They think it's all over........it is now!

We've been told off by several people for not finishing off the blog. Sorry!

We got fed of sunbathing on the campsite in Marrakech and moved north to Meknes. Big mistake... the weather changed and it became colder and very wet. After a couple of days dodging the showers we reluctantly decided it was time to head for home.
We crossed from Cueta to Algecira on the ferry and after an overnight stop in Malaga travelled north via Madrid, Zaragosa and Huesca avoiding motorways. Huesca is famous amonst other things for its Parador. A glamorous, converted medievel castle perched high on a mountain overlooking the town. Thinking we'd treat ourselves (again) I asked for a double room for one night. The price was just under 300 euros excluding breakfast. I asked the receptionist if that was freehold and if they were leaving the curtains and carpets but he didn't seem to understand. We quickly drove back down the mountain and found a two star hovel (sorry hotel) that was more in our price range.
After crossing the Pyrenees we called in at Lourdes. It was a bit disappointing.... there was no cricket on at all. Lourdes I decided is like Blackpool with religion. Bless me quick hats instead of kiss me quick. Even stranger was the fact that it was out of season and virtually deserted.
Two days later we were in Calais. We'd decided to have a full day in Calais before catching the eurotunnel train, stocking up on wine and delicacies from the huge Euro Shopping Centre. Wrong! ...... nothing is open in Calais on Sunday. It's like Bournmouth without the excitement.
The taxi has been absolutely fantastic throughout the trip. It kept going when other vehicles were constantly breaking down and made us the centre of attention wherever we went. A Rolls Royce with Dubai diplomatic plates cruised alongside us for about a mile at one point. We actually thought they were going to ask us to swap ....and decided to decline if they did.
We've been back at home for nearly a week now. I definitely think we need a holiday but where do you go after Timbuktu?
The founder of the Budapest to Bamako says he's going to organize a rally to China along the old silk road route. Hmm........... watch this space.

Back to the mountains

Back in Marrakech we still had one further job to do.
Go back to the village in the Atlas mountains where we spent Trish's birthday last year.
We still had one box of pens etc so we packed them into a rucksack, enlisted Jamal (our guide from last year) and set off for an eight hour climb to the village. It nearly killed us. After weeks sitting in a taxi we were so unfit. We gave the stuff to Brahim the headman of the village and our host from last year.
Next day we set off for the return slog back to Setti Fatma where we had left the taxi. It was on the return route that Trish learned a crucial lesson. If being passed by a donkey train on a very narrow path with a 400 foot drop on one side. Whatever you do, stand on the side away from the drop. Side swiped by the donkey's load, Trish teetered on the edge for a few seconds before recovering her balance. It was a very near thing.... she had all our money in her pocket and it would have been a hell of a climb down to get it back!
We are now in Marrakech once again for a little R & R.

ps

Big day yesterday.... the taxi was cleaned for the first time since the start of the rally to celebrate the clock turning over 200,000 miles.

Back in Morocco

We returned to Casablanca on the 24th Feb, arriving at 6.30am. It then took us another nine hours to retrieve the taxi from Moroccan customs. The car importation document, which a customs guy in Nador completed when we first entered the country, had crucial error. It should have been valid for 6 months but he put the wrong date on. The papers had expired while we were in Mali. They told us we would have to go into Casablanca ( by bus) to another customs office and apply for an extension. We told them very politely (at first) that it was their mistake not ours so they should sort it out. Being polite for eight hours didn't help so finally we unleashed the ultimate weapon at our disposal.
Trish had a screaming tantrum and we got our car back! The windows in terminal 2 Casablanca airport have now been replaced and the Director of Customs will be released from hospital next week.

Haircut continued...

Where was I? Oh yes...
he whipped out this huge razor and waved it in front of my face.
It was at that exact moment that I realised three things

1: The little tv set in the corner which everyone was watching was tuned to the Al Jazira channel showing the latest pictures from Afghanistan and Iraq.

2: No one knew where I was.

3: I needed a change of underwear.

The barber gave me a very strange smile and asked if I was American.
I managed to squeek that I was Anglais. He smiled again and gently shaved the back of my neck.
The haircut cost about 50p and ten years off my life.

Hi all,
tomorrow we head back to Casablanca, hoping the taxi is still where we left it and in one piece not on 4 bricks! Then we will go back to Marrakech to meet up with Jamal. We are going to take him to the school and give them the last of the donations. Its not going to be accessible by road so we hope to arrange a donkey! We'll let you know how we get on....

Haircut

I'd like to share with you my experience of getting a haircut in the Sahara. When we were alone in Dakla in Wester Sahara, I decided it was time for a haircut. I left Trish in hotel and went in search of a barber's which I eventually found down a back street. It was a tiny hole in the wall shop marked outside by a pile of rubble, a bundle of rags and a dead dog. The rags turned out to be someone asleep on the rubble and when I went to step over the dead dog it raised it's head, snarled, farted and went back to sleep. (Trish said that's what she's had to put up with every morning for the last thirty odd years - Most unkind!)
Once inside the shop I was immediately pushed to the front of the queue. The guy then spent the next hour cutting my hair. This is a long time for a haircut. When I thought he had finally finished he started trimming my eyebrows. Then my nasil hair and then, before I could stop him, he whipped half a inch off my moustache. If he made a move for the trouser area I was ready to run.
He disappeared for a minute and when he returned he was carrying the biggest cut-throat razor I've ever seen in my life. continued ......

A ps to the last post. I now know what the Hawk of The Desert is. I always thought it was a Bedouin or Toureg chief. - Wrong! It's what they do in Mali to clear their throats or chests about a hundred times a day. Even the gorgeous, lady concierge in La Maison sounded like a donkey being garotted in the mornings!