Originally we were going to see the mausoleum of Mohammed V but with the ferry leaving one hour earlier Julio decided we might not make it by the new departure time of 13:00, if we stopped to see the dead king.
The next ferry would have us in Tarifa, Spain, at 19:00 putting us back to base at ~21:00, which was not desirable.
This flexible schedule made me think.
Julio, from the outset, made it clear that although we had an itinerary it could, and probably would, be changed depending on many factors, e.g. delays, bad roads, common consensus, special wants/needs etc. etc.
Although to some it may seem like it made for a poorly structured or unorganised tour it made it more enjoyable, and in some cases a good laugh.
One example that gave everyone a chuckle was the planned visit to the waterfall, near the kasbah, known as Cascades D'Ouzoud.
Julios original suggestion was that we meet at the normal, but cruel, hour of 08:30.
We then ride to the waterfalls and get back to the kasbah and be ready to leave by 09:30.
Our brain got ticking very quickly and questions like -
"How high are the waterfalls?"
"Can we sleep in for another hour and miss the trip to the waterfall?"
- were asked.
Julio tried to upsell the waterfall but he was dealing with some seriously tired, sleep deprived bikers that had seen Niagara Falls and were less than impressed.
The falls at Ouzoud weren't going to be enough to get some of us to relinquish an hours sleep to watch water "...going over a high gutter!"
Julio made fun of our disinterest and feigned being hurt by it but in all seriousness it showed up two important things -
1. How difficult it can be to please everyone in a group as large and diverse as ours.
and
2. How important it is to be flexible and how accommodating Julio was at being so.
Some went to the falls, some stayed and slept. Everyone ended up happy that day.
Now, back to the events of the last days' ride.
We met in the carpark of L'Amphitrite at the normal, but cruel, hour of 08:30.
There we were, a bedraggled bunch of bikers on our dusty BMW's amongst mainly clean, upmarket cars in the carpark of a holiday palace. A nice contrast.
The one thing that bothered me was how close we were to that Ferrari Italia 458. I was sh!t scared the damn thing would spontaneously combust and burn us all to a cinder!
We got out of there before it did.
We wanted to reach the port in Tangier by midday at the latest, as that would give us an hour to get 5 minutes of paperwork done. This is how you need to plan in Morocco.
This may seem strange to some but the Moroccan port authorities, as we discovered on our way in, can take bureaucracy, officialdom and just plain being difficult to a whole new level.
One hour might just be enough to deal with such a worse case scenario.
Getting through Rabat was done by sticking close, like a ball (or as Julio pronounced it - "bol", and this in no way is making fun of his accent as he speaks multiple languages far better than I speak English).
Once we were on the northern side of Rabat it was time to make the bikes "work", which they did flawlessly.
We got to the port in good time and the officials there made the paperwork process far less painful than a week ago.
Tiz and I high fived each other at the fact that we had "done Morocco"! No incidents to speak of. No damage to the bike. We were very pleased.
We were on the ferry with our bikes strapped down by 12:10. The ferry ended up leaving at 13:40.
That's life!
We occupied the back end of the top deck and sprawled out our riding gear in preparation for a little rest while the ferry took us to Tarifa an hour later.
I slept. Other chatted. Dolphins swimming next to ferry entertained the passengers.
The exit from the port of Tarifa, in Spain, took a little while as three of the girls were "mucked about" by port officials and ended up going through customs along with many pedestrian passengers.
Whilst we waited for the three girls Julio, Roger and I talked about stuff.
Sh!t mainly, as guys are want to do when they are standing around bikes waiting for their chicas.
I digress.
As we stood there, across the road from our bikes, a couple pulled up on an older BMW Adventure. They had parked next to our bikes and were circling our bikes looking at them.
Eventually they walked towards us and the youngish (mid 30's) rider asked if any of us spoke English.
Quick as a flash Rogers says, pointing at me, "This bloke speaks Aussie but you might not understand him."
Me thinks "A###hole!", in the most affectionate way a man can for another, and then start to crack up and start laughing and I gave up trying to make sense or help.
The young Scotsman was going to follow the route that we had taken without any planning or bookings.
Just him and his girls on his bike doing a lap of Morocco, impromptu.
He was embarking on a far bigger adventure than we had.
Julio gave him some tips on how to get onto the ferry and through Moroccan customs, which the guy was completely unaware of.
