Morocco 1981 – Going South

Thursday July 30-31

First trip to the Channel Islands, take the overnight ferry from Portsmouth. Arrive early in the morning, meetup with Arthur and Barry. Everything looks English but the streets are all ‘Rues’

Friday July 31st

When you start writing in a diary what you had to eat, perhaps keeping a diary is not something you are going to get good at. I remember talking to a drunk but interesting Royal Marine in a chip shop after the pubs are closed, but for some reason it’s ‘mousaka’ that makes it into the diary. Jersey is part of Britain but its different, the beer is untaxed and therefore cheap. It was news to all of us that the Nazis had been here before us.

Saturday August 1st

Having to leave the campsite came as a bit of a surprise. The place is hardly heaving with people, perhaps they have a policy of no all male groups, 3 is more of a group than 2. This prohibition is quite common now in the Lake District where you often see ‘Families Only’ signs at campground entrances. In Pooley Bridge a Doberman would come into the tent early in the morning when the campsite owners were collecting the campground fees. I have vague recollections of fire extinguishers and toilets after the pubs closed, but that was in the Lakes, on Jersey we were impeccably behaved.

We catch an evening Hydrofoil to St Malo, this sounds rather sudden and I don’t recall whose idea it was. St Malo is just a short hop from Jersey so not that much of a leap. St Malo is a pleasant surprise, a walled city, spectacular and full of life. How come no one mentioned this place before? As usual we had no idea where we were going. Walk for miles, stumble upon a campsite and decide to sleep in a field next to it, so we won’t have to pay any fees. Resolve to make this a regular travel technique.

Sunday August 2nd

Wake up the next morning, no early morning call from a Doberman, and use the very nice bathrooms, we will definitely try this again, we never do. Three males hitch-hiking isn’t going to work so the decision is made to hitch separately, one at a time. and reunite at the roundabout after the next town. At first attempt this goes disastrously wrong. We lose Barry, and don’t see him again for several months. ‘Ou est le Barry’. No mobile phones in those days. We could have called home, but that would have sent alarm bells ringing, and was far from an easy thing to do in 1981.

Rennes-Bordeaux August 3rd

We spent the next morning looking for Barry, waiting at the Railway station and hovering around what we thought was the agreed rendezvous point. Finally around two we decide to move on and catch a lift to Bordeaux, it never occurs to either of us that something untoward might have happened to Barry. If it happened today the mobile phones would have solved the problem. We soon get absorbed in the trip.

Goodbye Toulouse August 4th

Toulouse was easy to get to but hard to get out of. It was very hot that day and some young girls give us their ice creams, they felt sorry for us. we felt sorry for us. Eventually we get a lift as far as Narbonne.

Narbonne

One of the main reasons for having one of these so called holidays was for the indellibles and Narbonne gave us the first. This part of the south of France has a wild dry landscape, we were dropped at a roadside service station, which was just closing. They had a free water cooler in the cafe. Those glasses of water were the best we’d ever had. The greatest thing in the world is a glass of cold water. We walked back outside and got our next lift from a truck to Perpignan.

This was first trip attempting serious distances hitchhiking. It was very simple, the direction was south, no accomodation. We spent the vast majority of the time outside and that in itself makes you see everything differently.

Perpignan August 5th

It always seemed that the best lifts were preceded by the most adverse situations. In my mind it was 18 hours, but it was more like 10. To be stuck in one place stuck by the side of road in boiling heat was an adverse situation. Even now the name Perpignan brings a shudder, I’ve refused holidays, just hearing that some resort was close to Perpignan.

French Retail

One overriding memory of France was the preponderance of furniture shops, “Tous les Meubles” as Arthur used to say. One of his rare incursions into the French language, apart from ‘Monsieur’ which he insisted on using in Italy.

Food was never far from our minds, and the easiest place to eat was at out of town ‘Geant Casinos’ a french version of Walmart. French Stick and tins of pate became our staple diet.

August 6th Ondara – Spain

We woke up in Ondara, the fact that we had breakfast was a good sign. Here we must of decided that enough was enough for the hitching, at least for a while. Took a bus to Alicante via Benidorm, which seemed like a nightmare though much beloved by British tourists.

In 1981 an ‘Express’ train was one that stopped everywhere, the 740km journey to Algecires took 24 hours, even today it takes 10. The revelation was that during the night the train stopped at all these little places whose stations were hosting wild parties, drinking dancing singing. It was so surreal I thought I was hallucinating.

