June 12, 1998 Ceuta (Africa), Spain - {Hotel Melia} (Driving to Africa from Southern Spain...) 30km before arriving at the port, we started to pass travel agents selling tickets for the ferry crossing. We bought our tickets just 1km away which seemed a bit cheaper. For one person and motorcycle, one way, this cost US$25. We took the high speed Euro Ferry boat. This flying ferry was a modern catamaran style boat with a double keel or hull. As it cruised between the straights separating Europe from Africa, the boat kicked up water 15 feet into the air from propellers located behind each keel. The advertised time in transit was 30 minutes, however it was more like 45. We left from the town of A____ which is the most common departure point from European Spain. From here ferries depart to Ceuta which is a Spanish governed town on the African side. Ferries also cross to Tangiers, however take more time (about 2 hours). We decided to skip Tangiers since from rumor it sounded like a typical border town that doesn't well represent Morocco. Weekend tourists head there, things are expensive, crime is probably higher, quality and services probably worse... no thanks. Gibraltar is another possible departure point, however we had heard that this is more expensive and less frequent. The port of Gibraltar is actually British ruled, and supposedly the cheapest place around Spain to purchase British products. We started out for Africa on the wrong foot. We left late, and ended up in Spanish Africa in a 4 star hotel. If we had done things right, we would have gotten an early start, driven far into Morocco, and possibly spent the night in a Bedouin tent somewhere out in the Sahara with some saliva foam slobbering camel dripping on our motorcycles parked outside while inside our host offered us a hookah loaded with apple tobacco. We were told by a Spanish guard that it would take 2 hours to complete Moroccan customs, and given the time meant that we would be driving at night to our intended destination which was not a good idea. The following day I could see it's much like Central and South America in that there are loose goats, donkeys and dogs that roam the roads. There where no Bed-o-Inn hotels to be had in this town. The closest thing that came to this was Hotel Africa which at 7000 pesetas ($47) didn't have secure parking or hot water at the moment and looked kind of dumpy. We ended up at Hotel Melia, a four star hotel with secure parking, and all the luxuries. A ten year old Fromers guide book was all we could find in English on Morocco in Spain from a used English book shop in Barcelona. It said that Morocco's currency is not allowed to cross borders, which has created a black market for currency since the official exchange rate is worse than the street rate. This to me sounded, like no ATM's, or if they existed, they would be at bad rates. As a result we juiced the ATM's of pesetas in Spanish Cueta before we crossed the border. [Later note: black market doesn't seem to exist anymore. While not common, ATM's appear to exist. Posted exchange in a bank was 9.59 dirham to the US$1] June 13, 1998 Meknes, Morocco - {Hotel Restaurant} After breakfast, we crossed the border. Spanish customs, asked where we were from, and then waved us through without even looking at our passport. The Moroccan side was different. When we got off our bikes, a heavy set tall dark curly haired man with mustache shuffled over to us wearing a gray and white striped pajama looking outfit. He had yellow slippers with pointy toes that curled upward, and wore a little red cap. He walked over to us and handed us an immigration paper. Mr. Yellow Toes was one of those red tape customs guides which we hadn't seen since Colombia, and that were a welcome relief in Central America. We filled out our immigration cards. I had to fill out two cards since I had scratched out a mistake on my card which I later found out was a no-no. We stood in front of a window to hand the papers to the customs officer. There was one officer servicing two windows twenty feet apart. He would take one person's passport from a window, walk over to and sit at his desk in the middle, ten feet away, and then hunt and peck type the customs form card into his computer. He was constantly interrupted with questions coming from other custom guards, and people at the window slowing his progress to a crawl. Despite only having two people ahead of us in line, it took more than 20 minutes to get our passport stamped. Afterward, Yellow Toes pointed to the vehicle permit window where we waited in line. After about 5 minutes, an agent informed us that we needed to fill out our vehicle information on a green piece of paper which he handed to us. We did, and then continued to wait in line again while one customs agent inside slowly hunt and peck typed in the form into a computer on the other side. After a half hour, the agent was done with the one person who was ahead of me in line. The agent disappeared from behind the window as we continued to wait. A few minutes later, Yellow Toes came by to inform us that they were no longer taking vehicle papers at this window, but rather at another 50 feet down