Meanwhile...

Flight
Although Kevin is no longer with me for the return journey he still gives me plenty to write about. Even without Munchy he still gives me plenty to write about!

After betraying his beloved Munchy, selling her to a hareem, Kevin arrived at Sevilla airport, Spain. Once there he had to wait 12 hours for a bus to take him to Portugal. During that 12 hours, with very little money, he walked around a bit, taking in the sights of this lovely city. As a result of this his feet began to blister. So he found a nice quiet spot to sit a chill whilst he waited for the bus. He was approached by two of the fuzz. "Passport(o)", they demanded.

Spanish Police yesterday

Birds
Kevin obliged and they seemed happy enough that he wasn´t the kind of suspected criminal they thought he might be. Later two more people, claiming to be the fuzz approached Kevin with the same demand. He nervously handed one of them his passport, only after he had seen their badge\I.D. and noticed the gun that this guy was discreetly showing him, hidden under his jacket. The passport was passed onto his companion who started to walk off with it.  Kevins alarm bells were ringing loudly by this stage and in the same manner that he demanded beer wherever he went, he demanded that they returned his passport.
Which they did.
Rather promptly.

Chicks
During that day, more fuzz asked Kevin for his I.D. It must have been the nice jumper he bought in Chefchouan that made him look like a ´homeless´ that made him stand out from the crowd.

How Kevin could have looked yesterday

He finally caught his bus and ended up in Tavira, close enough to his final destination. There were no taxis around at this time of the night (not that he had enough money for a taxi anyway) so he had to walk the remaining 4km or 5km with blistered feet.
He picked uip his bag, gritted his teeth and set off again.
He arrived at the villa he was staying, in total darkness. The gate had to be dismantled to get in. He had to find his key. He found that there was lots of mud around. Or at least he hoped it was just mud. He couldn´t quite see. All he could hear was the squelching of his mud filled boots and the chorus of frogs in the background.

Hatch
His dodgy stomach never quite made it all the way home without mishap either. I´ll let you all ask Kevin about that one if/when you see him next.
But he did eventually make it back to the villa in one piece and in a tired slumber, he finally went to bed.
The next few days, whilst waiting for me to stop messing around in Morocco, he started work on "Munchy 2".

Snatch
I have since seen Munchy 2 and all I can say is, "Good luck".
Morocco? Phaah! No worries. Mongolia more like.
This is going to be a beast. I may even have to upgrade the Vespa to keep up with it.

Watch this space.

On the road again

Canned Heat
I took the old road towards Casablanca, avoiding the toll road.
Well I say avoid. To avoid it I had to turn round on the desserted dual carriageway that led directly to the toll booths, going the wrong way down the dual carriageway and found the old road.
Aside from the fact that I´m "carefull" with my money (I´m sure Kevin will agree), the main reason for not taking the fast toll road was the lack of petrol stations along the way. I really didnt´t fancy running out of petrol on a toll road.

Ravi Shankar
 On the old road I was frantically flagged down by a couple of guys on their makeshift, Chinese 3 wheeler tractor. I thought the Vespa was on fire or something. It turned out that they had run out of petrol. I gave one of the guys a lift to the nearest petrol station further up the road.
 I was heading for the town of Kenitra, some 350km from Marrakech. I missed the turning I needed to avoid going into Casablanca.
So into Casablanca I went. Choking on the fumes as I got closer to the city centre.
Stopping for petrol I ended up adding a small bottle of oil into my petrol tank, as normal. Only this time I spilt some on my fingers and panicked when I realised it was not oil I had just poured into my petrol but an engine additive to stop leaks in engines, that was disguised as a small bottle of 2 stroke oil.
"D#*m" and "Bl#st" were two words I did not use but for the sake of our younger viewers they will suffice.
It took me over an hour to drain the full 8 litre tank. I refilled. I made sure I added 2 stroke oil this time and set off again towards the capital, Rabat.

Santana

The old road to Rabat was blocked off and the fuzz told me to take the toll road, which I did. I was passed by the usual people who seemed to like the vespa, honking and waving and giving me the thumbs up (thumbers).

 I don´t know if it is because they liked vespas or were suprised to see one screaming at 100kmph on a toll road.
At the end of the road I paid the toll at the booth where the guy asked me," Didn´t you get stopped by the fuzz"?
"No", was my puzzled reply. "Why do you ask"?
"Thats a moped that is and thats not allowed on big boys roads".

