the fact he had shown us the kitchen gave me some respect for him.
When the food arrived it was excellent and we had nothing to worry about.
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The meal with drinks for all three of us came to 120 dirhams. I paid the man and kitted up ready to go when he suddenly came running out with my wallet in his hand-I had left it on the counter :shock: . The average wage in Morocco is 700 dirhams a month and my wallet had about 3 months worth of cash in it-I was absolutely amazed and gob smacked at the guys honesty and it totally restored my confidence in where we were :D .
We gear up and head off now the funeral procession has cleared. It’s early afternoon and very hot again so we just keep moving in an effort to stay cool.
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More passes and more forts of the Foreign Legion before we arrive at the Gorges du Ziz and pull up for a drink of water.
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There is a Landrover parked up just in front and the driver comes over for a chat. He is a Spanish freelance photographer who works mainly for a big newspaper in Barcelona but he also does anything to pay the bills and is on one of his regular trips down to the desert with some parts for an energy company. He asks where we are heading and says we must carry on further South to visit Merzouga and the sand dunes. It’s too far for today so we head on to Ar-Rachidia for an overnight stop from where we have a choice of routes.
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As we enter the town a fixer who speaks excellent English flags us down and points the way to a hotel with pool for 250 dirhams each. I am a bit sceptical but the others are eager to get a shower so we have a look. It’s a newish built single story place but in a traditional Moroccan style-very nice.
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The guy on reception comes out and makes an opening gambit at 300 dirhams each plus 100 dirhams for breakfast. I ask to look at the rooms which turn out to be great and offered 200 dirhams each including breakfast. A couple of minutes of bartering ensued until he finally threw down his papers and the mood changes a little but he accepts my original offer-I was starting to enjoy this bartering lark :twisted: . Ten minutes later and we are cooling off in the pool-what a relief.
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A nice meal and finally to bed after another long hot day.
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Postby Noel » Thu Dec 24, 2009 8:53 pm

So glad you've done a bit more, will it be finished in the near future?
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Postby Tonibe63 » Thu Dec 24, 2009 9:05 pm

Noel wrote:So glad you've done a bit more, will it be finished in the near future?


I'll get it finished before the next visit :wink:
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Postby bmk » Thu Dec 24, 2009 9:06 pm

Keep it coming Tony, you're doing great :D :D
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Postby IAN T-B » Fri Dec 25, 2009 12:02 am

Great Pics Tony.
Last edited by IAN T-B on Fri Dec 25, 2009 5:45 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Digga » Fri Dec 25, 2009 5:31 pm

Thanks for that Tony .... it was a welcome 10 minutes away from the Christmas melee :roll: :lol:
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Postby wideload » Fri Dec 25, 2009 10:04 pm

Sounds like you were born to barter Tony :wink: :lol: :lol: :lol:

Great write up mate, keep it coming 8)
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Postby Tonibe63 » Mon Dec 28, 2009 11:33 am

