Methane Power in Meknes with wind on the nose, yet again!

Well we managed to get most things done to Fandango by working and waiting long hours. It would have been nice to catch up with all our friends in Gib but we were moved from customs dock to marina, marina to yard, yard to workshop, workshop to the other marina. The blue water rally was coming and marinas kept heaps of places open every day for boats that didn't come while we were there. In the end we were told to go despite the vacancies. Marina managers were clearly doing a lousy job.

Gib is a place of dust, grime and chewing gum covered pavements. The ugly buildings grow like mushrooms from the reclaimed land and the work ethic may be an indication of why Britain is in such an economic mess. The rock itself and the old town are enjoyable but you only need a day.

Sailing through the night to Morocco's west coast, we reached the Bouregreg River and its marina on the Salé side. A marina boatman led Fandango up the silted river to our first taste of Moroccan officialdom. Allowing for their lunch break, prayers and the first of two canine inspections, we completed check-in after about three hours. Every official was polite and had a warm smile that didn't need much coaxing. We were discovering that Moroccans are delightful people. French works better than English.

The marina was new and trying to be a bit swish. The king's five powerboats, in sizes from thirty to fifty feet had their own pontoon next to ours. Gun-toting guards were everywhere. That night we saw the kasbah (fortified citadel) which contained the medina (Arab quarter or old town) and a small souq (markets including stalls in lanes as well as squares). You might be tested on this later.

The next day we crossed the river and explored the harbour fort, kasbah, medina and souq at Rabat. Huge cemeteries ran down to the sea and would be a challenge for any developer. There were a few touristy bits but otherwise this was the real McCoy. Lunch was enjoyed in a typically small (four tabled) restaurant overlooking a souq, complete with pictures of the owners family and decorations that only a Berber would hang on the walls. "Colour me Moroccan" would be a good name for a Dulux paint catalogue. The crockery and carpets are dazzling and every pattern has a story.

A few days inland were planned. The river ferry was rowed by Charon himself, judging by his age, but we made it to the Rabat side for a trip by coach to Meknes. Storks can be seen occasionally on high perches but the other regular sight is not so nice. Black polythene bags are strewn all over the sandy hills round towns and at first they seem like thousands of crows looking for worms.

As with many parts of Europe, chewing gum is stuck to everything including the seat you are sitting on. You soon notice that it is often green in colour and wonder if it is a coincidence or a religious duty. Thinking about it now, the sea along the Moroccan coast was also green.

Old Meknes was wonderful and our hotel very old world quaint. We hired a guide and a horse drawn carriage and did all the palaces, the huge granary, lakes and gardens. Fascinating. The old sultans certainly had an eye for grandeur with style and let nothing stand in their way. In the afternoon we hired a taxi and looked around some interesting roman ruins and a holy hill town that didn't impress us.

We dined at another of these incredibly decorated small family restaurants, more like being in their living room. Lounging on pillows and soaking up the ambiance was a joy and the only things missing were a belly dancer and the smell of camels.

The busses were not very punctual so by taking a first class compartment in a train to Fez, we were soon enjoying the huge medina and its many souqs. A guide is needed so that you don't get lost and we took one but by now we were old hands at the medina mazes. Tajine Tummy struck me first and later the others on separate occasions. It's not as bad as Delhi Belly and soon fixed with Lopermide.

From Fez we bussed to Chaouen and lunched in a pretty square before arriving in Tangiers. I was fascinated by its medina in 1974 but now found it dull compared to what we had seen. Like Istanbul, it seemed to have been westernised. We could have missed it out but it completed the tour for David and Linda and stopping here by boat didn't appear easy after looking out over the cramped yacht club.

Train back to Salé meant more vistas of black polythene bags and a sandy but fertile countryside. It's hard to know where you are with so few station identification signs, especially at night, but it all adds to the fun and is much more comfortable than taking a camel. We actually saw one.

To leave the marina meant another couple of hours of paperwork and a second canine inspection. We were soon to find out that every port requires the full monty of customs, police, immigration and health check, as well as the first three on the way out. We decided to minimise on ports and do a night passage later on.

Not far from Mohammedia, fog moved in as dusk approached. Our chart plotter showed few depths for the fairly large port and lights indicated substantial redevelopment from what we had on the screen. Radar helped us spot fishing boats with no lights as well as a few ships waiting their turn for loading. We nearly gave it away but got some directions over the VHF. With visibility no more than one hundred meters, we entered the older part of the harbour and spotted the end of the pontoon. Not a nice place but we managed to get a very helpful official that evening to do all the paperwork, so that we could go inland the following morning.

We took a train to Marrakech where we guided ourselves to many places of interest and even ventured into the narrow lanes. Only once did we get lost for a very short while. One person had deliberately misdirected us so that we could be picked up by another and redirected for a small fee. They talk about Berber hospitality but it has a meter attached to it.

We visited what we were told was the world's most luxurious hotel by bluffing our way through several security posts (are you guests? etc) and had a beer in a courtyard overlooking the gardens. Suites were only AUD 10,000 a night but no breakfast of course.