the way where three other foreigners were patiently waiting. We were next in line at this window, but there was no longer anyone working there. As we started to head down that way, the three people in that line headed towards our window, we doubled back. Apparently they were told to go to our window. We were all playing hide and go seek with the customs agent, gambling our time as to which window his head will pop up in. We lucked out, and his head popped up again in our window. Before he could be distracted or disappear, I handed him both of our passports and vehicle papers. He handed one back and said only one at a time. He made slow progress typing my form into his computer as he answered other people's question, handed out blank forms, etc. Meanwhile four other customs agents like him stood out on the street looking bored with nothing to do. I later realized they have a purpose. With a little money, one can hand them one's passport and vehicle papers, and they will go in through the back door, handing it to the officer typing in the info. This saves waiting in line. After my vehicle was finished with customs, and before he could start on Sharon's, he processed two that came in from the back door. A French man travelling with his little poodle, had been patiently waiting, attempting to find the green form for his vehicle. After an hour of being polite chasing customs agents who's heads would dissapear and reappear randomly behind the row of windows, he was successful at retrieving the blank form. After we received our vehicle papers, I was told we needed to bring the bikes over for inspection, Which were currently 50 feet away. behind a rapidly forming maze of cars. When we had arrived two hours earlier, there were two people ahead of us. Now there were more than fifteen behind us. One agent looked at Sharon's motorcycle while another at the same time inspected mine. My agent tapped on each pannier with a pen indicating for me to open. Out of his mouth came "shoes" (in Spanish), when he picked up one of Sharon's hiking boots in my bike. This was to be his only utterance during the entire process. When he indicated we were finished, we were out of there. The entire simple process took more than two hours. Apparently we got off easy. We were told that a couple years ago, the process took more than four. Our drive to Meknes was nice. The narrow paved roads passed through mountains, and wound around and up and down hills. We passed a group of camels reminding us we are really in Africa. We drove by several flat canvas tents out in the country side. The tents were wide, but not tall enough to stand in. They appeared to be semi permanent homes, often with goats grazing outside. Some appeared to be farmers. One modern guy we passed stood out with his Coleman orange cabin tent. We passed grassy fields, some planted with sunflowers. We passed people riding on their donkeys. Men and woman riding side saddle hunched over on the donkeys. The woman we saw of the countryside appeared to be more on the conservative side since their heads were always partially covered. (Conservative relative to the Moroccan cities) A particular remote Northern Berber tribe has as it's custom for woman to wear a straw hat with dark decorative frizzle from top to brim. It looks more Northern Thai hilltribe that Arab. We passed a shepherd on his knees in the field I assume bowing to Mecca. For the most part... boys with boys, girls with girls, woman with woman and children, men with men. Most everyone waved especially the kids as we drove by. Police were positioned on the road near most towns. They stopped locals especially trucks, and always waved us through. In Central and South America we were use to just the opposite. The main highway roads were paved, however narrow one lane in each direction similar to a county road back home. We arrived in Meknes, not knowing how many ying yangs to the dollar, or to the peseta, forgetting what the locals call a ying yang. The first hotel wanted 561 ying yangs, while the second wanted 170 for a night. The first one told me they would exchange 100 Spanish pesetas for 600, which makes the exchange rate 900 ying yangs to the dollar, which means his 3 star hotel costs US$.62 per night. That's either the best bargain in the world, or something was lost in the translation. Last night, the Spanish customs guard we talked to told us the exchange was more like 10 per US$1 at the Mobil gas station in Spanish Cueta. At 4:07pm, the loud speakers in Meknes kicked on and Muslim chanting echoed down the streets. The public address system lets out a relatively short blast roughly around ~7:30pm, ~9:30pm, 3:30am. Commercial marketing idea. Those Casio digital compass watches could be marketed for the 1 billion muslims in the world. They already have five alarms which could be set to correspond to the five times a day to pray towards mecca. The built in compass shows the direction to Mecca. Great marketing idea for the elite techno geek sheik! For the jet setter sheik who never knows which the relative Mecca compass heading from where he is, GPS's could be marketed for the same purpose.... There are outdoor tea and