Cheeky. My little vespa was a 200cc scooter not a C90! Moped. Phaah! Kinnigits!

Black magic woman
I finally reached Kenitra at about 6pm and it was dark. The first thing I noticed was the amount of Bars and discotheques around town. That probably explains all the drunks I had to avoid who were wandering in and around the paths and roads with less abandonment that a freely wandering Indian cow.
I checked into the first hotel I found, which turned out to be a quite expensive 3 star hotel with its own bar and discotheque.
Excellent. Maybe now I can teach everybody how to do the ´Peanut Duck´.
At the crowded bar, Katrina, decided she wanted to take me home with her. Guessing her circumstances I declined the offer. I paid a lot of money to stay in that hotel and by golly I was going to sleep there! Along with the fact that, although she was a nice enough lady, she just wasn´t my type, what with her being old enough to have built the medina and trying her best to get me to buy her drinks. After she went off in a huff because I refused to buy her drinks I ended up talking to a couple of locals who liked to get drunk. One of them suprisingly, drinks pints.
All I can say to these guys is, "Oued Sabou daze naid". To which Mohamids´ reply will be,
"Touts naid floord".
Don´t ask me what it means. I was too busy rolling on the floor holding my stomach, laughing hard. He told me he was talking english. I didn´t believe a word of it.
What I did believe however was that these Moroccan guys hated the French even more than we do.
"Yeh....How much"?
After a short thoughtful pause came their reply," ...A lot".
I had to decline the offer of staying at Mounirs bachelor pad the next day as I needed to get back to Blighty sooner rather than later. Thanks Mounir. We´ll eat at Mohamids restuarant next time. Get the beers in.

Rusty Lee
The next day, feeling a little hazy, I headed out of town towards a large nature reserve which just may have flocks of Flamingoes and migrating birds who stop at this massive lake along with herds of Wilderbeast roaming majestically through the plains and migratiry european swallows gripping coconuts by the husk. But alas no. There wasn´t that much to see.
A few ducks was about all.
At this point I remembered Diss.
Again I stopped off at plenty of places to take some pictures, mainly of the Vespa, who was now starting to get used to the camera and posing without a care in the world.
I was by the fishing port of Kenitra when I suddenly realised that I was missing my phone. It had gone. I think it had fallen on the road somewhere near the traffic calming hump in the road that I didn´t notice until it was too late.
I also did not realise that the Vespa knew how to fly. Just how high was that last speed bump?
So, I believe that some lucky fisherman had a great catch that day and is now the proud owner of a nice Nokia. D#*m and blast again!
Whilst posing for the camera the Vespa lost it´s footing in the sand and fell over a couple of times. She may have been drunk I´m not sure. Maybe it was the engine additive I added the day before by mistake.

Fanny Craddock
Leaving my phone behind I headed north once more. This time I was heading towards Tetouan, the first town that me and Kevin stopped at when we first arrived in Morocco.  This also meant that I was nearing the end of the Moroccan adventure, something I was not loomking forward to doing. So I decided to stop off at a town called Larache where I ended up staying for a couple of nights, trying to prolong the inevitable.
This time I found a cheap hotel room (with TV. - bonus!) for 70Dh.
The only trouble was I had to watch the same TV channel as the receptionist was watching.
After fighting a loosing battle I decided that, actually, Miss Marples in Arabic with french subtitles wasn´t all that bad.

Then at the critcal moment in this gripping story, the channel promptly changed to an important debate between Arabic dignitaries. 10 minutes later I discovered how to change channels. Unfortunatly Miss Marples was the best the TV could offer. Then it changed channels again. This time sticking to Portuguese football.
Moroccans love football.
Everynight, in all the bars, in all the towns, in all the world football is being watched.
The coffee bars are always full of spectators, spectating football.
During all the small conversations I´ve had with locals, all about football, I ´ve had to fake an interest in football.
I told them that Chelsea was my team.
They babbled back with a mixture of consonants and syllables, all names of players I believe.
I did recognize a few names but I could not repeat them. I was out of my depth. I vaguely remember the super blues, Ipswich Town, winning the F.A. Cup way back in 1978(?) and Diss Town winning the F.A. Vase in 1992(?) but I could not tell you who Chelsea have just signed.
In these coffee bars you had to drink the tea like whisky and smoke like a 35 year old 2 stroke engine. Oh yeh. And watch football.

