My little bike was still there in the nearby public car park when I got up on Monday morning. Of course it was. This is Morocco, not London. 

After a very decent breakfast I was on my way with only a 60 mile hop to Casablanca. On the way I completed the full transit of Rabat and confirmed my first impression that it is a smart, clean and modern city. Even the low-rent areas looked tidy and well-maintained. The roads were in perfect condition too - and the roadside landscaping was immaculate. A marked contrast to the UK after 13 years of cuts and corner-shop economics. 

Arrived in Casa after an uneventful ride on a fairly empty road in mild weather, and found a brand new French chain hotel (very like an Ibis again) right in the City centre with secure underground parking, at a remarkably good price. 

I parked, checked in and walked to a nearby bank to use the ATM. Suddenly a man was standing close beside me talking urgently and waving his hands around the machine. Naturally I immediately cancelled the transaction, took my card, delivered some choice language to the guy bothering me - and went straight inside the Bank to report an attempted distraction crime. 

Three tellers looked at me in amazement - and one explained amusedly that my suspect was in fact their security guard trying to tell me that the machine was out of order. I apologetically said that I had only done what we are advised to do in London. And she actually replied that I was in Morocco now, and that it is safe here - not like London. This seemed to be becoming a theme for the day. 

My son’s sister-in-law’s husband’s brother (if you get what I mean) got in touch to welcome me, and came to talk about the arrangements for storing the motorbike at his home for the next couple of months. He suggested I take it there the same evening, so that I could join an organised minibus trip to Marrakesh the following day - instead of kicking my heels in Casa waiting for my flight to London on Wednesday. 

So that’s what we did. He led me on his own little scooter - to a large elegant villa in a prestigious suburb. There it became apparent that his “other bike” is a gleaming Japanese super sports, which he rides in 2,000 euros worth of matching leathers. Later he drove me back to my modest hotel in his sleek car. Several of my expectations were being confounded in quick succession. 

No beer in the hotel, but the receptionist directed me to a nearby bar, where I relaxed for the rest of the evening and endured a distinctly odd musical entertainment (see video). The other video shows the parlour at the house where my bike is now garaged. 

My £2,000 commuter bike has performed perfectly for 1,200 undemanding road miles and is now garaged in Casablanca awaiting Stage 2 of the trip, starting 15th August. I’m looking forward to seeing how it copes with tougher conditions, through the desert and sub-Saharan Africa. 8,800 miles and around 15 weeks to go!