The next morning I checked out of the hostel and drove down the hill to the touristy center for the city for some sightseeing. More than any city on this trip so far Lisbon and its architecture at the touristy locations reminded me of my home town Vienna.

I started at the main square …

… and walked back up towards the hill from there.

One of my friends from Sevillia had suggested me to get this traditional Portuguese dish. A baked potato with cheese in it.

I found this fancy place where each potato seemed to be treated like a sacrifice to the gods.

It was really good but I could have eaten 8 of those and it was still a bit on the pricey side at 5 Euros for a single potato.

The architecture in the city was very ornate.

Old little single car trams were frequently passing the streets and were not only used by tourists.

I was surprised to see this gigantic wall right next to a church. Being in such good condition it kind of seemed like it still served a purpose. I wondered what could be on the other side. The only really logical explanation I could come up with was: dinosaurs. Dragons would just fly away.

Many buildings didn’t have a plastered wall but a tiled one like the blue house on the far left.

At a little cheap restaurant I finally took the chance to eat some fresh fish. Sardines. I only wish it had been twice as much.

After this delicious snack I got back to my bike to continue North to Porto.

Upon arrival in Sagres I was glad I had spent more time in Lagos than I was going to spend here. Sagres wasn’t that interesting. In fact it reminded me a lot of Englands – which was not a bad thing but I already knew England.

To get to the most South-Western point you have to pass a fortress for which you have to pay 3 Euros. There is nothing to see inside.

A few hundred meters more and I had reached the most South-Western point of my trip. From now on I would go North.

My GPS said I would need another 5 hours to reach Lisbon, the capital and that meant that I just had a few minutes extra time left when I got there until most hostels would certainly not operate a reception anymore. 24 hours reception was even less common in Portugal than it was in Spain. However I again wanted to avoid camping because it takes more time and I wanted to get north as quickly as possible. So I got on my bike and headed north.

The further I got north the more the landscape changed. The vegetation looked a bit like a what I am expecting Africa, Australia or South America to look like. Maybe it was just a particular type of tree that created this appearance for me but the environment looked more tropical than the temperature (which had dropped below 20C since I headed North) suggested.

It was one of the most beautiful and unique landscapes I had seen on my trip so far. This and the fact that I had lost some time refueling made me change my mind and I decided to camp instead of rushing to Lisbon. There were lot’s of little paths leading into little patches of trees close but distant enough to be out of sight along the road. The tree patches were not very dense leaving enough space for sun to shine through on my left. The quality of the air and the suns angle made it appear a lot less intense so that it was almost possible to look directly at the huge saturated orange disc. Trying to find the ideal camp spot while enjoying the beautifully lit scenery I kept going North.

I should not have. The landscape and the vegetation changed yet again and now the road didn’t lead through flat terrain and accessible light forest patches anymore but instead I was riding little curvy roads through hilly terrain with steep inclines right next to the road. It was fascinating to see how quickly and drastically the landscape had changed many times since I entered Portugal but it was getting dark and I could have done with some boring dense forest to hide in.

By the time the sun had completely disappeared I finally accepted that I might not get to eat the delicious fresh bread and fruits I had bought for dinner watching the sun set next to my already set up tent. I took many little detours to find a camp site but they kept getting longer and longer. I just didn’t find any place to put up a tent. I wished I hadn’t been that picky earlier.

At around midnight after dozens of km of detours I finally found a little path up a hill right next to the little road I was following. I was sure it was private property but I literally didn’t see any other way. The path lead up to a little plateau from which multiple bigger paths lead in all directions. The sky was clear and the stars were shining brightly. It was a beautiful night and happy to have found such a nice spot after all I slowly began to unpack my gear and set up my tent. I ate some delicious fresh bread with ham and nectarines for dessert. There was nothing more I could have asked for.

My stomach only dropped a little bit when I saw some headlights appearing out of nowhere 30 meters from me. I hadn’t seen or heard a single vehicle in the past hours and certainly didn’t expect anybody at this remote location especially at this hour. The car approached me, got slower and came to a stop. I could not see anything with the headlights in my face. But as quickly as the car had appeared it disappeared again seemingly without anybody acknowledging my presence. Relieved and delighted about the low temperatures in Portugal I went to bed.