TV Dinner
So here I am at 10pm, still in my Larache hotel room, watching Portuguese footballers falling over. In the room above I can hear the occupant rising from his bed, ready to start his night shift of moving furniture.
Moving furniture around his room.
In the room below is an extremely rowdy game of chequers.
In the room next door is carpenter, practising for his masters degree in hammering nails into hard wood.
The noise outside my door, which sounded like a large lady beating the living daylights out of a heavy rug with a large cast iron spade was in fact a large lady beating the living daylights out of a heavy rug with a large cast iron shovel.
The following morning I decided that enough was enough and I´d better start the 100km journey back to Tetouan as w*rk was calling and I had to start thinking about going back home.
Boo-hoo!
Back to bed, back to reality.
See you in Tetouan.

A family enjoying a TV dinner yesterday

Photos 4

Heres Kev paying for the mechanics sons school fees and a family holiday

Ooh!

Take the next left after the sand dune...

Red tent over yonder

Thoughtful

Dunes

Pots

Snails escaping fast

Marrakech

My favourite colour

Waiting for the post

The road from the desert of Zagora

What really happened...

Disappear
Yeh? Hang on a minute!
What did really happen?
I can´t remember a great deal. I´ve started growing a beard and my system of measuring time (1 x shave = 3 or 4 days) has grown out of the window.
Well, Kev has been practising his magic ready for his finale. (My french is still improving). His final disappearing trick was to leave Marrakech and Morocco and reappear in a totally different continent altogether.

I still belive Kev sold Munchy to a hareem. She always did turn a few heads when she was coming down the street. People began to walk into lamposts they didn´t know were there as they watched Munchy roar past.

or, for our friends in Norwich,
Despair
Actually, the crux of the matter is, that Munchy munched her way through Kevs wallet faster than anticipated and Kev had to file for a divorce from Munchy. She was a high maintenance, low speed kind of crunchy and Kev just could not keep up with Munchys demands any longer.
And alas, it is so, that, there came a day, when, lo, Kev had to leave poor Munchy laying lonely in a hotel basement.
For tax reasons, he never actually sold Munchy but instead, pawned her. (I think he ´porned´ her myself)
We are all hoping that Munchy will be there when we will  one day return to Marrakech. Flying there is definatly the cheapest option to do this, as oppsosed to riding a moped there via Portugal.
A very helpful guy in the Ali offered to help Kev out and made him a deal he could refuse.
But Kev did not refuse the deal and went ahead and booked a flight to Sevilla, Spain, where he would then somehow get to Portugal, where his van was.

Diss
So it came to be that Munchy the crunchy was left behind in Marrakech. Kev had to sell her to pay for a flight back to Portugal. Unfortunatly he could only get an expensive flight to nearby Sevilla, Spain. So when he reached Spain he would then have to sell his shoes to pay for the bus ticket he needed to get to Portugal.
Once in Portugal, he would then need to sell his boat to get the money to take his van to Marrakech, where he would have to sell his van to get the money for riding Munchy back to Portugal. When he reached Portugal he would then have to sell Munchy again to pay for a flight to UK so he could get a job to pay for the return trip to Portugal to buy poor Munchy back. Then go back to Moroc......
You get the idea by now.......

But hey.
It´s all irrelevant.
There is good news.
Munchy has given birth to Munchy 2.
And Munchy 2 will soon be old enough to join Munchy in Morocco very soon.
Probably this summer.

Pair
So this leaves me and the Vespa in Marrakech, wondering what to do next. I still have to ride it home after all which means I´m only a little more than half way through the trip. And I am after all still under the "get you home repair" which I very much hope gets me home ok.
Do I wait for those illusive spares to turn up or do I head for Spain where I would be able to replace the bearings?
Do I head south as originally planned?
Who knows? (Actually, I do, as this all happened 2 or 3 shaves ago)

Coconuts
The continuing saga of the Vespa is still very much happening. More photos will added soon enough but my to do list is getting more than 1 thing a day on it. This means I´m busy, doing nothing!
Ciao amigos

Schroody dooby do

Where are you?

