Update.

If my pictures are in the wrong order, I can't help it. The internet here is powered by a small donkey working a giant wooden hamster wheel. In wellies. Backwards.


Since the last update, we stayed in a cave type building thing in Tiznit. The campsite man who I shall refer to as Biffa, seeing as he smelt like a bin – actually, that’s unfair to a bin. A bin that’s purpose was to relieve the homeless of B.O. stained clothes, fungus ridden socks that had been shat in by pigs and the internal rotting organs of the geriatric population of the Isle of Wight – informed us that it had only rained twice in two years there. Well, it rained all day there for us…!

Still, we slept on the floor and were dry, so that’s good. I had dry pants, I was happy.

From there we went to Tan Tan. The visibility wasn’t great.

It is however an ideal environment for disposing of dead bodies! If I was a serial killer this is definitely where I’d take them. Either that or I’d do what Dexter did and throw them in the sea. Except I don’t have a boat and I’m pretty sure Mr Red Funnel ticket man would get suspicious if you kept on bringing on rolls of carpet. Or corpses. So definitely the desert is better for hiding people you’ve killed with your mums breadknife if you lack a boat.

We stayed next to the beach. Still haven’t got a bucket and spade. It smelt of fish, like most of Morocco.

THEN! DUN DUN DUUUUNNN! We rode through more desert and got to 35km away from Laayoune. There were camels. We saw a sign for them, we saw actual camels, then we ate one in a tagine. I wonder if it was responsibly sourced, or they just went and rammed it with a jeep? It was pretty tender so maybe they rammed it a few times. Perhaps they have a special vehicle for it, with little tenderising hammers all over it. If not I could invent one, I’d call it the Camel-Twatter.

Now we are in Boujdor. There are lots and lots of checkpoints here. Lots of police with guns. We also saw two dogs shagging on the top of a rooftop. Tomorrow we will head towards Dakhla.

A slight change of plan...

It's common knowledge that I cannot be trusted to go anywhere without licking people.
Tescos for example. Can't cope. Must. Lick. People.

With this in mind, the borders of Africa are on to me and we've had to change our route. We can no longer go straight from Mauritania to Mali, the border is closed. Ebola.

We've got to go into Senegal now, which was not the plan but it shouldn't pose too much of a problem. To do so we have to apply for a visa online and then complete in the embassy, all without licking people. It could prove challenging.

So at the moment, after a day of riding in the rain (I have a damp willy) we are in Tiznit, and tomorrow we go to Tan Tan. I didn't think it rained down here. My pants say otherwise. Unless I'm incontinent? I wouldn't like to be incontinent. You can get incontinence pants though, like big nappies. What do you think they test them with? Gravy? Maybe bolognese without the meatballs. OR with the meatballs?
Although I suppose nobody would ever want to borrow your car or shine your shoes, so, meh, every cloud...

BEARD NEWS:

Chin bit not yet long enough to put into an elastic band. Moustache bit trimmed as 'keeping food in that isn't attractive'


OTHER NEWS:

The mosque men with microphones sound like zombies, and are really getting on my tits.

Update

As I type this from Agadir, we are making decent enough progress towards the Western Sahara. We have travelled from Rabat, which was a hole, via Temara where we got passport photos done, by the photographer equivalent of Josef Fritzl, who took us into his basement, electronically ‘enhanced’ them so we look like brother and sister from the Hitler youth then sent us on our way. Then we went to El Jadida, which was a hole, then to Safi, which was a hole, to where we are now. Which isn’t actually that bad. The campsite in El Jadida even had a shower!

Luxury.

 

Internet is seemingly sparse, though that’s probably not high on the locals priority list. I’ve compiled a priority list as it happens, it looks like this.

1. Throwing rubbish in the street.
2. Pissing in the street.
3. Staring at you.
4. Staring at you whilst pissing or throwing rubbish in the street.
5. Not filling in potholes.

Since my last update I’ve managed to lose the front half of my mudguard on a pothole that was large enough to raise a small family of otters in, smashed my mirror with my knee, drank some dodgy water and then expelled it through my anus and figured out I’ve actually gone away with Dr Do Little. Whenever we camp anywhere there are cats, dogs, peacocks, toads, chickens, goats….

Dr DeeLittle.

Now the plan, for those of you that haven’t died of boredom or started looking at pictures of naked ladies on the internet (I dare you to look at pictures of what happens to women’s genitalia when they take steroids if you haven’t already) is to go to Tiznit, Tan Tan, then down to the Mauritanian border at the end of the Western Sahara. There’s sand in there, I wish someone had told me. Didn’t bring my bloody bucket and spade. 

Turns out I'm not the best at using a camera backwards

Have visa, will travel.

Well we’ve had an interesting day! Read lots about getting a Mauritanian visa in Rabat, about how busy it is, and how people have arrived at 7am to be 50^th in line, and have to wait until 3pm the next day to pick the visa up. We managed to get both our Mauritanian visa and our Mali visa by 2:30pm in one day. Here is a rare informative guide (from me, of all people. I’d rather talk about something more crude, but this might actually help someone).

We arrived at the Rabat Embassy at 7am and there was no one there. By 9 when it opens maybe 12 people were queuing. A man came out with the paperwork to fill in, bring a pen. We only had pencils and had to redo them, I have blanked out the info and put them here – They are in Arabic and French, no Engrish at all. Now I don’t know about you, but I’m as fluent in Arabic as a whirlpool dishwasher, so if you’re a brit traveling through Mauritania to Mali, copy this.

