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**Paula K** · #16 13 Apr 2015

TURKEY
April/May 2014
(solo ride)

I continue down the mountain towards the coast. I‘ll visit the waterfalls that were announced in tourism sites. Paid to see a small cascade. An entrance flanked with shops and restaurants. Dozens of Russian and Chinese tourists.

I know in Portugal about 3 or 4 cascades and waterfalls much more beautiful than these but aren’t announced in any tourism site. The Turks are similar to the British. Any pile of stones with over 100 years is a historical and tourist reference entitled to have special signalling. There are so many spread out along the road that if we stop on all of them it would take a whole day to make a hundred miles. It's a shame and frustration Portugal does not preserve the cultural and natural heritage it possesses. At the best level there is around this world.

The coast road between Antalya and Manavgat is the most dangerous which I drove till today stuffed with the cars and traffic lights and aggressive Turks driving. I am glad I came through the inland roads. The nice onld man from the Hotel in Tarsus was right.

Finally, I arrive in Antalya one day earlier than expected. The return flight is tomorrow night. I enter the city by the beach road - Lara Plaji. A huge sandy beach. It is Sunday and families came strolling in the sun. In the small river which flows into here there are pirate ships cruises for tourists.

In the evening I deliver the bike back to the renting company. Mr Guven is very pleased. Requires me to tell him all the adventures of the trip. Listens very carefully, nodding his head sometimes laughs. He’s very pleased that I am OK. Very proud he says he made a very careful mechanical review before I go to make sure he had no breakdown. True, this Yamaha 660 behaved very well.

I am glad to have chosen this company. They ensure technical assistance throughout the country, which gave me a lot of confidence thinking that in any event it was enough to make a phone call. Moreover, Mr Guven lent me a Turkish mobile phone. During the trip spent a total of 9 euros and called home every day (big roaming saving).

Last day of vacation. I give myself the luxury of sleeping until 9 o'clock in the morning. For the first time in two weeks I am not in the road at dawn. The Hotel is on the outskirts of town. There is a bus to the centre town, the ticket costs 60 cents and the driver advises me which bus stop I should leave. Going to last minute shopping.

It’s a beautiful sunshine day. I decide to go on a cruise in one of those wood pirate ships. At the marina there are dozens of sales agents for boat trips. They sell whatever departures early. Start by saying no to everyone. I walk by the pier trying to listen to the conversations with the tourists. Manage to hear the prices. Decided to sit in an esplanade and ask for a Turkish coffee. I am fan of this coffee. It is thick, creamy, strong.

The waiter comes and talks to me. Speaks a little English. Asks me why I’m not in a cruise. I answer that I would like very much but it is expensive. He shakes his head to say no it’s not. Calls a man who is near the boat just in front of us. They speak quickly and the man presents itself as owner of the boat. I tell him that I find very expensive and in the end of the holiday I have no money. He says a price, I maintain the No. Asks how much I can give. I propose a value. We negotiate and I end up with a price half of what I heard the other tourists pay. Cool. I’m going on a cruise.

In the boat it’s only ME and a group of Arab tourists. They look at me with curiosity. The women sit all together talking and laughing. The men dance on the sound of the Arab music. But only the men dance. The boat captain is Greek. It seems an old wolf-fish of the storybooks. Even smokes a pipe.

Once again I feel like an alien. The Arab tourists do not take their eyes off me. The women come quietly and sit beside me to take pictures. Then, very satisfied they go back to the middle of group. When we reached the Grand Cascade I ask the captain to take photos of me. I am happy and do funny poses. Some of the young women lose the shame and join me. Suddenly are all taking pictures with our arms open. We all laugh.

The boat sails along the coast. Resorts succeed one after the other. There is no beach, just the cliff. The hotel beaches are platforms built on the rock cliffs with sun loungers and parasols.

Two hours of relax, under a hot sun, resting the body after miles of rain. Another adventure with a happy ending!

I was thinking that Turkey was a complicated country with lousy roads and Middle East problems. Things we read in the newspapers. I was completely wrong. I found a fantastic land of friendly people, a clean and organized country, dreamy landscapes and fine cuisine All of this with a strong taste of Oriental and Exotic. I want to go back!

The End

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**Paula K** · #17 13 Apr 2015

In my next ride report I invite you all to "travel" with me to .... Morocco

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**canyon** · #18 20 Apr 2015

Thank you for sharing, a part of Turkey I have wanted visit for over 30 years, great photos and nice write up, looking forward to your next:-))

**Paula K** · #19 23 Apr 2015

Quote:

Originally Posted by canyon

Thank you for sharing, a part of Turkey I have wanted visit for over 30 years, great photos and nice write up, looking forward to your next:-))

Hi canyon

Thanks for your comment. Apreciate.

Its a wonderful country to travel. Don't miss it

**Paula K** · #20 23 Apr 2015

Morocco - In the Land of the Setting Sun
April/May 2012
(solo ride)

A Solo trip in Morocco, between 22 April and 3 May 2012. A fantastic adventure, a land of friendly people, a journey that surprised me.

I've visited Morocco twice. The first time was in 2007 with a group of friends. Marked itinerary reserved Hotels, always running to see as much as possible in a short time.

The second time I crossed Morocco on the way to Guinea (Bissau). None of the times I was able to observe the landscapes the way I like it, I could never enjoy this exotic land. Had to go back, at my own pace, to feel this land, to know the people.