The next morning I got to find out where I had ended up.

It really was a great spot and I would have loved to explore the steep road further up the hill but I had to move on.

Besides, if not already upon entering the location by now at least I had to assume that this was private property plus I was pretty sure wild camping was not allowed in Portugal so I took down my tent and left the hill.

At noon the temperature was just above 25C. Portugal was much cooler than what I had expected. The reason, it’s proximity to the Atlantic Ocean.

On my way up to Lisbon I noticed a green patch along the coast on my GPS. The motorway had lead me to the center of Portugal but since I had already lost the morning by camping I decided not to take the fast highway route but a more rural one avoiding the highways but enjoying the scenery.

Just ahead of the beach there was a small village with narrow roads and lots of tourist cars trying to find their way out.

I was also just passing through but when I saw the beaches there I would have loved to spend some time there but I had to keep going.

At a supermarket where I stocked up my water supply I was once more in disbelieve how cheap frozen pizza was in Spain and Portugal. It would be 5 Pounds at least in the UK. If only I had had a portable oven. And a portable full size bed while we are at it.

The landscape was changing again. The soil was now sand. There were very inviting little paths and tracks along the road but I didn’t want to do to many detours of detours of detours.

At noon I stopped at the side of the road to eat my lunch. As always there are lots of great places to stop when you don’t need one and none when you do. The temperature had gone beyond 35C again. There was no trace of a cooler Portugal anymore.

Another stop to make sure the engine wasn’t getting too hot was a good opportunity to eat some ring cake. I had bought the ring cake because it was one of my favorite home made cakes back in Austria and because this one was very cheap at 1 Euro. Needless to say it also tasted like 1 Euro cake.

I reached Lisbon in the afternoon and started my hostel search. I had two addresses that I wanted to try. The first one was a hostel up the hill on which part of Lisbon lies.

But since it was already fully booked the German receptionist phoned another hostel to get me a place to stay.

After checking in there I ate my dinner and fell into bed immediately.

I returned to Sevillia for the night and set course for Portugal the next morning.

I almost didn’t notice crossing the border as there is only a little sign telling you that you are now entering a different country. However what I did notice was that the roads instantly got bad. Not only the quality of the tarmac but traffic in general. I was genuinely stunned to experience how traffic can be so dangerous – in Europe.

Not only were there countles potholes on the roads and generally bad pavement that had already been fixed hundreds of times with bumpy patches everywhere, also the traffic lights throughout were not confidence inspiring. Many of them were so dim that you could not tell if they were on or not. The street markings on the ground were often either non existent or so dirty with tire wear particles that they were completely invisible. Often I was riding on what seemed like a 15 meters wide single lane which in fact was supposed to be either two or three lanes. There was no way to tell. What makes this a problem is that you don’t know if this means that the rules change. Are you supposed to drive in the middle? Or on the far right? How do you overtake and get overtaken? If this was India then you know the rules don’t matter but in Europe you would assume you still have to drive according to the rules of traffic.

Often there were road layouts where it was simply impossible to be safe. In one instance I was riding on a street with two lanes in my direction and one in the opposite direction. The speed limit was around 70km/h. At one point my (right) lane was ending so I had to merge to the left one which I did and I was now next to the oncoming traffic. The warning that my lane was ending was just a few meters before it did end so I moved to the other lane as soon as I noticed it. This was dangerous enough at 70km/h but at that very moment I had switched lanes a car from the opposite direction came at me – on my lane a few meters away from me. There was no solid line in the middle preventing overtaking in this dangerous spot. Vehicles were allowed to overtake in that exact same spot where a driver would not know that somebody like me would be forced to merge to a lane which he thinks is empty and safe to use for overtaking. Luckily I managed to avoid a collision. Nobody bothers to use the blinkers in Portugal either. For a while I genuinely wondered if there was a proper reason why nobody used them.

Too many times I saw people in front of me driving extremely slowly (40km/h in a 100km/h zone) and wide zig-zag lines not staying in their lane at all. I had been told before by Spanish people that in Portugal driving drunk is scarily common.