Algecires doesn’t feel like Spain at all, our first experience of Moorish architecture. The landlady in the Pension, our first accomodation on this trip, can see we have had too much sun and makes fan like motions with her hands. You guys (hombres) need to cool down. We shower and in an advanced state of euphoria go out and get drunk.

August 8th Algecires

Catching a late evening ferry to Tangier, is probably a decision based on ticket price. It turns out to be a mistake, arriving at this particular North African Port in the small hours was not a good idea. Morroccan guides usually speak five languages, even at five years old, can be very charming and funny. The ones hanging around the port at 1am tend not to fall into this category. The only consolation was that we managed to offend them far more than they offended us.

August 9th Tangiers

Took a day to get comfortable, then we were able to enjoy the amazing architecture, beaches, climate and ambiance that is unique to Tangier.

August 10th Tangiers

Next to the hostel was some waste ground surrounded by a wall, it didn’t take long to notice that it was swarming with rats. I’ve never seen so many in one small area.

I wrote a letter home at this point. This indicates that I must have been expecting one back (Post Restante).

Poste Restante is service designed for travellers, who do not have a permanent address in the location where they wish to receive mail, enabling them to collect their mail free of charge at any participating Post Office

Perhaps I was just trying to reassure my parents that I was still alive, despite Barry’s (we presumed) early return. I’d later make good use of this service in India, as did Arthur.

August 11th Casablanca

The decision to go by train to Casablanca rather than Marrakesh, is not one that makes much sense today. We must have been wimps, however it didn’t stop the song “Marrakesh Express” going through my head for most of the journey. Don’t remember talking about Casablanca – the movie.

Six hours on the train and my most striking memory was seeing a field full of melons. So that’s what they look like in the ground. On arrival in Casablanca we were braced for hordes of aggressive guides, but there were none. In the end we had to ask people directions in order to find accommodation, not what we were expecting

August 12th

Casablanca is a big cosmopolitan high rise city full of urban sophisticates, we felt right at home there. No one bothers you. Mint tea becomes our drink of choice, that and Fanta. Bottled water isn’t a thing in in 1981, outside of Perrier water.

August 13th – 15th

Brochettes are a great discovery, cheap and filling. We discover that Casablanca – much like many of Morroco’s cites has a new and and Old City (Medina). We decide to fullfill a long held ambition and eat a big meal, so we order double brochettes, unfortunately by this stage of the journey our stomachs had shrunk so much, that we are unable to eat all we have bought. A source of great regret. Still the cafe life, idling all day in a government city full of office workers suits us fine.

August 16th Rabat

Had we known Morroco better, or done the slightest bit of resaearch and we would probably have gone to Fez and it’s medieval medina, instead we went to Rabat, which to its credit was large old and by the sea.

We found this cheap workman’s cafe, a million miles from the sophisticated cafes in Casablanca. There were only 2 menu items, كسكس , and , الطاجين . Much debate and discussion followed, Richard goes for الطاجين and Arthur decides on كسكس . At the time we were ignorant even when told the names of these two dishes, CousCous and Tagine. At this point we decide we like all Morroccans, who are unfailingly polite and helpful (outside of Tangiers). That’s what a cheap workmans cafe will do for your disposition.

August 17th-18th

My exam results are out, I had taken a single ‘A’ Level to get into University in October, I need a ‘B’. I have no way of finding out what the result is. Don’t recall any anxiety over this, though the result was far from certain, we had more pressing things to think about, like what kind of clothes we should buy in the old city.

We meet an American, who worked for Westinghouse. I’ve never heard of Westinghouse, but Arthur knows all about them. Years later I will incense an MIT student, when I claim (truly), to have never heard of MIT. He offers to help Arthur buy a ‘DJELLABA’ for Marja. Arthur gives him 100 Dirham, he goes out and we never see him, the money or the Djellaba again.

Not sure if Marja ever gets a Djellaba. This is probably just as well, we planned to hitch-hike home and we already had too much luggage. Getting in and out of cars with two large framed rucksacks is an art which we only mastered after demolishing more than one car ariel in out haste to get in. We would never travel with large bags again. Arthur in particular was good at carrying the minimum, delgating was one of his strong points.

