At the hostel the next day I got up later than I wanted. I was exhausted and needed the rest. I quickly went online to book a ferry ticket from Spain to Tangier, Morocco. Like for most of my trip I hadn’t done any planing for going to Africa. I had been warned by people I met on the trip when I mentioned I wanted to go to Morocco. It is supposed to be one of the most westernized locations in Africa but at the same time it’s also supposed to be a host for Al Qaeda extremists wanting to cross over to Europe. Generally I was just not a safe place was what I heard. Lastly I was warned by the hostel receptionist to be careful and never follow anybody who offers to lead me somewhere to help me because it could be a trap. Anyway I only had a few hours until the ferry would leave Europe from Tarifa the most southern point of Spain and it would take me exactly that long to get there. It was going to be another race to catch a ferry.

Not off to a good start some guy who had stopped in front of me at an intersection just outside the hostel decided to release his breaks and slowly rolled backwards hitting my front tire. Not being deterred by me honking repeatedly he seemed surprised when he felt a bump. I didn’t see any damage to my tire and I was late already so I didn’t worry about it much and just kept going. The bump hadn’t been strong enough to cause damage to the wheel and my tires had almost reached the end of their life span anyway so it was more important to me to catch the ferry.

I arrived in Tarifa on time and got in line to board the ferry.

I was surprised to realize once more how few people including the police in highly touristy places were speaking any English at all. I decided for myself that I would learn Spanish as soon as possible (over the course of the next few years..).

The formalities on the Spanish side were easy. Show your passport, get on the ferry, find a seat and enjoy the ride. It felt less organized and strict than crossing from the UK to Spain.

Everybody was very friendly and the officer checking my passport was more interested in my “muy bueno” bike than my documents. It seemed as though he was about to quit his job and join me on my trip.

I boarded the ferry …

… and was surprised to see that I was the only motorcyclist on the ferry.

From one of the sun decks I waved Europe goodbye…

… and said hello to Africa.

It only took about two hours to reach the other side. All passengers were asked to disembark the ship and so did I.

However when I showed my passport to one of the Moroccan officers he informed me that I was missing a stamp in my passport.

Well, “shit” I thought. But not to worry, I could get the stamp on the boat. In fact I was supposed to get it there. Apparently this had been common knowledge. Everybody had to get a stamp in their passport on board so that it was clear how one got to Tangier. Another friendly officer approached me and asked me kindly to follow him. He would lead me to where I could get me stamp.

He was wearing the boat company clothing and there was police right next to him so I complied and he indeed brought me to where I got my stamp. 

He was extremely friendly to a point where I felt bad for having had such bad suspicions in the first place – and he reminded me a lot of Basile (John Cleese) from Faulty Towers. Not just the way he looked but also the way he tried to appear like he had control over everything but didn’t seem to be terribly important in reality.

When I got back to my bike though he asked me for money for his services. A few “little Euros for Hassan” he said. Ah. So that’s why he was *that* friendly. I probably would have gotten my stamp on my own but maybe not as quick and stress free and since I simply didn’t want any trouble I gave him a few Euros. A system that probably always works for him. After all who would want to cause a scene entering a foreign country hoping to be allowed in after not having the proper documents and already having paid over a hundred pounds for the ferry crossing.

I was now allowed to leave the ferry and get in line for customs.

There the police told me I was missing another form which however I wasn’t supposed to have already received and they issued it to me straight away asking me to complete it. It was in Arabic and French. Well, “shit” I thought. But despite the grim faces of all the 8 or 9 police officers one was kindly translating the form for me in one go. Hoping I would remember everything from the top until the bottom of the page I started filling it out and handed it over to the guard. He then told me that I now had to go to the police station right around the corner to get the OK from the police. I was a bit confused since he pointed me behind the gates. I was supposed to walk into the country, passing the gates to get my documents with my bike still waiting outside. I was just hoping they would not scream at me to stop asking me what I thought I was doing entering the country. But it seemed nobody could care less what I was doing and so I walked to where I understood I was supposed to go. Around the corner two men approached me telling me that I should follow them, they would lead me to the police. “Hmmmmm” I thought. No uniforms. So I declined saying I knew where to go, which I didn’t. I just walked towards the next building which seemed like it could be a police station. Naturally it was not marked as such. The two guys joined me asking friendly questions about where I was from, why I was here and how I liked it. They were doing their best to make a good impression. The way they were walking ahead of me still trying to guide me to where I needed to go, together with the questions they were asking in a polite almost professional manner made me think that maybe they were police after all.