In the early hours of the morning, a psychedelic green campervan pulled up outside the Hotel Alibaba in Marrakech. Inside were Freid and his sister Schiffer, both from Germany. Along with Vic, a stoner from Poland and Fatima who belongs to Belgium. And of course lets not forget their large, hungry pet cat, "Schroody", for without Schroody there would be no adventure.
They had all noticed whilst they were checking in to the hotel that there was a sad, lonely and unhappy man who was checking out of the hotel and was about to leave Marrakech.
There was also a very happy looking hotel manager rubbing his hands with glee as this man, Trigger, handed over the keys of his C90 to the manager, as he was about to leave Morocco.
You could almost hear the cash registers ringing in his ears of the manager and you could almost see the giant novelty cheques appearing before him.
The gang in the campervan later discovered that Trigger, was having difficulty retrieving his Honda C90, named Munchy, from the basement of the old hotel, as he said the basement was haunted.
So to help poor Trigger get his Munchy back, they decided to investigate.

We got some w*rk to do now
They sent Schroody down into the haunted basement to investigate but at first he refused to go.
Not even for a Schroody snack.
He wouldn´t even go down into the dingy basement for 2 Schroody snacks but he gave in when they offered him 4 tagines, 4 pizzas, 4 chicken and chips, and an all you can eat buffet, all layered between a tower of khoobz (bread).
He left the cous cous.
Vic was also peckish and feasted heavily on this food too.
Schroody then led the way into the scary basement, closely followed by Vic.
"Yoinks"! Schroody had slipped and fallen onto a large, black plastic sheet and began to slide downwards into the basement, taking Vic with him.
Then the lights went out.
"Arrrgggghhhhhhh"! they both cried.
Then they felt something moving. Someone else was on the ´bag´ sleigh with them.
It was the ghost.
"Yikes. Like, let´s get out of here", said Vic to Schroody.
They were all now sliding along on a large black plastic sheet, further down into the depths of the basement, which was so far down that the floor was now a sheet of snow and ice.
They bumped into some more people, who it turned out was Freid, his sister Schiffer and Fatima the hitch hiker.

Surf
So there they all were. All 6 of them. Surfing down a snowy icy slope, sitting on a large black plastic bag.
Whilst sliding down hill on his bottom, Triggers' mind turned to the camels he had recently ridden in the desert. He had the same uncomfortable feeling returning to his rosy cheeks and it wasn´t pleasant.
Luckily they came crashing to the bottom of the hill and the ghost who had been haunting the basement was about to be un-masked by Freid and and his cute sister Schiffer.

Persil
"Why its Scooter. The caretaker at the Hotel California. But why did you need to haunt the basement"?
"Well, Trigger had just had Munchy fixed and I saw it doing wheelies down the street and became concerned that his C90 was going to be faster than the Vespa. So I thought if I made the place where he stores his Munchy haunted, then he would never be able to overtake me as he would never be able to retrieve Munchy from a haunted basement".
"So it wasn´t the hotel manager then"? they all thought aloud.
"No. He´s a friendly chap who tried to help", added Fatima.
"I would never have guessed", came Vics response.
"And I would have gotten away with it, if it wasn´t for you meddling kids".
"Not now you won´t. You´ll be doing 5 - 10 in the state pen", said the chief of Police who had been called earlier.
"Book him boys....", were the last words Scooter heard that day and he was banged up abroad.

Shake and Vac
"Schroody dooby dooooo".

Marrakech

Hitch Hike

In the bar we met someone else who told us we mad. Thanks Ian! In the past he had owned vespas and C90s and been to Marrakech about 30 years ago. (He also put a little info somewhere on the c90 website http://www.c90club.co.uk/ ) . He was one of many people we met in Marrakech. Most people we met were in the bar of the Grand Hotel or on the rooftop terrace of the Hotel Ali, which I can highly recommend if you need somewhere cheap to stay in Marrakech.
I spent a lot of time haggling with the manager of the 'Ali' for the Vespa. Of course I would never sell her. Not even for the 200 Euros he was offering.
If you want to know anything about 'all you can eat' buffets at the Ali then our friend Martin is the man. He could not get enough of them buffets. (Thats buf fettes to all that know him) Although he betrayed the buffettes after a couple of weeks and turned to Pizzas for company.
Then there was Oliver. We met Oliver, from Belgium, who hitch hiked all the way here. I would do the same if I lived in Belgium. (Only kidding Oliver!) Oliver did not have the same time scale as me and Kevin and he ended up going to meet his folks at the airport two days in advance. We use the traditional way of telling which day it is, or how long ago something happened, by how many moons had passed. Or for a longer time scale, how many shaves we had. Or for an even longer period of time, how many haircuts we had had. We could also define the date by working out how many mechanics we had used. This brings us neatly to the continuing saga of
'Munchy'.

