Thursday 30th October 2008

Good night’s sleep, reasonable shower, breakfast for 9 dirhams: all was well with the world so I took the wrong turn at the only junction on the motorway and ended up at Ceuta instead of Tangiers. Ceuta is a Spanish port on the coast of Morocco (sounds more Irish really) so I had to re-export my bike from Morocco to Spain before I could find out if I could get a ferry to Spain (more Irish by the second). I think I managed it in record time by glaring threateningly at all the fixers and simply riding to the top of all the insane queues. Instant culture shock! 100metres and I was in Europe while still on the continent of Africa. I bought a known brand of petrol with a credit card, bought my ferry ticket with a credit card and sat quietly on a seat on a ferry with lots of other people who weren’t running around, talking loudly or in any way being boisterous. I rode off at Algeciras, struggled with the well behaved but speedy European traffic and got as far as Malaga before just grinding to a halt both mentally and physically. I don’t really know what happened to me but after all the strange places I’d been to and all the crazy situations I’d dealt with I couldn’t cope with sorting out accommodation for myself in Malaga. Luckily a phone call to a very understanding friend had me sorted out with a refuge for the night round the coast near Motril.