What bothered me most though was that 90% of all drivers where extremely impatient and held a safety distance of often no more than two meters even at speeds of 100km/h and more. On a motorcycle this feels particularly uncomfortable. I often gestured to the drivers behind me to keep their distance but it rarely made a difference. Everybody who drives a vehicle knows that unfortunately there isn’t anything you can do in such a situation. I tried slowing down, signaling them to overtake and speeding up but neither worked. Most of the time I intuitively sped up because I wanted to get away from them and still they wanted me to go faster by the looks of it. So I tried a different approach that was showing them why safety distance mattered. I braked as much as it was safe to do so. That usually worked and they left more space. Doing this felt safer than being followed so closely. I felt it was better to slow down when I am in control of the situation than having to quickly compensate for the sudden stupidity of others in a split second for example if they suddenly hit me from the back or if I had to suddenly break quickly because of an obstruction in front of me.

Driving in Portugal was really just as bad as in Morocco only that in Morocco you expect something to happen at any second. But in Europe you just don’t expect this sort of behavior. I am not exaggerating when I am saying there was a dangerous situation of some sort ever 500 meters. In Spain I had a dangerous situation every 1000 kilometers or less. It was really baffling. There are lots of places in the world a lot worse than Portugal in terms of traffic safety but Europe can do better I would hope.

Anyway my goal for the day was Faro. A city on the southern coast of Portugal.

I was told that Portugal was supposed to be a cheap country for tourists but I did not notice that myself. Petrol was actually much more expensive. Food at the supermarket and restaurants cost the same as in Spain. The only thing cheaper was alcohol.

Overall I was a bit disappointed with my first impression of Portugal. To be fair I had been warned by almost all my Spanish friends that Portugal overall might not be as interesting as Spain.

When I arrived in Faro I checked in at a hostel and went straight to the beach to eat my dinner. Not for the first time it consisted of a can of fish and bread. It was very good nonetheless.

I was exhausted and stayed at the beach until sunset before I returned to my hostel.

The next morning I continued to Lagos. Another city on the southern coast close to Faro. It had been recommended to me by fellow travelers. What seemed like another disappointment at first turned out to be a real highlight.

The hostel there was one of the most expensive ones I had stayed at, yet at the same time the cheapest looking one. So as soon as I had checked in I left again going for the beach. This time the coast looked completely different.

What was still the same though was these unusual types of little trees which were growing all along the southern coast of Spain and Portugal. They seem to like the heat.

I didn’t so I went for a swim in the refreshing water which took some getting used to after having enjoyed the perfectly tempered Mediterranean Sea.

The water was very clear but contrary to Spain it was also “cold”. The water here was not from the Mediterranean sea but from the wide open Atlantic ocean where it didn’t heat up like south of Spain. For the first time since entering Spain I also noticed clouds in the evening sky.

Back at the hostel I met some great people with whom I spent the rest of the night talking about the most random topics and making plans to go kayaking along the coast the next day. I had actually wanted to leave Lagos early in the morning but my new friends convinced me to stay.

When we got the tickets for the kayaking tour the person selling them wanted to rip us off asking for 25 Euros each. We told him our friends had taken the tour the other day for 15 Euros (which was true) and he immediately changed the price. Roman (standing behind me) quick-wittedly told the guy that “other friends” of ours had taken the tour for 5 Euros but unfortunately it didn’t work.

Unfortunately I hadn’t noticed my GoPro camera’s lens being foggy before we started the tour because the scenery was breathtaking.

We passed underneath natural rock bridges and explored caves in the cliffs.

We probably paddled down the coast for over an hour before we landed at a little beach where we paused for a few minutes which gave us time to rest and the opportunity to go snorkeling.

Just a few meters into the water I saw sea cucumbers and lots sea urchins. Had I not decided to snorkel I might have stepped on one because the water was very shallow and they were everywhere.

It was a great tour and it would have been worth the 25 Euros – but don’t tell the guy.

After we had returned back to where we started I still wanted to push on to the west and eventually north of Portugal the same day so I said goodbye to my fellow travelers in the afternoon and set course for Sagres, the most South-Western point of mainland Europe.