Wednesday 4th
A great night’s sleep. Blue is first up ready for breakfast and is sitting talking to an older blond lady who is in full flow with her tale of whow. We join them as she continues to tell us about why she is in town and a not unheard of tale unfolds.
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About 10 years ago she retired from a successful career with the United Nations travelling the World on behalf of the UK Government. She had met a Morrocan man whom she had since married and had been persuaded to invest all her savings into his new hotel business. He had then gained his UK Passport, spent all the money, taken in a younger woman and thrown out his now pennyless wife. “I know what you are thinking” she said “and you are right, I’ve been very stupid.”
Today was to be her eigth day in Court having so far endured her own solicitor selling her evidence to the opposing side, a two hour stand up shouting match with her husband’s solicitors, a change of judges because the others had been bribed, evidence papers mysteriously being lost and a system that allows a man to lie in Court to protect himself. Her tale serves as a reminder to us that although our experiences so far were positive ones the underlying legal system within Morroco is very alien to our own and in real terms can at best be labelled corrupt and at worst totally lawless. “I will win this fight if it kills me” she says and I admire her spirit but I get the feeling that this is the last roll of her dice. We offer her our best wishes for the future before bidding her fairwell. We load up our bikes, pay the guard who has slept with our bikes all night the equivalence of 40p and head South for The Dessert.#
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After a couple of hours riding we draw into the town of Erfoud.
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We knew that fuel could be become scarce from now on so we head for a petrol station and some welcome shade from the 40 degree heat. As we fill up we are approached be a couple of friendly Italian bikers who are keen to exchange tales. Their English is excellent and within minutes we are sitting on a wall of the forecourt captivated by their stories presented with typical Italian flaire.
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Freddy and Mauro are on their first bike trip to Morocco although Freddy has been here 11 times previously as a support truck driver for The Dakar. Back home they like ourselves are into offroading on the usual enduro machines but this was their first time offroad on bigger bikes. The bikes, a 1200 GSA and an older Africa Twin, were fully loaded with camping gear, clothes, spare tyres etc, infact it looked like they had just thrown everything out of the garage at the bikes and just strapped it on-the GSA particularly looked really heavy. Due to having some knowledge of the terrain they had decided to make things harder for themselves by doing as much offroad as possible following a GPS trail they had copied from Russian Military maps. Talk of 280km a day offroad had us doubting their sanity and the badly damaged GSA along with stitches in shin wounds and photos of them buried in sand dunes confirmed they were nuts. By now there were a couple of street sellers starting to circle and interrupting our talks. Blue was enjoying winding them up with his bartering offering virtually nothing to one guy who was taking great exception to the fact he wasn’t playing the game. We sensed it was time to get going so we said farewell and headed South for Merzouga and the dunes.
The sun is now climbing high and the temperature is soaring. Inside my helmet is like a sauna but as I lift the visor for some fresh air my face is hit by a red hot blast just like opening the oven back home-f*ck me this is hot. After an hour we have to stop for a drink of water but there is no shade from the sun, just mile after mile of baked sand and rock. We shelter under the shadows of our bikes and get our first sight of a camel
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It’s no good I need a p*ss and can’t resist the urge to get some air round my gonads
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As I pull my trousers back up I turn around to see a Police car approaching about half a mile away-WTF there’s nobody for miles.
They stop and say something in a questioning manner which I can’t understand. I return a puzzled look along with a shrug of the shoulders (I know nothing I’ve come from Barcelona). International sign language takes over and he sticks his thumb up along with a frown. I return a thumb along with a smile, a whipe of the brow and raise a bottle of water. The Policeman returns an understanding smile along with a cheery wave as he gets back into the car before disappearing into the mirage-phew that was close.
The Three Amigoes with sweaty gonads.
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We set off again and marvel at the columns of sand being whipped up into the air like mini tornadoes, the camels and the occasional bit of tumbleweed speeding along beside us. We spot a Kasbah up on a hill so head offroad towards it
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The dog kennels are a lot bigger here
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We head down through the outskirts towards Merzouga
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Finally we get to the entrance to the town
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By now we are getting hungry so ride up and down the dirt streets looking for signs of a cafe. There’s only one so we grab a chair in the shade, order a coke and then notice a dust trail approaching accompanied by a familiar sound. Soon Freddy and Mauro had joined us and proceeded to order food and drinks in fluent French (we English are so lazy when it comes to foreign languages).
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As it turns out the cafe owner spoke brilliant English which he had learnt from travellers and also from The Dakar circus that passes by about a mile behind the cafe. He says that he digs cars and trucks out of the dunes for 2000 Dirhams a day, that’s equivalent to three months average wage and is a great loss now The Dakar has moved.

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The meal is excellent as is the conversation which the cafe owner is keen to join in with. He is a natural salesman who offers to arrange guides around the dunes, camel treks, 4x4 driving infact anything we could want for a price. Strangely, instead of getting annoyed with his sales pitch I find a growing respect for the bloke, he is clever and I get to thinking he would make some serious money if he was in London’s Stock Market.
Bellies full we buy water for the day, load up and say our goodbyes. We are heading for the dunes for a play and then West whilst the intrepid Italians are up for 200km off road to their overnight stop. Freddy recommends a Kasbah to the West where he has previously stayed and he knows is safe.
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Open your eyes and you see what is in front of you, open your mind and you see a whole new World.
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Postby Tonibe63 » Mon Dec 28, 2009 3:28 pm