Apparently I’ve lost the ability to use a camera, but if you save the picture you can make out what I’ve written.

Once that is filled in, give the angry man behind the desk your best smile, 2x passport sized photos, 340 Dhm and a photocopy of your passport (as well as your actual passport, the visa is stuck to a page in there.)

Come back the same day at 2pm, with the receipt that Mr Personality gave you, and collect your passport. Check it’s yours, mistakes are made. There is parking near the embassy and touts on hand to help if you are stuck, just look gormless, worked for us. Tip them.

With that in hand, walk 500m down the road to the Mali Embassy on your left. This form I do not have a photo of, but it’s much simpler, one sided, in Engerland language. Even I could understand it, and I struggle to put my pants on the right way.

There people were genuinely nice, laughing, helping and welcoming. Took fifteen minutes and cost 250 Dhm - That one was easy, well recommended.

I’ll do a bigger update in a few days once we have moved somewhere less, er, dirty. The people though have been nice, it’s just the amount of filth everywhere. 

Onwards!

FFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUU....

Bye bye Spain.

We're about two hours away from docking in Tangier. We don't have anywhere to stay, we don't have any idea what to do or where to go.

Someone took a dump in the bin on the ferry, next to the toilet. That's a bit of an odd thing to do isn't it?

Can you imagine what would happen if you took a dump in the bins in Ikea?

Barcelona

We have made it to our final destination in Europe, Barcelona. If you’ve ever thought about riding through the centre of Barcelona, by all means do. What I mean by that is if you’re the kind of person that would be inclined to enjoy having your bare arse whipped with nettles, or own a rubber fist and indulge in playtime with safe words, you’ll probably enjoy it. Except there are no safe words, only swear words.

The cars aren’t so bad, but the bikes are a bit like ants when you nuke their nest with a kettle. Still, darwinism will sort them out.

Now the plan is to get the ferry to Tangier, which departs at 10:00 Friday 12^th – although for some sadistic reason (as if a 32h crossing wasn’t bad enough) we have to be there for 6am. I’m really looking forward to it, love boats. Especially the seasick bit. And the sea, can’t get enough. I might get a boat and get some puppets like on Rosie and Jim. Except I wouldn’t be able to call them that so I’d call them ‘Bastard’ and ‘Ship’. I’ve always though puppeteers were a bit odd. What kind of person wants to fist a toy? It’s all a bit Saville if you ask me.

Right, so then, Tangier. Today I have serviced the bikes, oil change, checked and tightened spokes and a general once over. Dee has been cooking in our hostel room which along with all the washing everywhere I’m sure will go down a treat, but to calm them down I’ve drawn a scrotum on the mirror so they should be happy.

Here are some pictures of stuff for those of you that are illiterate.

Factory intercom and basket setup

Pyrenees – somewhere in Andorra:

Nom.

Servicing in the car park. I didn’t pour the oil into the bins. Nope.

....Onwards!

Andorra!

We are in Andorra, so that’s France over and done with. As Vinnie Jones eloquently once described the French as “garlic breath tossers” there’s little more to add when it comes to describing their driving. We’ve both nearly been taken out several times…

Anyway.  We’ve got our first hotel tonight, so hopefully can get a decent nights kip.  I’ve been eaten alive. Fifteen bites on my leg alone! Where Dee sleeps like a baby and doesn’t get bitten at all, I stay up thinking everything is going to eat me. Which it apparently does. Apart from the mice that were running over the tent, but probably only because the bastards couldn’t get in.

Bikes are still running okay, we’ve just clocked over 1,100km with the only complaints being a complete and utter lack of power at altitude (for me atleast – even when I’m speed tucking up the hills, Dee can sit bolt upright and overtake me. Luckily she isn’t smug about that what-so-ever.)

Tomorrow we are going to head to Manresa, and then we have two nights in a hostel near Barcelona, where I’m going to service the bikes and send Dee off shopping. Bitches love shopping.

Here is a  photo of our tent to break up this wall of text:

4 days to go until we board the ferry to Tangier. They like to drink mint tea in Morocco apparently, so we bought some to try it. It tastes a bit like drinking toothpaste, musty toothpaste. Anyway, that means we are 100% prepared, as the teabags had a picture of a camel on them. Camels aren’t deceitful.

Here is another photo of our bikes. It isn’t relevant to anything above, but I don’t have a picture of a camel.

24 Hours in...

Well we’ve been in France 24 hours now, so time for an update. First night we camped in a farmers field next to some cows, tonight we have a ‘proper’ campsite somewhere south of Fye. It’s further down than Fi, but not as far as Fo or Fum.

So far we have smashed my iPhone, broken my Nook, set fire to half our cooking equipment (Our Chinese copy of a Primus stove boldly claims to be a ‘multifuel’ stove. Presumably this means that when you go to light the bastard thing, it actually sets fire to everything within a kilometre radius and tries to burn your face off, and when you do manage to cook with it, it makes everything taste of petrol. It’s a good job I didn’t take the ‘multifuel’ tagline seriously, else my porridge may well have tasted like faeces.)

AND the gold bike has lost it’s electricity. So you could say it’s going well!

On the flip side, we have both showered, so no longer smell like an aisle of cash converters.