Morroco
After roughly 30 hours in the air, I landed in the bustling city of Marrakech. Tired and hungry, I spent the start of my trip walking around until I made my way to the Earth Hostel located at the heart of the Medina. After two nights in Morocco, I made my way up the coast by train to the town of Rabat. The train from Marrakech to Rabat is nothing to write home about. Rabat, on the other hand, is. Situated on the water, the temperature drops by about 10 degrees, making it far nicer to be outside. The streets are filled with rich spices and fresh fruit is everywhere.
Africa often falls to the bottom of a new traveller's list for several reasons: crime, lack of transport, quality of life and many other issues. Speaking as someone who doesn't mind living on less than what most people would call adequate, I think it is a wonderful place. The food is amazing, it is incredibly cheap, nearly every city has at least two hostels, and the people, for the most part, are lovely. The best advice I can give is to never use a note higher than 20 Dihram, no one will have change for it. Whenever possible, use coins, they are the currency of Morocco.
Marakech-Rabat-Tangier
Most of the photos I have are of Marrakesh and Tangier. Tangier will go down as my favourite place in Morocco. It is located at the tip of Africa, directly under Spain and is generally accepted to have the best climate year-round. The ByTalice hostel is also one of the best in Morocco. It is three stories tall with an open-air roof and a lot of friendly staff. If I were doing this trip again, I would spend more time here, it is a good base to stay and explore from.
Light of Rabat
Marakech Medina
Spain Into Portugal, Back Into Spain
My plan after leaving Morocco was to get to Spain and eventually Lisbon, Lisbon is where I planned to buy a car. I had gotten as far as booking a boat from Tangier to Tarifa, a short journey which took me across the warm waters of the Mediterranean and onto a new continent. Anna, whom I met in Morocco, came as far as Tarifa, from Tarifa we split up and went our separate ways.
Europe has the wonderful feature of being well-connected by various forms of public transport, most of which are reasonably priced and run on time, German trains are an exception to this, or so I have been told. Someone in less of a rush than I was, could have taken at least a week to travel the coast of Southern Spain before reaching Lisbon. However, due to my lack of planning and dire need for a car and some surf, I made the less-than-ideal decision to catch an overnight bus. This took me right through the middle of Spain and up into Portugal, eventually dropping me off in Lisbon.
Lisbon-Ericeira-Peniche-Cadiz
Tarifa is lovely, it has good food, good people, and great kite surfing. What it lacks is a bunch of fun young internationals, which is what I usually look for. Ironically, this probably makes the town a lot nicer for most people; it is quiet and retains most of what you would call culture. My time was spent sitting on the beach and wondering how the hell I was supposed to pull off buying a car in another country.
From Tarifa I spent 12 hours on a bus to Lisbon, arriving at 6 in the morning, tired, hungry and with way too much information on astrophysics, my bus buddy was going to a physics convention in Hamburg. The next two weeks were a blur. I spent two days at the police station trying to get a tax number, I met two American girls, Lucy and Zoe, and spent most of the time getting lost in the week-long festival of some God we could never figure out. As the days went on, I became more and more concerned about getting a car. I had managed to acquire a tax number and had looked at two cars, one of which appeared to be made during the Russian Revolution, it was held together with hopes and bad dreams. I had yet to find something that would get me to Scotland and back, I was starting to panic.
On the second last day, I struck gold, after scouring marketplace I found a 1992 Toyota Corolla, it had 115000 kms and looked way too good to be true. After seeing it in person and taking it for a test drive, I decided I had to have it. Side note, I scared the guy to death by pulling out on the wrong side of the road, he couldn't speak English but the oncoming traffic gave me a pretty big hint to what he was yelling about. We agreed on 1000 Euros, leaving me with 4000 for the round trip to the UK. I will not go into the registration details as it all happened in Portuguese and I'm pretty sure it was completely illegal.