coffee shops all over town where men hang out watching people go by and talking amongst themselves, and watching the world cup soccer matches. These salons seem very popular. However, I haven't seen any woman sitting at these shops. For dinner we stopped in a real no frills Moroccan restaurant, called Restaurant Marhaba on 23 Mohammed V Avenue. One entrance, no windows, well lit, and the walls were tiled with Arabic patterns. Moroccans would come in, order some food which was quickly brought to the table. They would eat and depart. Within 15 seconds of sitting down, a delicious bowl of hot soup, basket of fresh bread and a bottle of water could appear at one's table. The restaurant I'm sure did well from the speed, quality food and cheap prices. Sharon and I filled ourselves for $6.50. We had a Harira (soup) which was like a creamy spicy vegetable soup, heavy on the cilantro, and with spicy meatballs. Sharon had a Tajine which was a slow cooked lamb, potatoes, and olives served in an earthen ware dish with matching cone shaped lid. I had brochettes (the French word for shishkebab), which included 6 skewers, a tomato onion salad, and a mild tomato based sauce. A liter and half bottle of water washed this down. Being in a Muslim country, beer and wine isn't very popular, or easily found. Often, Moroccans don't drink liquids with their meals, so I've read. June 14, 1998 Meknes, Morocco - {Palace Hotel} R100GS 31125 - 185 R80G/S 42112 - 185 We ate a late breakfast at a nice outdoor cafe which consisted of soft boiled egg, toast with butter and apricot jam, cafe au lait (cafe con leche) and a large fresh squeezed orange juice all for 18D ($1.80) each. Changed money at Hotel Rif. 20000 pesetas = 1200 dirhams. BTW, Although not many, we did see some ATM's in town. We walked around to the old part of town through the narrow alleys that go every which way. On the outside, the residences appear like all others with old plain front walls and a door, however hidden behind the walls can be very nice homes. The outward appearances keep down the theft, and jealousy of the neighbors. Security through obscurity. We walked to the souk (market). taking many pictures. We found locals to be very friendly... Walking down the streets we would hear, "Bonjour", "Salut", "Bonjour, Cava?", "Bonjour, commo s'appelle?", "Hello, Your brother, I am", "Welcome", "You are welcome here", "(Are you) Deutch? Japon? Berber? British? American?" and many other friendly greetings of which I didn't understand. Morocco seems a very progressive Muslim country. It seems that in the city, few woman wear coverings over their head or face. A small few woman walk around primped up ready to go to night clubs, with tight revealing clothes, high heel shoes. This is very different from any other muslim country we have been to (Malaysia, Indonesia, ~India). A side affect appears to be that men are adjusted to woman walking around with their hair exposed, as a result Sharon and other western woman get fewer harassing solicitations or looks. French is widely spoken. Arabic and Berber are the native languages here but often I'll hear two natives talking to each other in French. Many people speak all three. We've encountered only a few people who speak English or Spanish. I'm told that Arabic is the language of the streets in the city (French too). Berbers speak Berber at home, as the language is looked down upon by the Arabs. Most magazines and movies at the theater are in French. Many of the street signs are posted in Arabic and French. Sharon and I have been speaking only Spanish (and English) for the past 12 months and now it's been difficult to switch to French. Among our limited vocabulary, Spanish flows easily. And now, just the opposite that happened to us our first few days in Mexico is happening here. I'll start speaking in French, and accidentally drop a Spanish word of which the listener doesn't understand. Si, gracias, por favor, come much easier and without thinking now than oui, merci, s'il vous plait. Arabic phrases: Salam ah lay koam - may peace be with you (formal greeting) ah lay koam Salam - and with you, peace (the reply) Salam - hello (colloquial), peace (literally) Lay Bess? - How's it going? Skroon - hot shookrrahn - Thank you Wha Ha - OK mee.ah.tane woostah eshareen - No Lah - no nam - Yes skoot - be quiet,shut up(mother says to kid) Hyatt - c'est la vie... mifta - key verahdee - Where do you go? Of Arabic script, all I can read are the Arabic numerals. hoping to learn something, I picked up a cheap Arabic to English dictionary. Unfortunately, I didn't look close enough at it. I assume the words are alphabetized to the Arabic translation and script, The English appears to be in no order making it impossible to look up anything... Fortunately it only cost 18 dirhams ($1.80) Locals (Arabic speakers) tell me Berber is difficult to speak. I'm not sure why. There are quite a few Berbers. Apparently there are three different Berber tribes in the area each with their own customs. Many of the woman have some sort of green tattoo on their face. I've seen two with a green arrow pointing upward from the bridge of their nose to between their eyebrows. Others