Itálica ♡

From The Pillion
I’m too busy absorbing the hustle and bustle of life in Chefchaouen, Morocco, and have fallen behind with a little blog I had intended to post earlier.

Whilst in Seville, the Pillion went off in search of Roman ruins (thank you Lucy & Wes for suggesting), whilst the Pilot did his own thing.

Some 9km northwest of Seville lie the remains of Itálica, the first Roman City founded on the Iberian Peninsula.

Traveller, if you ever come this way, you won’t feel disappointed.

The Amphitheater, one of the biggest of the Empire, seated 25,000 and is one of the oldest conserved buildings of Itálica.

As befits any proper Roman city, there are remains of the bathing area and communal latrine (good for gossip) and of course the main thermal baths, including an exercise area.

Communal latrine

They were clever with water, the Romans, and had a proper sewage system with the fluid sloshing about underneath the city, bringing fresh supplies and rushing away the waste.

Unfortunately, they were too busy enjoying themselves and got big and greedy. After the Empire fell apart, so did Itálica.

Memories of it started to recover in the 16th and 17th centuries and an awareness grew during the 19th century to protect the site. Plunderers had made off with what they could smuggle out, including all the marble plaques covering the Amphitheater’s façade.

The continuous pillaging of the city was condemned and in 1912 Itálica was declared a National Monument.

My visit was out of season and I had the place almost to myself.

Cypresses where walls once stood

The approach to the Amphitheater felt like an oasis of calm, trees and plants lining the path, birds tweeting (in its original meaning!) and a light breeze in the air.

Assumptions ♡

From The Pillion 
ASS
  U
  &
 ME

People carry assumptions, about other countries, other people. The most assertive claims come from those who’ve travelled to other places only ‘with their finger on the map’ to use my dad’s expression.

So let me dispel a few myths.

We were in Southern Spain - and what d’ya know?? The buses run on time, shows start at the appointed hour and the football crowd behaves in an orderly manner.

Don't be late!

There are friendly, helpful and kind people everywhere. We’ve met them. Of course you’ll find specimens that match the stereotypes and there are grump-pots in every nation. Luckily, they are in the minority. Africa won’t be any different in that respect.

The last few weeks in Spain were quite relaxing and to me they felt more like a holiday than travelling.

First, we spent a week at Lucy and Wes’s place, lazy mornings, reading, tasty meals appearing from the kitchen whilst we gazed at the sea - bliss!

And now we’ve ended our sojourn in Seville. I loved it. We’ve been staying in a modern apartment in the old part of town, sufficiently removed from the tourist attractions to experience the Andalusians at work and play.

Sevilla

We’ve had pedicures (the Pilot declined) and haircuts (both). No matter how often the Pilot pointed at the photo of a Spaniard with a shock of black hair - he still emerged looking like, well, Simon, with grey hair, just less of it.

In our neighbourhood were churches and tapas bars aplenty, small corner shops, piazzas full of inviting chairs, I could live here!

Our neighbourhood

The church bells go nuts regularly and at 2pm local children burst out of school buildings, into the arms of waiting mamas (mostly), laughing and shouting.

Personal space and low decibels are a concept uncommon in this part of the world!

Life calms down between 2 pm and 5 pm only to rev up seriously late in the evening and you haven’t been to Andalusia unless you’ve visited a tapas bar. There’s one round the corner from us called ‘Ricardo’s’ and we’re practically regular locals.

It’s packed, it’s loud and it’s lively. You have to be assertive to squeeze into a space at the bar.

Four or five men buzz about behind the counter, attentive eyes darting back and forth. Three orders are being taken at once, shouted across to the chef and a colourful and tasty assortment of tapas makes its way to the rightful recipient. Mostly. We supplemented our cheese with an orphaned basket of bread and who knows who made off with our olives??

Basil Fawlty’s Mañuel would have been sacked after the first shift!

So we set sail in the early afternoon yesterday, digesting the European and anticipating the African leg of our trip. 😎😎

El Camello, resting

P.S. The bike now has a name: El Camello.

From flamenco to the call to prayer

Flamenco

A stunning foursome

We were fortunate enough to experience Flamenco in it's fullest visceral form.