Fiona. Anyone who has seen Euro Trip or has heard Scotty Doesn't Know probably knows the origin of the name. She is my 1992 Corolla, pictured here on the coast of Spain. Throughout my trip, I would put 7,000 kilometres on her and blow up two tyres. Magically, these were the only things that went wrong.
After leaving Lisbon, fuel tank filled and keen to get out of the city, I made my way up the coast towards Ericeria. Ericeria is a small coastal town in Portugal, well known for its surf and slow way of life. I arrived at a lovely hostel and the fresh smell of the ocean. Unfortunately, it was an ocean without surf. To be fair, I had known that going in summer meant my chances of scoring good surf were slim, nevertheless, I was disappointed. Pictured above or to the left is Fiona in Penich, my next stop further North.
The days I spent in Ericeria consisted of driving around with my new friend Jonathan complaining about the lack of surf. Knowing you're going to have bad surf never quite prepares you for it. This was about the point where Fiona started to show her age; normally, owning a car built the same year the Soviet Union ended is some cause for alarm, but when it's a Toyota, it's a different story. Mate, it's barely broken in, so when my 32-year-old car started making snapping sounds, I simply turned the radio up and kept on driving.
Ericeria to Peniche is a short trip, roughly an hour by car, it takes you along the stunning coastline of Portugal. In winter it is heaven for most surfers with consistent waves and usually mild, out-of-water temperatures. By the time I got to Peniche, I was starting to get a better grip of driving on the wrong side of the road, gone were the days of near misses and Portuguese swear words, it was all smiles and petrol fumes from here.
Pictured with the Corolla are my good friends Jeorge and Hoze. I met both these lovely gentlemen whilst they were on exchange three years prior, after hearing I was in Europe, Jeorge insisted I come stay at his family's home in Cadiz. This was a wonderful surprise and something I couldn't say no to. Hoze had also decided to make the 8 hour journey across Spain in a tin can of a car which wouldnt stop shaking over 60. The 3 days I spent with them were filled with homemade food, local fish and more bad spanish words then I can remember. Side note, if you go to the south of Spain just order sea food, its cheap and really good.
Northern Spain
Am I going back to Europe? Of course. Will the first place I go be Northern Spain, probably. After leaving the quiet comforts of homemade food in Cadez, I drove 12 hours through Spain eventually arriving at the North Surf Hostel in Gijon. Driving through Spain in summer taught me a few things: one, pack enough water for a thirsty camel, Southern Spain can be incredibly dry. Two, pack enough rain gear for a tropical cyclone, Northern Spain can be incredibly wet. The North Surf Hostel had been recommended to me by various people all whom thought it provided the perfect balance between quiet and relaxing whilst also being full of lovely people and good music. Once again I found myself wishing I had a few extra weeks up my sleeve.
The pictures below were from a camping trip in the mountains of Northern Spain. The day I arrived I had seen a blue Chevy van parked around the front of the hostel. I later found out it belonged to a guy named Max who was volunteering. It turned out the van was actually 4wd and had been converted by Max to be a pretty capable camper. This was exactly what I had dreamed of having in Europe and it went on to give me many fanciful ideas of returning and getting my own van. Two days later it was time to go. As sad as it was to be saying goodbye to everyone, I was keen to be moving on into France and hopefully better surf.
Max had agreed to come camping for a night as I went north and we had both decided to put the cars to good use and find a remote camp spot. What followed was two days of winding roads and remote dirt tracks, through mountains filled with friendly cows and crystal clear streams. It was as if someone had flicked open The Lord Of The Rings and turned it into reality, minus the dragons and bad-tempered dwarves.
France Into Germany
"The French can be a bit rude, the pastries are good but I just don't know about the people" -someone on the bus.
France. The pastries were amazing, the surf was epic, the people, they were nice. My French extends to, chocolatin, s'il te plaîtand, and no further. This wasn't much of a problem because the majority of the time, that was the only thing I wanted.
