It felt strange to be so far North, although still in Morocco. This was in part that seeing many local people doing 'normal Brit' things like sitting on deckchairs and wearing swimming costumes was so foreign to us.
Heading off towards Tangier Med to hop over to Spain was next, but to give some final local flavour we decided to overland non-motorway.
It was with great sadness that we bade an emotional farewell to our esteemed mentor, Mr John. It was time for him to overland home to his beloved wife, and prepare for his special presentation for the Royal Geographical Society. They want to hear about our overland adventure.
The landscape on our continuing journey north east changed once again as we crossed our southern path over the beautiful Rif mountains weeks earlier.
A local pottery seller in the middle of nowhere benefitted from our desire for tagines and plates, as we bartered for a decent price and sought out a soft location mid-rover so they stayed in one piece.
Tetuan was a coastal town with much investment, palm-strewn avenues and hundreds of locals promenading in groups along the well-manicured sea-front. Most strange and un-Moroccan to us; more like a visit to Cleethorpes sans pubs.
The campsite was well recommended, but was tired like us. A less than welcoming dark green piscine remained undipped, whilst the offer of a lodge or caravan to sleep in was equally resisted, neither having been inhabited or cleaned since Mohammad was a lad. This was pleasurably tempered by the tasty restaurant food and the complete absence of barking dogs, hopefully not a coincidence.
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