Before continuning my journey to Portugal I booked one last night at the hostel to make a day trip to Cordoba.

Cordoba is a beautiful old city with great architecture and history. It contains great remnants of its Roman and Moorish past. However to me and most Austrians the city is almost exclusively associated with Austrias football history.

“The Miracle of Cordoba” as it is called refers to a game during the 1978 World Cup in which the Austrian underdog team defeated its eternal archenemy Germany 3:2. The Germans call the same game “The Disgrace of Cordoba”. It had been the first time in roughly 50 years that Austria had won over Germany in football. In Vienna there even is a square called “Cordoba Square” named after this game.

In the morning I started my trip to Cordoba which was going to be less than a two hours ride. Once again the engine died riding in the 40 degrees heat at high speed for – apparently too long. I was already used to it and quite frankly expecting and waiting for it on longer stretches of road. In the mean time I had found out that this is a common problem with this particular engine. The engine of this bike is said to be one of the best “parallel-twin” motorcycle engines but they have this one issue where the engine dies randomly and not even BMW knows why this happens on these engines. Regardless the F650GS is one of the most sold motorcycle of its class.

Eventually I made it to Cordoba and my first goal was what Cordoba is actually most known for. The striped arches inside its  cathedral.

Once more what is now a Christian church was originally Moorish …

… and later converted and extended to a Christian church.

The Roman past of the city was visible with this wonderfully restored Roman bridge …

(I’m not sure what was burining there in the background.)

… and the Roman pillars left of this structure.

Before leaving Cordoba I made one last stop at a special place. The foodball stadium of Cordoba where the miracle happened almost 40 years ago.

Among my roommates were Cassia from Australia and Josh from the US. Together we spent the afternoon exploring parts of the city. We found out that we all work in the movie industry. While I work behind the camera in post production they are in front of the camera as actors.

We visited a palace which like many buildings in Spain had Moorish origins and later other styles were added.

The large and empty rooms were decorated with amazing detail. It would have been interesting to see how people lived in these huge open spaces. Unfortunately like most of the old castles and palaces I had visited so far on this trip there was no furniture inside. The rooms, even the ones to the outside walls had very few windows if any at all. This was to not allow the warm air or sun to get in. While it was unpleasantly hot on the outside the temperature seemed perfectly tuned inside.

The thin pillars which are typical for Moorish architecture always seemed a little bit too thing for the weight they were carrying which considering how long they have already lasted is a great compliment to the architects.

Like at most palaces in the hot areas of Spain the display of water and lushes gardens used to be one of the most impressive ways to show wealth.

It was afternoon and because of the siesta the streets were empty. I must admit that before I came to Spain I thought siesta is something from old books that maybe a few old people still do out of tradition but in fact everything closes in the afternoon and the busy lively streets of the morning seem deserted until the evening. People retreat to their homes escaping the exhausting heat that also made me sleepy after lunch every day much more than I expected.

The tower of the Christian cathedral which is one of the largest churches in the world is Moorish and used to be part of a Mosque. The Christian church was added later.

We decided not to go inside though because it was 10 Euros and we were told that inside you don’t notice the huge scale because it’s not just on huge room but many smaller ones.

This building reminded me a lot of the Austrian sate opera house. (Where Mission Impossible: Rouge Nation was shot)

One of the oldest buildings in the city which now houses a (very) little ship museum.

Sadly Pakorn Eyve and Jessie had left Sevillia in the morning. Pakorn kindly left me his bus tour ticket with one remaining day allowing me to take free bus tour through the city. – Thank you, Pakorn!

Like in most Spanish cities there is a bull fighting arena. This one is particularly big.

This building is one of the tallest in Spain. Close to 200m if I recall correctly. It was one of the first buildings to utilize ceramic as a building material to deflect the heat similar to the tiles on the NASA space shuttle.

Apropos space shuttle, at a technology park there is a real Ariane 4 (equivalent of the American Saturn V) rocket.

Modern architecture in the city centre.

This municipal building was built to resemble either an amphitheater or a bull fighting arena.

