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.

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.