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Flying goats and magic nuts

“Goats up trees!”- the shout that brought Charlie Charleston to a rumbling stop on the mountain road, as a shaggy white billy hopped onto a branch in the valley below.

They climb for the tender leaves

They climb for the tender leaves

Their shaggy coats manage to avoid getting tangled in the spikey branches

Their shaggy coats manage to avoid getting tangled in the spikey branches

We had been on a mission to find goats up trees since we were told that our hoofed and horned friends were the only creatures allowed by law to climb the fabled Argan trees. Not humans – just kids!

Sure-footed on the smallest branch

Sure-footed on the smallest branch

They are happy to share a good tree!

They are happy to share a good tree!

 

Argan trees are protected in Morocco because of the immense value of the oil that is produced from its nuts. The oil can be used for cooking, medicine and cosmetics for nails, hair and skin – anything really, it is magic stuff.

The much-prized Argan nut

The much-prized Argan nut

 

But it is the collection of the nuts and the relationship with the goats that we found most interesting and entertaining.

Save some for me

Save some for me

This was a popular tree

This was a popular tree

 

Originally the nuts were harvested as a  “post-goat” production, if you get our meaning – much like civet coffee. It fell to the women of the villages to sift through the goat droppings to retrieve the partially digested nuts.

 Argan trees grow wild, even if they looked cultivated and organised


Argan trees grow wild, even if they looked cultivated and organised

They say only goats are allowed to climb the Argan trees

They say only goats are allowed to climb the Argan trees

No kidding - we climb trees

No kidding – we climb trees

 

Thankfully for the women, times have changed and not only do they no longer use that particular method of softening the fruit, but there is now a high chance that the enterprise selling the oil, soap, powder and other much-prized Argan nut by-products, is a women’s co-operative and not a corporation. Apparently the old Yorkshire saying “where there’s muck, there’s brass” is very true in this case.

 

Lunch

Lunch

Argan trees only grow in a small area of Morocco, in the Anti Atlas region and among the many things we were told about this fabled tree, was that only the nuts that had fallen from the tree can be taken – to maintain the trees protected status and in order to avoid them being over-exploited.

These trees only grow in a small area of Morocco

These trees only grow in a small area of Morocco

The thorns on the Argan tree are a good deterrent for most creatures

The thorns on the Argan tree are a good deterrent for most creatures

 

They manage to pick off the leaves and avoid the thorns

They manage to pick off the leaves and avoid the thorns

Eyes on the prize

Eyes on the prize

 

The women collect them from around the base of the tree, pack them up and take them off to be processed. We have passed many patient donkeys shading under the Argan trees, waiting for their panniers to be filled.

The donkeys shade under the Argan trees between carting the nuts to be processed

The donkeys shade under the Argan trees between carting the nuts to be processed

 

Obviously if a herd of goats has just been tap-dancing through the branches, there’s a good chance they won’t have to wait too long.

So, next time you see Argan oil on the shelves – you have the flying goats of Morocco to thank for it!

We love goats up trees

We love goats up trees

How many goats can you get into an Argan tree?

How many goats can you get into an Argan tree?

 

They can get down as elegantly as they got up

They can get down as elegantly as they got up

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First impressions of Morocco

 

We have never been to Morocco – we had lots of ideas of what it might be like, had read many stories, but we didn’t expect what we got…

We had been looking forward to breaking out the tent again after many weeks in the casita and house sitting and had imagined warm winter sun  gently caressing  Chubby Coleman, our big old tent left long under wraps.

This was the picture in our heads:

The sun sets and seagulls swarm over the Essaouira media

The sun sets and seagulls swarm over the Essaouira medina

 

What we got was torrential rain, lightening and thunder. We stayed two nights at our first camp, thinking it would blow over, then packed up between rain clouds and headed south – to the sun, right? Nope. More days of torrential rain, damp tent and to top it all – two punctured airbeds and a dead computer. Nothing exciting or exotic about any of that! Moulay Bousleham is next to a lagoon, which fills with migrating flamingoes in the spring, unfortunately the lagoon seemed more intent on filling the campsite during our flying visit!

Camp breakfast after it had dried out in Moulay Bouselham

Camp breakfast after it had dried out in Moulay Bouselham

Moulay Bouselham lagoon, with the Atlantic surf on the horizon

Moulay Bouselham lagoon, with the Atlantic surf on the horizon

The gaint strawberry mosque at Moulay Bouselham

The gaint strawberry mosque at Moulay Bouselham

Admittedly, the inexplicable giant strawberry outside the mosque did make us laugh, but even the sheep that were herded past our tent for morning and evening feeds – which we also did not expect to see – seemed unimpressed by the relentless rain.