It was already getting dark when I had started my ride to Sevilla but I didn’t want to waste half a day and camp somewhere. I wanted to get to Sevillia without delay. Besides I had already told my friends from Granada that I would join them in Sivilla within the next hours.

Luckily the temperature dropped in the evening which made riding easier without too many breaks. The roads were good as always in Spain but there was a lot of traffic and everything went a little slower than I had hoped.

I arrived at the outskirts of Sevillia past midnight. As soon as I got closer to Sevillia the temperature started rising again significantly. From below 20C it went up to over 30C. I had booked a hostel shortly after leaving Gibraltar and wanted to go and check in as soon as possible. Luckily though it was with 24 hours reception because I still wanted to say hi to my friends before falling into a comfy bed. After a little search I found Pakorn and Yves together with Jessi who is from the US at a little restaurant at a square not far from where my hostel was supposed to be.

From left to right: Me, Yves (Switzerland), Jessi (USA), Pakorn (Thailand)

What was supposed to just be a quick hello ended up being a few hours and I left at three in the morning. My hostel was within walking distance so I wasn’t terrible concerned. I did get concerned though when I knocked at the door and nobody opened. 24 hours reception? Nope.

What now? I was going to pay for that night according to the hostels policy because technically I showed up late. But that was not my main concern. I looked up more hostels on my phone and found a few which were much more expensive but I didn’t really have the option of being picky. So I rode to the first hostel on my list.

Luckily it was 24 hours reception according to the website. Arriving there I saw that it was not.

Not to worry, there were still a few hostels left on the list. After all it was only 4 am so still plenty of time left.

So I went to two more hostels which were closed and finally found another one which had a real 24 hours reception. It was now 5am and I paid more than I wanted but I was a little bit tired so I went for it. The receptionist was very friendly and helpful. I had parked the bike in front of the hostel right on the sidewalk in a no parking zone. He advised me to not park it there but I didn’t really have any alternative at that point so I just put it close to the wall and hoped for the best. At close to 6 in the morning I finally fell asleep in a nice comfortable bed.

When I got up “the next day” it was just before 11am because that was check out time. I took a shower and checked out 5min past 11am. 5 Minutes past so I got to pay a penalty fee of 7 Euros. I was really pissed because I hadn’t even been at my room in those 5 Minutes so they could have cleand the room no problem. Things chould have gone better so far. I left the hostel as quickly as possible to go check in at Pakorns hostel for the next few days. At least my bike was still there and no ticket attached.

Everything looks different at night and when I exited the little lane where my hostel was I arrived at a big squere with a cathedral. It did not look like driving was permitted there but I didn’t have a choice in order to get out of there. Luckily I saw another car in front of me which gave me confidence that I OK to drive there.

I overtook the white which was going slow even considering where we were and as I stopped to let some pedestrians pass the white car stopped by my side rolling down the window. The guy behind the wheel told me that driving was not permitted there and asked me to follow them pointing at the blue light on their dash board. It was the police. What else could go wrong?

I followed them a few meters where we stopped and I explained that I wanted to leave the square and didn’t know it wasn’t allowed to drive there when I entered the day before.

The cops were very friendly and understanding and explained to me how the streets in the city are like mazes and it can be difficult to find out.

They asked me where I wanted to go so I showed them my destination (Pakorns Hostel) to which they offered to escort me. “Neat” I thought.

So we got onto the main road and after 5 minutes reached “Trotamundos” hostel.

The cops gave me a card with local tourist emergency numbers to call in case anything happened. I thanked them for their help and they took off again.

It was a very pleasent experience with the law. I hope cops back at home in Austria interact with people just like they did.

I checked in and finally had some time to relax.

It all sounds more dramatic than it was and I am pretty sure these people only try to intimidate strangers to see how far they can go to get the most money off them since they are not familiar with these tactics and the culture. I don’t think any of these people I had encountered there would have gone beyond shouting. It’s just a routine. I presume they do this kind of show with every foreigner. Poverty is very high there and people do whatever to get by.