I've seen a sort of vertical braid or wheat design on their chin. It's hard to examine without appearing to stare. We've encountered several people interested in soliciting themselves as guides to the city. A guide wanna-be picked us up. After clearly telling him we were not interested in his services, He enthusiastically recommended a restaurant which he offered to lead the way, run by "a good old Berber woman". We followed him until he started leading us down a lonely quiet narrow dead end alley away from crowds with only two guys in sight both of whom he knew. If there was a restaurant back there, only locals would know about it, since there were no signs. I asked where it was, he said "Not far." He started to get ahead of us, When he did this, we ditched him and walked the other way. A moment later, he came running after us realizing that he was putting us in a very trusting position, which we were obviously not willing to do for such a stranger as himself. He then led us back to the main street to another restaurant he recommended which turned out to be nice. It was a multi-room Moroccan mosaic tiled walled restaurant with padded benches that resembled couches with the pillows. In front of these couches were tables for dining. The waiter put on some music which turned out to be a Beatles imitation band, until I asked him if had some Moroccan music. He found some he called Arabic which was nice, and covered over the sounds of the Nintendo we heard being played in another room near the kitchen. We had salad nicoise which was a mostly tomato and onion salad with lots of black pepper. In small quantities it also had lettuce and green peppers and a bit of vinaigrette. The main course was chicken couscous. served in a ceramic dish, this came with cooked carrots, a type of squash, eggplant, a chicken thigh and leg, on top of a generous heap of couscous. For dessert they brought out a bowl of fresh apricots that came in a clear liquid. Fortunately Sharon told me it was wash water, and not a syrup to drink... these are the kind of situations a foreigner to the custom risks looking stupid by sipping wash water, or washing in desert syrup. The wash water is cold so that it chills the apricots in addition to allowing the client to wash their own. Dessert was followed by sweet tea poured into a cup stuffed with fresh mint. We explored the town some more and stopped in a souvenir shop learning more about Moroccan and Berber hand made silk (Keleems) and wool rugs than we ever wanted to know. Our friendly salesman demonstrated a Meknes specialty of blackened iron works with silver thread pounded into it. This and other crafts they had, reminded me of things made in India. The blackened iron works with silver being very similar to Hyderbad zinc works with silver. Camel bone laden vases, tea pots and boxes where also commonly sold things here. Sharon says "they were cool..." We entered the mausoleum of Moulay Ismail, a mosque which apparently is the only mosque in Morocco open to non-Muslims. The inside being tiled in mosaic. We passed several inner courtyards until we had to remove our shoes. There was a special place for woman to prey since men and woman have separate areas for praying and bowing to Mecca. The walls have Arabic script carved into plaster. Other than the ornate walls, the mosque is rather bare. There were many carpets on the floor making it more comfortable for one to prostrate themselves on the ground. June 15, 1998 Meknes, Morocco - {Palace Hotel} We hopped on the R80G/S and drove out to Volubilis, a Roman town long since been in ruins. It was abandoned by the Romans in 285AD. After having recently visited Mayan, and Inca ruins, this was really impressive. The heyday was long before Mayan and Inca, however the sewage and water system and general stone work was very impressive. Although the stonework and the water collection system from the clouds of the Inca was also pretty cool... I could see that they had beautiful courtyard gardens, and enjoyed a certain level of extravagant comfort. I don't recall seeing such leisure gardens amongst the Central and South American cultures. I don't understand why so much of the city is in ruins. Columns and other structures look like they were torn down rather than crumbled from time. Many of the buildings still had pictures of gods, animals, and rulers inlaid into the floor with tiny colored mosaic tile. Afterward, we drove 2 miles over to the town of Moulay-Idriss, where we were instantly hounded by guides, trinket sellers, and food vendors. It was difficult for Sharon and I to talk without interruption. We ditched one potential guide only for another to arrive in his place. We left the town within 10 minutes of arriving. We drove back to Meknes, and after a rest followed by a snack at a patisserie, we hiked into the old town again. We checked out the museum that is housed in a former late 19th century ruler's house. We had another wonderful delicious cheap dinner at Restaurant Marhaba. June 16, 1998 Fes, Morocco - {Hotel Errabie} R100GS 31125 R80G/S 42112 We drove to Fes, checked into our hotel and then... We usually like to wander around the city