Monkey
After leaving Tetouan all those shaves and a haircut ago, Munchy was still feeling poorly. She was still knocking and banging all the way to Marrakech. In Marrakech we found a suitable mechanic to carry out more open heart surgery on Munchy.
Now, most of the mechanics workshops we have witnessed, although small, appeared to be well equiped. Although I suspect that all the spanners, sockets, pliers etc hanging neatly on the wall were there just to keep the nails that were supporting them, from falling out. So they were left well alone. The tools that were used were as follows;

1 x screwdriver
1 x small hammer

Now if these two tools could not do the job then a larger hammer was called for. The young lad ran in and out of the workshop, trying various size hammers to hit the end of the screwdriver with. These hammers were far too big to be hung up and were readily available on the floor, where all the work was carried out. Being close at hand, the hammers were in frequent use.

Bananas
To be fair, the chief mechanic, who worked on Munchy was pretty thorough and sneakily used a few specialist tools such as spanners and sockets but only when he thought no one was looking.
As Kev has turned into his alter ego, David Blaine and dissappeared again I cannot be too sure exactly what work was carried out on the engine, as I was too busy waiting for my parts to arrive.
I believe that a new crank, with new bearings were fitted. Along with new valves. I also believe that the parts used were probably made for the similar kind of bikes that are found all over Morocco, namely the Yamaha Mate or the chinese equivalent, the Docker C90. They look the same at least! We worked out that the previous mechanic must have changed the original Honda crank for a knackered chinese one, which turned out to be just as bad, probably worse.
 I was at the mechanics workshop to witness the all new Munchy being tested out by the mechanic after he had finished working on it. He was popping wheelies up and down the street like a true pro. It seems Munchy felt like a new woman! Which almost leads us neatly to the continuing saga of
'What I did on my winter vacation'.

Nuts
It was new years eve my friends. The bar of the Grand Hotel was pretty full. Sat next to us were a couple of girls from Texas and Oz. We got chatting and decided to try and find another bar in the more up market part of town. After a long walk we found a few potential bars. After we asked the admission price to these upmarket joints, we decided that the Grand Hotel was actually not a bad place to bring in the year after all. For the price of admission alone was enough to fly us both to a full moon party in Thailand. We left the girls (from Lezbos) in the new town, who carried on searching for a cheap bar whilst we headed back to the bar we had just left, just in time to witness the anti climax that is New Years day.
Hootanany!
The drunken Spanish and Argentinians we were trying to make sense of were in high spirits. The 'Toilet clerk' was also in very high spirits. He was the guy who insisted that everyone should leave a tip for him on a plate placed just outside the toilets. (Don't eat yellow snow springs to mind) If you didn't leave a tip, he cursed you to die in Hell whilst he pissed on the floor, swallowing another lung full of the glue he was sniffing.

Superglue
We have a new compardre.
For a few days at least.
A shave later, when all the new years sparklers had fizzled out we went to meet Sue at Marrakech airport. Unfortunatly the weather was foggy and the plane had been diverted to Agadir, a four hour bus journey south west of Marrakech. So in the afternoon we again went to the airport, this time we found her ready and waiting for us.
Our 'one thing a day' routine would now involve at least two things a day. How would we cope with this busy schedule? Actually we coped pretty easily. Sue was great company and was a welcome change for Kev and me, what with having to put up with each other for so long. After we arrived back in town we booked her a room in the Ali. We then showed her the way to the nearest bar and we never saw her again.
Only kidding.
We ended up booking a tour, by mini bus, to the desert of Zagora. Apologies go to the Vespa and Munchy for not taking them there. They were tired and needed a rest. It would have been a long and arduous journey for both machines straight through the Atlas mountains. Especially as they were feeling so poorly at the time.
For us to book the tour to the desert we had to sell Sue to the tour operator. He did after all offer the princely sum of 2,000 camels. On condition that Sue joined the Jedi clan and bought a black Jedi outfit. An offer we could not refuse. Whilst booking the trip, drinking tea and selling your mate for 2,000 camels, we noticed that the weather was getting a little fierce. Would the rain that followed us all the way here follow us all the way to the desert as well? Kev is adamant that I'm cursed by prevailing bad weather. We shall find out the next day. We had an early start the next morning, and I mean really early. So early in fact that I still don't know what time we left.