I woke up lazy and only left home by 7 am. It’s not raining but its cold. I crossed Portugal in robotic mode. As always, when I'm on the road my brain stops. As the miles move forward I stop thinking. I enter in a sort of trance.

I was squeezing the petrol tank to get to Spain. It’s much cheaper in there.
Just “woke up” after passing Aracena. Just a week away from Jerez de la Frontera bike races, the road is full of police and stop operations. And they stop Paula. A harsh looking policeman asks for documents. Took off my helmet and the wind loosed my hair. Astonished policeman´s face. Even more amazed as I seek my wallet in all my pockets, clumsy air, a huge wind. He makes a subtle smile. With an even bigger smile, I give him the papers and move the hair away from my face.

Question: Are you going to Jerez?

No, I’m heading to Tarifa. When I was young I used to go to Jerez. Not now. Now I just like to travel quietly. He laughed and replied, Yes, I also used to race on these roads. Now I also like to do it calmly. (OK, the police is also a biker). We stand talking for a while. He didn’t even look at the documents. Then, he stopped the road traffic to allow me to go back to the road, under the envy gaze of a group of young people with race bikes that were there paying the speed fine.

A whirlwind of sacrifices after I finally arrived in Tarifa, under a stormy wind, driving an inclined bike and fighting neck pain. Damm wind. Tank fuel ending. It has to be enough to arrive in Morocco. I must get into the ferry. In there, petrol will be half the price.

Sleep in a small hotel in Tarifa. I got up early. The ferry is at 9 am. By 8 am there was a huge queue at the box office. Almost miss the boat. Luckily is that the ferry only departs after they sell (almost) all the tickets. If they were English the ferry would depart on time and I would have to wait until noon, the time for the next boat. The passport is stamped into the boat. Formerly the officers were at a table in a corner of the deck. Now they have a proper small office inside the ferry.

Landing and border. A policeman distributes the customs papers. Have to glue the papers to my nose to read it. Put on my glasses. Start to fill it on the bike seat, fumbling with the wind, between holding the paper, the pen and the passport and the glasses perched on my nose. The guard looked at me ... Give me, I help ... he filled it all, took the passport and told me to wait. There are few people at the border. I'm watching what's going on. A Moroccan, typically dressed holds a tray, offers tea to tourists. Glass cups, a wide smile. After small talk he asks 10 dirhams per tea. Greets and goes to another group of tourists. Welcome to Morocco.

Just outside the port, I stop at the bank to exchange money. An usher indicates me where to park. I park by the roadside. When I return, he starts talking to me. Says I’m welcome. Speaks lousy French. Wants bribery ... Fee? ... Says it is by keeping the bike. I answer him that the bike does not escape. I laugh and do a silly air. I leave thinking that this will be my life in the coming days. It's included in the Morocco adventure.

Just outside the port, I stop at the bank to exchange money. An usher indicates me where to park. I park by the roadside. When I return, he starts talking to me. Says I’m welcome. Speaks lousy French. Wants bribery ... Fee? ... Says it is by keeping the bike. I answer him that the bike does not escape. I laugh and do a silly air. I leave thinking that this will be my life in the coming days. It's included in the Morocco adventure.

In Tangier, the 1st petrol station outside the ferry looks like a tourist swallower Staff is almost in the middle of the road calling for foreign-registered vehicles. They fuel with ceremony, the counter is never priced right, round the cents and negotiate the value of change. I turn on the "gypsy mode" and force the employee to give me all the change, including cents.

The speed limit within the city of Tangier is 60 km / h. between leaving the ferry to the highway toll, I counted 7 radars. And lost account of the number of radars in the motorway. I’m riding south to Kenitra. Do not feel like going by secondary roads. I want to start sightseeing after Meknes. The northern part of Morocco does not interest me.
After leaving the motorway, I begin to enjoy the landscape. Cultivated fields, green and yellow, an empty road, no traffic.

Near Volubilis we can feel the tourist machine. Hotel ads, auberges. Men jump to the middle of the road waving, open arms gesturing a tent. Trying to sell a place to camp (I think they should find a joke that tourists pay to set up a tent in their backyard). From a distance, I can see the Roman ruins and a car park crowded with tour vans. I get chills watching piles of tourists moving between the ruins. Not feeling in the mood to see old stones.

Take some photos at distance, or turn around and go out of there. I'll go peek Moulay Idriss. Have read on the Internet that is a typical village, ...............
I went up to the centre and found traffic mess, unfinished houses. Just a disappointment. We read a lot on the Net.

4 pm and I'm feeling tired. Meknes is very close. 30 km later I enter a big city. I'm standing in a large roundabout trying to tune. A car stops beside me. A man asks if I need help. I'm looking for the tourist office. He tries to explain the way in Moroccan but my ignorant face made him give up. Gestures. Follow me, he said. Here I go chasing a Peugeot equal to what my grandfather had, many decades ago. Arrive in the central square, across from the tourist office ... it was closed. On the doorstep, two men talk. My disappointed look must have been so great that they asked if I needed help. I explain I’m trying to find a hotel. Well, they were the tourism officials. Opened the door and get me a list of hotels. Recommend me one near here, decent and cheap. Also gave me the city map and explain me the places to visit. I thank and return to the bike. One of them came behind me. To tell me that he is available to accompany me on a city tour, show me the museums and the shops (LOL)

I think 90% of Moroccans are commission agents of any hotel, shop, museum or restaurant. It’s in their blood to sell things. Once they see foreign dollar signs run in their eyes. Refer us to the places and then return there to receive the bribe.