exploring the alleys at our own pace and as a result not take a guide. In the Medina of Fes (old town), this is a losing battle. Near the entrance of the new Medina (new old town), young guides swarm, aggressively soliciting themselves. Usually we ignore this and they go away. Here the harassment is too much. Sharon got in a growing dispute with one psycho guide who had a hard time accepting rejection before several of us intervened. Sharon and I went into a telephone office and into a telephone booth so that we could talk with some privacy. Outside, the guides swarmed. The deal was, if we could shake off these potential guides, we would encounter more later on. We would constantly be dodging annoying solicitors and have a terrible time. If we hired a guide, no one would bother us, and we would likely see much more of the old city. The guide fee could be considered an entrance fee. We approached one of the guides who seemed the least annoying and asked how much he charged. For 20D (US$2), he offered to take us around town for several hours. ...very cheap. And it later turned out to be a very wise move. Instantly no more harassment for the entire day. The roads (passage ways) through the medina are like no other town I've been to, including Toledo. They are as close to a labyrinth as one can imagine, and not for an outsider to venture into with expectations to find their way out again. Many of the passageways are wide enough for a donkey to pass through carrying a load on it's back. We didn't see vehicles of any kind in the Medina. There is so little sky visible that even a GPS wouldn't be helpful. It's a medieval section of town that stays that way because the size of the passageways. There are little one room factories, houses, and shops throughout. I'd bet 20 bucks DHL and UPS doesn't deliver in this labyrinth. Our guide, a Berber, was short, 20 years old, a little pudgy but spunky and went by the name of Charlie Brown. We told him the first thing we wanted to do was have some lunch. He took us to a very cool restaurant called Restaurant Dar Jamai. This isn't the kind of restaurant an outsider could find on their own. Like other Moroccan towns, the location and outside facade has no bearing on what the inside appearance will be. We walked through some dark stone corridors turned a corner passed through a dark door, and Voila, a beautiful classic Moroccan restaurant. Two formal dressed woman and one friendly proprietor greeted us with very sincere looking smiles, while bowing and shaking our hands. They led us into one wing off the main room where the Moroccan mosaic tiled walls were lined with a sort of pillow laden backless couch that surrounded low tables. Sharon and I had our own private wing to dine in. After we sat ourselves, one of the woman came over with a large brass washbasin, and a giant Arabic tea kettle from which she poured water for us to wash our hands in. On her arm was draped a towel to dry our hands. The proprietor stepped in, asked what we would like to eat and made some suggestions which sounded wonderful, so we accepted, declining on the Moroccan wine only because our energy level was only precariously high enough for our ambitions of the afternoon. They brought out a first course of eight different plates each one containing something different. This included tomato onion salad, delicious vinaigrette coleslaw with cilantro, a spicy lentil dish, boiled and skinned quartered potatoes with cilantro, spicy eggplant dish, and boiled carrots with cilantro, delicious wrinkled black olives, and a large plate of fresh flat round bread. After we completed this course, the table was cleared except for the bread, and the second course was brought out consisting of two large dishes. The first one contained a burnt wood smokey flavored couscous with lamb that tasted more like pot roast, carrots, and a yuca type squash; The second dish was a lemon chicken cooked with lemon peels, carrots, squash, and olives. Third course was a chilled ripe cantaloupe. However at first I thought this was a soft honeydew melon since the inside was green rather than the familiar orange of cantaloupe back home. The proprietor then brought out a metal vial with a long spindle top that dispensed a perfumed water. It smelled like a combinations of oranges and rose water. We were told Moroccans rub their hands, neck and face with it. Finally unsweetened mint tea was brought out where the glass was stuffed with fresh green mint. This was the second time we've had mint tea in Morocco. Both times it was served in a small water glass which makes it difficult to drink without burning one's hands. I don't know why tea cups or coffee cups aren't used. Maybe it's to preserve the aesthetic qualities of the fresh mint stuffed in the glass?? This tea was served with a sort of short bread cookie. While we drank our tea, Sharon was asked if she would like to be henafide. Hena is a natural dye which will turn skin brown. It's often used in Arabic and Indian cultures to decorate woman's hands and feet. The dye usually lasts around a week. Sharon says that some organic shampoos back home use it as a natural gray color remover. Sharon had