On each of our final two evenings in Sevilla we saw different versions of staging of the dance/song art form. Both were gripping and memorable and informed our appreciation of the other. (On the final night the dancers used no castanets, which I took to be more traditional, but  instead clicked - loudly - just using their fingers.)

The performers above, dancer, dancer, singer, guitarist as you see them, performed acoustically in a small, purpose-built theatre. We sat feet from them. It was loud, brash, sexual, aggressive and hugely technically accomplished. It was completely thrilling.

Morocco
The next day we rode (in cold fog!) to Algeciras by way of breakfast in Jerez, for the ferry to Ceuta and then Morocco.

By the way, did you know cotton is grown in the south of Spain? I didn't. But we saw field upon field of it on our way to the port.

Sixty minutes saw us on another continent. Ceuta is a little bit of Spain on the tip of Morocco so after landing we made our way to our first border crossing in Africa. If you like, you can read more about that in the border crossings and visas log.

From a Fnideq hotel room

Eating that evening was accompanied by the Muslim call to prayer from a nearby minaret. Some things mark a place as different. This did. So did the lack of beer (no alcohol here). So did the place name; Fnideq, as different again from English as Finnish pairs of umlauted vowels.

Before dinner we walked through the local streets as dusk gathered. Crowds of shoppers jostled each other as we picked our way around all kinds of wares spread on the pavement, arranged on carts and stalls and past those displayed in the brightly lit shops. This is a society of traders, I think.

Always, when I don't speak the language and know I don't fully grasp the mores, I feel a little insecure. But as we walked, I gradually began to feel that Moroccans - at least these here - are easy-going and hospitable and I relaxed.

After eating, we tried and failed to order mint tea - we'd been looking forward to this north African staple. Tomorrow, perhaps.

To Chefchaouen

Our new map

The Dunlop map promises a scenic ride to our next destination.

Sevilla to...

Africa
We're working from a new map.

'I bless the rains...'

We'll be in Morocco in two days. We've both graduated from nervous to excited. It's been so long since I did the research that I'd forgotten most of it and had to remind myself that I do, in fact, know the ropes (visas, insurances, other admin).

Our first 'town stop' will be Chefchaouen, the Blue City; '... a photographer's dream come true'.

Having experienced the north African influence in Sevilla (e.g. cumin seeds in the bar snacks) and knowing something of the Spanish in Morocco, we both expect that the cultural shift from here to there won't be so dramatic.

The ride through Western Sahara (or the 'Southern Provinces' as it's politic to refer to it in Morocco where the region isn't seen as a separate entity) to Mauritania and Senegal might be a step-change, however.

Take Me to the River

... cleanse my soul...

I've taken to jogging along the Guadalquivir as a morning routine. It's Spain's only major natural navigable waterway. I find that my invisible friend can't quite keep up and spends the rest of the day looking for me. I enjoy the break.

Knowing Me, Knowing You
The Pillion and I have had opportunity to reflect on our relationship dynamics latterly - as you've heard. You know, we've 'been together' for several years now, but only actually cohabited for a couple. We were still getting to know each other. Self-deception plays a part in most successful partnerships, I reckon. But there's little room for it when a couple are as intensely together as we are right now.

It's a challenge - but we're rising to it. Continuing to manage this aspect of the trip well might be our biggest achievement.

Catch Bull at Four
We visited the bullring. Because I'm old, I got in cheaper. The ticket attendant was kind enough to doubt our claim as to my years and so double-checked the offered proof. Bless!

The place is charismatic. I took photos.

The gate to the arena

Branding

Red and yellow

Dead matador

Museum

Nine to Five
One thing Angelika and I have mused on is the amount of journey time you spend doing stuff you never really factored in to your pre-trip imaginings.

We've spent most of today (starting after the morning cuppa to now - 3.30 pm) on admin and housekeeping. No complaints, Sevilla old town is a cool place to be doing it and preparing for riding in Morocco a cool thing to be working on - of course. But it takes time and energy and you have to factor it in.

Love is all Around
The Spanish people we have met have been very friendly. The lady in the photocopy shop (travel insurance and bike reg. docs) was a bundle of warmth and openness. She was also genuine enough to express her opinion of our motorcycle trip to Africa by placing her forefinger to her temple with a screwing motion, laughing and exclaiming 'Muy loco!'. Lovely.

