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Gypsy wagons, JCBs and joyrides

We’ve abandoned Chubby, our trusted tent once more and moved into a gypsy wagon, hand-built in traditional style and parked up next to a donkey in an apple orchard.

Our gypsy wagon

Our gypsy wagon

 

We’ve been staying in the orchard near the historic black and white village of Pembridge, with Andy (wagon-maker) and Archie (donkey). Pembridge is a classic “chocolate box” English village, with ancient dwellings, a local “shoppe” and three pubs!

Pembridge high street

Pembridge high street

Pembridge

Pembridge

Pembridge brown and white

Pembridge brown and white

Pembridge old house

Pembridge old house

 

It seemed appropriate in such a timeless place that Andy would have, amongst the many treasures in his barns, a restored Model T Ford which he kindly let my brother, Kevin and nephew, Charles take for a spin  when they dropped by for a visit.

Starting up the Model T

Starting up the Model T

Charles and Andy in the Model T

Charles and Andy in the Model T

Our wagon was one of a number in various states of restoration, and it was quite an experience to realise that this was how so many travellers before us had lived, as they roamed the highways and byways.

inside one of the wagons

inside one of the wagons

Wooden chests in the wagon

Wooden chests in the wagon

We spent sunny days helping Andy clear his yard – some jobs were harder than others!

Wagon's roll!

Wagon’s roll!

We also got to play with a few of his less elegant and romantic vehicles.

Howdy, digger!

Howdy, digger!

 

Geoff had never heard of a JCB before we arrived at the orchard – in Australia they are just called a digger or backhoe. By the time we left, he had brought a long-broken one back to life, just in time to show off his skills and for me to give it (and Andy) a whirl around the orchard!

Geoff and the JCB

Geoff and the JCB

Hauling old tree roots with the newly repaired digger

Hauling old tree roots with the newly repaired digger

Up, up and away

Up, up and away

 

We also got a chance to whirl a little higher, when Andy arranged for us to take a flight over the rolling hills of the Herefordshire countryside.

Us and our Piper Archer joyride

Us and our Piper Archer joyride

Geoff & Andy in the back of the plane

Geoff & Andy in the back of the plane

We both started learning to fly many years ago. The funds dried up long before the fun did and it was a real treat to be hands on the controls again.

Sara flying - the grin says it all!

Sara flying – the grin says it all!

Out on a wing

Out on a wing

Eyes front over the Wye Valley

Eyes front over the Wye Valley

 

We can’t sign off this blog without mentioning the lovely Archie.  Archie has the run of the orchard, and is very demanding in the head-rubbing department!

Archie in his dust bath

Archie in his dust bath

Archie's orchard

Archie’s orchard

Why the long face? Insufficient time spent rubbing his head, probably.

Why the long face? Insufficient time spent rubbing his head, probably.

 

Andy is a former goldsmith, turned great wagon and cabinet maker. Check out his luxury compost loos as well on his website! He often takes volunteer workers at his farm to give him some extra help, through schemes like Workaway and HelpX. These are great programmes which partner hosts looking for help on projects large and small – from an elderly lady wanting to decorate her front room, to organic farms and building projects – with helpers/travellers looking for new experiences, local insight, a bit of fun and maybe even a campfire.

The opportunities are worldwide – so if you are thinking of travelling and want to do it differently, try signing up to one of the schemes. You might be lucky enough to find an Andy and Archie along the way

Wheels on fire - our last night campfire.

Wheels on fire – our last night campfire.

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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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Our home is our castle!

“Just keep driving all the way up through the village and it’s the castle at the top”.  The castle?? I thought you said we were staying at your mum’s house!

 

But sure enough, we’re safe and sound in a 12th century fortification as I type….

The entrance archway to El Castell

The entrance archway to El Castell

Romans, barons and revolutionaries have come before us – unlike them, we promised to clean up after ourselves!

Our route from Spain was peppered with rain showers and the Pryenees looked more and more brooding as we navigated the ever-shrinking roads.

 

The brooding Pryenees

The brooding Pryenees

More narrow navigation for Geoff and Charlie Charleston

More narrow navigation for Geoff and Charlie Charleston

Not much sun in the flowers

Not much sun in the flowers

 

When we finally arrived in Joch, the steep hill was too much for Charlie Charleston and we got stuck half way up. We had to drop back down to the bottom road and come in from a different approach – good job we weren’t trying to invade! If we were, we could have used Alex’s handy map of the area.

Joch invasion map

Joch invasion map

 

But finally we arrived! Peering down over the tiny village of Joch (population 146) El Castell has had a mixed and sometimes turbulent history.

Peering down from on high

Peering down from on high

Battle scars on the inside

Battle scars on the inside

Built in the 12th century on the site of a Roman fortress, it became the seat of a succession of barons until the last was un-seated and probably beheaded during the French Revolution. The locals sacked the castle and left it to fall into ruins. More than two hundred years later at the turn of this century, our neighbour Bruno bought up the ruins and began to renovate it, selling off sections to families including Alex’s.

Painted tile highlighting the hills beyond

Painted tile highlighting the hills beyond

Sun-drenched in Mediterranean hues

Sun-drenched in Mediterranean hues

While parts are still a work in progress, El Castell has generated an easy and friendly community feeling and has been a wonderful base from which to explore the lovely Pyrenees Orientales. Bruno even has a donkey he let us pet!

