Unicat - Salter's travels

Assembling the body

In Feb 2016 we had a ski trip in our Dethleffs motorhome. Diane fell heavily, fracturing her wrist and suffering bad concussion. We gave up on skiing and called in at Unicat on the way back to see our new truck. So far, all we had was a truck chassis with a cab on it. First impression was dominated by just how big it was. Completely dwarfed our motorhome – and we thought that was quite big when we first bought it. Thomas, boss of Unicat, stuck some trade plates on the truck and we went out for a drive. This was exciting and a little intimidating. Up to that point the only truck I had driven was the one I used for training. The MAN TGS 33.540 6×6 cab was considerably higher and left hand drive. However, I soon settled into it and by the time we came back, about 15 minutes later, I was feeling quite comfortable. From the driving seat your viewpoint is about 3m above the road. This is terrific. You can see so much further down the road, over hedges and over other vehicles. This makes for a great sense of presence on the road and a good understanding of everything going on around you. In general everything to do with driving a truck is quite a bit slower than in a car so there is a lot more planning and anticipation going on.

We did not see the vehicle again that year. Between several visits and a lot of email exchange we had discussed many aspects of the design. My general approach was to take a fairly light touch. Unicat were clearly the experts and I assumed that if I talked about what we wanted to do in the truck then they would be well capable of building something suitable. So for example, we wanted to be able to go a good way off the beaten track – this would mean plenty of fresh water storage and solar panels on the roof. We wanted to travel in snowy places which meant internal water tanks and batteries. We wanted to go off-road occasionally so everything needed to be fairly strong and well secured. There were quite a few choices to be made. Picking a colour was quite difficult. We eventually settled on white as being cooler in the summer and not looking in any sense military. On reflection, I can see that I should have involved myself a bit more with the design. I mentioned concerns over ventilation and how the shower would drain. Our current motorhome was enormously better on both these issues than our previous one so I had a sense how important good design could be. However, I was reassured that Unicat had everything in hand so I didn’t push this. Delivery was agreed for the end of 2017 and we let them get on with it.

Early 2017 we took the motorhome skiing again. All was well until Diane dislocated her shoulder. We gave up on skiing and popped in to see Unicat on the way back. Can you see a pattern here? Unicat had begun work on the chassis and cab. The cab was being re-lined to improve the insulation and look of it. The chassis needed many changes. Mounts for the main body were added along with an extra fuel tank and the generator. Originally specified as an 8 kVA unit this ended up being 15 kVA. Most of the cost of the generator was in the fitting. Because the bigger, but quieter, three cylinder engine would fit into the same housing, the more capable unit seemed worthwhile for a relatively modest increase in cost. Using a motorhome in the winter over many years, I had discovered that a generator was essential. The house batteries would rarely last more than a night or two off-grid. Running the vehicle engine on idle was hopeless because the alternator would not deliver enough charge. A DC-DC convertor can help with this. A generator, however, can get you out of all sorts of trouble. It can charge the house batteries and the engine battery. It can run all the electrics in the motorhome and even provide power for heating. Of course you had to get it out, set it up, fill it with petrol and start it. Now we were going to have a completely built-in generator that could be started by a push button inside the living unit. This felt like real luxury.

Full of anticipation, we headed back home and launched ourselves into a busy year. Highlights included getting married, selling the old motorhome and selling the company.

At the end of August, Diane and I set off on a short motorbike trip around Europe. This included a visit to Unicat, a few days in the Alps and some business meetings in Denmark. We were hoping to see the main body assembled and possibly mounted onto the truck. Shortly before we set off, Thomas got in touch to say they had been delayed because there were four other trucks being finished. Could we come later? Well, no, we could not because everything was booked. So we turned up anyhow even though there was very little progress to see on the main body. A lot of the cab and chassis was finished though. The cab was back together and looked good. The chassis modifications were nearly complete. We discussed a myriad of details and then got to the delivery date. This needed to be pushed back because of the other work they had been doing. Presumably their other clients were more important than me, but no matter, we agreed on the end of January 2018. This suited me because we would be able to use Baloo to go skiing.

