Just as well we decided against heading further south from Agadir ! We’d been warned that Casablanca Customs would prove a challenge, that extricating our bikes from them would be no trivial pursuit.
And so it has proved – after 3 solid days in their queues at the container port we’re finally on the road. What a circus – you just have to stay calm and let it flow over you because there is NOTHING you can do to speed the process. The petty procedures, the little power games played by all the players in the chain, and just the sheer incompetence of the bureaucratic process – that’s Moroccan Customs in one.
The bikes are back. Time to pack and ride.
So now we’re away, on the road to Marrakesh via the coastal route. First impression – this side of the Atlas mountains is green – not brown, green. And the production of fruit and veges is a sight to behold. Now we know where the produce in the Casablanca Souk came from.
The mighty Atlas Mountains on the horizon as we cross the plains toward Marrakesh. Looking forward to the ride across them although not the snow.
Our first week and we’re “tagined out” – they are great but it’s time to branch out. Finding a bar gets a bit harder once beyond the city limits but they’re there, discretion is the key in this Muslim society. “Casablanca” is the beer most promoted, although we’ve find “Stork” to be preferable – maybe it’s the price, one quarter that of the premium lager so long as you can find a bar seedy enough that sells it.
Stork beer – our beverage of choice – at a buck a bottle it is.
A local casts a discerning eye over the bikes – thought he must be a Zoroastrian, then realised his getup is the norm for the locals. Think I’ll get some pyjamas the same for those chilly nights in the Atlas hills.
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