Sunday 19 February 2012
We left the beach, stopped in nearby El Ouatia for bread and water (Moroccan water is fine and safe to drink for Moroccans but sometimes not for foreign systems), then moved on to closeby Tan-Tan for fuel (diesel, not gasoline, best communicated in Arabic by saying something close to "D-S-L") -- that had big clean station, attendants in snappy uniforms, but didn't take credit cards and Dian reported the toilet was a hole-in-the-ground squatter with a woman attendant who wanted money (for... ?).
Then we started the long drive back up the road that got us that far south. The landscape again reminded us of the New Mexico desert: brown, dusty, dirt forever, distant mountains, low-growing scrub vegetation. But no camels in NM! We were excited to spot maybe the same herd as before because there looked to be about 50-60 but this time off a ways and in a bunch. (Nicole got the group photo, Charles quipped, to go with her previous conga line highway crossing. She also snapped the ''camel crossing" highway sign -- you don't see those everywhere.)
As usual we were waved through the frequent police stops while they checked some Moroccan car (profiling or just being nice to the tourist money?) and one tall good-looking cop (they almost all were) even gave a big smile while he saluted us. Sure is a different feeling than we have when we see cops at home. Listening to Bachir Attar, Loudon Wainwright and the CD from the Gnawa guy's band we enjoyed all of it.
Stopped at Guelmim for ATM cash (all 200s, a $24-bill, sometimes hard to use) then north to Sidi Ifni back on the coast, looking for a good spot to stop. SI had two camps within 50 yards of each other at the end of the road, both packed -- not our cup o' sweet mint tea so we kept heading north along the Atlantic. Past the last town, gorgeous coast drive but still no camps, then finally, yes! And so cheap: 30 dirhams about $3.60. Here's why: very small, no Wi-Fi, no electricity, no shower, little in the store and nothing in the cafe but tea, one WC stall hole-in-the-ground style, and chickens, roosters and cats gathered around the front door of the van. But when we drove to the end and parked, there was a familiar face: the German guy, Frank and his family (wife Katrine, very very blonde kids Josephine and Titus), whom we had talked to when we pulled into the free camping spot on the beach in Tarifa, Spain. Small world, this.
And we were only a short walk to a spectacular beach so that made up for a lot. Dian and Charles took a stroll while Nicole caught up on missed sleep, and it was filled with locals, several fishermen, two women gathering mussels off the rocks, kids playing football and jumping in the water and tide pools (fully clothed), at least three couples hidden in the large rock formations extending to the water's edge (making out?), and two devout guys taking a prayer break right there on the sand.
Back to camp they went up for a tea and fetched Nicole to join them. Mint tea has always been her favorite so Morocco's been heaven for her taste buds, but this time it wasn't mint. Dian tasted it and asked the waiter, "Mint? Not mint tea?" and he looked at her quizzically (some language barrier) and replied "Tea... it's tea!"
We bought eggs and cheese and had a delicious omelette by Dian, read a chapter from Don Quixote, stayed up to Skype Dian's family for a report on the big birthday (87!) ice cream social celebration for Grandad and gave them a computer screen tour of our great little home on wheels (that didn't take long). Finally we put our weary heads down for some deserved rest. A great day, we all agreed.
Stopped at Guelmim for ATM cash (all 200s, a $24-bill, sometimes hard to use) then north to Sidi Ifni back on the coast, looking for a good spot to stop. SI had two camps within 50 yards of each other at the end of the road, both packed -- not our cup o' sweet mint tea so we kept heading north along the Atlantic. Past the last town, gorgeous coast drive but still no camps, then finally, yes! And so cheap: 30 dirhams about $3.60. Here's why: very small, no Wi-Fi, no electricity, no shower, little in the store and nothing in the cafe but tea, one WC stall hole-in-the-ground style, and chickens, roosters and cats gathered around the front door of the van. But when we drove to the end and parked, there was a familiar face: the German guy, Frank and his family (wife Katrine, very very blonde kids Josephine and Titus), whom we had talked to when we pulled into the free camping spot on the beach in Tarifa, Spain. Small world, this.
Back to camp they went up for a tea and fetched Nicole to join them. Mint tea has always been her favorite so Morocco's been heaven for her taste buds, but this time it wasn't mint. Dian tasted it and asked the waiter, "Mint? Not mint tea?" and he looked at her quizzically (some language barrier) and replied "Tea... it's tea!"
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