It made me realise how fortunate we were to have chosen Hispania Tours to complete this trip.
"Good luck, Jock (and girlfriend)!" I hope they have as good a time as we with as few hassles, but I think you'll wish you had rung Eva beforehand!
By now it was Spanish lunchtime, ~15:30, so we stopped just outside the port at a little seafood restaurant.
As usual my eyes led the charge whilst my stomach struggled behind.
Bread, olive oil and the best marinated olives were quickly served up.
I chose grilled octopus for starters and I am still confused at how they manage to cook octopus that size (~40mm in diameter) and still keep it tender.
I remember watching the Greek fishermen down at the rocks in Sorrento (Victoria, Australia) pulling squid and octopus out of the water and immediately belting the catch against the rocks until it looked like they had smacked seven religions out of the poor fish! That must be the trick to tender cephalopods.
Tiz had a tomato salad for starter, 'cos she's sensible.
We shared a pot of arroz de mar (seafood risotto, but don't say that to a Spaniard) which was enough for six people. Tiz ate her portion. I ate three and we left two behind. As nice as it was, there is a limit to even my gluttony.
The pillions were treated to a small botle of creme de arroz con leche with three shot glasses.
I absolutely love arroz con leche and adding alcohol to it can only elevates it to new heights.
I had a tiny sip and it was indeed as good as I imagined.
Lunch over, back on the bikes for the last last ride.
We travelled a mixture of highways and freeways along the coast.
We were tired and I was brutally aware that so many accidents happen as riders, and drivers, relax as the end nears.
This made me more acutely aware but what I hadn't thought of, or realised, was that my hands were going numb.
Along one of the stretches of road we would come across roundabouts.
Here, you give way to the left.
As I approached one roundabout a van had signalled quite late that he was about to turn left.
As I went to pull the brake lever I realised my hand had frozen! I applied the foot brake but only managed to slow down rather than stop. The less that impressed van driver tooted his horn and stopped for us, fortunately.
He was probably thinking "I actually signalled for once and this dirtbag biker didn't even give way! Tonto estúpido!"
We made it to the shop at 19:30. Cold beers, and drinks, awaited. I remember drinking three (only 250ml) very quickly.
Lots of smiling and back slapping ensued.
Tiz and I had done 1973kms in six days of riding in a seven day period.
As Paul pointed out "It has less to do with the kms you do and more to do with the amount of time on the bike."
We had spent 5-6 hours riding each day with a non-riding day in the middle of the trip.
It was a lot, for us.
The odometer tells the story!
We parked the bikes gave ourselves two hours to scrub up and get the stench of motorbikes out of our skin. We would meet in the hotel lobby and catch taxis into the city.
When arrived at the start of the Calle Marqués de Larios, a main pedestrian walkway which has hundreds of eateries, bars, shop, ice cream vendors etc. etc., we were met by Johannes, the company owner , and Julio.
Julio, with great pride took us to a bar that the Spanish visit for a small of wine, which is almost a sherry, before they commence their meal. The bar is called La Casa Del Antigua Guardia. It's the oldest bar in Malaga and has been there for over 130 years.
This is the entrance to Casa De La Antigua Guardia,
but the pic was taken the next day
These are the barrels that hold the variety of sherry.
All are sweet. Some less sweet. Some more sweet.
Not really my thing, but then again I'm neither Malagan nor a connoisseur of fine sherry.
Julio's pride in the place was enough for me to enjoy being there.
We next visited another bar, called La Campana, for tapas and drink.
This place was very busy, as are any of the better bars, and the tapas were very tasty.
Chicken on skewers with a basket of little grissini and bread,
washed down with great Spanish wine and beer
Yummo!
It was very good and the wine and beer flowed freely. That I do remember.
I also remember saying, at 01:30am, "Goodnight, we're going back to the hotel to get some sleep.
Some from the group followed. Other die-hards stayed.
The whole "group thing" was now over.
Most of the people in the group we will remember fondly, forever.
Many we will keep in touch with, as best we can, for a very long time.
Some have become friends that, although not as often as we would like, we will see and laugh with again.
Finally, this blog, and in particular Moroccan leg, has a lot of video yet to be inserted.
I will edit the videos and upload some of it into this blog after we have returned home.
I can assure there will some interesting stuff to see so I urge you to return for a look in a few weeks.
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