Dwti Draig

How do I even begin this, considering it is now nearly a month since I updated last, and we are now in a different country, even a different continent! Yes, checking in now from Tarifa in Spain, a mere 1231 miles from where I last posted! Make yourself a cuppa and settle down; it’s a long one!

So we reluctantly left Dakhla to start the long drive back up; at least we knew what we were facing this time! We knew our first stop was going to be at the same campsite in Boujdour again, as basically there is nowhere else! It was a long way, but we got it done and pulled in again to the dusty site. We set up camp and went out for a sunset walk along the prom. When we came back we could see a man on a motorbike setting up his little tent in the dark.  He had British number plates so obviously we had to chat and Lyn helped him and lent him our big portable lorry light. What happened next was one of the highlights of our whole holiday! We made friends with Malcolm, who is travelling Morocco and Mauritania on his British Enfield bike solo, at the ripe old age of 73! What a man, what a character! We bonded immediately, and moved his little tent next to us out of the wind so we could help him, as he had been on the bike for a long time that day. I think he was glad to see some British people, as I can imagine travelling solo like that can be very solitary and isolating at times. Lyn gave him a much needed medicinal shot of whisky to help him sleep. 

The next morning we woke and made Malcolm a cup of tea. Instead of leaving that day as planned we ended up staying a day longer to hear all his stories! He had sadly lost his wife 2 years ago, and was doing this trip in her honour as it was what she talked of doing. We walked into the town to buy some bread, and Malcolm came with us. We found the bakery which was just a door to a room with a big oven and simple loaves of round Moroccan brea, which cost 8p a loaf. Lyn ended up eating one on the road as it was still warm! There were piles of wood outside ready to fuel the fire. We picked up some fruit and went back to the campsite, and sat around chatting. In the evening Malcolm chaperoned me for a promenade walk to watch the sunset, where I heard more stories, including ones of his amazing Mum. He found out at her funeral she had been in the Secret Service Intelligence Corps in the war, and only then heard of her exploits. Imagine the years she had kept all her stories hidden due to the Official Secrets Act. We finished an incredible day with Malcolm eating cheese toasties in our truck, and said goodbye the next day. My hope is that should/when something happens to me, Lyn will lead a life of adventure like Malcolm, and meet friendly people on his way. 

After Boujdour we skipped Foum el Oued and it’s lovely beach again, bypassed the horrible traffic route through Layounne and skipped the amazing supermarket, and headed on back up the coast out of Western Sahara, stopping again at all the many many police check points. We also said goodbye to the cheapest fuel of our trip, at 70p a litre. Lyn had found the next park up on P4N, which was perfect for us. We were perched up high on the cliffs, overlooking a secluded beach. We scrambled down a rough path down the cliff and walked along the really soft sand, despairing at the amount of litter washed up. The rock formations on the cliffs opposite were amazing, including my favourite crashed flying saucer one. We managed to not get abducted in the night, instead we slept like babies listening to the waves crash below us. This lovely park up cost us a whopping £1.60. 

We continued back up the road and stopped again at the supermarket in Guelmim to stock up. Supermarkets have been in very short supply, so I was mega excited to get some fresh food. I had also been excited to get to the next campsite on the coast at Sidi Ifni, but this was a real disappointment. The campsite looked out over the long beach, but the whole campsite and surrounding area had a very run down neglected air. It didn’t help that the campsite had a big enclosure with noisy cockerels in it. Why?? We had a prom/beach walk, but definitely didn’t want to extend there. 

You can never predict how you will enjoy the campsites. The next one, in comparison was so idyllic we stayed there for three nights. We managed to park up directly overlooking the beach at Sidi Wassey (or Sidi Pussay as Lyn insisted on calling it!). The beach was secluded and clean, with the most amazing huge Atlantic waves. We could, and did, watch them for hours and they definitely lulled us to sleep. There was just one little cafe overlooking the beach, where we could sit and watch the waves from somewhere different with a mint tea. The whole three days were just spent walking on the beach, or watching the waves from the hammock. Absolutely blissful; we’ll definitely go back, and for longer next time. 

From Sidi Pussay we headed further up the coast, to another campsite I had been excited to try. We bypassed busy Agadir, to stay at a large European style campsite just north of it, called Camping Atlantic Park. The whole vibe there was different, with regimented pitches and many many Brits. People seem to park up there for weeks on end. I had been keen to stay there as there was a promenade from there to the little village of Taghazout which I had been keen to visit. We walked the three miles into Taghazout on  a lovely promenade, overlooking a huge beach full of sunbeds and umbrellas. We realised were not in Kansas anymore, especially as we walked past the massive fancy hotels that overlooked the prom and beach. We gazed in through the glass balustrades at the the people sipping cocktails by their fancy pools . It was another disappointing moment for me when I realised that the incredible pools I had spotted on Google maps did not, in fact, belong to the camp site, but the £400 a night hotel next door. Damn!!

The walk along the prom was lovely, and Taghazout was exactly as I had hoped. Imagine the Moroccan Newquay… every other shop was a surf shop, and gorgeous young people with long curly hair wandered round with bare feet and surf boards under one arm. We had a fabulous brunch at a hipster vegan cafe, where the door showed posters for yoga and reiki classes, then walked the 3 miles back, feeling old, back past the luxury hotels, feeling poor!

