23rd October: Tarifa-ferry-Tangier-Rabat

23rd October: Tarifa-ferry-Tangier-Rabat

On discovering that Jonny, Oliver and Ian were still in Cadiz (with Jonny's car having had a change of mag, and now no working dynamo) we decided to go for the 1pm ferry. In other news from further north; Matt (our guide), Rosie (our cook) and the Landrover support vehicle are still in Seville; with an overheated engine. Apparently the head is to be taken off on Monday - which puts them two days behind us before even a diagnosis.

Late leaving for the ferry, as Charles and Lawrence had to go and visit a building in town which they own. The Chrysler, Jeep and LeaF all got onto a noon ferry not listed on the schedules, while we caught the 1pm (actually 1.35) with Mark and Sue who had taken the long route, through France, in their Delage. Having suffered overheating already, they had added a supplementary radiator and fan in line with the original - pic above. As the engine is only a 1500 side valve, there is plenty of room under the bonnet.

Ferry a very fast 35 minute crossing and we landed at 12.10 - gaining two hours on the clock; while travelling just a few miles due South. Straight into a traditional Moroccan welcome -directed into a customs shed by some men in very splendid uniforms, where we were locked in to be fleeced by men in grubby track suits. The process started by being offered peppermint tea by a man in a long robe. When he returned to ask for money the customs men were shocked and surprised by his affrontery. Meanwhile they tutted over our paperwork - the fact that my name wasn't on the car documents, and Rollo's letter of authority didn't have an official government stamp on it was apparently a big problem - eventually settled by a visit to a policeman and the palming of a ten Euro note. A final payment of five Euros and the gates were opened for us to rejoin the others at a bar in the square - the five cars together for the first time and a photo opportunity supervised by grubby street hawkers and beggars.

Finally we left Tangier for Rabat at 2pm. The journey South, down the coast road, was through rather dull and impoverished countryside. Agriculture dominated by eucalyptus plantations, with some bananas being farmed inside tatty plastic protection. The Autoroute had a surprising amount of pedestrian traffic - children mostly, trying to sell fruit to the sparse, speeding traffic.

Oliver and Ian, who had done their bit chaperoning the slower members of the party, sped on in the Jeep. Meanwhile we did penance for our bad convoy behaviour yesterday by keeping the rest of the group in sight - through some unexpected heavy downpours of rain.

With plans for a day or two in Rabat we drew up a job list for fettling: check oil and water; fix nearside rear indicator and stop light; look at throttle linkage - as tickover too high when warm; try to get windscreen wipers to work.

We negotiated the long, busy Rabat ring road in gathering gloom, then addressed the challenge of finding the hotel; we had a map fragment, but no GPS co-ordinates, and Charles and I had the other three cars on our tail lights - Jonny getting increasingly agitated by lack of dynamo in the dark. With only one u-turn we chanced upon the hotel - by luck as much as judgement, and pulled into the car park of Hotel Las Gambusias: pleasant grounds, plenty of cockroaches, no plugs in sinks, but hot water.

The Jeep had been well ahead, but taken longer to find their mark, and Oliver celebrated each new arrival in the lobby with a tumbler of whisky. The receptionist became increasingly agitated by this until Oliver offered him a drink and the man recoiled in horror. I suggested that maybe the whisky bottle should go away.

Supper at the smart restaurant opposite was delicious, but we had too little local currency and Charles, an ex-forex trader, was indignant at the bad rate given by the waiter.

At the end of our first day in Morocco we concluded that it felt more foreign and third world than we expected - a country that greets visitors from Europe with such a customs process shows that it severely lacks either pride or control. The French colonisation had achieved one good thing though - excellent food, with superb bread.