Morocco Part 1 - Tangier to Fort Bou Jerif

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Next stop Morocco - After buying our tickets from the legendary Carlos and stocking up on pork, booze and cheese at Lidl, we left at 8 o’clock the next morning, heading for the port at Algeciras for our ferry to Tangier. As we drove into the Port entrance, we got our first taste of what was to come. The snaking queue of vehicles waiting to enter the check-in area started amicably enough but soon descended into a free-for-all when three lanes of traffic tried to merge into one and we all ground to a halt.

When our tickets were finally inspected we were told that they were only valid for the return journey and the inspector disappeared with them. For a few minutes, we wondered whether we’d been sold a pup and how we were going to reverse out of the throng to sort it out. However, the man returned a couple of minutes later with two valid boarding passes and we were waved through to the departure area.

Whilst we waited to board the ferry, we played “spot the most overloaded vehicle”, a game easily won by a French Mercedes with 6 passengers and a groaning roof rack, doubling the height of the car. When the ferry arrived one hour later, we were surprised to see that it was a Catamaran. We had bought “fast ferry” tickets with a one hour crossing time and had expected something a little larger. We watched the cars drive up the boarding ramp until just the larger vehicles were left on the dockside. Another Motorhome towing a car was called forward but the driver pulled past the loading ramp making us think that the Catamaran was just for cars. However he suddenly stopped and began to reverse up the ramps onto the ferry. It now sank in that this was our ferry and we were also going to have to reverse on. Oh Joy. Expertly guided by the loading guys, we inched backwards up the narrow loading ramps and were chocked into place. We locked up and headed up to the decks.

Entering Morocco through Tangier meant that we had to get our passports stamped with the entry visas onboard. Announcements were made to that effect in Arabic and French, fluent in neither but being forewarned what we had to do, we joined another snaking queue. The crossing started calmly enough but by the time we got near the front of the queue, we were in the straits of Gibraltar and the ferry was starting to lurch from side to side. One of us was feeling decidedly queasy. Thankfully the entry visas posed no problems and the queasy traveller headed for a chair. The lurching continued and fresh air was required. The supposed one hour “fast” crossing turned into 1hr and 40 minutes of pretty rough seas and we finally arrived within the harbour walls at Tangier with some relief. Walking back through the lounges to the Van, it became apparent that it was not a good crossing for quite a few people.

Driving forward off the ferry, we got our first proper close-up views of Morocco, having missed most of it by the fresh air requirement that meant we were at the rear of the boat for the approach to Tangier. What you could see in the distance, outside of Port, was not dissimilar to the architecture of southern Spain, white washed, square buildings except with minarets peeping above the high-rise buildings. We joined the queue to get our Van import paperwork stamped and waited and waited and waited. Vehicles were abandoned alongside of us. We watched as vehicles contents were disgorged (How did they pack that many bicycles into a transit Van?), we eventually realised that people were returning from the front of the queue with forms. We showed our import paperwork to the inspector at the front of the queue who refused to accept the pre-printed versions and gave us another set of exactly the same forms to fill out again. After completing them, he stamped them and we were all set to go. Just a quick drive through the customs check and we should have been done. An hour later as another ferry pulled into the Port and the customs queue had still not moved, the inspector asked us plaintively if we had “Any arms or explosives?” - when we confirmed that we did not, he waived us onto a back road bypassing customs completely and out of the port gates, five and a half hours later and 23 miles from where we’d started that morning.

Outside the Port chaos again ensued, only this time it included donkey, horse and human pulled carts, fatalistic pedestrians and crowds of people just milling about. Our first task was to get some Moroccan currency. Trying to spot an ATM, we were accosted by a money changer. Not getting that bad a deal, we exchanged enough euros for dirhams for the first couple of days and headed out of Tangier towards the Atlantic coastline without further delay.

Our first nights stop was at Larache, approx 40 km from Tangier and one of three government funded French style Aires or camperstops in Morocco. Having spent a couple of days acclimatising, we headed down the coast towards Rabat. On the way down we stopped at the Plage de Nations, named for the Diplomatic families that used to visit. It consists of one hotel, a couple of parking areas and a long sandy beach. We parked up at the edge of the cliff with dramatic views out of the windscreen. Billed as an official camperstop, we decided to stop the night and paid the Guardian 30 dirhams (£3) to look after the Van overnight. Returning after a walk on the beach, we were then persuaded into “enhancing” the guardian’s initial fee with sweets for his five children, coffee for him and then his final demand of feeding him - he got a banana. The parking area slowly emptied and after an early evening police inspection, we were the only vehicle left. Now dark, the guardian suggested that we move down from our isolated parking area to outside the Hotel so that we were nearer to his post. At one o’clock in the morning we were woken by knocking and faint calls of “monsieur”. We saw a man walking away into the darkness so lay back down. Five minutes later, he was back with an accomplice, and the process was repeated. We did not answer the door and they walked away after a couple of minutes. A bit spooked, we left early the next morning and agreed to not park on our own again. We headed for El Jadida and the relative safety of ‘Camping International’.