I entered the building to see there was nothing inside. Like the whole port area it seemed completely deserted. It was dirty and there was no furniture inside except for a medieval metal detector and an airport x-ray. Another non-uniformed person was sitting there all by himself. Confused I put my camel-back with my documents plus my Swiss Army knife in it on the conveyor belt and walked through the metal detector frame. Any other metal detector would have played the sweetest tunes with my metal pieces in my boots an biking trousers and the Swiss knife sure wasn’t considered a toy in Africa either but in complete silence I just grabbed my bag and kept going my two body guards following me. We reached the end of the room where behind a wall another non-uniformed man was sitting asking for my passport. Well, “shit” I thought. What now? Risk losing my passport to a stranger in Africa? But what other options do I have? So I handed it over. The guy looked it, and started entering some information from it into his medieval computer. It took 10 minutes during which one of my body guards tried to make a conversation about his country Morocco, how friendly people are and what I should visit. I thanked him and told him how friendly I had been received so far. When the man behind the computer had completed his evaluation he handed me back my passport and said I was good to go. No stamp, no additional documentation. I was wondering how the guards outside would now know I had actually been to the computer man. I didn’t saw a radio in the empty room and the officers outside didn’t have a computer. But again I didn’t really have an other option than just walking back outside to tell the border police that I had indeed payed computer man a visit. However when I exited the building four non-uniformed men approached me getting very close to me making it difficult for me to keep going. The oldest of them who was about 50 told me with a stern voice that now I had to pay the youngest of the four for the services of my friendly body guard. Thankfully he even told me very firmly the following steps and how much I had to pay. “You pay name-of-the-youngest two Euros. Body-guard-guy helped you with your documents. You should pay name-of-the-youngest five but better would be ten. You should pay him ten Euros. And you only give it to name-of-the-youngest, not to me an not to any of the other ones, only to him. You only give him the money. I will not take it. Give *him* the money.”

Well, “shit” I thought. How about I give nobody money for nothing? I told them that I had just given the other guy at the boat my last coins and I had just come to Tangier for a few hours so I didn’t bring any additional cash with me. They didn’t want to hear any of it and didn’t back up either. But again their strategy worked. The foreigner didn’t want any trouble. I ended up giving them two euros. They were very displeased with the amount but I kept walking back to the border gates and they did not follow me there. However my friendly bodyguard seemed to have no trouble walking past the gates freely and followed me now also asking me for money. Turns out the guys up at the police station didn’t even belong to him and he was visibly disappointed that I had paid them and not him. Though it might have been just another trick to get me to pay him/them again but I didn’t think about it much. I handed my documents to the border guard and was allowed to enter the country. So I got on my bike and once I was on it ready to go I told him one last time that I didn’t have any money for him and impolitely left him behind driving through the gates into Morocco.

Before leaving Granada Pakorn, Eyve and I decided to meet again in Sevillia within the next few days since we all had planed to go there too. In the meantime I set course for Malaga. I left Granada passing through the Sierra Nevada. The Sierra Nevada is actually a mountain national park in Spain. I assume that it was named long before the Sierra Nevada desert in the US and it is probably where the deserts name comes from.
The mountains are very tall and there is even a ski resort. It’s difficult to imagine that you can go skiing there in winter driving through the soaring 43 degrees heat in summer. I was told in winter it even snows down in Granada.

The view from the top was very nice.