The Palace Hotel charge 180 dirhams for a single room with toilet and shower. Pink toilet paper. The Internet does not work. And hot water only after 7pm. I go for a walk to spend time till I can have a bath, spreading the stench among the crowded streets. The shops are in sales. I'm hungry. The “Salons de Thé” only have men. I find that women go to “Patisseries”. I enter one. Point to a cake. To drink, I do not understand what she says and waved to anything. I get a strawberry milkshake. Cool.

8 pm. Finally a hot shower and out for dinner. The Hotel receptionist indicated me a restaurant, cheap, a bit further down the avenue. I choose Tagine meatballs with egg, pointing to the menu that had pictures with marked prices. I sit inside the restaurant. I repent that instantly. It smells like fritters. The Tagine looks huge. I think I'll only eat half. But I finished it all. Realized I was hungry. Forgot to have lunch. I ask for a tea and went to the esplanade. The employee, a kid around 16 years, runs to a shop near to get the tea. He has done the same when asked for a bottle of water.
Outside blows a nice breeze. The streets are full of people, the shops are still open. Groups of women look upon shop windows. Men walk in pairs, stop and greet each other with 4 kisses. The traffic is chaotic. At the top of the avenue, in the tourist office square there is a great animation. In the central garden is mounted a camp. Bumper cars, carousels, swivel chairs, happy kids jumping, families strolling, all of this at the sound of pop music... in Arab.

In the morning, I have breakfast in the patisserie next to the hotel. Cake and a strawberry milkshake. I say farewell to the friendly hotel employee and go for a walk around town. The Medina is right at the end of the avenue. It is surrounded by a wall that must be miles long. Follow the traffic and enter the Medina. End up in a square in front of Meknes museum doors. Right in the middle of the main shop street. It's still early, the stores have not yet opened but there are already many people in the streets. Tooke some pictures and hang around the avenues of Meknes.

(...)

**Paula K** · #21 23 Apr 2015

Morocco - In the Land of the Setting Sun
April/May 2012
(solo ride)

The traffic is not very complicated. For anyone who took a master’s conduction in India, I can manage to ride in middle of the rides that cars do. Traffic lights have counters. 5 seconds before the green light fall, as the taxi drivers are beeping. It is a universal tribe.

Without knowing how I arrive to a field next to the walls where they prepare a festival. There are huge white tents and horses ready for the show. Interesting.

Towards the Cedars Forest. It is now five years I passed here under rain and snow. All I remember is an opaque fog curtain. I recognize some locations. Like the cafe where we stopped to defrost. Today I'm going in the opposite direction. From North to South. It’s a pleasant temperature of 23 degrees (C), clear sky, lots of open space. Perfect!

The scenery is beautiful. The rains of the past weeks left everything green. Endless fields, many sheep. The shepherds sit on the roadside to see the cars passing by. And the sheep too. I drive carefully always expecting to find a flock on middle of road. There are still snow patches up here. And cedars. Forests and flocks. All green.

I have hunch in a small village I don’t know the name. Meat and vegetables Tagine is the only thing they have. Have no cutlery and went to the next shop to borrow some. I ask for a bottle of water but they don’t have, not even in the shop next door. Only have tea. (Tagine and tea cost 32 Dirhams).

As following south the vegetation becomes scarce. The land changes colour. The green was left behind. First shades of red, land of stones. The plates indicate Er Rachilda to about 100 km. Close to Midelt I can see the mountains in the distance. Gray. Is it raining. Began to thunder. On the top of the mountain can be seen huge thunderstorm lightning.

At the entrance to Midelt there is a police barrier. Signal me to stop. Before the police asks for my documents, I greeted him and ask for help. He asks me if I'm alone. I say yes. Makes a surprised air and looks back on the road waiting to see more bikes. Didn’t let him breathe. I ask if he can advise a hotel, cheap and suitable for me. Recommended me the Hotel Bougafer and gives me directions to find it. I ask if the storm comes to here. Replies that it will rain tonight, for sure. And probably now I won’t be able to pass on the mountain because it’s very windy, rains a lot and the road have ice. It’s still 3 pm but I will have to stick around.

(...)

**Paula K** · #22 23 Apr 2015

Morocco - In the Land of the Setting Sun
April/May 2012
(solo ride)

The hotel has free wi-fi. Cool, I will give news to family, see what's new and write. Today I made only 200 km. But the gray mountains in the distance warn me that it is dangerous to continue. The room is reasonable, has air conditioning, TV, shower and toilet. Must be a luxury because the room the boy showed me first has no toilet. It is the French way, toilet outside the room. This one is more expensive. He asks 300 Dirhams. I bargain and got it for 200.

Abdul, an old man who must be the owner or family of the owner, says there is no problem to leave the bike in front of the hotel. Has a guard all night. Ask me the name, where come from, laughs a lot. Are you going to Merzouga? He has family there that have a hotel in the desert. Made me see a lot of pictures of his family Hotel and gave me a card. I thank kindly. I tell him that the Moroccans are very friendly. He was very happy. Avail myself to disappear. Go for a walk around the village.