Real Alcazar; photoblog

The palace at the heart of Sevilla is stunning. It encapsulates the history of the city having, by turns, been Christian, Moorish, Muslim, Christian.

I think I might have been a Moor in a former life; I love those patterns.

Arches

Water

Symmetry 

Garden seating

A local resident

Blue and red

From the garden

Amber arches

Sunday in Sevilla; photoblog

Sunday is for church...

Maybe our bar opens later?

We're goin' footy!

Maybe jazz later?

I redid my Kaliningrad  'do'

Early Sunday street

Currently having pre-footy siesta to the strains of Amy Winehouse.

Sevilla (7203)

We left the respite of Wes and Lucy's place, grateful for their hospitality.

Since we wanted to ride the scenic route (105 mins longer), we went early to avoid the worst of the heat.

Us, early

The road from San Pedro (yes, Peter Smith, a town named for you) via Ronda and Algodonales, the A-397, is a biker's happy dream. Rising from the coast into the hills, it twists, turns, rises, falls and generally does what bikers dream of.

Then it happens upon the Venta el Madroño, a cafe with a view on a climbing curve whose name, I think, loosely translates as 'Stop here if you've been looking for a break from your ride for about 25 minutes longer than you intended and your arse is aching (and you really want some breakfast)'.

It's a bikers' bar, as evidenced by the motorcycle in the room and the photographs.

Bikes

The terrain on the whole ride was joyous. In pockets we smelled the heat-risen scent of the flora, sometimes thyme, sometimes lavender. We saw regimented olive groves and, as we moved north from the lushness of the coastal hills, the yellow of the dryer landscapes that made both of us think of Don Quixote.

We're in a very lovely apartment in Sevilla now for a week. No more chasing of tails for us.

There'll be flamenco, food and, maybe, football. Aren't we lucky!

Home thoughts from abroad
Whatever you may think, we haven't 'escaped' the parlous goings on in politics in London. We keep abreast of it, discuss it and worry about it - as you do. I feel guilty about being away during this time (I know it's irrational) and, should barricades be required to be manned, don't discount coming back to do so. If you think I'm bonkers, I hope you're right.

Johnson's a buffoon, yes, but he's a dangerous one.

xx

Bike service report

George, of Motos Cereto Nerja, was the business, he knew what was required and made me feel confident he would deliver. And he did.

I provided oil filters (two are required for the DCT), brake pads and tyres, he provided oil. (I fitted the air filters myself.)

The plugs and chain were new when we left and should last the trip.

Tyres are Motoz Tractionators; GPS for the front, Adventure for the rear.

Africa-enabled!

Newly-waxed

They even washed the thing!

Cleaned

They offered me two prices, one for cash, one for card (remember that?).

The details

And I left with George's warning that the tyres are new and hard and that I should take it easy for a while. This is particularly good advice here. The roads, due to the heat and infrequency of rain, are quite slick.

Sevilla tomorrow, Cueta (Spanish Morocco) Friday week.

Resting up and recovering

Due to the kindness of Weston and Lucy (bro-in-law and sis), we've been accommodated in style in Nerja.

I've done a bit of work on the bike.

New 'filtros aires'

This was more to prove to myself that I still could, and that bringing the tools was worthwhile. Stripped to the waist, torso glistening in the southern Spanish noonday sun, I demonstrated my mechanical competence to the admiration of passing señoritas. (The majority of this is untrue, but I did replace the air filters.) The bike is now with George in the town where his mechanics are doing the difficult stuff. (Actually, that's untrue, too, the bit I did was the most awkward.)

And I took fit-for-Africa tyres to get those fitted.

Off to George's!

And we've been to the caves. (We were herded through. It wasn't very relaxed.) They are impressive.

The caves

Regarding serotonin
On each of my last several posts, I've wondered about mentioning that I've been accompanied on the trip by an old friend. He turns up in my head when the serotonin deserts me. It's always a bit more grey and chilly when he's there. Dunno why he showed up. Sometimes you don't. I'm fending him off, sometimes successfully, sometimes not.

Didn't seem echt, me writing this and not saying.

Onwards
Should collect the bike today and we'll leave for Sevilla soon. Morocco by middle of next week.

