This was it, the day to leave Europe and get to Africa. I didn't really feel like racing out of my campsite but I did eventually leave. A thick fog, typical of the region had fallen and the trip to the port was a bit horrid.

Getting tickets was easy enough and I joined the queue to board. There was a lot of lorries going on but little else. There were no kindred spirits to talk to. On the ferry, I got my immigration number and my passport stamped and that was it. I lay with my face down on a table for a bit of rest.

Out of the ferry and through customs was easy enough, making sure I kept on the right side of the customs officers unlike some Germans who wanted to argue about everything and were therefore subjected to a drugs search.

Out onto the road and the sat nav quickly failed to able to calculate my route making it next to useless, so I started to follow my nose. What became very apparent was the number of black Africans waiting by the side of the road, getting ready to make their bid to reach Europe. It was quite shocking to see, I felt very sorry for them, quite a lot waved, I waved back.

So I followed the coast and came across Moroccan Blackpool which I thought was quite a find. On an endless coast road after that looking for a small road into the mountains that was shown on my map. Eventually, a signpost gave some indication of the right route. Stopping for fuel, the kind attendant welcomed me to Morocco and wished me all the best. All of the worries of turning up in this land were beginning to evaporate. The road I was on soon turned into a fantastic motorcycling road, into the Rif mountains and closer to Chefchaouen.

Fantastic views from a road I don't think I could ever find again!

Lots of sharp bends and little villages, people waving, it was fantastic.

My next task was to get parked up and into Chefchaouen. I was soon accosted by a helper, who got me into a parking spot and carried my top box up to the riad I was staying in. I knew it would be expensive and he asked for 20 dihams which is like £1.30. It hardly broke the bank and the poor chap only had one eye!

So into the 600 year old riad in the closed city where you could touch both walls of a street in many places. I got unpacked and was soon out to see the city. Shops overflowed into the already narrow streets and the marvellous blue walls gave everything a calming feeling. A few times I was invited into a cousins shop or someone was desperate to get my attention but a polite non merci always did the trick. Same when a dude offered me some kif.

The blue streets of Chef

I sat down at a cafe for my 3 course meal of Moroccan salad, chicken brochette and an orange with cinnamon for afters. That came to about £2.90 and I guess, this was an expensive place to eat.

Back to the riad and it was time for a sleep, a lot has happened today!