Prit Stick
On the bus were couples from France, Spain and Brazil. (Hi to Patricia and Miguel from Brazil). I confess to finding all that out on the return journey as I was in the Twilight zone on the way there. The scenery was spectacular. I wished the Vespa had seen these mountain roads. The all inclusive 2 day tour to the desert, everything included except drinking water and lunch. Well almost everything was included. Except for the breakfast on the first morning. Lunch at an over priced restuarant. The evening meal was a tagine shared between six people but that was included. The breakfast in the morning barely broke my fast (included) and again the not included lunch at an overly priced restaurant, followed by the not included teas and coffees en route (more french) and the not included evening meal on the second day. Also the long turban head scarves that the tout said we needed, to protect us from the sand and the wind and the desert sun... we're not included. God forbid, I almost had to get my wallet out.
Thankfully Superglue had bought 2 scarves with her, one of which I borrowed. As for Kev, he had his crash helmet with him so he was fully protected!

Camel Toe

I want to point out a fact. And let's face it, there have not been too many facts on this blog. You can google Morocco and find out all this for yourself. The fact for the blog, as far as I know but I could be wrong, is..... there are no Camels in Morocco.
The Berbers ate them all.
Now there are only Dromedaries. And we were driven to Zagora to find out why. Why were Dromedaries so uncomfortable? I'd like to pass you over to Kev who has a better insite than me, as to why these creatures are so disagreeable but he has disappeared once more. Ask him about it when you see him next. I too had difficulty resting my bags comfortably whilst on the dromedary and ended up riding side saddle to the Berber tents, where we were to sleep the night, just visible in the distant sand dunes. After we arrived at camp we listened to exotic tales of Berber life around a camp fire. Ancient, mystical stories of a nomadic tribe who had to survive on their instincts and navigate by the stars were told with great admiration, only to be cut short by a Britney Spears ringtone coming from the pocket of the chief story teller. "...Oh yeh, can you record Eastenders for me", I think I may have heard him say.

Choccy starfish
But the stars....!Oh the stars in the evening desert! What a beautiful site. Truely. Amazing. In a clear sky with no pollution there appeared to be a great many more stars than I had ever witnessed anywhere in the world. I left Kev to count how many new stars he could see, whilst I gave Superglue an obligatory introduction to the stars.
"That's the Milky Way that is", was about as far as I got before Superglue passed Kev 5 Dirhams to pay for the bet they had arranged earlier. (ie. How long would it take before someone pointed out the bleedin' obvious).
Of course we all know how the stars were created.......

Intermission
A Demon in the world of the Gods above decided that he would steal a prized deer from off the earth and from the heavenly gods, so that he could have it all to himself. He would be the envy of all his fellow demons. When the heavenly gods noticed that the dear deer was not to be found on this earth anymore he was furious and gave chase after the demon.
The skies darkened as they was no longer any radient light shining from the earth which was now devoid of its radient prized deer.
The good god, lets call him 'George', picked up his bow and arrow and gave chase after the bad demon, let's call him 'Barry'.
Barry, clutching onto the deer and using all his skill, darted out of the way, narrowly avoiding the constant stream of arrows. The arrows then went on to pierce the blackened sky leaving small 'pin pricks' in the dark sheet that had envoloped the whole world. The 'stars' you see today are actually rays of light escaping through the tiny holes, trying to reach earth.
I never did find out what happened to the deer or the demon. Or to George come to . But I do know that that's the truth, 'cause my mum said so.

Through the eye of a needle
So after a very memorable experience in the desert we headed back towards Marrakech to claim our 2,000 camels we were promised.

More fact finding tales of woe are to be had later on when I can find the time to write them all. Tagines and cous cous are calling me closer to the cafes.

The tale is by no means finished. Much has happened recently. Things that could potentially make it the end of the trip.

It's all very dramatic.

So dramatic I need to have a long lay down and think about it.

Ciao

Photos 3

En route to Marrakech

Actually, Marrakech is 208km away

As it says on the tin

98km

not far now

Crafty snails

Above is Kevs plans for the Vespa