Spain, bullfighting and Seville (6961)

What not to do
'Avoid Nordkapp and making rendezvous' was Grant Johnson's advice. Joint founder (with wife Sue) of Horizons Unlimited, the world's foremost long-distance motorcycle touring website, he knows a thing or two about long-distance motorcycle touring.

Well, we went to Nordkapp and found out what he meant.

And then...
My excellent brother-in-law,  Weston kindly agreed to allow us to use the place in the south of Spain (Nerja) he owns with my sister Lucy as a repository for items I'd need to service the bike prior to the Africa leg of the trip. This, effectively, constituted the aforementioned, to be avoided rendezvous. I thought I'd left enough time for the Europe trip - I was wrong. So we've been having to get more of a move on than has been entirely conducive to the relaxed, easy, laid-back trip Angelika and I imagined.

Wes and Lucy's place 

When we discovered that Lucy and niece Georgina would be at the apartment, but gone by the time we planned to arrive, we decided we'd like to see them and bypassed Barcelona, Valencia and Murcia (all possible ports of call) in an unseemly schlep down the Autovia del Mediteráno (I even got the Pillion on the bike at 5.30 one morning to make the most of the day on our longest run!) to reach them.

Sevilla
So we feel a bit guilty that we've not done Spain justice (but see below), so we've decided that we're going to use a little of our 'extra days' that are now available to us, to spend a week in the home of Flamenco, rest up some more, prepare mentally for Africa and take in some of the music and dance of the dispossessed in this most emotional of countries.

In-restaurant entertainment
Cultural differences, as previously observed, are fascinating. Sometimes it's the low-key, non-tourist stops that are the most insightful.

We overnighted, on our race south, in the La Paz hotel in Alcantarilla just south of Murcia. It's a solid place, no frills or delusions of grandeur. It caters for workers and occasional travellers and has a typical Spanish restaurant/cafe bar, all coffee machines, bright lights, hubbub and a large TV screen. '!Diga me!' (Talk to me!'), is the waitress's opening gambit, more intimate and warm than it looks in print.

When we came down for dinner, they had bullfighting on the TV. And not some sanitised version. The torero kneeling before the bull's horns, the creature itself, shoulders soaked in its own blood and, finally, the moment when the bull fighter opens his underbelly to the bull's lunge to plunge the sword into the animal's spine.

I wondered about the morality of it. But, I wondered, is it more cruel, more dehumanising than, for example, factory farming?

The Spanish seem to be linked to their past more firmly than we are in the north. And not just to customs, but to what being human means - or meant.

Anyway, we had the football on before the gambas al ajillo arrived.

Africa
Being in Nerja is a watershed. Africa's next - and, truth to tell, I think we're a little nervous. Well, it's not worth doing if it's not a challenge, eh?

Noonpics

Home truths and worries ♡

From the Pillion

Pillion in Carcassonne

You know how your nearest and dearest aren’t shy about pointing out your shortcomings? And how you notice traits in others you don’t like about yourself? Well, recently, during our trip break at my mum's, I pointed out one such trait to my mum, at which my sister, without pausing for breath, piped up 'But you do that too, A LOT!' She then readily admitted that she shared the same annoying habit. We all had a good laugh about it in the end.

Got me thinking, though.

We are now in week 12 of the trip, almost 10,000 km under our wheels and glutes. Any niggles that exist in a relationship come to the fore when you live together. But they present themselves under a magnifying glass when you’re travelling, especially on a motorbike, and spend so much time together.

It’s an adventure, it’s challenging and there’s serendipity. No regrets. The good stuff far outweighs the trouble zones.

We seem to have found an MO that works for unpacking, packing, unpacking, packing... (why oh why did we pack a hairdryer, Simon’s hair straighteners, a coffee machine?? Ha ha, only joking!)

We’ve posted some stuff home already, e.g. the extra jumper I bought for the forecast Arctic front at Nordkapp that turned out to be a freak 20 degrees! (Actually, maybe no longer freak, but that’s a different discussion).

Both Simon and I read ‘Jupiter’s Travels’ by Ted Simon before the trip (Thank you Len Brown, again! 😊) and I’ve just finished ‘Dreaming of Jupiter’. It’s Ted’s account of retracing his motorbike journey round the world, some 30 years later, at the age of 69-71.