I spent nearly all my time in Hossegor, surfing amazing beach breaks and eating pastries I had spent the last year dreaming about. Time moved slowly, the days passed in the shadow of never-ending swell and warm water. I had always known I wasn't going to spend a lot of time in France but what was once a rest stop turned into something more. I don't have a lot of photos of France, probably because I have yet to master the art of surfing and taking selfies. Again, I found myself wishing for time I didn't have and wondering if the days in my calendar were magically getting shorter.
Friedberg-Luxemburg-Belgium-France
All in quick succession.
We come to the part of the story that is planned, at least planned more than everything else I do in life. Three months prior, my best friend, Lani, had decided she was also coming to Europe. Seeing as I was going to have a car there was no better time to do a road trip. With that settled, we planned to meet in Germany, then all things going to plan, head north towards our final stop in Europe, Dunkirk. This 3 day journey would take us through various different countries and with fair weather and good music it was an all out pleasant experience. Lani, having lots of German relatives, had managed find everything minus the kitchen sink. What was once a rather rough experience had turned into a nice country jornt, I was quickly feeling the English spirit of tea and cakes coming along nicely. This was non to soon as the English channel and our unbooked ferry were fast approaching.
Well, this was an adventure. When I left Spain, I got a flat tyre, no big deal, I thought, I had a spare. What I didn't know was how old the spare was.....
Arriving in Germany, I immediately realised just how slow the Corolla is, while I had spent most of the time doing 130 I now found myself getting overtaken by cars doing at least 170. Things had to change; it was time to put my foot down and show them who was boss. I was not boss. I was one blown-up tyre at 165 kilometres an hour away from bossing anyone. Long story short, check how old your spare tyre is because sometimes they're the same age as the car.
France just kept coming back. Our last stop on mainland Europe before getting the ferry was Dunkirk. Located at the northernmost point of Europe, right below the UK, it is a small French town with wide beaches, industrial roads and an air of 'doin'. We spent the night camped on a farm run by a lovely couple and their very elusive cat. The next morning was something I had been slightly nervous about for a while. Was England about to let a rundown, uninsured Corolla, with two young Australians, waltz across its borders? Most certainly it was. After 4 hours of watching the white cliffs of Dover become increasingly larger, we drove off the ferry onto the firm soil of tea with milk and food that hasn't evolved since WW2.
England into Scotland
There is a lot to write about here. Lani and I spent roughly three weeks camping out of the back of the car whilst driving from England to Scotland, we watched the sunrise from hammocks, got bogged on someone else's farm, and even managed to watch Oasis live from a hill. After arriving in England we slowly started to explore our new way of living. Both of us had friends who lived in the country, and we were lucky enough to spend a few nights here and there under the comfort of a proper roof with a stove that didn't threaten to blow over at the first sign of a breeze. London was the first stop on the road and arguably the largest culture shock. We stayed with my lovely ex-housemate, Eloise and her boyfriend Alex, love them both very much.
Pictured above, a short drive north of London, two tanks parked on the side of the road, a photo oppertunity i would not be turning down.
London was not what we had come for, it has its appeals to many but for us the thought of crowded buses and busy streets was no fun, so the journy did what it always will do and continued. We had found out that day that Oasis would be playing and had decided to go have a look around Manchester, you never know, they could be the easy going, no security type. They were not. They were in fact, extremely annoyed when I asked them how jumpable the fence was. This didn't bother us and we spent a very nice afternoon watching one of the greatest bands from a hill with a pretty decent view. In all honesty this was one of the highlights of the trip, it was something we never expected yet turned infinitly better than either of us could have ever emagined.
As Manchester faded into the rearview mirror the rolling hills of Scotland finally arrived. We were there, the place that had really been the final goal for this trip. All year I had been telling everyone, I'm getting to Scotland by car, and here we were, all four tyres firmly in Scotland. Everyhting had changed sense England, it was barren in a picturesque way. Step off the road and you could walk forever. Was it someone else's land? Yes, but that was totally fine, just be polite. Pictured on the left is our first day in Scotland, making dinner a short way off the road next to Loch Garry.