I barely move away of the Hotel and appears Rachid a young boy claiming to be a friend of Rui, a Portuguese who came here 2 times and that he took him the tracks of Cirque du Jafar. Rachid does not let me alone. Indicates me the souk, the old neighbourhood, wants to take me everywhere. Says Midelt has not tourists. Just people passing into the desert in the south. But he has a gift shop. I had to ask anything to a policeman so the boy let me go. Went up the street talking to himself and swearing.

I return to the Hotel. I'm on the terrace and no one approaches. I think Abdul keeps away the gnats. This thing of being hotel client should give some privileges. Only pisser who he lets. But I still have to thank the kindness when he offers me handkerchiefs to the desert. I tell him that I already have. It's on the bike pannier. It is the 3rd time I've been to Morocco. He gives up to selling me things.

At 8 pm I'm having dinner in the 1º floor lounge because the restaurant looks like a movie theatre. The tables were arranged in a corner and chairs are lined up and facing an LCD almost 2 meters long. Today there is the Champions game and all the villagers came here to see it. Down below are heard the screams of football fans. I've heard two goals. Here in the lounge, I am with two Moroccan women who see the night novel.

The day starts early. In the restaurant there are still the remains of the football game. Misaligned chairs, smoke smell. I wonder what there is to breakfast. The employee points to the Hotel terrace where an old lady is cooking pancakes. Smells good. Ask the price - 3 dirhams each. I have a barred pancake with jelly and tea. Its 7 am, there are few people in the street. Abdul is sitting next to the bike. Says he was there all night. Laughs. Tells me he won’t ask me for bribery. I think he realised he couldn’t take nothing from me. When I pay for breakfast the lady asks 4 dirhams for the pancake. Even the old lady old fools tourist. There goes one extra dirham (9 cents). It’s not worth to claim. This is in their blood.

Towards the South, I start to see some groups of bikers. The road has few traffic. Some trucks and many tour vans. And jeeps. Speed up all the way to the desert. I drive slowly .....

(...)

**Paula K** · #23 24 Apr 2015

Morocco - In the Land of the Setting Sun
April/May 2012
(solo ride)

I stop in a service station, to fuel and have a coffee. They have coffee machines like in Portugal that take normal coffees. Good coffee. There is an army patrol outside, and many policemen. A motorcyclist policeman also. Ask me for my group. I do not have, I travel alone. I am going to Erfoud. He’s going too. We go together. There I go, well accompanied for a hundred miles by a Moroccan police. Does not let me take pictures of him.

I found that in Morocco coffee is awesome. I do not know the coffee brand. It's good! Served in cup or glass cup, is tasty. Creamy.

On the way to Erfoud the road passes through a tunnel, called "Legionnaire Tunnel". It’s marked on the maps as a reference point, as a gateway in the Ziz Valley. It seems that it was excavated by French Legion to allow a connection road between the North and the South. But it’s no more than a tunnel ...

The road snakes along the ZIZ valley. It’s beautiful. Up and down the hills, sometimes there is a view from above, sometimes runs next to the palm grove. The houses have the colour of earth, sometimes red, sometimes yellow sand. The air is hot, smells of clay, smells of South Morocco.

I enter in Erfoud main avenue. Many restaurants, some groups of western riders having lunch. I drive slowly looking for somewhere that I like. From experience, the first restaurants are the most expensive. This is where the hungry tourists stop immediately. Turn in another avenue also full of esplanades. All the waiters wave and say to approach. A young man approaches in a mobilette and ask if I want to have lunch. I say NO. (I am stubborn. I go where I want.) I see a tiny restaurant with a chicken roasting machine at the door. Noone calling me. Only a local man drinking tea in the esplanade. That’s it. I enter in there and ask if I can eat. A young boy tells me that only have chicken. Its 45 dirhams and goes with chips and olives. I answer that I do not want fries (I think to myself that the fry oil should be Jurassic) or olives. Just chicken and bread. The price goes down to 30 dirhams. Cool. I have lunch on the esplanade without being disturbed.

When I finish lunch the young boy comes talking with me. I asked him for a Hotel. He knows one right next door (family, of course). But the price is reasonable and the place is clean. Also knows one in Merzouga (of course). I tell him that I go to Merzouga and maybe I come back. I'm curious to go there. It’s only about 70 km. Still early. Another bit of conversation waiting for the afternoon heat wave to ease.

In the middle of Rissani, half lost searching for the road to the Merzouga, stops beside me a a Moroccan in a jeep with a couple of Italians. Indicates to me the way and asks if I already have a Hotel to stay. (Dammit, they do not disarm). I tell him I'm will follow him. Happy he goes on the road. I follow him till I find the way. Then I go at my own pace, slowly. I lost it on the road. Good.

The asphalt ends in the Merzouga portico. Also ends the peace. I drive with fear in a gravel and sand a track. A crowd of vendors - camel rides, hotels, cadeaux. I’m trying to balance me in that road hell and the guys harassing me. One of them, riding a mobillete, speakes French, English, German, Spanish and then he noticed in the bike the sticker from Portugal. There I was at 5 km/h trying not to sink in the sand and the boy perched on the mobillette shouting in all languages that he could find me a hotel, camel ride and a bivouac in the desert. He would not shut up. In a lack of response from me he shouted in Portuguese ...

Don’t you talk to Berbers? ...