Our hero, Ted Simon 

Ted is a writer who happens to ride a motorbike and his books are a joy to read. I love his philosophical insights. Anyone who loves travelling, by motorbike or other means, would enjoy reading his books.

On a different matter, I can’t help following politics in Westminster and watching in disbelief and with an increasing sense of unease what is hiding in plain sight. The drama that is Brexit has morphed from a Shakespearean tragi-comedy, at which Britain’s European partners just shook their heads, to a full-blown tragedy. The parallels to developments during the 1930s in Germany are, to me, striking. Hitler came to power legally and, once established, set about dismantling democracy by stealth and force, silencing the opposition and employing his propaganda machine to brainwash people with misinformation.

Sounds familiar? Except that the possibilities of contemporary IT are far more powerful and wide-reaching than Goebbels’ radio propaganda.

Let’s hope that all the checks and balances the (unwritten) constitution in Britain has to offer will guard against the insidious undermining of democracy that Johnson and his cronies are trying to bring about.

I am concerned.

Castles in the air (6157)

Carcassonne

This is where we're staying now. Our place is just at the foot of the fortified city walls. It feels as though we're extras in a film version of Gormenghast.

We've travelled so much recently that on arrival, knowing we have three nights before moving on, it feels like it will be a long stay.

Long trip thing
It's another function of a long trip, I suppose, but we stayed in a very intriguing town a couple of nights ago with lots to do and see (Avignon) in a superb location (Airbnb right in the heart) and spent the evening in, cooked for ourselves, played backgammon, went to bed early and left first thing in the morning. You don't always want to be out doin' stuff. But we should have stayed longer.

We've more or less topped ten thousand kilometers now. The actual mileage in blog title.

Too much food
Eating out is fine as an occasional treat, but you always seem to get more food than you need. And it's not always good. The more touristic a place is, the less reliable the food.

Cultural difference
With apologies to the French (I'm usually commenting on the current nation, but this is a Geman thing), I saw this in Nürnberg thought it should be reported;

Philosophical loo roll

I thought 'this is really odd', Mind you, at that exact moment I was standing in the bathroom of a foreign apartment photographing the toilet paper.

Nice people we've met
Back to Avignon briefly, Gilles, our host was a very lovely man who made us feel cared for and welcomed. It's a treat to encounter someone like him.

You should also know about the driver who stopped to help because we were clearly lost. It was in Kaliningrad. He didn't need to. It was a gratuitous act of kindness.

And the young Latvian woman at the border with Kaliningrad who, unbidden, translated the customs document for us

And the waitress at the Cafe de la Paix, who yesterday breezily invited us to park the bike up amongst the tables when there was no room on the road (see yesterday's Noonpics).

People are good-hearted if you're open to them being so.

Local colour

Carcassonne street

There should be more streets named after singers and songwriters, don't you think?

Carcassonne flowers

Other thoughts
Will Man Utd ever win anything again under their current regime? Probably not.

Can we deal with the climate crisis? These chaps give interesting insights: Carbon Brief.

What's the best thing to do about politics in the UK? (Whoever thought May's deal would end up looking like a good compromise?)

Who will we get to change the tyres on the bike in Nerja (south of Spain) before we go to Africa?

Planning
Pillion and Pilot to hold meeting today to plan last European leg of trip.

Annecy (5768)

We rode through Switzerland to get to France.

Bird of prey
En route, we sat in a roadside cafeteria overlooking a small rural vale in which sat a small farm. It was the hunting territory of a bird of prey, perhaps a kestral, perhaps a kite. We watched, fascinated, as the bird prowled its realm. It began sitting on the railing of the veranda our table overlooked and lazily swooped across the fields to the farmhouse gate and sat again. As we were eating, it was waiting its opportunity to do likewise.

French charm

We're in Annecy. It's a beautiful place, mountains, lake, narrow streets, old-town atmosphere.

Sunset over Annecy

Glimpses of mountains along the streets embroider a stroll in the town.

Moonrise over Annecy

Backstreet gig in Annecy

The music at this gig was in interesting mix of rockabilly and Klezmer.

On Annecy lake

I was struck, sitting in a town square bar, by the prettiness of the French language. En masse, it's a mellifluous babble. Definitely easier on the ear than any other we've encountered so far. It's not a new thought, I suppose, but against the backdrop of ten weeks and many different languages encountered, it reoccurred to me.