I kept riding south towards Malaga passing a beautiful bright blue lake where I stopped for a little break to let my bikes engine cool after it had died once again. I wanted to stay at the lake for the night but I felt I hadn’t covered enough distance to already set up camp.

So I kept going and a while later I actually reached another lake just like it. There were official camp sites close to it which cost 20 Euros which I didn’t want to spend so I set up my tent in a little group of trees. Next to the beach (a no-no), next to the road (a no-no), and next to an official campsite (a no-no). It was free but it was not comfortable. It was on an incline. I didn’t sleep well because in my tent I inevitable rolled into the corner and slept being pushed into the tent wall without being able to move much.

Because of the wide angle of the GoPro camera lens it’s difficult to see how steep it actually is.

It’s more visible on my phone camera.

Turning the tent 90 degrees was actually even more uncomfortable.Turns out there is a good reason why beds are flat.

Since I didn’t even want to try to sleep and it was still relatively bright outside I decided it would be a nice idea to go for a swim in the lake in the middle of the night. The water was almost uncomfortably warm. Unfortunately the ground was also really muddy and not very deep. I kept getting stuck and it took me a good 10 minutes to get in far enough to actually swim.

(The GoPro Hero2 does not make amazing photos at night.)

When I got out instead of being clean I was covered knee deep in clay like mud. On top of that I had to walk back to my tent through some type of plants which have thousands of tiny seeds which make Velcro pale in comparison. I spent an hour tearing them from my legs, shorts and my towel. All in all I probably should have skipped the lake.

I packed my things the next day in the morning and reached Malaga a little after.

Malaga is not too big and there wasn’t a lot to see. I strolled through the city centre and visited yet another fortress on top of a hill. But it was by far not as impressive as the one from Granada and I was glad I had only payed three Euros entry unlike ~15Euro for the one in Granada which were worth it.

However a highlight for me was the Picasso Art Gallery. I had never seen a real Picasso painting before and I was and still am not hugely impressed with his work. I just can’t wrap my head around why his paintings are among the most expensive ones in the world. Picasso was born in Malaga so the included audio guide explained a lot about his life and motivation for his paintings. It’s now a little bit more clear to me why he painted the way he did in his later works but I still don’t think they are worth as much as they cost. He also made scultures out of garbage. No I can’t say I am a fan of his work.

More impressions from Malaga:

In the evening I decided to look for another hostel so I wouldn’t lose any time in the morning with packing my tent the following day since my goal was: Tangier, Morocco – Africa.

My approach to Granada was cut short when on the highway after a longer stretch of 120km/h the engine cut out again. Luckily the engine kindly announces that it will lock up within the next second  because before it does it completely loses all power. Only a second later it goes out. So I hit the clutch again, switched on the hazard lights and rolled to the hard shoulder.

Earlier in a post I complained a bit about drivers in Spanish cities but in general I was very pleasantly surprised about people on the highways. Nobody seems to be speeding even when they are almost alone on the highways. And they always switch on the hazards when there is any sight of danger or a jam. Especially the trucks often use the hazard lights when they are slowly crawling up a hill on the highway or going down. And most people got onto the lane farthest away from me making me feel safer despite having stopped facing the sun – in a left turn – on the peak of an incline.

Periodically I poured a lid full of water from a water bottle onto the engine to see how quickly it would evaporate.

At first it was instant. But when it was down to four seconds before it started to disappear I decided to get back on the road. The engine seemed cool enough to take another few dozens of kilometers, which it was.

It was and I reached Granada in the evening just as planed.

The landscape had changed drastically in just an hour. All of a sudden there were trees once again.

Wild camping would be getting easier again from here on.

Though in Granada I wanted to stay a longer than just one day so in order to not have to set up and pack my tent a few times in the same spot every day and get into the city from outside with all my things I decided to stay at a hostel.

Arriving in Granada I rode through the little lanes searching for the hostel I had found on the Hostelworld app.

The people at the hostel were really nice and at the end of my stay I didn’t want to leave the town. I had planed to stay for two days but if I recall correctly I stayed for four.