It’s the last drop. I leave the local in a hurry. Speed off down the track. At the end of the track I land in the middle of the camels. Haven’t turned off the bike and a camel driver is already trying to sell me 1h of desert ride. I felt myself like a camel to have decided to came here. Uninteresting village, shops and bazaars, some jeeps and TT bikes splashing around in the sand, ads of desert crusades, a tourist gimmick that does not work for me. I want asphalt, I want a good tarmac road that does not give me a hard time driving, that does not require me physical effort. I’m not feeling to stay here, not even for 170 dirhams that the Auberge Sable D'Or in Hasselbit charges for the room, dinner and breakfast. I will go back to Erfoud. I have about 2 hours until nightfall. The desert does not attract me. It was enough the 3.000 km of desert I did in 2009 on the way to Bissau. Seed up and turned back.

(...)

**Paula K** · #24 24 Apr 2015

Morocco - In the Land of the Setting Sun
April/May 2012
(solo ride)

If until here I was enjoying the road, now I want to go back quickly. I only relaxed when I approached Rissani and I entered in the palm grove. I felt calm of being surrounded by plants, people, life. The desert is sterile, it seems that nature gave up living.

Right back to the Hotel the kids advised me. For 150 dirhams I have a spacious room, air conditioning, bathroom with shower and toilet (start to think that having toilet is a luxury). And wi-fi. The hotel owner has a garage for the bike but it is 15 minutes away. Just thinking that I will be far from my “RED ONE” I will have to carry the bags over here .... Then he says that I can leave on the sidewalk. He has a Guardien all night. It will be fine here. Its right under my bedroom window.

It's late. I'm sweaty, the clothes are glued to my body. Go to the shower. It's very hot, I wash myself with blue and white soap (granny’s soap). Finally I manage to peel the heat, the sand, the fatigue. I'll look for dinner. The hotel owner has a friend with a restaurant. Soon appears a Moroccan who takes me there. I'm sick of Moroccans who want to sell me things. I go back to the restaurant where I had lunch and ask the young boy where ca I have dinner. Just in next door there is a small restaurant frequented by locals, should be good. Eat a meat with vegetables Tagine of on the eslanade and a bottle of water. 35 dirhams. The usual. Realized that it is the normal price. I do not know if it's priced for tourists or whether it is also for them. But it is not bad.

After dinner I ask the boy where to buy Morocco stickers. Of course, 30 seconds after comes a man who has a shop and has stickers. 15 minute walk through the village. Off the tourist circuit, to the neighbourhood where they live. A warehouse full of tourist things. Ask the price of the bracelets and the Berbers necklace. Tells me to choose what I like. He will settle a price for everything. Of course, Moroccan scheme. He asks 98 euros for 2 bracelets, 3 necklaces and 4 stickers. We are dealing and having tea. I turn on the “gypsy mode” and offer him 20€. (I make the price based on the Chinese shops). I “cry” I have no money that I would like to buy everything but does not fit on the bike. And that I am a journalist and I can do publicity for his shop. (This always works). We closed business for the 20€.

For Moroccans (and Arabs) trade a ritual. The longer it takes the more they want to sell. They use a multitude of arguments. After setting the 1st price and the refusal, They ask how much are we are willing to pay. If we make a value, we have to defend it until the end. If they don’t accept, we leave. Becomes a selling stubbornness. An obsession. They do not let us leave without buying. It takes patience and perseverance. They do want to sell. We buy if the price pleases us. Time is a weapon we have to use.

Breakfast - 25 dirhams. Milk, coffee, bread, butter and jam. Normal. Well served. In the dining room is just an American, already in his 60 years, gray, woolly hair. He stares to the kids sitting at the door. Yesterday afternoon I saw him talking to them, very interested. Walks alone and speaks to all that is a child. When I greeted him he did not deign to look. I do not like him.

The hotel owner, dark black skin, is behind the counter talking to the maids and looking at me. I must be a rare specimen here. They wave me and smile. I eat all the bread. This Moroccan bread is a delight. I have to wait to take the bike of the sidewalk. A 9 seats van is parked right in front. I do not have space to take the bike out, is sandwiched between two electrical posts and the van. A kid run to call the owner, a young man who is tourist guide. I think the Hotel population (except me and the American who likes kids) is all tour guides. The street is full of parked vans and jeeps.

The hotel price is clearly visible at the front desk. There is no need to negotiate or being deceived. I pay and go to the street to wait. To help me get the bike off was the hotel owner the guide who owns the van and the young boy from yesterday. The maids are at the door laughing. All laugh to see my effort to take the bike of the sidewalk and nearly drop it on the floor. It looks like a circus. I think it was almost impossible to steal my RED ONE during the night, such a huge effort to take it out of the sidewalk.

I leave Erfoud toward Tinejdad by a road without number. An old track that now has a good tarmac. An immense plain of sand. It's hot. After a few km I can see some stalls by the roadside and sand hills that seem old craters. And tourists coaches. A sign indicates that we can visit "Le sisteme d'irrigation Tuareg". I stop by to watch the tourists siting on the floor, watching wooden structures with pulleys, some of them pedalling and hearing explanations of a system of wells and underground water tunnels (which are now dry), very happy to hear the blue men they call Tuaregs. I take some photos and drive on when I see a "Tuareg" to coming towards me to offer me fossils. One of them even tried to follow me by bicycle, shouting anything that could be a unique opportunity.

Until arriving at the main road, the N10, is 87 km of few traffic and lots of space. I cross small villages by roads stifling of dirt and sand. Few people on the streets. So different from the romanticism of the imperial cities pictures with buildings full of arabesques. In Tinejdad I stop hungry. I see a patisserie and buy a croissant for 2 dirhams. In the café next door I sit on the esplanade under the sun. I am a fan of Moroccan pastries. And coffee.