We walked around the city ramparts and went into the atmospheric Portuguese Cistern used in Orson Welles “Othello”. Our arrival in El Jadida coincided with the festival of ‘Aid el Kabir’. We had noticed lots of sheep on roof-racks, mopeds, in car boots and carts during the preceding days and hadn’t realised why. The festival celebrates the willingness of Abraham to kill Isaac (Isaac is represented by a sheep).
Joined at the campsite by fellow Brits Eddie and Jude from Cambridge who gave us their recommendations for places to visit in Morocco, we soon headed off to the first of them - Essaouira, a resort town further down the Atlantic coast. It was a complete contrast to the Morocco we had seen up until then with a much more relaxed feel to it. We were able to park overnight in the port area near the medina walls and had panoramic views over the wide bay.

Having taken longer to adjust to Morocco than other countries we have been to, we were starting to feel a bit more relaxed and possibly lulled into a false sense of security, we then got scammed by the Henna woman whilst walking down the beach promenade. After refusing her offer of a full hand design, she claimed to want to give us a “free” small painting. Not having yet learnt that nothing in Morocco offered for “free” is actually “free”, the small design got more and more elaborate and she then demanded 350 dirhams (£35) for her “free” design. As we’d only gone out for a walk along the beach, we had very little money on us and we knew that she was trying to scam us. Offering 10 dirhams (£1), she first starts with anger (“I wouldn’t let you take my picture for that”), then guilt (“I need to support my children”) we gave her all our change - 35 dirhams (£3.50) and walk away. She’s not happy. She later re-appeared walking around the parked campervans and quickly identified us and our Van. More concerned that something may happen overnight to the Van, we decided its not worth the hassle of anything being exacted by an unhappy Henna painter or her imagined brothers, we left Essaouira and headed down the coast to Sidi Kaoki with the sun setting. Getting darker and darker, we miss the badly signed approach road and then drove straight past the campsite in the dark. Realising we had definitely gone to far, we turned around on a single track road and headed back - this time we did see it. The only lights in the vicinity were our headlights and so not sure of our surroundings, we pulled up for the night.

The next morning, we awoke to endless sea views. Sidi Kaoki turned out to be an isolated small village with a few surf hire shops and camel rides. The village itself is completely energy self-sufficient and you can see the wind turbines flanking the hills to the rear of the village. The area therefore, gives very little light interference and makes for a very special night sky. Supported by daily visits from one vendor or another, we spent eight very relaxed days here and our opinion of Morocco improved.

Whilst we were at Sidi Kaoki, we were warned by a Swiss traveller to check our Van import paperwork for the expiry date. You should receive 6 months but we only had 2 months - she only had 21 days ! She had however, found out that she could get it changed at the Port Authority in Agadir and advised us how to do it. So this decided our next destination and we left Sidi Kaoki hugging the coast roads, sweeping round one bay and then another and we see lots of surfers bobbing about waiting for the next big wave.

Arriving at Agadir, we immediately headed for the Moroccan equivalent of Tesco’s - “Marjane”, well not quite Tesco’s, but enough to restock us for a while. Surprise, Surprise we found that Alcohol is sold there. We tried the not-bad local brew. We arrived at the campsite to find it almost full and we grabbed the last available pitch. The campsite was filled with just about every European nationality overwintering. Pitches were jealously marked out by awnings, windbreaks and picket fences. Rebuilt in the 1960’s after a devasting earthquake, Agadir is much more of a tourist development than a traditional Moroccan town. Hotels and low-rise holiday complexes line the sea front and the familiar European fashion chains are in evidence in the marina. Being outside of the Satellite footprint for our internet connection, we headed off with the laptop to the Irish bar in town and catch up with pre-christmas emails. We passed the afternoon talking to the German waiter and English scuba instructor who both offer differing but interesting perspectives on living in Morocco.

Heading for the port the next day, we attempted to sort out the Van’ import paperwork to extend our stay. Accosted by the Fish man’s brother who tried to entice us to see his fish, we made it to the Port and after much queuing, jostling and arguing, we were told that we weren't on the computer yet and that we needed to go back in a few days. Fed up with Agadir, we headed further south to Sidi Ifni, a former Spanish enclave abandoned in the 1930’s with its art deco architecture slowly decaying where we spent Christmas. The fellow English, Irish and Norwegian campers gathered for Christmas drinks before we retired to our Vans for Christmas dinner.

On Boxing Day, we decided that the Sea looked calm enough to get the Kayaks out. However, when we tried to get out through the breakers, we realised that it wasn’t as calm as it looked from afar and with kayaks rapidly filling with water, we gave up.

Deciding to change our view for New Year, we headed to Fort Bou Jerif, approximately 1200km from Tangier and the furthest south we were planning to go. This is a ruined French legion fort set in the middle of nowhere down 18km of rough track. Heavy rains meant that we were stuck there for a few days. A few touch and go moments on the road leaving the fort and we were now heading east.

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Photos

Algeciras Port
Trying to board

Essaouira
Parked in the Port by the Medina Walls

Essaouira Harbour
Typical painted Moroccan fishing boats

Driving through Southern Morocco
On and On and On ...