Where we stayed was much nicer. Although not quite completed, it was a refurbished traditional Moroccan "residence". The owner, a well connected retired doctor from Monaco, offered us this because his similar five roomed boutique pension was full. This was also an absolute gem. The doors and décor were magnificent. Veiled from the tattered lanes, the cloistered tiled courtyard and a family's boudoirs were ours to enjoy alone. To stay here alone was worth the trip. Marrakech, cleaner but more expensive, certainly had soul and flair.

We returned to Mohammedia by train and from there sailed to El Jadida, an ugly and smelly oil and gas port. Checking in and out has to be done by the boat's "Capitan" on his own whilst the crew are confined to the boat. The harbour master asked for a "cadeau" so I gave him some stuff we didn't want anyway. This was the only baksheesh attempt in Morocco. The other authorities had the usual fun of trying to workout why the passports had no town of issue. I told them it was Canberra but they insisted Sydney was the capital and that they had never heard of Canberra. The ensuing geography lesson took about half an hour and involved six students. I noticed that the big automatics some were carrying had no magazines and they were not evident elsewhere.

We motored through the night to Agadir and had a short sail in the morning. Here the authorities had magazines in their guns because I asked them to show me by removing them from their closed holsters. I told them about El Jadida and they laughed. I didn't push my luck and ask to see the bullets. One was in a grey uniform, one dark blue and one sky blue. As with the others, they behaved like school kids comparing notes and writing down everything they could think of from the boat's papers and the passports. The dark uniform won because he had more printed forms. Canberra caused the same problem but it was a sunny afternoon and they had come to the boat. So we chatted for a while and then watched an acrobatic display put on by the crew from a group of visiting yachts promoting educational assistance for third world countries.

Agadir had a smart looking marina but the toilets stank because there was no water. The fuel pump had broken down, so we spent half a day getting it by jerry cans from the town. From our taxi, we saw a cyclist knocked off his bike by a car. He moved but would have been badly injured. After fun and games with the authorities, that night we sailed for Lanzarote and made for Puerto Calero, a very smart marina but little else apart from condos for the sun-hungry Brits.

Next stop was Ensenada Deposo Negro on Fuerteventura. Being volcanic, the "negro" bit is everywhere and not very attractive on the beaches. On to Puerto de Morro where we had to launch the tender to get from the pontoon to the key. The money had run out to complete the job. Nearby was a large ferry that produced the most amazing noises from inside for some time. They sounded just like the roars of beasts from Jurassic Park. We didn't go to check it out in case they were! After a long walk we found a restaurant strip by the beach, overlooked by more condos. They were everywhere. Early next morning we set out for Gran Canaria.

We had seen dolphins but we were now getting more flying fish. These can skim the water for fifty meters or more and have been known to land on decks. Also several turtles but they were motionless as we passed. We also noticed the wind farms and cultivation of huge areas under netting.

Our first choice on the plotter turned out to be an industrial hole, so we travelled further down the coast. Anchoring in the bay behind Punta del Gando, we heard a siren from the shore directed at us. We waited and eventually a policy RIB came out to us. The senior of the two didn't want to get his feet wet on the ramp so it took an extra twenty minutes for him to get to a pontoon. Despite anchor symbols over the area, we were in a military zone and had to leave. Also in the military zone were restaurants, car parks, swimmers etc. There was however an airport nearby. On our way out of the bay two jet fighters shot overhead and circled the area. We were most impressed.

Playa de Arinja made a good anchorage. No sirens here so we went ashore to eat at this lacklustre holiday town.

On to Puerto de Mogan where we anchored and explored the rocks and caves nearby. This was much better, with a more upmarket holiday development so we ate well that night.

Puerto de Galera on Tenerife had a marina which we used to escape the strengthening winds on this coast exposed to the prevailing winds. They had wifi but it didn't reach the boat. The lass at reception was very helpful and let me sit in the club's boardroom for the best signal.

We pushed up against the wind to reach Santa Cruz harbour and tied up at the yacht club. There is little left of the fort that was here when Nelson lost his arm to El Tigre, the famous cannon.

Crossing back to Gran Canaria, we got the only spot against the harbour wall at Puerto de Las Nieves as it was getting rough outside. With 12 knots of wind plus strong gusts blowing us on, we hung all our ten fenders and allowed for the tide on our lines before looking around this fishing village. A few years ago there was an unusual rock formation of a hand with a long finger pointing up from just outside the harbour. "The Finger of God" it was named but after it collapsed it was just another rock to avoid. It is sad because it was their grand claim to fame and we even ate in a restaurant named after it.

After a roughish trip we arrived in Las Palmas. A fire tug came to greet us with water cannons firing jets high into the air. Well, perhaps they were just practising but it looked as if they were saluting us and we felt very welcome.

Into the marina with ARC flag now hoisted, we joined the others that would soon number around 250 boats. There was also a good number of non-ARC boats that would cross with us.

The ARC crew were due in a few days. David and Linda had a stay planned in the UK before flying back to Oz. For me it was the usual hassle with equipment and parts that nobody has, as well as counting out baked beans for the crossing. The starter motor had burnt out when we moved to another pen, the TV had died, the DVD player was giving trouble, the tender had a slow puncture, the VHF cockpit extension didn't transmit, the rust stains were getting serious plus over twenty other maintenance issues. At least the bottle of malt still worked.