We head South with the dunes on our left as we search for the trail that will take us around the back of the infamous Erg Chebbi dunes. Before long we realise we had missed it so turn around and stop at a number of different tracks that are lined with a few rocks before disappearing into the horizon. A local pulls up on his little moped and offers to get a 4x4 and guide us around the dunes. We said we were fine and would ride our bikes alone thanks. He laughed, shook his head and said “impossible” before riding off back towards town.
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We decided to head straight for the sand and within minutes his words were ringing around my head “impossible”. I’ve never ridden on proper sand before but knew the theory so weight back and gas it. All was going well until the back end started to lose traction and sink at which point I backed off the throttle and the sand monster made a grab for the front end. The resulting tank slapper wasn’t pretty and I was pleased to come to a halt still upright.
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Was it me? No Blue had also come to a similar stop just ahead of me
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Five minutes of pushing soon had us sweating but atleast we were back on the road.
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After a quick chat we decided to head back to town and then West to Nekob some 180km away.
The road kill is likely to turn the tables on bikers out here and is a good reason not to ride too fast and never to ride in the dark
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Time was marching on so we need to get our heads down if we are to avoid being caught out in the middle of nowhere come nightfall so three hours of riding was in order.
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Miles and miles of virtually nothing apart from the occasional few houses that were a town on the road. The problem is most towns in the South do not have signs as you enter so it’s easy to lose track of exactly where you are on the long road and also how much further there is to go.
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As the sun began to set we quickened the pace, in a couple hours it will be dark. Then with the sun directly in our faces we came round a bend straight onto freshly laid road chippings which were like the skin on a rice pudding. The bikes were all over the place but we needed to press on so weight back, power on and hope nothing is in the road ahead. This lasted for about 5 miles by which time the bikes and our boots were covered in tar and chippings.
As the sun is setting we roll into a slightly bigger town with a mixture of maybe 50 small garage workshops and houses/huts lining the thin tarmac road with small groups of men gathered. Again there is no Town sign so we are not sure we are in Nekob but Freddy said to look out for the sign for Kasbah Baha Baha on the main road. We ride through slowly but as we exit the town we see no signs. OMG we are up sh*t creek. We turn around and make another pass through the town and suddenly the headlight picks out a small sign on a wall-YES. We follow the arrows off the main road and onto dirt tracks winding their way through unlit town streets just wide enough for a car. The headlight picks out more groups of men in dark corners-this doesn’t feel good but another sign points deeper into the houses. Then as we are about to give up we spot a large walled house with tall wooden arched gates and a sign Kasbah Baha Baha. As we approach the gates open and we ride into a dimly lit gravel courtyard that was truely an Oasis in this mud hut town.
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This is the last chance saloon for tonight so bartering wasn’t going to be an option. We ask the owner to view the rooms which are nicely furnished but very hot so we opt for the bedoin tents out in the Courtyard-yes, another box ticked. A quick shower and time for some food.
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During dinner I noticed what appeared to be the only other guests, a French family with two children and as we went back to our tents I exchanged a few greetings with them. This was the first sign of family life for several days and as I settled down for the night it suddenly hit me like a freight train-for the first time I was feeling homesick. Thoughts of my own family rattled around my head along with memories of my late Father. My mind was tired and confused at the highs and lows of the situation but thankfully I was soon asleep.
Open your eyes and you see what is in front of you, open your mind and you see a whole new World.
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Postby bmk » Mon Dec 28, 2009 3:48 pm

Enjoying this Tony, keep it coming 8) :lol:
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Postby Digga » Mon Dec 28, 2009 5:24 pm

plus one here Tony..

coming together nicely :D
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Postby wideload » Mon Dec 28, 2009 5:38 pm

Well worth waiting for Tony 8) 8) 8)
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Postby Tonibe63 » Tue Dec 29, 2009 12:01 pm

