Back to Europe

Since the last blog we've spent one night in Martil, as planned, then back to Port Tanger Med and crossed to Algeciras. 

We spent our first night back in Europe in a big free campsite on the border  between Spain and Gibraltar then made our way to El Puerto de Santa Maria, where we've stayed before, for a few days of luxury on a very well organised and comfortable site.  From there we had an enjoyable day trip to Jerez, then moved to a campsite outside Seville and spent a relaxing day rediscovering what a lovely city it is. On this visit we realised that the famous Giralda is indeed just an Islamic minaret with a bell tower and statue stuck on top.

The Giralda, Seville

Minaret of the Koutoubia Mosque, Marrakesh

Since then we've made a loop through a bit of Southern Portugal and back to El Puerto de Santa Maria,  to catch the 'Carnaval' celebrations in Cadiz.



We thoroughly enjoyed Morocco, but on our return to Spain we were surprised by how relieved we felt, and how much it felt like coming home!  The town of La Linea de La Conception, which looked so sad and dowdy on our way out, looked so neat and prosperous when we returned.  After two months in Morocco even Franco's unlovely 1960s port of Algeciras looked like something out of Switzerland.

The part of the Algarve that we visited was, as we'd expected, full of Northern Europeans basking in the warm sunshine. However, it was also very pretty and peaceful. We visited the Rio Formosa National park, which is great for bird watching and saw flamingoes, spoonbills, curlew, egrets, storks and geese as well as many other types of wader that we didn't recognise.



The campsite we stayed at, Camping Moncarapacho, was very characterful; a big field with scattered vans, scattered animals (horses, camels, a pig, a macaw, highland cattle, an alpaca), scattered circus vans, including a human cannonball cannon. Only 7 euros a night including electricity, showers & wifi, almost as cheap as Morocco, but you know you're not in a Muslim country any more when there's a pet pig on the campsite!




We also took a scenic drive through the cork oak region, then paid a short visit to Alcoutim, a quiet little town on the Rio Guadiana , which forms the border between Portugal and Spain. Strangely, although you can see Spain clearly just over the river, there is no bridge or car ferry to allow you to cross here. We stayed the night at a smart new aire. Free water, waste dump and even electricity as well as a view across the river. Perfect we thought. Unfortunately, although the town was quite sleepy, the local dogs were having a festival of barking that night so it wasn't as peaceful as we'd hoped.

Sanlucar de Guadiana (Spain) from Alcoutim (Portugal)

We decided to add a week to our journey home, and backtrack to El Puerto, because we'd been told that the Carnaval celebrations of Cadiz are among the best in the world and are definitely worth seeing.



The first challenge was getting to the event. We arrived at the ferry port in El Puerto de Santa Maria planning to catch the 12:00 ferry and joined a spectacular queue of Spaniards, many in fancy dress, waiting surprisingly patiently.



We finally crossed at 14:00 and joined the thronging mass of revellers enjoying the day's festivities. We'd read that Cadiz carnival is famous for the satirical groups called chirigotas, who perform comic songs, accompanied by guitars, kazoos and drums. We knew that we'd have little chance of understanding the satirical songs, but could certainly join in with the eating, drinking and admiring the parades. As it turned out, the chirigotas were spectacular and very entertaining to watch; and they were everywhere. Some large groups were on floats being pulled through the crowded streets by a tractor.




Some small groups were performing at street level.



Some were clearly High School pupils.



and oe group even gave an impromptu performance on the ferry back to El Puerto.



One of the best things about the festival was how very good natured it was. The streets were packed with people, all of whom seemed to have been drinking all day, yet we didn't see any sign of  arguments or even bad tempered shoving. Everyone, from babies to grumpy old ladies seemed to be entering into the spirit of the carnival and having a good time.

Return of the wine (and food) blog.

One of the first jobs when we returned to Spain was to uncover our cache of hidden wine.

Back in December we found ourselves about to cross to Morocco with much more than our permitted alcohol allowance. Despite our best efforts we knew that we couldn't drink it all before we crossed. So we  wrapped our excess booze in black plastic bags and hid it in bushes on the beach at La Linea de la Conception.  However, as we travelled around Morocco we met many Northern Europeans who had stocked up with wine and beer at Spanish supermarkets before crossing; they obviously knew something that we didn't, or knew how to grease palms at the border. Goodie-Goodies that we are, we arrived in Morocco with 1 bottle of cava and 1 bottle of Torres brandy with which to celebrate Christmas and the New Year.

On returning from Morocco we were initially alarmed to find that all the leaves had fallen off the bushes that were our carefully chosen hiding places; but delighted to find all our wine was safe.

We really aren't cut out for life in a Muslim country. It is possible to buy wine in the big French style supermarkets in major towns, but anything that has to be imported is extremely expensive. The few Moroccan wines that we tried were ok, but they just don't compare to a nice Spanish or French wine.



As for the lack of pork; that was even harder to bear. Especially when you're so close to Spain with their delicious Iberian pork, 'albondigas' meat balls and the wide range of jamon. Our first night back in Spain involved a feast of pork products, which of course formed a perfect accompaniment to a good drop of  Rioja.