Once in Tangier the city traffic reminded again that I was in a different country, a different continent. There were barely any markings on the roads and there seemed to be no rules applying either. At one point I had stopped at a gigantic roundabout entering it at my green light. In the current situation according to the rules of traffic that I knew (International Vienna convention of road traffic..) I was supposed to be the only one in the roundabout but all of a sudden a car was speeding into the roundabout from my right completely ignoring my presence. He had had a red light and at least 50 meters of sight to see me and slow down. Streets also didn’t seem to be for cars only. A road like any other in downtown London or any other city was crowded with people walking any direction while traffic was flowing. A red light didn’t necessarily mean stop and a green light go. Everybody seemed to be doing as they pleased.

Turn signals were of course rarely used. Double solid lines were crossed like they weren’t there. Traffic signs were almost 100% ignored except for speed limits. Interestingly nobody was speeding in the city. I had read that the police had recently gotten new speed cameras which they were using heavily to get some money. Maybe that’s why. Police was showing a lot of presence. Officers were patrolling the streets and side walks not worrying about the constant traffic violations. At every other bigger street there was one police officer being accompanied by two soldiers with big machine guns. I wondered why.

There was always somebody around trying to make a few Euros.

(Check out where the silver Peugeot decided to stop for the red light..)

I kept riding through the city but just couldn’t find anything that would look like a city centre or a point of interest. Maybe there was one but I just really couldn’t find it but overall the city didn’t look very inviting to me anyway.

Tangier is split into two parts. An old town and a new one. My friendly body guard from earlier had told me that the older part was inhabited by the poor people and the more wealthier ones lived in the new part. And while the old part looked dirty and run down the new one didn’t look any better. Everything was very dirty and if it wasn’t the main road then there was a lot of garbage next to and on the street.

What particularly influenced the appearance of the city was the fact that there were very few signs of advertisement in the whole city. Only a hand full of posters and no big neon signs screaming for attention which would make the place seem more alive according to what we are used to in the western world. Despite people walking around it seemed empty and like a little village rather than a big city.

Along the beach I parked the bike and sat down on a wall towards the sea. I was eating my dinner. A bit of bread and a can of sardines.

A while into my break some guy was walking towards my bike and looked at it curiously. As this was not the first people showed interest in my bike I didn’t think much of it. I continued eating my dinner and watched the sun set.

Strangely they guy had put on a yellow reflective vest and kept standing there next to my bike for as long as I was eating my dinner. When I returned to my bike to get on he approached me and let me know that he had actually been watching over my bike to make sure nothing would happen to it and that he now expected a compensation for it.

But this time I knew better and just told him that I didn’t have any money. Until I was ready to actually start the engine ten minutes passed during which he kept explaining to me how much he helped me in this passed hour. The guy was probably very poor because who else would “waste” their time like this but still I wasn’t going to give my money to everybody who wanted it. So I left him behind and went on exploring the city. People constantly trying to get money from you is just something that you have to get used to looking like a tourist.

I hadn’t planned to stay in Africa for long. In fact my ferry was going back after sunset.

On the way back to the ferry terminal the streets where completely empty except for maybe one car or pedestrian every minute. First I was wondering if maybe there was a curfew or something I had missed but then I remembered that my friendly body guard had told me that Ramadan had just ended and people were now all rushing home to eat.

This van driver below must have been particularly hungry because he just decided to not take the time to go a full circle in the roundabout but just enter the wrong direction to save time..

At the ferry terminal where I was once again offered “help” by some locals -which I declined without any consequences- I used the waiting time for some bike maintenance. One of the body covers on the back of the bike had become lose and I fixed it using the tools I had brought with me.

Like at many other places in Spain there were wild cats roaming around the harbor.

On the ferry I met a fellow motorcycle rider who was in Morocco with his family this time by car. He ownes the two biggest bikes I know and told me of their handling. They are the Honda Goldwing and the bigger version of my BMW F650GS, the BMW R1200GS. We exchanged stories about our trips and Morocco and also exchanged contact details in case I was coming to Morocco again.

We arrived back in Spain almost at midnight and I had to start looking for a place to sleep. Of course close to the ferry port there was no hostel that wasn’t completely booked and I didn’t want to pay an amount of money for a hotel for a day that would allow me to stay at a hostel for a week so I decided to look for a place to camp.

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.