Thursday 5th
What’s that! Am I asleep or awake? A loud wailing noise is coming from somewhere but I can’t work out what it is or where it’s coming from. It’s still dark in the tent but I manage to find the exit and peer outside into the halflight. Dawn is just breaking, the air is fresh and the Kasbah is silohueted against the rising sun is a wonderful sight. The wailing is still going on and I finally realise that it is the loud speaker at the Mosque calling the men to prayers. It’s too early to get up so I get back in bed and listen briefly to the haunting but strangley soothing sounds before dropping back off to sleep.
I wake up for the second time and glance at the watch, 6.30am and it’s daylight in the tent, that’s good enough for me. The last couple of days has been very hot and I’m eager to enjoy the cool freshness of the morning shade so I grab my stuff and head for the poolside area.
The Night watchmen still asleep
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First sight of the Kasbah in daylight
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I’ve not written my diary for several days so I find a quiet place to jot down some notes
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After breakfast we make an early start in an attempt to get to Marakech in daylight as last night was cutting it a bit fine. Not sure if it’s a hangover from last nights homesickness or the cumulative effect of long days and not enough water but the riding today seems a bit boring. The roads are good, plenty of bends, the scenery is getting more rugged and the green ribbon of date trees on the valley floors is a welcome change to the baron sands of yesterday.
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The first site of local women doing the washing in the river. They were very camera shy.
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The increased number of 4x4 convoys and coaches tells us we are back on the tourist trail and the ‘Adventure’ feeling starts to ebb away.
We pass the entrance to Atlas Studios where many Hollywood Blockbuster films were made. Far too American to even think of stopping ”Have a nice day y’all”
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Lizard man was in a layby at a view point on the road. Once he’d drawn you in his mate appeared with a bag full of local trinkets to releave us of our tourist Dirhams.
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We bypass Ouarzazate as it looks just like a big city on the map and decide to stop at the next suitable place for lunch before The Tizi-N-Tichka Pass. As we ride into Agouim we spot a Ural sidecar outfit parked up with a Euro plate of some sort but carry on until we find a cafe. As we settle down the Ural spots us and pulls up for a chat. The rider turns out to be an American female Journalist Carla King on a solo tour of Morocco on a bike she had borrowed from a friend in Austria-she’s got some b*lls. She sips a coffee and we tuck into our food as she recounts her journey so far and asks details of our trip for her web blog where she describes us as three wide eyed Englishmen. A quick photo and she is off to meet a friend in Marakech.
We met again a couple times further down the road
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Blue gets withdrawel symptoms and takes to the dirt
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The Tizi-N-Tichka Pass cuts between the Mountains and is a brilliant road with non stop bends and great scenery-so much so we didn’t get many photo’s. We came round one bend to see a truck lurching heavily towards the Armco barrier as if it was going to topple over. On top of the truck was a 3ft steel fence with half a dozen cattle standing up and leaning back as they gazed over the drop down the mountain-crazy place. Alas the only photo we have is in our heads.
Up into the High Atlas Mountains
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Mid afternoon and we approaching the outskirts of Marakech and the traffic increases dramatically. In a big city it is safer just to head for the Ibis Hotel as you know what you are getting and that the bikes are safe. We tour around for a while but can’t find it. Blue stops to ask a taxi driver where it is and the bloke points out the way. As Blue pulls off he clouts the front wing of the car with his panniers and the bloke just laughs and waves. The traffic is now very heavy and at the roundabout a moped hits the side of a car. As I roll forward I watch it unfold and a cyclist just rides straight across in front of me on a suicide mission. A Policeman gives a glance towards the argueing drivers and then looks away as if it’s an hourly routine. Behind me a coach starts blasting his horn for me to move so I give him the one fingered salute and ride off. Within seconds my mirrors are filled with a view of the coach and the driver waving his fists as he tries to get into my topbox, sh*t he’s trying to kill me. Only thing for it is to go down the outside of three lanes of traffic but the coach driver knows all the tricks and soon follows-ohhh sh*t. A quick right turn across the traffic at the next roundabout and I’ve lost him. Not sure I got the best view of the walled City but atleast I’m alive-I best keep my finger under control from now on.
We regroup and ask a Policeman for directions and we head in the right direction. We go wrong somewhere and end up riding down alley ways and through a marketplace full of people-this is a crazy place but great fun. Eventually by late afternoon we find the Ibis Hotel, get a triple room, shower and changed by nightfall.
As we head out of the lobby we spot a familiar site
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We ask the receptionist to ring through to the other bikers and ten minutes later we are crammed into a taxi heading for Marakech market square
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Freddy has been here many times before and delights in showing us around
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He takes us to his favourite eating place
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After food we walk around the square. It’s alive with groups of people gathered around the various ‘acts’ including snake charmers, story tellers, Holy man, local nutter and tricksters
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View taken from a cafe overlooking the square
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Then we had a tour round the Medina (apologies for photo quality)
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And found an FS1E
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By now it was getting towards midnight so we head back to the Hotel. We managed to grab our first beer for over a week and sipped away whilst imagining the chaos in this crazy place if they had alcohol. Considering I don’t like Tourist Cities was brilliant.
We agree to meet up for breakfast but as we set off the following morning their bikes are still there and no sign of life. We leave a note thanking them for a great time, wish them well and maybe meet up later in the week.
Open your eyes and you see what is in front of you, open your mind and you see a whole new World.
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Postby bmk » Tue Dec 29, 2009 3:59 pm

Tonibe63 wrote:As we ride into Agouim we spot a Ural sidecar outfit parked up with a Euro plate of some sort but carry on until we find a cafe. As we settle down the Ural spots us and pulls up for a chat. The rider turns out to be an American female Journalist Carla King on a solo tour of Morocco on a bike she had borrowed from a friend in Austria-she’s got some b*lls.


More of Miss King's adventures here -

Motorcycle Misadventures

:lol:
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