Note: "RED ONE" is my motorcycle's name

(...)

**Paula K** · #25 24 Apr 2015

Morocco - In the Land of the Setting Sun
April/May 2012
(solo ride)

Todra valley can be seen. Palm grove and green grown flaps. In Tinghir I turn right into the Todra Gorge. The intersection is under construction, the road is all chopped. Up and down, the closer the Gorge, the hardest the road. Lots of traffic. In this narrow road if it’s not the cars that almost throw me off the road is the air turmoil from the tour buses that pass at high speed, curve with the wheels in the air, it almost seems that will fall down the cliff below. Tourism places in Arab countries are dangerous. Inside the valley, the mountains walls press the space until there is only a narrow strip where it just fits the road and a small river.

I'm standing on a bridge taking pictures of women washing clothes in the river when I see a group of motorcycles with Portuguese registration. Found them later on in Todra Gorge. It is an organized tour, almost all BMW motorcycles. I know one of them. Soon we started talking. I ask to take me a picture in the Gorge. Wonderful, it’s hard to have photos of myself when I travel alone.

They are staying to have lunch at Yasmine, one of the two famous hotels here and invite me to accompany them. I check see prices on the list. Each dish is marked about 100 dirhams. Out of budget. I appreciate the invitation and I leave to find a cheaper restaurant.

Walked to the parking lot thinking of the miles he could do with this value. I must be badly accustomed as I never paid so much for a meal. Later a Moroccan friend explained to me that the Moroccans have three "official" price lists. One for the Americans, French, Belgian ... those with lots of money and do not negotiate. One for Portuguese and other cheapskates who haggle the prices. Finally, the real price list which they practice between them. By comparison, my Moroccan friends stay in "Yasmine" or at "Les Roches" (right next door) for about 120 dirhams for dinner, accommodation and breakfast.

(...)

**Quest** · #26 27 Apr 2015

Paula,
I have just caught up with this thread and want to thank you for talking the time to place it here. You painted such a great picture of Turkey that, when I travel through it next year, I may want to spend all my time there.
Happy travelling and once again, thanks.
Dave

**Paula K** · #27 27 Apr 2015

Quote:

Originally Posted by Quest

Paula,
I have just caught up with this thread and want to thank you for talking the time to place it here. You painted such a great picture of Turkey that, when I travel through it next year, I may want to spend all my time there.
Happy travelling and once again, thanks.
Dave

Thanks Quest. I hope you will enjoy Turkey as much as I did. Wish you a wonderful holiday

..

**Paula K** · #28 27 Apr 2015

Morocco - In the Land of the Setting Sun
April/May 2012
(solo ride)

After eating some chocolate cookies that I brought Portugal, to fool the stomach, I leave searching lunch. Stop in Tinghir, in a restaurant with a decent look. There are two Italian bikers having lunch in the esplanade. I step into and bargain the price of lunch. Another Tagine the only thing that is ready to eat. Tagines are a kind of meat and vegetables stew, served in a clay pot, which is prepared in the morning and gets to cook steamed. In lunch time is always ready. The maximum price is 40 dirhams.

What a difference between this quiet restaurant and the confusion of the Todra Gorge. I have lunch quietly without anyone bothering me. The employee butterfly’s around my table, but does not speak. I feel him looking at me obliquely willing to make a conversation. When I finished lunch, he did not resist – Do you travel alone? – He sits next to me and asks where I come from, because he has never seen a single woman traveling alone in here. Sometimes he sees some Germans traveling alone but most times they travel in pairs or groups. He speaks quickly in bad French and shakes his head. Doesn’t stop to repeat that admire my courage. Travel alone in Morocco. Courageous woman. I tell him I think it’s a very safe country and very nice people. Waves with head affirmatively, looking like a pendulum, very happy. Swells with pride.

I have the map open in the table to see where I will stop tonight. I ask him if he knows any friendly Hotel in Bumalne (was watching this big city near the Dades Valley where I want to go). Replies that there is nothing to see and the hotels are very expensive. Advised me to stay in the “Gorges du Dades”. Beautiful road and nice hotels. Recommended the “Auberge de Peuplier”, at km 27 of the road to Msemrir. Usually he goes there with the family in vacation. Scribbled the address and directions to get there on my notebook. Says the maximum price will be 120 dirhams. Will call the owner (his friend, of course) to let him you know that I’m going.

It's still early and I'm near. Its only about 70 km. If I don’t like the hotel I can always go back and look for another place to stay. The miles that separate me from Boumalne is a straight road straightforward, a desert straight road line only cut off by turrets that limit the provinces. A huge space of rock desert and undergrowth and the mountains in the background. The weather is really hot.

I cross Boumalne and turn towards the Dades Valey. Suddenly, the landscape changes. The land is no longer yellow. It is red. Many villages, people in bicycles, women with herb bundling on their backs, buildings built in clay. The road snakes along the green oasis in the middle of the mountain. Herds of sheep cut the road. There are many hotels and small hostels, looking good hanging on the slopes or on the roadside. There is no traffic, just some trucks driving slowly. I'm controlling the miles to know where I am. The mountain walls narrow, there’s only space for the river and the road. When I think I've already pass through the hostel, almost to giving up, I see a small house, leaning against the rock wall over the road and the river with a sign saying "Auberge des Peupliers".

