BORDER CROSSING (No 2, Spain to Morocco):

- simple entry form to complete and submit with passport for stamping at a desk on the boat. Virtually instant and no fees. 

- the customs people only processed the bikes after everything else. All they wanted was my passport and registration document. Very friendly service, and they issued a 180 day temporary import permit free of charge. 

- bike insurance was on offer from a young guy wandering along the customs queue. Maybe I should have trusted him, because my half-formed plan to find my own broker came to nothing. (I had planned to arrive on a Monday, but this was a weekend evening).

I have been asking a lot of this little bike. It is designed mainly for short urban journeys, rarely exceeding 40 mph. And I have already been pushing it for fairly long days at around 60, carrying a lot of weight up and down hills. So far it has delivered without complaint. But I am going to go easier on it now - and on myself. We both have a long way to go, and I do want to see this project through. 

Once I was past the uplands of central Spain, it looked like Southern Europe at last. Cypresses, olives and palm trees, clear blue skies, warm sun. Hopefully the rain in Spain really does stay mainly in the altiplano.

As the sea came into sight near Tarifa, there were dozens and dozens of brightly coloured windsurfing canopies just offshore. Spectacular, but no time to take photos. If I pressed on I might be able to catch the 5pm catamaran across to Tangiers. 

I did - just. 40 hours ahead of my plan. I was allowed on with my original ticket. Last to board, and we were under way almost immediately. 

Apparently the immigration procedures take place on the boat. In my rush I didn’t hear about that, so I had to go back on board and do it after we had already unloaded. Not a problem though, just an avoidable delay. 

So all the other bikers (there were dozens of them) were already getting their customs formalities done as I finally rolled up. They were all on big touring bikes: mostly BMWs, mostly between 1200 and 1600 cc. I felt a bit intimidated on my 125. The only little bike there. And I think the only person travelling solo. But some of them remembered overtaking me more than once on the way down, and the word went round about my plans. Several people came to wish me luck.  

Outside the port I encountered annoying hassle from hustlers. All transparently untrustworthy, so I walked away from them all: without a SIM, insurance, or a place to stay. 

I had seen a nice-looking traditional hotel online but my satnav took me to the top of a flight of steps, and the various young men who leapt forward to “guide“ me were all useless would-be spivs. 

So I gave up on that, headed out of town, and stopped at the first big modern establishment I saw - just as the sun was setting. It looks very like an Ibis, and is almost empty. I rejected the first pricing suggestion, and got a much better deal - for cash (Euros). It’s hardly Africa, but it has got wifi, it’s clean and it’ll do.