A Loch is what Scottish people call what we would assume is a lake. Vast expanses of water, often kilometres long and they are everywhere. Go for a stroll, theres a Loch, walking home from the pub, you'll probably end up in a loch if your not careful. If you're a traveller, it's awesome, nearly all are freshwater, which is drinkable, and you can swim in most of them as long as it's not being used as a drinking water reserve.
Roseisle - Portmahomack - Durness - Lochinver - Gairlach - St Abbs Head
Our plan from now on was to take the coastal road around Scotland, mostly down to me not wanting to be away from the water and my tiny hope that we may get surf. Above is a picture from Roseisl, where we spent two nights in hammocks, relaxing to the sound of the water and basking in the shining sun. Something we had been told we would never get. From here, the journey took us north, following narrow roads hedged in on either side by sheep and the odd logging truck that would come past at 100 kilometres an hour. Scotland was turning out to be the best part of the trip, we had nearly everything we could ask for, a stove that barely boiled water, a fridge that kept everything wet instead of cold and a car that was taking longer and longer to get started in the morning. Above is a photo from the coast, where we spent two nights sleeping under the stars in hammocks. The rain that had been promised never arrived, so we took the opportunity to go stargazing. I had learnt my lesson from Hawaii and packed as much bedding under me as possible, without proper insulation hammocks can be incredibly cold even in temperate climates.
Travelling slowly became less and less about the conscious choice to go travelling, every morning we would wake up and think about two things, where can we get fresh water and what odd shop will do coffee. In a way, this became how we saw things, water came out of a well that was up some lonely road, and coffee came from a chatty local who would tell us about their life. I'm not saying you should travel like this, but sometimes it felt nice to discover the world by accident when all we were trying to do was survive on a day-to-day basis. We also spent a lot of time camping, having a tent allowed us to pack everything up and go where we wanted for a few nights. It didn't have to be far, but getting out of our tin can and ruffing it with the sheep gave us a sense of purpose. We weren't just driving around Scotland, we were exploring it on foot as well, rally drivers and hikers rolled into one, or so I would like to think.
A view from our tent. Camped next to a lighthouse down a single-track road. Looking at the ocean, it could almost be home, I guess it was home. Somewhere has to be home on the road, this tent and the car became it. Throughout the trip, we camped as close to the coast as possible. At one stage, going as far as to camp on the beach to escape the midgies. These small, mosquito-like creatures became one of the most notable and hated experiences of the West Coast.
Journeys End
Most of my travelling is done alone, sometimes though, great adventures are best spent in good company. Why Lani and I decided to go to Scotland is not something I have ever considered, the more important question is, are we glad we went? The answer to that is a resounding yes. Despite the arguments over what songs to play, why we needed 18 potatoes, and who cooked the truly atrocious tomato pasta, it was, without a doubt, some of the most fun I have ever had. Doing anything in Scotland with your best friend would be awesome, but something about not knowing where your next meal is coming from and if the car will make it to the next campsite adds something you just don't get from luxury travel.
This trip has taken me to places I never thought I would go. Seven countries of wonderful food, incredible landscapes and amazing people has taught me that no matter where you end up, there will always be people who love an adventure. I often ask people, "Will it kill you?" and usually the answer is no. This probably isn't the best way to look at new experiences, but sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith. After all, no good ever came from seeing the world from your door step.
"From the comfort of a couch, the world is an awfully big place, from the discomfort of a tent, it looks even bigger. But at least you can go and explore".
Epilogue
Where did Fiona go? After a lot of poor planning, I was back in Munich and ready to catch a plane back home. The issue was, I still had my car and I had nowhere to send her. I decided to put up an Instagram story and see if, by some chance, there was someone in Germany who wanted a rundown, beaten-up, Corolla. There wasn't. What there was, was a crazy French man called Arthur, who got on an 8-hour bus from France, handed me 100 euros and a baguette, and drove off into the sunset. Only to be stopped 800 meters later by the cops who drug tested him - somehow they forgot to ask for any of the non-existent paperwork or insurance....