'Presa Iberica' - Pork with a ham garnish

One more previously undiscovered gem that we've recently come across is 'Tortilla de Camerones'. These shrimp fritters seem to be a speciality of the Cadiz region, they were selling them all over the place during the festival, and they are delicious! Sadly we're not going to be able to stock up on them so we'll just have to trawl the web for the recipe when we get home.

Our plan now is to have one more night in Spain, at an aire in Zafra about 100km north of Seville, then cross back into Portugal and loop through Lisbon and Porto before heading back towards Spain. From then on it's a fairly direct route back to Britain, though obviously we can't come home until we've made a final trip to Rioja and Bordeaux.

Merry Sidi Mohammed Ben Aïssa's Day one and all!

Meknes spent a period as the capital city of Morocco under King Moulay Ishmael, famous for consolidating the unified country, his enthusiasm for building works and committing bloody murders.  Much of what he built was destroyed in the 1755 earthquake, but the city still has enough to show how splendid it was, including the late king's ornate mausoleum (above). Part of the attraction of Meknes is that it's less visited, less tourist oriented, quieter and less pressured than Fes.  We didn't get the full benefit of that, but got other benefits instead, as we happened to turn up for the biggest party of the year, the highlight of Meknes' calendar, the twin festivals of Mouloud and the Moussem of Sidi Mohammed Ben Aïssa.

Morocco celebrates Mouloud (Mohammed's birthday) with more enthusiasm than anywhere else (in some Muslim countries such as Saudi Arabia the celebration is banned entirely).  In Meknes in the days around Mouloud they also commemorate their local Sufi Saint  Mohammed Ben Aïssa whose tomb is in the northern edge of the city.

We found it surprisingly hard to get firm information on what was likely to be happening, when and where.  The well hidden Meknes tourist office didn't seem to know anything, reports on the web were vague.  In the event I'm sure we missed some things, but we saw plenty.

Town was absolutely heaving with people, mostly shopping.  Far be it for us Europeans to accuse Moroccans of consumerism, but there was an incredible retail frenzy.  We retreated from one street in the medina, crammed with stalls and people, when there seemed to be a real possibility of people getting crushed.  The strangest thing was that most of them seemed to be joining the crush to buy things that they could have bought any day; socks, acrylic blankets, plastic stools and fruit.



A pottery stallholder gave us an explanation that might help to make sense of it.  In his view, Meknes is the capital of Berber Morocco and everyone who can comes into town for the two festivals.  For people who live in the remote mountain villages this might be a rare opportunity to stock up on big city produce.

On some rough ground on the outskirts there was a huge heaving funfair, surrounded by handcarts selling nougat and charcoal grilled brochettes.  All around the streets were gridlocked with frustrated, ill tempered traffic.  The air was filled with the smoke of burning meat, fairground music, car horns, police whistles and screams from the walzers.

In the main square in the town centre, Place Lahadim, there were knots of people gathered around story tellers, musicians and acrobats, and opportunities to take photos of your toddler on a horse.  But there were other, more exciting, horse opportunities to be had, as we later found out.

After a couple of attempts we finally located Sidi Mohammed Ben Aïssa's mausoleum on the edge of a cemetery north of town.  When the French captured Morocco this is where they found his Sufi followers celebrating his teaching and exploiting his magical protection by catching cannon balls on their heads, eating live scorpions and chopping at each other with axes.  The French banned those antics, but this remains the focal point of the Brotherhood's religious celebrations – these days singing, dancing and chanting the beautiful names of God.  By the time we arrived all there was to see was a stream of people making their way into the mausoleum and an eager crowd looking out for VIP visitors.



Our guidebook and various web pages agreed that the celebrations of the Moussem of Sidi Mohammed Ben Aïssa included a 'fantasia', but couldn't agree on where or when.  A 'fantasia' is a display of traditional military horsemanship involving dressing up and galloping around firing muskets.  Teams complete for prizes awarded for skill and the most splendid tack and costume.  Some fantasias are put on for tourists, but others such as this one are for local enthusiasts.

Everyone we asked either knew nothing about it, or gave us a different time and place.  We managed to track down a large field just outside the city walls where tents were being erected and horses delivered in wagons.  We came back on each of the succeeding days to see if anything was likely to happen.



It all came together on the day of Mouloud.  We arrived to find men striding around in pale jelabas and white turbans, elaborate brocade saddles stood outside on hay bales, horses being groomed and muzzle loading muskets being test fired. 




By 11am everyone was ready and the competitions started.

Teams rode the length of the field up to a barrier where presumably the judges were.  Some rode slowly in close formation, then saluted the judges by bowing deeply from the saddle and twirling their muskets so the barrels faced backwards under their arms.  Others galloped hell for leather, yelling, before coming to an abrupt halt with a belly shaking volley of muskets.  The aim seemed to be to keep in a close group and to act in unison.  We thought it was a sport that Fenella  (Richard's cousin's wife) would probably be pretty good at, but we're not sure if any of the teams are yet ready for a female warrior.