wanted to be hena decorated, and so this was a comfortable opportunity. The girl who was to be the henafier brought out a tiny pastry bag with a fine point. In it she had a mixture of the hena which is fine powder, and some liquid. She applied the hena paste on to Sharon's wrist making some Arabic pattern. When the henafier finished, Sharon's wrist was covered with this hena paste which she was suppose to leave on for 10 minutes to an hour. Meanwhile the dye set in the skin and the paste dried, afterwhich the paste was flicked off. The henafier worked off of tips only. Charlie Brown, our guide took us around the old city through the labyrinth they call the Medina. We stopped in a few little one room shops off the alley ways. In one was a wood carver shop where three boys carved and inlaid wood into furniture they made. All work done by hand. In another little factory, two guys sat in a six by six foot room and made bellows from leather, wood, glue and brass tacks. We stopped in one dark hot room where the only source of light came from a fire, that glowed through the door of the furnace. This was a one man run boiler room for the sauna baths next door. One man fed the fire with wood chips constantly stirring with his wood poker. Walking through the area was dangerous as there were deep pits in the dark which looked bottomless. The light from the roariing fire, and heat of the room surrounded by dark bottomless pits felt like a hell hole. We passed what Charlie Brown said was a free hotel for artisans... People who come to town and have no money can sleep there. With the alleys of the medina so narrow, there certainly isn't any room for street people to sleep at night. This "hotel" looked much like a stable. We visited two tanneries where animals skins were soaked in various baths of liquid that resulted in leather and what they called "dead wool". I don't know how to describe the scent other than to say it was strong and unpleasant. I can imagine fat and fascia melting away from the skins in a bath of lye. However, the process wasn't described. The people working there seemed a little gnarly. Use to walking around lye baths, stinking all of the time, and handling these skins with rotten flesh, they didn't seem like overly social people. If one always smelled like this place, when it comes to Miller time (Nescafe time?), drinking buddy's might be hard to find... We walked by two mosques, and saw numerous mosque towers (minarets) which always have some megaphone mounted on them for the public address pray time alarm. In some corridors the buildings have been over grown from above to the point where they are like tunnels. We walked by several corridors that look to have been unaltered since the 14th century. One of these alley ways led into a former beautiful private courtyard which is now public, People cut shoe patterns from leather and glue them together here. After wandering the streets for some time, Charlie Brown took us on the tourist shopping tour where he makes his commission. We visited a Moroccan carpet shop that had awesome carpets. A Berber blanket shop that made rough blankets out of wool and camel hair. They were a little softer than burlap. Later, a metal working shop, and then a spice shop. Each shop has someone who speaks English, explains the process how they make things or what they are for, and then of course want you to buy something of which the guide gets a 10-30% commission. Charlie Brown's fatigue was showing as we didn't buy a thing. That evening, I went around town looking for a place to change money. We were getting low on dirhams, and planned to take off tomorrow. At night when the banks are closed, the place to go is the four star or five star hotels. Unfortunately, in Fez these hotels have a policy to only change with hotel guests. Had I known this at the time, I would have primped myself for the occasion and donned an evening sport jacket to play the part. I was still suitably attired for exploring the Medina, and not very dapper after our long day hike in the heat. Four hotels didn't ask if I was a guest, but politely referred to visit the banks in the morning. grrrr... June 17, 1998 Azrou, Morocco - {Hotel Panorama} R80G/S 42157 R100GS 31170 Today, our intended destination was to be on the Western edge of the Sahara, on our way to a famous gorge in Morocco. Since it was so far, we got an early start. About 20km South of Fez, we were driving through a moderately hilly area with twisty roads. We were coming out of a turn, when I saw Sharon, who normally rides in front, attempt a quick save of her front wheel. The rear swung out, the bike leaned the other way, immediately followed by a quick jab at the front wheel and then she was down tumbling away as the bike slid sideways on the pavement. At the time we were probably going 50 mph. Her and the bike were sliding across the pavement towards the outside (right side) of the road, crossing my path, initially 15 feet away, but on a quick intercept. Meanwhile, I had been braking, and when she went down I quickly slammed on rear and front brake steering off to the side to avoid her when all of a sudden I realized I was on my right side. My