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I stayed for a few days in Seville, thanks to my lovely host. He had plans to head out of town for a race, but was OK with leaving the key with me for the weekend. I went on a couple of walking tours, of which there are numerous in Seville (Sevilla in Spanish) but there was just something that Seville seemed to be lacking in comparison with Granada. Maybe it was the lack of snow-capped mountains in the background.
According to my tour guide, the oranges in Seville (which are what we in the UK make
The prettiness of Granada was capped with the look back on it with the snowcapped Sierra Nevadas looking rather majestic behind it which accompanied me the whole way to Loja. I was heading there next as there was another Warmshowers host, John, and I was eager to meet more. He’s an English teacher, with a lot of international experience, the most random being Sudan. A pleasure to hang out with and chat while he fixed his scooter and we sipped down cups of milky tea in pint glasses.
Even though my goal was to get to Algeciras, to take the ferry to Morocco, the coastal route didn’t appeal in the slightest. I haven’t been there before, but in my mind it’s just a long stretch similar to the one between Cancun and Playa del Carmen. A massively developed ex-pat community full of Brits and Germans in particular looking for the sun. I’ve got no problem with that, but in my mind it would make for less than interesting riding, lots of traffic and issues finding
After the madness of Algeria, it was quite amazing to be in Spain. Walking from the ferry, where my host Carlos met me, I went past people hanging around outside even though it was already dark. There were young people drinking in public, and teenager guys hitting on teenage girls. All things that I’d normally take for normal, but definitely stood out after the Algerian experience. The other fantastic thing was the regular western toilet, rather than the Algerian one which I never photographed
After refusing to buy the ticket to Alicante, I was now needing to get a ticket to Almería. Ferries go there from Oran every Monday, which being a Thursday would have meant waiting for 5 days, or riding 180km to Ghazaouet where they left on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Not wanting to impose on my host by staying longer in Oran it was on to Ghazaouet. There was apparently an auberge 70km away in Ain Temouchent so after nipping into town to buy my ticket, I was on my way
A day when I go crazy at the gendarmerie.
I’d told the police that I’d be ready at 8am, and this was agreed. I hung around for a while, waiting, and was told to wait a bit longer, went to a nearby café and to pick up some biscuits, came back, wait more. At 9:30 I was losing my patience, but was told that in 10 minutes they’d definitely be ready. 9:40 comes, no-one is there, but I tell them I’m leaving as they’d told me they would be ready by then. Inside 2 minutes
I left Karim’s place doing well, not knowing the madness that was ahead. As I left, his mother was upstairs on the balcony and wished me a good trip. My single interaction with her. The coast from Jijel to Bejaia is rather delightful, and I was looking forward to enjoying it. I managed to get 13km along the coast before I got to a police check point. I’d been through several before, and no-one had said anything, but here I was waved over. They asked to see
I had to wait until 9:30am for the phone shop to open, so I was looking for breakfast, but it turns out in Algeria that is pretty much an espresso and a vanilla slice if you’re feeling rich. A couple of each, and then a visit to the grocery store took up most of the time, and the rest was when I walked into a restaurant and they felt sorry enough for me that they made me a proper plate of food. Having sorted it all out, and googled for the nearest youth hostel, I was off for 100km of