Bruno's donkey and friend

Bruno’s donkey and friend

Once more – big thanks to Alex and his family for their generosity. We’ll be posting some stories from our visits in the coming days, but for now – share our enjoyment of Joch with some additional photographs.

 

More narrow navigation for Geoff and Charlie CharlestonNot much sun in the flowersThe entrance archway to El Castell
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Birthday treats

After all my talk of having stars fall out of the sky for me on my birthday – we thought that we should prepare properly. So we packed beer, gin and a kettle!

Although we are camped in the mountains there is still a little ambient light coming from the nearby village, so Geoff and I went on a reccie the day before for the best viewing spot…..

Finding the right spot for viewing

Finding the right spot for viewing

What about the view from here?

What about the view from here?

Not much more than a cow track

Not much more than a cow track

 

helped by some locals who knew the hillside tracks better than us.

No, this way is better!

No, this way is better!

 

We camped out late into the night and although we didn’t see as many meteors as we had hoped, we still had fun. I managed to take my first (not very good) photo of star trails.

Star trails

Star trails

The remote didn’t work so I taped it open with a bolt and some gaffer tape and let it run for forty minutes. Any suggestions of how to do it more professionally are welcome!

During the day Geoff found a donkey farm for me to go and pet baby donkeys – too cute for words – and their troll-dog buddy who lived in a wall!

Cute birthday donkeys

Cute birthday donkeys

Why the long face?

Why the long face?

 

Donkey's noses are the best

Donkey’s noses are the best

Troll-dog

Troll-dog

 

Medieval troll-dog

Medieval troll-dog

 

Then in the wee small hours we got up again and watched some more meteors – what a great birthday in an extraordinary place!

Thanks for all my birthday wishes – today we are off to France… more coming soon!

Cute birthday donkeysWhy the long face?Donkey's noses are the bestTroll-dogMedieval troll-dogNo, this way is better!Looking out above OixFinding the right spot for viewingNot much more than a cow trackStar trails
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The donkey killers and the fire starters

“I don’t know why we do these things – there was probably a reason once, but no one remembers  anymore – it’s just how we do fiesta here in Catalonia.” …….

Our host at the campsite in Oix – a tiny village celebrating its annual fiesta this weekend – shrugged as I asked him to explain last night’s high jinx. It’s as hard to describe as it is seemingly to explain, but here goes: Imagine stepping onto the set of Mad Max – where grown men and women are dressed head to toe in dark maroon fire-retardant trench coats, sporting old-style motorbike goggles, one wearing a rams head masks, horns, most with their faces painted, wicked grins all round and wooden staffs spiked with fireworks.

Rams Headed Fire-Starter!

Rams Headed Fire-Starter!

At eleven at night the few village lights still glowing were doused, the purple pirate drummers struck up a hearty beat and then the rebels came alive. Each of them lit the Catherine wheel fireworks on their staffs and ran at the crowd herded into the narrow street leading down to the church. Yes – AT the crowd!

Drummers

Drummers

Purple haze

Purple haze

It quickly became apparent why so many men where wearing old straw hats, as the sparks flew and the locals dashed not away from the maniacs trying to scorch them, but straight into the centre of the spewing embers to dance in circles with the fire-starters.

Dancing with the fire-starters

Dancing with the fire-starters

More dancing with the fire-starters

More dancing with the fire-starters

Fireworks showered down on us from the balconies overlooking the square and the little road that circled the church; sparks shot up our trouser-legs as the pyromaniacs swept the road around our feet with more explosives. As one firework died down another was fished from a leather pouch slung over their shoulder, pegged onto the staff and quickly lit.

Fireworks from the balcony

Fireworks from the balcony

Showering down from all angles

Showering down from all angles

 

Herding into the narrow streets

Herding into the narrow streets

 

Too late to look for cover!

Too late to look for cover!

A full circuit of the church later, the drums thrashed a final charge, the dancing became more frenetic and then almost as soon as it started, it was over. What the hell was that all about, and what the hell is coming next, we wondered. The lights came on and then, somewhat incongruously, a local Catalan reggae band started up on the stage – playing to a diminishing crowd as the fire dancers melted away back home again. It was fabulously crazy and we still haven’t found out why they do it. For equal mystery we could have stayed in Solsona – the town we left to come here – for their festival. Hanging donkeys by the neck and hauling them up to the top of the church spire is not my idea of a party.. but apparently that’s what passes for a good fiesta in Solsona!

Donkey disaster

Donkey disaster

Even at the gift shop...

Even at the gift shop…

Don’t panic donkey-lovers… it’s only a story and that’s only a model.  Apparently the donkey killers of Solsona were some not-so-smart fellows who had heard there was grass growing on the roof of the church, so decided the pull their donkeys up there for a feed… by the neck. They also have dancing giants and a bunch of other stuff that seems a little crazy to outsiders like us, but makes perfect sense to the locals. Solsona and Oix are in the heart of Catalonia. An autonomous region, with its own government, flag and language; the people are fiercely proud to be Catalan first and Spanish second.  It seems a lot of things are different here and traditions abound. Given that we are also so close to France – about 20 kms as the crow flies high up into the Pyrenees – I can get away with saying “vive la difference” !  

Rams Headed Fire-Starter! Too late to look for cover!Showering down from all anglesDancing with the fire-startersDrummers Herding into the narrow streetsPurple hazeMore dancing with the fire-startersFireworks from the balconyDonkey disaster