Sheep are herded through the campsite twice a day

Sheep are herded through the campsite twice a day

Even the sheep thought the camp at Moulay Bouselham was too muddy

Even the sheep thought the camp at Moulay Bouselham was too muddy

Eventually we managed to catch a break in the rain, packed a soggy Chubby into the car and headed south again.

By the time we got to Rabat, the capital of Morocco, the rain was becoming just a memory and the ancient stones of the Rabat kasbah and necropolis glowed in the sunshine. The blue and white walls and doors of the kasbah are beautiful and worth a visit to the city for that alone.

White, blue and a touch of red, Rabat kasbah

White, blue and a touch of red, Rabat kasbah

Tiles and pots in Rabat kasbah

Tiles and pots in Rabat kasbah

The multi-coloured Rabat medina

The multi-coloured Rabat medina

The kasbah at Rabat

The kasbah at Rabat

Painted doorway, Rabat kasbah

Painted doorway, Rabat kasbah

Cats have it easy in the Rabat kasbah

Cats have it easy in the Rabat kasbah

Hitching a ride

Hitching a ride

 

Entrance to a mosque in Rabat kasbah - the sign says Mulims only

Entrance to a mosque in Rabat kasbah – the sign says Mulims only

Hand made door decor in Rabat kasbah

Hand made door decor in Rabat kasbah

Silver and blue doorway, Rabat kasbah

Silver and blue doorway, Rabat kasbah

Rabat kasbah from across the river

Rabat kasbah from across the river

Studded door in Rabat kasbah

Studded door in Rabat kasbah

The ancient necropolis – once a Roman settlement – on the edge of the city is a fascinating place and home to countless clacking storks, but Geoff got a stalk of a different kind – a double dose!

The necropolis at Rabat, complete with storks nest

The necropolis at Rabat, complete with storks nest

The remains of beautiful mosiacs can still be seen at the Rabat necropolis

The remains of beautiful mosiacs can still be seen at the Rabat necropolis

Stalking Geoff - how not to get hired as a guide

Stalking Geoff – how not to get hired as a guide

Stalking Geoff - it's okay if you are a cat

Stalking Geoff – it’s okay if you are a cat

Stalking Geoff - The necropolis cat wins!JPG

Stalking Geoff – The necropolis cat wins!

green door at the necropolis

Green door at the necropolis

The Hassan Tower in the centre of the city is also a sight to see, set as it is amongst more ancient Roman ruins and guarded by elegant horsemen.

The Hassan Tower among the Roman coloumns in Rabat

The Hassan Tower among the Roman columns in Rabat

Guarding Hassan Tower, Rabat

Guarding Hassan Tower, Rabat

 

From Rabat, again we have pushed south, toward Casablanca. Is there any other city that so immediately evokes thoughts of Hollywood glamour and excitement? We turned to fellow travellers on the internet for some insider wisdom on the best places to visit.  “Do Not Go To Casablanca” was the overwhelming message from almost every review we read. The only thing worth visiting is the Hassan II mosque. Built only a couple of decades ago, in just six years, to honour the dying King, it is one of the largest mosques in the world. Twenty-five thousand devotees can be housed inside and a further 75,000 outside.

The Hassan II Mosque in Casablanca in the pouring rain

The Hassan II Mosque in Casablanca in the pouring rain

Just a fraction of the massive Hassan II mosque, Casablanca

Just a fraction of the massive Hassan II mosque, Casablanca

Massive windows in the distance at the Hassan II mosque, Casablanca

Massive windows in the distance at the Hassan II mosque, Casablanca

Looking across the width of the Hassan II Mosque, Casablanca, with the women's balcony above

Looking across the width of the Hassan II Mosque, Casablanca, with the women’s balcony above

Geoff at the Hassan II Mosque, Casablanca. King Hassan decreed non-Muslims should be allowed inside

Geoff at the Hassan II Mosque, Casablanca. King Hassan decreed non-Muslims should be allowed inside

Ceiling decoration and crystal chandeliers in the Hassan II Mosque in Casablanca

Ceiling decoration and crystal chandeliers in the Hassan II Mosque in Casablanca

Titanium doors on the Hassan II Mosque, Casablanca

Titanium doors on the Hassan II Mosque, Casablanca

Wooden roof and Venetian crystal chandelier at the Hassan II mosque, Casablanca

Wooden roof and Venetian crystal chandelier at the Hassan II mosque, Casablanca

 

The columns are made partly of eggshells to absorb the damp from the hamman below the Hassan II mosque, Casablanca

The columns are made partly of eggshells to absorb the damp from the hamman below the Hassan II mosque, Casablanca

The yet-to-be used public baths below Hassan II mosque, Casablanca

The yet-to-be used public baths below Hassan II mosque, Casablanca

It is perhaps true that the only thing worth seeing in Casablanca is the Hassan II mosque, if you are a tourist. Its sheer scale is very impressive, but we have seen more beauty in other buildings. Casablanca itself it simply a very large city – not geared for tourism or visuals feasts. Suckered by Hollywood again!

