Ronda to Tetouan...

Why is it that when we stay in the nicest hotel yet, it’s the shortest visit?! Although the bathroom layout was a little too public when I’m sharing a room with my Dad for my liking! However, at least no-one else has asked if he was my husband!!

The bridge in Ronda is apparently the most famous thing about it. When we drove over it, I was expecting something a whole lot bigger and even more grand given what nice car boss had said about it. It was so underwhelming from the top that we just kept driving as we thought that couldn’t possibly be it. Faux pas… when I saw the photos the boys took of it I was gutted to have missed it. Never mind… maybe I’ll just have to come back when I can spend more than 12 hours here.

12 hours. I’m going to have at least a 12 hour shift in my bed when I get home!!

Today we made it to Algeciras by half one and waited for the boys to get there. There were men in the car park trying to get us to communicate with them. I think to buy a ticket for the ferry off them. No thank you very much! I went into the ticket office, leaving Dad babysitting the rich bitch mobile. I worry about that too and I’m anal about locking the doors and making sure the trailer is secure.

We got on the ferry… glad not to have been driving if I’m honest. I do not have sea legs. It makes me feel like I’m drunk – without the wine! I’m having a bit of déjà vu now so apologies if I’m repeating myself from the Dover to Calais route that seems so long ago now. No idea how we were going to get off the ferry given that everyone else was facing the other way, that’s DAA’s problem. I’ve decided that nice car boss is no longer and I’ll call him by his work name for now, there’s Douglas Senior and Douglas Junior (nice car boss) so I'll swap to DAA.

So we get off the ferry in Ceuta and the boys decide that they’re not waiting for us to clear customs, take their passports and cycle off into the distance leaving my Dad and I to face the border alone. Its fair to say that my introduction to Morocco was not what I was expecting, nor was it one that I’ll forget in a hurry. I’m not sure what I was expecting but the chaos that faced us was both frightening and confusing. There are men at every turn, all of whom spot the British car and make a bee line for us. Talk about a sitting target, not to mention the number of cars, most of which are battered and falling to bits that I had to avoid. I watched the guy in front of us get out of his car whilst in what appeared to be a queue, and check the boot. I thought he was making sure it was locked so when we got a little further on, you can imagine how horrified I was when three men came over to his car, opened the boot and removed the contents and buggered off. Stress levels on whether I had locked the trailer = through the roof.

There are two feet (if that) between the cars all the way round and men knocking on the windows, waving pieces of paper at us, asking for our passports. Like I’m about to hand my passport out the window to some random who could use a visit to the dentist. Okay so if he had teeth perhaps that would have helped. By this point I’m beyond uptight so when a little man with an ID thing round his neck comes to the window telling me to park, I’m like there’s no fucking danger I’m opening the window never mind getting out of the car!

It turns out that he was actually one of the official helpers. Bless him, he was brilliant and worth the twenty euros and his English was amazing. He helped us park the car and trailer, took us over to the little booth where the official person was there taking passports and the car documents. Is this your car? Um… no. Do you have some official papers authorising you to have it? Um… no. Fuck! At this point I’m considering how the boys can support themselves and can I just go home please? People are carrying all sorts of rubbish through the border around us. One guy had a spare wheel. Like for a car. Under his arm. I can’t help but wonder whether there was something stuffed in it as you see money changing hands, almost discretely. One of the officials in uniform was seen putting a bottle of what looked like vodka under his jacket and wandering off. I just wanted to get out of there and I figured I’d stop at the other side for a well-earned smoke. However, we get to the other side of the border… not really being any the wiser for our through border experience which took maybe an hour or so, but no-one asked to see in the trailer, although they did ask if we were carrying any guns. I replied no, just a lot of dirty knickers. They let us go. Apparently it’s worse on the way back. If I get strip searched this is going to cost DAA two pairs of Louboutins!!

We caught up with the boys so I got out and had a smoke before we tailed them all the way to Tetouan. The only way I can describe it as feeling unsafe. I am a creature of habit and a bit of a control freak and I’m so far out of my comfort zone it’s just not funny. We arrived at our Riad after passing a million number of shady looking people, predominantly men, hanging around at the side of the road. All the way to the hotel I figured they were drug dealers but apparently they’re just car sharing. The public transport isn’t like it is at home and they tend to cram at least ten people in each taxi.

The hotel felt quite homely though so Campbell decided to opt out of dinner and hang out there instead to watch the football. We went into the town for dinner, to what appeared to be a posh members club. There are people everywhere, mostly men, mostly hoping to sell you something or to help you park. Dinner was nice though, pizza for me while everyone else went for a traditional tagine dish. I had a taste though so maybe I’ll go for one of those tomorrow.