As soon as I park, a man in his 60 years comes out. Was waiting for me. Shows me the room and introduces me to his sons. The newest works in the garden and cooks the meals. The oldest one attends school studying computers and also works in the Auberge. The women work in the fields. The hostel is cozy, simple, few furniture and clean. It has wireless internet. They offer me tea. After all, the restaurant employee in Tinghir was right. This place is beautiful and pleasant. I sit at the entrance drinking tea and seeing some motorcycles and jeeps passing by coming from Imilchil, covered with earth, driving fast. Most Germans.

I park the bike in the craft shop next door. After a warm shower, dinner. Harira soup followed by Tagine. My stomach is complaining about anything. I cannot eat it all. For dessert, a candy with a delicious aspect. I can’t eat it also. I see this very complicated.

Outside everything is quiet, thought the open door I can hear the crickets. The night is dark. There are thousands stars. Shining.

I sleep badly. Neither the peaceful sound of the river, not the peace that I feel can calm my insides. I already know the symptoms. I'm screwed. In the morning, I go down early. I ask for a tea and a toast. I am sick, it’s hard to swallow. I inform that I will stay one more day. Spend all morning on the way to the bathroom. Sleepy and with temperature. From 2 in 2 hours I eat a piece of bread with tea, to take the medicine. This will not get better today. I'll stick around. I sleep deeply. Wake up after lunch time with the noise of conversation. Apparently there are many people down there.

I'm Hungry. I go down to the reception half dizzy. There are five women in white robes, heads covered, speaking all at the same time. When I appear there is silence. They shrink up, hide behind each other. The older one says anything I do not understand. I look at the boy in the reception desk. He translates. She's asking if I'm okay. I smile and answer. We started talking, come to close to me, observe me from top to bottom. They are the sisters of the owner. Heard about the foreign lady, riding alone in a bike, who is sick. Came to make company and see if I needed anything. They want to know where I come from, don´t know the names of countries or places that I speak. Listen carefully, eyes wide. Spent hours asking questions about me, my family, what I do. Every answer, they throw exclamations and laugh. Cheerful smiles. Land their hands on my head and forehead, say that tomorrow I will be OK. Have their palms brown, painted with Henna. It's tradition. They are going to make me a special herbs soup that will heal me.
By late afternoon, I feel better. The women are in the kitchen. I dare to take a ride. It’s a fantastic evening. Get on the bike and go up the road by a huge ramp. Tight curves, steep. At the top, strong wind blows. The landscape is magnificent.

The road is fantastic. Continues up the slope, the river is a thin line down there. Then it goes down again. The rock walls almost touch themselves. I arrive to the pass of Dades (Dades Gorges). Much more beautiful and much quieter than the Todra. A nice American couple walks around. They take me some pictures.

(...)

**Paula K** · #29 11 May 2015

Morocco - In the Land of the Setting Sun
April/May 2012
(solo ride)

I wake up early. I'm ready to continue my journey. Breakfast is tea and toast. It’s safer. Pack my luggage, pay 120 dirhams per night plus 30 dirhams for the gallons of tea I had yesterday. Mals are included in the price. I ride through the Dades Valley slowly. This valley filled my dreams. We can breathe space, peaceful, people working in the fertile fields along the river, red soil, many kasbah, there is no tourists or traffic. I'm alone on the narrow road looking at the horizon. I think this was a good place to rest. I was lucky to get sick in this paradise.

On the road to the Flowers Valley, a place I had seen on the Net as not to miss. In Kelaat M'Gouna, a small village where I turn right into the valley, I can already breathe the rose industry. Rows of shops full of pink plastic bottles, with production line aspect, but rather than detergent have rose water. It smells of dust.

I ride through the road inside the Valey, waiting to be surprised with beautiful rose fields. I didn’t. Just another fertile valley, green fields, lots of children along the road with rose petals bags. The rose bushes, can’t find them. Ride for about 20 km without filling my expectations. It begins to be cool. I park on the roadside to put the interior lining of the jacket. In a house near me many children look at me with curiosity. Don’t approach. I don’t feel like going further seeking rose bushes.

I'm 50 km away from Ouarzazate, a city where I’ve already been. I’ve have also made the road to Marrakesh through Atlas in 1997, a mountain road with thousands of curves and blocked with trucks. They say it's the worst road in Morocco in terms of traffic. I decide to turn North, to the interior. The hostel boy in Dadés said the road was in tarmac and easy to ride. He passed by a few days ago.

I have lunch in Skoura and the restaurant employee repeats it’s an asphalt road, through the mountain and it will take me about 2,5h to get to Demnate. Is 1 pm. Even if it takes more time, I still have six hours of light until the end of the day. Don’t know why but I’m turned to this road.

There are things that have to be made. I never understood why but there is an inner voice that tells us to do something, inexplicably

I like breadth, like roads with little traffic, like to explore. I go towards the Atlas, the road is a line of about 30 km, the mountain in the background. It is a clear day, sunny, beautiful

The road begins to go up. It is narrow but reasonable. Without noticing the miles I’m already at a very high altitude. The wind rises. It blows stronger. The road is dirty, the roadside begin to vanish. Higher and higher, the tar is shredded, huge holes, bits of asphalt begin to disappear until it’s just a dirt track and terraces flowing with water. Twists and turns ever more narrow, more and windier. The wind blows so strong that it is difficult to maintain the bike vertical. If I stop I fall into the ground with the wind. I have to continue.