So onward and further south we have pressed, driving for most of the afternoon past donkey carts, sheep and cattle herders, shepherds, farmers and all points in between.

Hard to decide which one looks more composed

Hard to decide which one looks more composed

Brightly coloured baskets for sale along the road

Brightly coloured baskets for sale along the road

A splash of colour in the mud

A splash of colour in the mud

A roadside chat

A roadside chat

Lady donkey driver

Lady donkey driver

Leading the way, even though he's being ignored!

Leading the way, even though he’s being ignored!

Morocco is marred by endless garbage

Morocco is marred by endless garbage

Ploughing the unforgiving landscape

Ploughing the unforgiving landscape

Shepherdess

Shepherdess

Striding out with purpose (and bucket)

Striding out with purpose (and bucket)

Tangine top hat

Tangine top hat

The long day's journey

The long day’s journey

The look in his eye says it all… the horse's eye, that it is!

The look in his eye says it all… the horse’s eye, that it is!

The sheep herder

The sheep herder

Three ladies by the roadside

Three ladies by the roadside

Two children and a wheelbarrow

Two children and a wheelbarrow

Woman in red buggy

Woman in red buggy

A well-earned rest

A well-earned rest

 

We landed in Essaouira – a fishing town beloved by surfers in the summer season and a rather chilled and easy place out of season. Those surf-making winds can be rough this time of year though and we had to hang on to Chubby the tent as it was buffeted every which way as we put it up.  A tour around town found a wonderful local metal fabricator who, after we had stumbled through our basic French and waved our one remaining tent peg in the air,  stopped what he was doing to bend and bang out twelve new heavy-duty  pegs on the spot. Chubby is now tight as a drum.

It was no problem for him to stop what he was doing and cut us 12 new tent pegs to battle the Esaouira winds

It was no problem for him to stop what he was doing and cut us 12 new tent pegs to battle the Esaouira winds

Health and safety be damned - this is how we roll in Morocco!

Health and safety be damned – this is how we roll in Morocco!

Made on the spot, with a cheery smile and a 7 euro bill for 12 new pegs

Made on the spot, with a cheery smile and a 7 euro bill for 12 new pegs

Our brand new, hand-made tent pegs

Our brand new, hand-made tent pegs

 

With Chubby pegged down we were free to explore the sights, smells and colour of the Essaouira medina and port – what a feast for the senses!

Women in Essaouira port

Women in Essaouira port

The olive seller in Essaouira medina

The olive seller in Essaouira medina

The carpet seller in Essaouira medina

The carpet seller in Essaouira medina

The boat and the battlements of Essaouira

The boat and the battlements of Essaouira

The blue boats in Essaouira harbour

The blue boats in Essaouira harbour

Souvenirs for sale at the Essaouira medina

Souvenirs for sale at the Essaouira medina

Slippers for sale, Essaouira medina

Slippers for sale, Essaouira medina

Pots of dye in Essaouira medina

Pots of dye in Essaouira medina

Night time at the Essaouira medina

Night time at the Essaouira medina

Boat builders of Essaouira

Boat builders of Essaouira

Camels on the beach at Essaouira

Camels on the beach at Essaouira

Lamps and drapes in the Essaouira medina

Lamps and drapes in the Essaouira medina

 

We are beginning to settle into Moroccan life – and even Moroccan driving!

You name it, they'll drive it

You name it, they’ll drive it

Overtaking Moroccan style - four at a time

Overtaking Moroccan style – four at a time

Hay bale hold-up

Hay bale hold-up

We hope to spend some weeks in this new country – exploring the deserts and mountains, coasts and oases – we hope you will come along for the ride.

 

 

 

 

 

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Boiling brakes, a forklift truck, a deux chevaux and a horse

“Yeah, he doesn’t do very much,” boomed Bruno, the mountain sized mechanic, as he threw an accusing thumb over his shoulder in my direction.  It seemed a little bit harsh to me.

I had only arrived at the garage with our neighbour – also Bruno – and Charlie Charleston about an hour earlier. The yard was full of old cars and motor parts and was dusty and shadeless, so after sixty minutes of French-translated car banter and discussion about 2CVs, I had grabbed the chance to step backward into the gloom of the workshop to avoid the relentless glare and heat from the sun. Thankfully, I quickly realized that the thumbs’ accusatory trajectory was passing me by and as I turned to follow it, came face to face with a shameless, but still disinterested, horse.