Some teams made it look easy, others demonstrated how difficult it really was.  While we were there only one guy got taken away in the 'Croissant Rouge du Maroc' ambulance but a few more must have been bruised or scorched.

We left Meknes still thronged with celebrating Berbers and made our way north through the spectacular Rif mountains...



... to our present location in a popular campsite on the hillside overlooking Chefchaouen. 

This friendly little town is famous for its blue and white painted medina, apparently repainted that way when the town was occupied by Jews exiled from Spain.



The guidebooks didn't pay as much attention to its spectacular setting, nestled in a cleft between two soaring cloud capped crags, but we think it's stunning. We climbed up to the old Spanish mosque today and enjoyed the fabulous views over the town.



We're planning to spend another night here before making our way to a campsite by the beach at Martil on the Mediterranean coast, and then back to Tangier Med and finally, by the end of the week, back to Spain.

The Fes blog

We've just headed a little way west (to Meknes, Volubilis and Moulay Idriss) after a couple of days in Fes, another rather overwhelming Moroccan city.  Sometimes it's hard to believe they're not putting it on.



This is the one city in Morocco where everyone seems to agree you need a guide to get the best from it, so we asked our campsite (the calm, friendly and only slightly ramshackle Diamant Vert, in the middle of the Ain Chkhef forest) to make the necessary arrangements.  That evening our guide Ali arrived in his shiny black Fiat, softly spoken, serious and very smart with a neat beard and shiny shoes.  We arranged to meet up the following morning.

The next day (Tuesday) we set off in his car to visit the old town.  As we travelled and got to know each other, Ali turned out to be far from quiet, and far from serious (although the beard and shiny shoes are real).  He is a highly educated man and speaks good English as well as German and French. His philosophy is that it's better to take your time over five monuments, appreciate them properly and see something of everyday life than to canter around twenty monuments – an approach that suits us just fine. We met large tour parties being led around like sheep and were very glad we weren't on their itinerary.


http://www.fes-guide.com

It's clear Ali's enthusiastic about sharing his extensive knowledge of his home city; not just making a living from the visitors.  He surprised us in the souk with a gift to remember him by … as if we could ever forget Ali.

So what did we see?

After a panoramic view of the old city, which should have orientated us but left us as bewildered as ever, we drove to a pottery which acts as a centre for passing on the traditional skills as well as a factory.  We saw a wide range of products being made; items being turned on a wheel, hand painted with natural glazes and fired in wood fired kilns.  They also produce a range of spectacular mosaic pieces.  Coloured glazed tiles are cut by hand into the shapes required, chamfered with a tool like a geologist's hammer, then arranged face down to form the pattern of a table top or ornamental fountain. The artists there are very skilled  and the pottery was gorgeous.



Another highlight was the famous tanneries, viewed from the balconies of a fantastic leather goods shop.  The raw hides are tanned and dyed in a series of vats containing solutions of lime, pigeon dung and herbal dyes.  Below us workers were standing thigh deep in the various solutions stamping and turning the sodden hides.  Some wore chest waders, others must have been content to go home with crimson legs.  It's a revelation how much dirty, stinking, backbreaking work goes into these delicate slippers, elegant leather jackets and dignified briefcases.



After the explanation about the tanning process and the chance to take endless photos we were given tea and allowed to spend as long as we liked exploring the shop – no pressure whatsoever. What a joy! Stella finally managed to find the perfect pair of babouche (leather slippers) that she'd been looking for. 

Lunch was a treat at the Palais Tijani; a place obviously popular with tour guides (and mentioned in the Rough Guide) as it combines beautiful décor with very good food. As well as the usual Moroccan staples, tagines and couscous, we got to sample a wide range of  delicious starters and were served by polite and attentive staff. We were also given a second dessert (briouats) to take back to the van with us for later.



We seemed to have a bit of bad luck with the Kairaouine University and the Madersa El Attarin, as both were unexpectedly closed.  In both cases access for non-Moslems is fairly restricted, so we would not have been able to see much anyway.  The University was particularly important as a major centre of learning in the mediaeval period, at a time when Europe was forgetting everything it once knew.

Apart from the big 'postcard' sights we spent a lot of time exploring the souks and crafts of the old medina, a succession of memorable sights, smells and sounds.

Perhaps the best thing about having Ali to guide us was that he worked like a magic charm against hustlers. As we meandered through the souk with him we were able to look at stalls and take in the atmosphere without being badgered by stallholders or faux guides. We were able to experience the best of Moroccan hospitality rather than being bothered by the minority who prey on tourists.

The following day we returned by ourselves to see Bab Boujeloud and the Bou Inania Madersa.  As we entered the medina we felt we were running the gauntlet without Ali, although the attention eased off after a few hundred metres when we left the stalls selling tourist souvenirs and reached the everyday shopping stalls.  The Madersa is another spectacular piece of classical Moroccan architecture, a confection of geometric tile work, carved stucco and cedar.  It includes a prayer hall which is out of bounds to non-Moslems but, unusually, is open for everyone to view.



We finished our visit with a cheap lunch in a café with a rooftop terrace overlooking the Bab Boujeloud.