We ended up being a group of six people exploring Granada together.

From left to right: Amy (Australia), Asia (Poland), me, Pakorn (Thailand) later we were joined by Eyve (Switzerland) and Sofia (Mexico)

One of the most impressive places we visited was the Alcazaba, a medieval Muslim fortress decorated with incredible detail.

(Unfortunately I can’t rotate the photo at the moment.)

The view from up there was fantastic.

All kinds of citrus trees were scattered around the city and all over the south of Spain for that matter.

On one of the many free walking tours which you can attend all over Europe in touristy cities we learned about the (Muslim) history of Granada.

At a particular point in Granadas history all mosques were either destroyed or turned into churches. Not the case however with the cathedral of Granada.

The next morning my tent was covered with dew and because I didn’t want to pack a wet tent I waited until the sun came out to quickly dry it up and immediately turn the tent into a greenhouse forcing me out.

Today I was going to visit the last of the three western towns of the Tabernas Desert.

This one was going to be special. It was supposed to feature the main shooting location of what is said to be the best western movie of all time. The farm house of “Once upon in the west”. Another one of Sergio Leones masterpieces.

Finding the this last town was a bit more tricky because it was not signposted. Spending a bit of money on advertising wouldn’t be a bad idea. Although it seems to me that only people who plan a visit there and actively search for these places will come go there.

I did find the place and after purchasing a ticket at the entrance from a man who did not hide the fact that I was an inconvenience to his quiet day sitting in his booth I parked the bike in front of the gates.

“No Ingles, no credit card”

And with a calm voice he slowly but firmly -showing and incredible routine- uttered the words “Henry Fonda”  ——— “Claudia Cardinale” while slowly yet firmly pointing at the completely bleached photos behind him of the two Hollywood Stars of times long past. (They were part of the main cast of “Once upon a time in the west” shooting many scenes at this location.)

The first thing you see when you enter the palisades enclosed village is what you are looking for visiting this place. Bett McBains farm. The poor farmer who is about to get married but ends up dying along with is family at the hands of the villain – Frank (Henry Fonda).

On the outside the building is largely kept in it’s original state except for a few elements missing here and there and a new roof.

There really wasn’t much to see in this place other than the farm house but it was exactly what I was after. Another little part of big movie history.

The final scene. The duel that defined the word duel for all future movies to come. Henry Fonda facing off the hero “Harmonica”, Charles Bronson.

Like at the other villages this one was subject to constant alterations to suit different productions. In this instance the wall was removed and other buildings and a well added.

I spent a good three hours at this place before I decided to say goodbye to this mecca of the Spaghetti Western genre.

Before I left the Tabernas desert for good I wanted to explore a few gravel tracks leading into the heart of the desert.

 

On my way back I stopped one last time to capture the surreal European landscape.

By chance I took this photo opposite from where Monco and his horse are facing in a scene in “For a few dollars more”.

You can see the same road on my photo in the left lower corner.

It was time to keep going. My next stop would be Granada and I wanted to reach the medieval city which used to be of great importance many centuries ago before the end of the day. Not before a little detour though.

I got onto the highway aiming for Granada knowing that right on my rout there would be one last bit of western movie history I didn’t want to miss. It was the location of the train station of the opening sequence of “Once upon a time in the west” and the location of “Sweetwater”, the town with a railway station that Brett McBain wanted to found but didn’t get a chance to.

I reached the first location after an hour. It was great having found such a specific location in the middle of nowhere but it was a bit underwhelming. There is nothing left of the iconic train station. Only the mountains in the background and the still remaining earth deposit of the train tracks gives a hint that this is where the iconic opening scene of “Once upon a time in the west” was shot.

Filming one of the shots – (Sergio Leone with his hands on his back)

The very last western movie location on my Spain trip was the town in which “Misses McBain” (Claudia Cardinale) arrives before finding her husband to be dead on his farm.

In its place today, a farm. Again you can see the same mountain in the background.