eyes tracking her, I didn't realize my front wheel had gone off into the gravel, violating gravel riding motorcycle rule number one. While turning, Never use your front brake. Fortunately I was probably down to 5mph when my bike spilled. I crawled out from my bike which was on the side of the road. Sharon's bike was lying on it's side nearly perpendicular to the road. The top box lid was ripped off, and debris was spilled everywhere. Sharon was sitting on the road with her legs stretched out. I asked if she was O.K, and she said she had no broken bones. She saw my bike turned over and asked if I was o.k. A pickup truck came around the corner stopped, and three locals came out to see if we were o.k. They helped me pick up our belongings that were scattered all over, mostly from her top box, but also from Sharon's pant pocket, and from the motorcycle. Seeing Sharon didn't want any company at the time, they left after helping us pick up the motorcycle. I asked her what happened, and she said the front tire slipped on the oil. I hadn't seen any oil, but now that we were stopped, I could see all through the bend and beyond there was wet motor oil that could easily be mistaken for just a dark streak in the road or maybe tar. It looked like there were several quarts of oil recently spread out over a distance of more than a hundred meters along a narrow band in the middle of the road. Sharon's bike had crossed this streak on the turn, and lost front wheel traction while she was still leaning. Fortunately, as usual, Sharon was wearing full riding gear. Her heavy leather jacket took the abrasion well. The metal snaps and zipper on her jacket are partially ground away. Her leather gloves have some abrasion marks on the palms. The left pocket of her Cordura/Gortex pants is shredded, however the rest is fine. Her helmet doesn't show any skid marks. She has some very minor scrapes on her forearms, and she says her wrists are a little sore, but the worst part was just feeling the initial impact with the ground. The bike had the left mirror torn off, the left heated hand grip is chewed up, the clutch handle curled forward 45 degrees and the left front mini faring has taken a grinding. Surprisingly, the choke and top of the GPS was worn away which meant the bike had to have been upside down for a little bit. The engine crash guard on the right side took some serious grinding, and the valve cover plate was ground away, close to but not exposing the valves behind it. The aluminum panniers on both sides are scraped and slightly dented. The top box lid was ripped off, I had noticed we had forgotten to latch it shut when we left. had it it been latched, it might have taken less damage. On the R100GS, the right engine crash guard was bent back, and the right side pannier was a dented a little. Both motorcycles started up fine. All of the dings are just battle scars further defining the character of the bikes... :-) Of course, we should have known that this accident would have happened today or yesterday since our 12 month traveller insurance expired two days ago. Fortunately we didn't need it. Not feeling so enthusiastic to drive a long day to the edge of the Sahara, we stopped in Ifrane 20km further checking out how suitable it would be for a days rest. A few days ago, a Spanish guard described Ifrane as a little Switzerland in Morocco. I had my doubts. It's a quaint resort town nestled among parks with houses that resemble little cement chalets. Very different from the Morocco we have seen. Hotels were overpriced, and since we couldn't check into one until noon (currently 10:30am), we decided to continue 11 miles to the town of Azrou. We bought some gas, and changed 70,000 pesetas at a bank at an exchange rate of 1 peseta = .0627 dirhams. (Exchange for US$1 = 9.59 dirhams) In Azrou, we found a hill side hotel built around the turn of the century in the style that was fashionable for a resort of that era. It was called Hotel Panorama. It was a nice quiet place to hang out and rest which is what we did all day starting with a long nap. Later we went out to find some dinner walking into town. A specialty of this town is wood carvings from Cedar, and another type of ever green who's French name starts with a 'T' and is more fragrant than cedar. Burl wood type carvings, are beautiful and cheap. Back home, I don't think I've ever seen a solid burl wood object, only veneer. They use the root of the 'T' tree, which should make the cost of the wood much more precious. That doesn't seem to be the case here. Note: White storks with black wings seem to be very common and not afraid of humans in Morocco. I think we've seen several every other day we've been in Morocco. We often see them sitting in large nests on the top of chimneys, columns, or trees. Often with huge baby storks just hanging out in the nest waiting for a parent to come back and regurgitate some food. When mom or dad flies home there is usually a lot of activity, and we can hear the repetitious clicking sound which seems to be the only noise they make. ---- Dave Thompson thompson@pdnt.com www - http://sdg.ncsa.uiuc.edu/~mag/Thompson Net-Tamer V 1.09 Palm Top - Registered