The landscape is wild. Craggy windswept rocks, no vegetation. A scenario from another planet, reminds of catastrophe films of the future. No cars, no villages, no one sees us. Only shepherd’s shelters indicate that perhaps someone maybe around ... or not ...

(...)

**Paula K** · #30 11 May 2015

Morocco - In the Land of the Setting Sun
April/May 2012
(solo ride)

And the tarmac vanishes. The road starts to go down lightly. The last weeks rains dragged dirt and stones. The road track seems like tilled fields, deep grooves, water that flows down the mountain, narrow gorges. On the way down I can spot shepherds and herds of goats. Up ahead a jeep moves slowly in this track that the Moroccans say it’s a road.

I start to become more confident. There are people here. In the background appears a village. But to reach the village there is more 30 km of track road. It seemed closer. The road snakes through the mountain. It’s a repeated movie. Each time there is a slope there is no road. Tar only survives in horizontal curves.

I have the notion that the landscape is fantastic. If the conditions were different, I would take some excellent photos. But time flies, the road is difficult, every meter is a victory. In my brain pounds the advice of those who taught me to ride in tracks. Constant speed, no break, look forward. I am sweating in the middle of this freezing temperature.

Finally I reach Toufrine. Cross the village by a goat path, narrow. Arrive to a bridge that seems to be built recently. Unusual. There is a group of TT motorcycles parked on the bridge. Motorcyclists are equipped with armours. I’ve passed two hours without speaking to anyone, riding in the dust. I start a conversation They are surprised to see me. Look amazed. They are French and are riding the slopes tracks of the Atlas. They have a support Jeep with a trailer with more bikes.

By my accounts, I've done about 70 or 80 km. It’s only missing about 60 km. The French confirm. Good road, they say. Asphalt. There is a Moroccan guide with them, has an hallucinated look. Says the worst part of the road I've already done. From here it is softer.
I do not know if I believe. Between opinions of Moroccan and TT enthusiasts, let the devil come and choose.

I hate dirt roads, rocks, gravel, sand, all that involves driving in effort. I like to have a smooth carpet under the wheels so I can have my nose in the air to look around. I still consider about turning back. But I'm just at the point of no return. I need to get to Demnate with day light. I have 3 h until the sun goes down. Night falls by 7,30h afternoon. Suddenly it gets pitch dark.

I bid farewell unto the French. They say they admire my courage. I answer them I don’t know if it's courage o if I'm crazy. We all laughed. I go up again to the mountain. The road is better, there is more tar. Except that I no longer trust the information I got. I could even go faster but at every turn I am expecting to have a ploughed road ahead. I'm already on the North side of the Atlas, start to go down, the landscape is greener. The road goes up and down more quickly. Sometimes goes up very high sometimes goes through fertile valleys and small villages where the locals look at me with curiosity. I feel like I could make a stop, breathe and take pictures. But I'm alone, I want to arrive with day light, ride slowly, I do not risk. I'm not a heroin, I do not want to fall or break anything. I'm riding thinking how curious is the notion that the road is different depending on the person, or the experience or tastes. I know some for whom this road is a highway, for others it would be impractical. For me, it’s possible to do it. Slowly

Finally I spot the horizon. Green. Beautiful. The end of the line is in sight. Down below there is civilization, there are good roads, there is a hotel and a hot bath waiting for me. I even accelerate down the curves. I'm happy

I arrive to Demnate at the sun set. Cross the city without seeing Hotels. I stop and ask. Indicate me one further back, to the right. I could find the hotel but it has no sign. Still haven’t turned off the bike and the receptionist comes out and gives me a warm welcome. It's an old man and speaks French badly. It has rooms. It’s 100 Dirhams (€ 9). And has Internet. I ask to see the rooms. On each floor there are four bedrooms, facing an entry which has the bathroom. There is no room with toilet and shower inside. At this time, I no longer have the strength to go look elsewhere. The facilities are new and the place is clean.

In the reception again, he gives me the key to a room on the 4th floor. The Internet does not reach there. The owner appears. I insist on having Internet. The receptionist says it's more expensive. Just the rooms on the 4th floor. I speak directly with the owner. I explain that I'm a journalist and I have to send news today for my boss. I cannot be working in the lobby. I make a panic face. They speak in Arabic with each other. Finally, they give me a room on the 2nd floor. It is double but does the same price. And he will open his particular garage to park my bike. (Cool. I was not feeling like climbing 4 floors. This place has no lift).

I leave to look for dinner. I have the stomach glued to my back. My legs are still shaking from today's adventure. The receptionist appears out of nowhere. I do not know how these guys can be invisible and suddenly appear. Advises me the restaurant across the road. Takes me there.

Must earn a commission for sure. In here or they ask for bribes directly or they receive a commission in the place for which lead us. The King must have difficulty to collect taxes.

Only at the end of the day, already in the hotel, after investigating where I was, that I realized that I always drove at about 2000 meters of altitude and climbed up to 2,800 m. Up there, I remember seeing a sign with a name and the altitude. And I remember it was a good place for a picture. But the wind was so tough and so strong that if I would stop the bike I would fall in the ground. I only thought I had to continue going down into the valley, hoping that the wind calm down. More important than take photos of the location was my sense of survival that was shouting me out of prudence, warning me that I could not risk, that I was alone at that end of the world. And I heard and obeyed.

(...)

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