Wallis On Wheels Big Bicycle Adventure

The last place I used it was tipping the security guy, back to check there….. knowing if it was there it wouldn’t be now, but no luck (who was I kidding). Now I’m sweating (and swearing!) with panic. Search, search and search. Spending an hour going round in circles to no avail, the wallet had gone. I could now only assume it had fallen out of my pocket earlier as I jumped on the bike to cycle back to the hotel. A quick call to my sister to start cancelling the cards, although I couldn’t cancel the €150 and 700Dirham cash inside. Not a good start to my return. So there I was, in the hotel, no money and no cards. Adding further insult to the self induced injury I find my Victorinox ‘Swiss army’ knife, sun-glasses and sun cream had been stolen from baggage whilst in hotel storage, I’m sure trying to explain this to the hotel manager would be ‘conveniently’ lost in translation. A trying time for even the calmest of people.


My family suggest using the Western Union or Money-Gram service for a quick fix, Maarten suggests a bank transfer to his account, maybe the slowest option but I choose the latter, whilst lending me some cash to keep me afloat. Ordering new cards proved relatively easy but the problem was how and where to post them. The thought of staying in Marrakech another week or more was not appealing and would be wasting time. The next main city was Agadir, at least a week away via the planned Atlas Mountains Tizzi n’Tichka route. With frustration suppressed by the excitement of the route ahead, chin-up we head of into the big Atlas mountain range. Here we are at the hotel just before heading out.



With the previous week off from cycling the days work was certainly in-at-the-deep-end and my thigh muscles started complaining. With the Tizzi still ~14km away and more severe hair-pin climbs yet to come we decide to best call it a day at the village of Taddert, now up at 5600ft. Here we booked in at an auberge. A room with bench like couches circling the walls along with a bundle of blankets. Being quite cold in winter at that altitude we also made full use of our sleeping bags.

Being out-of-season there was no hot water and was advised on using the village ‘Hammam’ (traditional bathhouses). Many houses in Moroccan villages have no hot water so these are essential places for locals to clean themselves, an extremely sociable place in their society. So as not too look out of place (a fine chance!) we use Maartens’ LonelyPlanet Morocco guide book to read up on the ‘formalities. Getting butt naked in front of someone you’ve known for two days was one thing, but also in a room full of local villagers was another. Wanting to immerse ourselves in the typical Moroccan traditions it seemed we had to just go for it. Luckily, making things easy the wet room only had one other person in there. Although there was no staff for a body rub, for which clay mixed with herbs is used, it certainly proved a refreshing way to cleanse ourselves from the days sweat. 


 



With advice from the previous nights host we left the N9 road a mile after the Tchika onto a scenic route (not that the N9 wasn’t scenic) he said there was a good hotel down this section and his friend would give us a good price. After 20 miles the tarmac turned to piste track, 20mm aggregate stones, the going was slow, and bumpy – not ideal for a touring bike due to the weight we carry. There were occasional signs of road works going on but I was cursing myself for deciding with Maarten to do this ‘scenic’ route. Leading into mountain villages, almost camouflaged by local mud and stone building material they use.


Being told the previous night the hotel was 14km after a town we had gone just through, we plodded on; eventually making 22km we both agreed we’d missed it. So with the sun setting we found an auberge. It was in a really quiet little ‘hamlet’. Mattress stacked in a corner of the guest room we made our beds then showered, and were invited to join our host’s (the father and son only) to dinner. Our hands first being washed by his 12 year old daughter, pouring water over our hands into a bowel on the floor. Dinner was a typical Moroccan dish, ‘Tajine’, tearing of pieces of bread and dipping into the central dish pulling of small pieces of meat and vegetable.

The next day as we go to get our bikes the auberge host stands at the door explaining something, not sure of what he saying he leads me into his house where our bikes are, Damm! A flat rear tire. This was one of the reasons I didn’t like the piste road we were on, carefully navigating the day before to avoid sharp stones obviously didn’t help me, puncture fixed and wheel back on, with keen help from the young son (pic L.H side, sister next to him). After cycling a km away were ‘chassed’ after on a moped, it was the host, with distraction from the puncture I had left my helmet and hat behind! I never actually wear the helmet but the full-brim hat is an essential sun-barrier. Later I also reaslised I’d left two rechargeable batteries in the guest room.



 
An occasional oasis of grass and trees show up amid the arid terrain.

 
























Making it to Agadir I now had to coach 375 miles (600Km) back to Rabat to obtain my Mauritanian visa. Maarten had been fortunate enough to collect his on passing through Rabat with a one month post-dated transit entry, valid from 15th December. My research from websites and blog postings said post dated visas here were not possible, had I have known this to be incorrect I could have picked mine up when initially passing through and avoided the two uncomfortable 10 hour coach trips, and a night in a youth hostel as the day I arrived was a Muslim public holiday!!
 
Agadir is certainly a tourist hot-spot. Complete with street corner “hello my friend” (“I want your cash”) ‘looky lookies’ offering hand crafted ornaments, camel and quad tours into the desert and all the usual tat, most also offer a “you not like you not pay” service of ‘wacky bacy’. The women are really really friendly, passing some, sitting at the roadside one evening one of them asked if we would like a massage, so friendly! Sarcasm aside though I’d certainly come here for a holiday, a long sandy hotel-clad beach, popular with surfers due to continual waves and best of all for sun-seekers, today is 10th December and it’s 30’c.

The day I drafted this post the last of my three credit / debit cards and Victorinox pen-knife arrived at my parents house, packed and FedEx’d (thanks TSC!) to the hotel here in Agadir I sit here and wait…

Just to appreciate the typical start to a Moroccan day from any village, town or city, press play below (this occurs several times throughout the day;




So from a lost wallet, stolen pen-knife, mountains conquered and muslim holidays it’s been an ‘interesting’ ten days. Now looking forward to Western Sahara; pristine tarmac, sand swept roads, no more road-side gawkers, and no 5:20 alarm call to Allah!