Algeciras and Tarifa

After two nights in Malaga and no word from Max or Patrick about where they'd got to I decided to take a train to Algeciras, the main jumping off point for Morocco. At the train station I found an email saying they were in a hostal in Tarifa and planned to go catch a ferry to Morocco in the morning. I was going to arrive in Algeciras at 6:30. From the map it could have been 20-30kms to Tarifa but I didn't really know. Could I catch them that night, in the morning or maybe in Morocco; I envisaged a series of near misses. I sent a quick message saying I was coming but not sure where I could catch them and sat on the train considering the possibilities.
Luckily I wasn't too distracted to enjoy the brilliant gorge the train went through near Rhonda. It seemed like about 40mins but was probably only 20 travelling through a steep narrow gorge containing nothing but the railway line, a walking track, a large river at the bottom and the odd isolated village. The scenery was just spectacular and I could see a week long kayaking trip I'd love to come back and do. The other sight from the train was the Rock of Gibraltar and having seen it I understand the name. If you know Lion Rock at Piha Beach in New Zealand, think similar shape but about 30 times bigger, basically this huge rock sitting just off the coast begging to be a military enclave. That's pretty much its history, first landing point of the moors and still part of the UK.

No time for Gibraltar though, I had people to catch up with. I got off the train and decided to at least have a look at the road to Tarifa to see how hilly it might be. I reckoned I had about an hours light left but couldn't see much of the road due to it being up hill to start with. I decided I could ride to the top of the hill for a look and come back down easy enough if needed. Halfway up I saw someone walking with a backpack. He was walking to Tarifa but didn't really know how far it was. 8kms up I finally found the top and could see that there were more hills to come but so sign of Tarifa. My rear light was broken so I wasn't keen on an unknown road in the dark and had just passed an oddly placed youth hostel so I decided to spend the night there.

The hostel seemed virtually empty but the security guard who checked me in put me in a room with a guy named Ken from the US. He is concerned that our approach to health has become materialist thanks to the big business health industry which in turn has been brought about by having a socialised health system where health care is free, (though we pay for it in our taxes). It was the first time I'd heard anyone describe the US health system as socialised but we certainly had some interesting discussions. I think he's right to some extent, our attitude to health is materialistic, the body is an object to spend money on, everything from lipo suction to physiotherapy to moisturiser, and the health industry is far too big. He also had some conspiracy theory about secret codes in classic novels revolving around the apparently unnecessary descriptions of plants. He was rereading old novels accompanied by a botanical guide to plants and asked me if I knew what a eucalypt is? What a question to ask an Australian travelling in Spain - do I know what a eucalypt is! At that point they seemed to be the number one symbol of Australia, littered across the Spanish countryside. (I've since learnt that many were planted during Franco's reign in order to dry up swamps to be made into farmland, now they've gone too far and are a pest using up precious water). It was dark at the time but I said there was probably one right outside the window. Sure enough in the morning we found one just outside and I showed him their peeling bark and distinctive smell. Then it was time to continue the chase.

On arriving at the hostel last night I had asked the security guard (in broken Spanish) for help to find the number of the hostel where Patrick and co were staying. He was very helpful but we couldn't find it. In the morning I asked the receptionist who knew exactly where to find it and called the hostel but hung up when she only got the cleaner who couldn't take a booking. Then I explained my friends were staying there and tried again a few minutes later. I managed to speak with Carla, which seemed like a minor miracle at the time and told them I was on my way. They had already decided to wait for me anyway, which was really great of them.

It turned out to be only 12 more km to Tarifa but that involved a couple more serious hills. I had directions to the hostel but soon got lost in the maze of streets in the old city. Then it occurred to me that they were probably weren't at the hostel but in a bar somewhere. The next moment I rode past a bar and looked in to see Patrick sitting right there! It was so amazing to find them in a foreign place after a couple of emails and a telephone call, plus they'd waited for me so I felt quite ecstatic. They on the other hand had been enjoying some great chill out time in tranquil Tarifa and I could see why so we decided to wait another day before beginning our Moroccan adventure.

Nicholas from Reunion (a tiny french colony next to Mauritius off the coast of Madagascar - but officially part of the EU!) had joined the group and was coming to Morocco as well. He and I ended up sharing a double bed as the hostel was full. This was fine except he turned out to be a snorer. I lay there for a little while trying to ignore it but couldn't and just started to think ´stop snoring Nick´ and he did! This happened twice more during the night. He would start snoring, I would wake up, concentrate my thoughts on willing him to stop, he would stop and I would go back to sleep. I didn't even have to nudge him! I don't know what this means but it seems incredible to have some sort of pyschic connection with someone after meeting them only that day, though I guess we were in very close physical proximity and maybe the unconscious is more active or receptive during sleep. We rose early to catch the ferry (Nicholas had no awareness of his snoring or my interventions but I didn't expect that.) but when we got to the ticket desk Nicholas realised he didn't have his passport. He hadn't planned on going to Morocco until he met the others and being an EU citizen he'd left his passport in Madrid where he was studying. He had to be back there in a few days anyway so we farewelled him sadly and boarded the boat - for Africa!