Apart from that we spent most of the time on the beach. There are lots of uniformed Morrocan soliders in Rabat, it was not uncommon to see them walking down the street in pairs holding hands.

Ceuta via Tangiers

Took a bus from Rabat to Ceuta via Tangiers. At one point in the hills the bus comes to a halt. In the middle of the road is an old woman carrying what looks like a mountain of hay, it looks a lot like the cover of Led Zeppelin 4.

We are somewhat surprised to have to go through customs to get into Ceuta, slowly it dawns on us, that Ceuta is not part of Morrocco, but a Spanish enclave. This puts Gibralter in a whole new light. We had been somewhat put out at not being able to cross the landborder to the Rock when in Algeciras. At the time Arthur was a member of the University Air Squadron and I think he had dreams of inviting himself into the Officers Club there, and being offered flights to far flung exotic locations. ‘Your pigeon Arthur’.

Ceuta is full of hifi shops and Spanish duty free consumers, all the hotels are ‘complet’ so we catch a ferry back to Algeciras. A relief to get back to the mainland, we stop at a Cafe, play Pinball and try not to think of the 2500km journey back home

August 21st

We weren’t convinced Spain was a good place to hitch, Spanish truck drivers always seemed a bit odd to me, that night sleeping rough, Arthur gets badly bitten on the face. We have no mirror and he asks me how he looks. ‘Fine’, I reply. I know if I tell him that he looks like he’s just gone 15 rounds with Mike Tyson, he will use this as an excuse to decline all hitching activities. We don’t get any lifts that day.

Marbella – Torremolinos August 22nd

We finally get a lift to Marbella from a Morrocan in a Fiat, this does nothing to dispell our growing belief that Spanish people don’t like giving lifts, particularly to pugilists.

After that nothing again, we decide rashly to walk all night, hitching in the dark is even more difficult than during daylight, luckily we get a lift as far as Torremolinos. Years before I’d read James Mitchener’s “The Drifters” and here I was in one of its main locations, Torremolinos. There were no hippies here, we were fifteen years too late. there were plenty of skyscrapers, which seem to adorn the entire Spanish mediterranian coastline, it was like Bournemouth on steroids.

Still plenty of beaches and beaches are easy to sleep on, they are insect free and people tend to think you are tourists who have had too much to drink rather than a vagrant.

Malaga – Cordoba

Never try to walk out of Malaga, following the street signs, takes you in ever decreasing circles, eventually we got a lift to Cordoba. Malaga was hot we had eaten ice lollies, but Cordoba which was inland was like an oven. There was a temperature gauge which read 35 Degrees. Fortunately we got a lift almost immediatly from a truck driver, so dispelling my theory about Spanish truck drivers. At a certain point in the journey, he announced that he was going to sleep and so he dropped us off, at midnight, in the middle of some mountains, (Madridejos), in freezing weather.

Miracle – August 24th

It was well after midnight, we were in mountains somewhere south of Madrid, it was freezing cold, so to avoid imminent death from hypothermia, we started jumping up and down to keep warm. This was a first, doing physical exercise on a trip like this never occurs to you, the journey is so physically draining.

Then a miracle happened a red volvo with Dutch plates stopped and offered us a lift. The driver was a Morrocan who lived and worked in Holland, it soon became apparent that he was willing to take us all the way. He had stopped because he planned driving without a break and needed people to talk with so he wouldn’t go to sleep. If he could drive, we could talk. That said it took a while to get beyond the ‘Hash Good, Holland Good’ which were his fall back.

We were able to help with the navigation, though we got lost one time in a Basque town. This battered red volvo with three bedraggled men inside comes screeching to a halt outside Government building seeking directions. Two Guardia Civil officers immediately pointed their automatic weapons at us.

Apart from that all we had to worry about was keeping the driver awake. This weighed heavily on Arthur from his vantage point in the rear. Our driver insisted for reasons of hygiene that we throw all used food wrappings out of the window, whilst the car was still in motion. Outraged French farmers would shake their fists at us. C’est la Vie. France No Good.

In northern France we stop at Lille, our driver has family here, they put us up for the night and feed us. It was a time of gifts.

The following day we get dropped at Roosendaal in the south of Holland, we celebrate with frittes and mayonnaise. When in Holland.. We go our separate ways, Arthur to Benningbroek and Richard to Assen. Later that evening, in Assen I call home and find out I have got into University, not a bad day, not a bad trip.