Not knowing it I had stopped at a place which was actually two film sets in one location. I just had to turn my head to my right. Another train station. Featured in “The good the bad and the ugly” in “Once upon a time in the west” and I think also one of the original Django movies and last but not least one of my favorite movies “My name is Nobody”. I looked at the station and thought it looked oddly familiar but since I hadn’t read anything about it I disregarded it after taking a photo just to make sure I wasn’t missing anything.

Only later I realized that in fact it was a much used location. I even saw photos of a graffiti on the main buildings walls that reads “viva Leone”.

Here is the station in “The good the bad and the ugly” …

… and from the opposite direction in “Once upon a time in the west”.

These final locations conclude my Spaghetti Western movie history hunt. I got back onto the bike and back onto the highway. Up next was Granada.

The three western towns are located within two or three kilometers of each other so I didn’t have to search for long to find the next one. Upon getting onto the dusty track leading to the town I was greeted by a cowboy on his (not-iron) horse tipping his hat.

The towns name is Fort Bravo. The reason why is it includes an American fort which was used in the movie Escape from Fort Bravo.

Many movies which where shot in Mini Hollywood were also filmed in this town. Though I did not recognize any particular buildings or views.

The town however actually looked more authentic to me than Mini Hollywood. Probably because it was less taken care of. The paint on all the buildings had faded, the bare wooden planks were bleached bright from the merciless sun of the past decades. Most buildings were a bit skewed and just overall gave the impression of a proper old western town with a history to it. Although realistically why should the people back then not have taken care of their town. Anyway I liked the worn look.

Every western town needs gallows.

And a saloon.

The town had two parts. One US style and one Mexican to suit more productions.

Of course there also needs to be a jail.

I stayed in Fort Bravo until the evening when I needed to make sure I could still find a place to sleep. I really wasn’t sure where to sleep that day because with the Tabernas desert I had reached the place with the least vegetation to hide. Sleeping in the desert did sound interesting though.

So I got back onto the road and I was scanning the landscape close and further away from me. It was quite obvious that I could not be picky this time.

The land wasn’t completely flat next to the road which was a big relieve for me. Thankfully there were little hills here and there and after just a few minutes of riding I had found my spot.
First I wanted to camp on top of a one of the hills. The view was fantastic up there, but it was a bit (very much) too exposed.

So I climbed down again ending up in a little valley where I was going to be hidden.

I ate my dinner on the hill watching the sun set over the Tabernas desert.

The night was just like you would expect it in a desert, quite cold. There was a very dense mist and it was by far the coldest night on my trip so far so I had to use my warm dune sleeping bag.

I have crossed countless rivers on my trip so far. Many of them had huge river beds but none of them had any water. I don’t know if that’s due to the season or if the climate has changed so drastically overall. Also I have been told that rivers get diverted simply because water is quite important here.

This here also used to be a huge river below.

Not only the landscape changed constantly. Also the architecture had changed. All houses outside of bigger towns now looked the same. They were all snow white painted brick cubes.

This of course is to reflect the sun and reduce the heat.

On my way along the coast I found a site where there used to be a gold mine and the infrastructure still partially exists. It seems to be a bit of a tourist attraction out here in the middle of nowhere but I was the only one there in the late afternoon.
The agecent town seemed completely empty also. Siesta is not a joke here. Which I completely understand. On a sign I could have read what the silos are for but I did not have the willpower to do so in te heat. Not only is the heat uncomfortable, it also makes you so much more tired.

Distances seemed very vast now. I could ride an hour without seeing a single human beeing. Understandably in this wide space of emptyness where nothing grows.

I was climbing up a hill on a great little road which really only offered space for one vehicle in many uncomfortable spots with a long drop on one side. But the road offered a fantastic onto the valley I had come from.

After passing the hill I was surprised to see that in fact there was a lot growing on this land. The main purpose of the vally on the other side seemed to be growing fruits and vegetables. There were countless green houses as far as the eye could see right in the desert.