Un cheveaux

A horse inside

Not so much of a work horse

Not so much of a work horse

 

He was barely a few metres away from me and so completely still and silent, the single cheval had melded into the darkness, watching impassively as big Bruno went about his business on our deux chevaux. Apparently he is a regular attendee, but clearly not much of a team player. It was a pretty unconventional garage in other ways.  As an ex- mechanic I was really looking forward to getting a look underneath Charlie, when they put him up on the ramps. In this part of France, for ramps read forklift truck! Safety stands are for sissies.

Charlie and the forklift

Charlie and the forklift

Up, up and away

Up, up and away

 

No sissies here!

No sissies here!

The next surprise was the bill. For an hour and a half of work, including giving Charlie a full once-over, changing a tyre and a couple of other things – 10 euros. Yes,  TEN euros!

The two Brunos

The two Brunos

Big Bruno also worked on him a second time a few days later, replacing the steering rack assembly, the control arm and king pin for the princely sum of 150 euros for parts and labour.  With Bruno from El Castell still on hand to translate, we also got the stories from his father of his trips across the Sahara desert in a Peugeot 504, which he did five times – taking European 504’s to sell at African markets.

Charlie looking a little slimmer and slightly surprised

Charlie looking a little slimmer and slightly surprised

Shopping for spares

Shopping for spares

A good look at the engine

A good look at the engine

We found similar generosity in Spain a few weeks ago, and luck. Which is something of an understatement when it comes to losing brakes on a long descent down a narrow, winding mountain road, where every corner is a hairpin bend with no safety rails. Pont del Comte sits at 1800 metres and we were coming down the hill, having proudly conquered the summit earlier in the day.

Geoff and Charlie up the mountain

Geoff and Charlie up the mountain before the descent

Now 2CVs are real workhorses (unlike the one in Bruno’s garage), but there are some quirks that you have to learn. Firstly, their old design doesn’t work with some modern inventions – like synthetics. So, no synthetic engine oil or brake fluid. No problem until you drive it hard on a hot day and the brake fluid starts to boil and the brakes start to fail. It started with needing just a couple of pumps on the pedal to get a response, then three pumps, four pumps till after a few kilometers I was tapping my foot faster than a fiddler at a hillbilly hoe-down. So, as we hit the town of St Lorenc de Morunys, pumping away at the less-than-ideally responsive brake pedal, we rolled passed a garage with a sunshine yellow 2CV sitting outside. Surely, a sign! I don’t speak French, but I was able to communicate with the mechanic with lots of pointing, hand gestures and my best mime of driving a car with no brakes. When you don’t know the language, just keep smiling and making an ass of yourself. I thought the brake fluid was contaminated and asked if he could flush the system. The mechanic was great, he stopped what he was doing to work on our car.

Breathing space from boiling brakes

Breathing space from boiling brakes

Two plates of tapas, and a couple of hours later we were on our way again, with cheery waves from the owners and offers to come visit any time! Two hours labour, new brake fluid and adjusting the rear brakes, total cost a ridiculously low thirty euros! Cheap bills and cheery service seem to be the norm when you drive a 2CV. The next day we dropped by the Citroen garage in Solsona to ask about getting repairs for a hole in the exhaust we have had for a while. Sure, bring it in tomorrow morning.  We had bought some new exhaust parts when we were in Alcaniz , so as well as welding the hole, they also fitted the new section. Again – a pretty cheap bill, friendly, fast service and we were on our way again. Charlie Charleston has been in good hands right from the start. I confess to a slight bias, but from the ever-generous Johan in Amsterdam , even though he looks a little crazy here:

Johan is a good guy really!

Johan is a good guy really!

to those we met just passing through….. mechanics are bloody great people.

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Meet Charlie Charleston

They’re called Ugly Duckling, Flying Dustbin, Umbrella on Wheels, Tin Snail or even Jernseng (which sounds funnier when you know it’s Norwegian for Iron Bed).We call ours Charlie Charleston, the 2CV.

Charlie Charleston – no nicknames or shortforms please – is our gorgeous 1986 Citroen 2CV, Charleston model and pretty damn stylish, even if we say so ourselves.

It’s a little car with a fascinating history of design, social and mechanical engineering, which you can read more about from Geoff in More Hammers than Spanners, but for now, just know that he is going to carry us, our gear and Chubby Coleman on the first part of our adventure.

And because he’s special, he’s also got his own tumblr account