The campsite wasn’t really our vibe and we were glad to leave it after 2 nights. Luckily the traffic getting out was better than when we tried to get in, as road works had meant we were stuck in a chaotic traffic jam, with no movement and no police; just by the camp site entrance. It was total gridlock. We could see where we needed to go, but couldn’t get into the turning as it was filled with vehicles filtering on, trying to get around the traffic jam. Lyn got out of Dwti and asked a lorry driver there to block the 3 lanes of queuing traffic so we could turn into it. I was mortified, but Lyn knew best, and he got it done. I was dreading getting back out, but it had all disappeared, like a bad dream!

Another place I had wanted to visit was the town of Essaouria, just up the coast. There is no camping there, so we stayed at a campsite in another little surfy place called Sidi Kaouki, so we could get a taxi in. We walked the couple of minutes in to the centre, past wandering donkeys and horses to find a taxi to agree a price. Abdhul agreed on 250 dirhams return, but we had to go to his house first to pick his wife up so she could travel in too!

Essaouria was fabulous, probably my favourite busy place in Morocco and I prefer it to Marrakesh hands down. It has everything! City walls, hassle free medina, big beach, little beach, huge waves, trendy cafes, authentic local life, authentic fishing port with mutant seagulls and seafood shacks, fort with cannons…. Definitely everything we wanted and needed. We wandered through the medina, past tourist tat which was next to butchers where men cut chunks off hanging slabs of meat, with the blood running onto the floor. There were arty concept stores next to old men selling oranges off a cart. Our brunch was amazing, in a cafe that wouldn’t have been out of place in somewhere a lot more trendy. I had Icelandic oat pancakes with orange blossom honey and red berry jam. Not your typical Moroccan fayre. We wandered onto a little beach where there was a big no swimming sign, and could immediately see why, as these waves were the most humungous we had seen so far. They were breathtaking, and we were both mesmerised. We were reluctant to leave, but Abdhul picked us up, asking could we go via the airport so we could drop his friend off! It’s the Moroccan way, lol. 

The area between Agadir and Essaouira is the heartland of Morocco’s famed argan region, so we drove past acres of rolling hills with the spiky argan trees that are found nowhere else on earth. Over 20 million argan trees, yet each tree only produces 1-3kg of fruit each year, and it takes a staggering 30-40kg of fruit to harvest 1 litre of pure oil. This is the only place where the ancient Berber tradition of crafting oil is still done by hand. We visited a women’s co-opertaive in Essaouira where we were shown how the women crack the hard nuts between stones, roast the kernels for culinary oil or leave them raw for cosmetic grades, then grind them slowly into a thick paste before pressing out the liquid drop by drop. I had tried and loved the cosmetic argan oil when we visited Marrakesh a few years ago, so was only to happy to pick another bottle or two up. 

Lyn was laying in his hammock in the campsite at Sidi Kaouki when Laurin came over to him. We initially met him in Chefchaoun which was our first stop in Morocco 6 weeks ago, when Lyn commented on his bike. We then saw him 2 weeks later when he pulled over in the desert on his bike to have a chat with us. We were amazed he remembered us, but I think it was Dwti that had caught his eye. We then met him again in the campsite at Agdz, where Lyn spent a lot of time talking to him. Lyn decided that when we left the campsite at Agdz and Laurrin was out on his bike he would hide a bottle of whisky for him amongst all his belongings which he had left strewn outside his campervan. Lyn tided them all up and put them on his chair to hide the whiskey. He left a note, and our instagram name to say bon voyage. We hadn’t expected to meet him again, but he popped up in Sidi Kaouki, and repaid Lyn with a cold beer. Laurin is a typical 23 year old, travelling by himself from his home in Switzerland, but obviously needs a father figure to tell him to sort his mess out! Lyn immediately fell into “Dad mode”, so tidied his stuff up for him, earning a “yes dad” reply from Laurrin! Another example of meeting fabulous people having similar adventures in life. He’s been in touch since to tell us to contact him if we make it to Switzerland. 

We had planned a few days relaxing before heading back into Spain, and really lucked out with the next campsite, thanks to a recommendation from the Kiwis we met at the start of our Moroccan trip. We obviously have similar tastes as we loved it too. The Mogador’s Oasis just had this chilled vibe that suited us both, especially as I had managed to injure my shoulder blade and needed to rest it. It was next to a stunning wild beach, and had a lovely little pool, so I was more than happy recuperating there. We ened up staying for 6 nights; our longest stay so far!

We knew things would get a bit grungier the further North we headed, as we made our way back to the port. Camping Ocean Bleu at Mohamedia was another large campsite, but again we lucked out with the people we met there, including a fabulous set of Brits who insisted on giving Lyn beer! Thanks again Brian! From there our last stop was at Asilah as this was only a hour and a half from the port. Again the camp site did not inspire us, but we took a little walk through the medina to a beach front cafe and had a drink to watch our last Moroccan sunset.