Another hour closer to the coast I finally reached San Jose. A place I wish I had stayed at longer. It lays in a national park and it was easy to see why. After having passed through all of San Jose -which is a very moderately sized village- on the other side there are no paved roads anymore and this is where you can find the most beautiful spots.

The village itself looked idyllic as well.

The only problem was that this being a national park camping would be prohibited. There were quite a few official camp sites a bit outside of San Jose but none close to the village and well quite frankly they were a bit expensive for my taste. 20Euros and up for a night (which is not extraordinary unfortunately but I did not want to spend that much). There wasn’t really any obvious spot to camp in the national park though. Not a single tree and no flat ground that wasnt covered with rocks. I explored a few offroad paths and ended up reluctantly choosing this one spot which was quite exposed on a hill.

I decided to wait for the sun to set to pitch my tent. I was going to get up before sunrise to take down the tent again in order to not be discovered in the national park. Until the sun had set I ate dinner which consisted of fish, bread, and a partially fermented whole pineapple. I had bought it fresh for a special low price offer the day before at a supermarket only to find out afterwards that it was not priced as advertised. The heat in the black panniers had not been particularly good for the fruit but after paying a lot I did not want it to go to wast. It was still refreshing after another exhausting day and I felt fit and willing to face the possible congestive consequences the next day.

Once more I had a fantastic view of the night sky and the moon provided just enough light for me to set up my tent in the darkness. Exhausted I fell onto the my matrace. At least the night would be somewhat cooler this close to the coast.

I continued my journey towards San Jose. A (probably rather inconspicuous) town name that for me however just like “Santa Fe” or “Santa Maria” always means American/Mexican wild west. Also the landscape now looked even more like what you see in the old western movies. Despite 38 degrees I loved riding through the dry and hostile to life looking landscape. I felt like riding through one of Leones movies.

Petrol had become expensive since I had reached the southern coast of Spain. It might just be the usual fluctuations but in the north it was 25% cheaper.

However the food was still cheap at the supermarket. In fact it was very cheap. I bought half a kilo of strawberries (local) for 1.50 Euro. In London or anywhere else I would probably pay a few pounds for that amount. In retrospect I should have been more greedy buying a kilo or more and eat until I puke. They were really good.

Fruit generally is relatively cheep. And most of the time local.

I had just passed Alicante when I decided it was time to drop the bike again. From the main road I saw a little trail going towards the beach. I was dying to go for a swim and got onto the dusty path to check out if it actually lead to the sea. I quickly saw that it did so I followed the uncomfortably sideways angled path. A few hundred meters in the path split. The right one lead to a little parking lot and the left one continued a little further down the beach. I went for the left one hoping for a remote beach spot and some more off-road experience. The path got worse but I reached the end without any troubles. I wanted to turn the bike around to have an easier time taking off later but that was a mistake. The problem was that there was almost no space to reverse. So I had to move the bike very slowly. At higher speeds the bike behaves a lot better than slow. Often when there is an uneven off-road path it is better to ride it with a bit more speed to shoot over uneven ground. But when you are going very slow the smallest pebble can make you lose your balance. And that is what happened to me. It must have been painful to watch. I dropped the bike v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y. I was almost standing still but I had a bit of momentum from trying to turn left and I just couldn’t hold it. The only way I could have avoided the drop was with more throttle but there wasn’t enough space for it on this little spot.

As before the procedure was: trying to lift it with the luggage which of course didn’t work, removing all the accessible luggage, lifting the bike and packing it again. After I had lifted the bike I rode it to a flat spot so taking off would be no problem.

No damage at all.

This time I was rewarded with a great spot to relax and refuel my body with water and pastries.

 

Afterwards I went for a swim in the crystal clear water. My goggles were useless but I could still see the fearless little fish swimming close to me. They looked like what I had only seen in the aquarium so far. A great experience.

Relaxed I continued my journey through the dry landscape.

I came across countless little beaches one more beautiful that the other. Always the water was crystal clear. It looked like what you see in the holiday booking catalog.

More and more I could see why this landscape was chosen by Sergio Leone to resemble the American desert like west.