It had been the first night I had not used earplugs as the ocean waves were a pleasure to go to sleep with.

I was away on the road north to Agadir. Here I hoped to go to a supermarket where I could buy some more supplies.

I took the coast road and found I had to zip up my air vents as it was quite cold, a sea mist was coming inn off the sea making my visor misty. I could tell that I was in a mood, as nothing brought any joy. The bike was running fine, but the bent handlebars were awkward to hold and there were now a lot of vibrations coming through. I was still un decided if the tyre would last as well.

On a bodily front, my ankle had not got any better in 5 days and I was beginning to think I had done something a bit more serious, I had also torn a few muscles picking Betty up, making coughing or laughing a painful affair. I was in one.

Keeping to the coast road for as far as possible, I eventually had to join the main road which was a kind of dual carriageway. There was a lot of traffic, something I had never encountered before in Morocco and the whole shared space concept of the road had swung heavily in favour of the motor car.
'Lesser' road users such as Docker riders, donkey and carts and pedestrians still tried to use the road but the odds were stacked against them. I watched a man with one leg frantically making his way across the road only to be stranded on the white line as vehicles shot past him at 100kph. It was a shocking sight.

A growing number of newer cars were seen on the road along with the usual fare of 80s machinery. We were approaching the big town and the big time. There were a lot more policemen around doing useful jobs like waving traffic across already freely moving roundabouts and looking at people, sternly.

The already unfathomable rules of the road rapidly disintegrated as road space was filled with whatever would fit in it. Driving was a lot more macho, and I soon found that everyone just had to overtake me. As there was no speed limit posted, I guessed it was 50kph, but at times it could have been 20, 40, 60 or 80. I had to ride slowly to try and take in all of the information coming my way. I had set the sat nav to direct me to the supermarket in the middle of town and now it was really showing its worth, it meant I could concentrate on staying alive a little more.

Finally, I reached my destination, had a semi successful shop and decided I really didn't want to face the traffic again, so I found some fairly cheap accommodation and went out to take a look at the town.

A tourist destination for many nationalities it looked like it was mainly Moroccans on the beach. It was Saturday, so I imagined that most people were out for the day. There was all the usual beach fayre, with many a cafe and restaurant. All I wanted was a coffee but finding a place that didn't look too high class was tricky, especially with all the touts trying to drag you in. After walking too far and my ankle giving me gyp, I settled down in just what I had looked for.

The walk back was doubly painful. I passed 'The British Pub' and I knew where I would be spending the evening. I returned a little later and was soon most disappointed. This was a faux pub. There wasn't any ale, just eurofiz and you could have a 500ml draught beer for 60 dirham. That’s £3.75 a pint. No wonder there were lots of Audis around here, must be the bar owners. I ordered a pizza with was actually very good and I felt quite bored. I wished I had carried on to Taroudant now. I had a few more beers, conversed with home on the wifi and knocked off early. I was hoping that tomorrow would bring a better mood.