Mid-October we were sent some pictures of the panels that make up the main body. The panels are 50mm of closed cell foam sandwiched between two sheets of fibreglass. The floor panel is thicker, contains a steel sub-frame and a supporting layer of wood. Holes are cut for doors and windows. Frames are glued in and eventually the whole box structure is glued together. A lot of planning needs to go into the panels. The glue is incredibly strong but it is also a one-way trip. You cannot change your mind later.

At the start of November, we were sent pictures of the assembled panels and the main body mounted on the chassis. Meanwhile, I had completed the deal to sell the company. Everything was starting to work out. I put together a plan to get me, Diane, the dogs and everything else, out to Dettenheim (Unicat workshop near Karlsruhe) ready to go skiing at the beginning of February. I sent my plan to Thomas and this is when the wheels came off the project. His response was to express surprise that we thought the vehicle would even be ready by the end of February.

Ok, time to get bit more involved. If nothing else, Diane and I needed a date to work to. So I wrote to Thomas “How about you send me a proper project plan with key milestones, construction phases, targets, dependencies and a critical path analysis ?”. This elicited absolutely no response at all. Nothing. These terms represent key concepts in any project management system (PMS) but none of them appeared to hold any meaning at Unicat. After a little more discussion, I arrived at the opinion that Unicat had absolutely no effective PMS. For a company involved in projects regularly exceeding a million Euros in value, this struck me as remarkable. It was useful information however. For a start, it was now obvious why Unicat could not deliver to a schedule. Also, it would be a good bet that any time estimate was going to be over optimistic. When Thomas suggested they would need at least three or four months after Christmas, I mentally added another 50% and we agreed on the end of June.

Meanwhile, we had eight months to kill. We had sold our motorhome

Le Mans 24

North from Bordeaux brought us to Le Mans just as it was gearing up for the famous 24 hour motor race. This was no coincidence. We met up with the wonderful Lars and Inge and their magnificent Volvo 303. They had travelled directly from Denmark with some fellow Vikings to watch the race. Each year a quarter of a million people arrived from all over the world for this most famous of endurance races. A very large contingent comes from the UK. I am not sure quite why this race is so popular with Brits but they arrive in droves. For the last couple of years, Le Mans 24 has been behind closed doors and that made this year particularly busy. In fact the crowds were remarkable by comparison with any of the half dozen times I have been here before.

We had an allocated campsite and obviously Baloo took up two pitches. Everyone else got set up around us. Mostly small tents, some larger tents and a handful of motorhomes. Each person gets a pitch of just 5m by 7m. Each pitch is adjacent to the next so it gets very cosy very quickly. The Danes were right next to us and Brits on the other side. Baloo is registered with German number plates so it is often assumed that Diane and I are German. Such was the case at the campsite for a while. The Brits ignored us until someone picked up on Diane’s quite distinctive Yorkshire accent. Then they suddenly became quite friendly and asked to have a look inside the truck.

The main premise of the Le Mans 24 hour race is that winner is the car that drives furthest in 24 hours. It is the original endurance race. Most cars have three drivers, each doing stints of less than six hours. There are several classes of race car. The fastest class will do over 5,000 km at an average speed over 200 kph. The race is intense. Fast, hot, noisy, crowded. Part of the 13 km circuit is on normally public roads. These are closed and prepared for the race. On race day, it feels like the whole of the city gets involved.

A typical trip to Le Mans from the UK starts with a mad drive to France. Preferably in a fast car and preferably breaking many speed limits on the way. Once at the campsite the drinking starts. This is continuous until the race is over. Attendees are predominantly male which may account for the catering provisions – almost exclusively barbeque and beer. Sleep is optional. The return trip is often a little more sedate.

Friday was spent relaxing, drinking beer and watching the campsite blossom into a heaving and packed mass of tents, cars and people. Le Mans is all about the atmosphere. Several hundred thousand petrol-heads dedicated to fast cars and drinking beer. Although this might sound like a volatile situation there are very few incidents. Often fans show their support this or that race team or car manufacturer but it is more like a preference rather than an obsession. There is never any of the acrimonious rivalry that you might get at a football match. In the afternoon, the pits were opened up and we could look at the cars close up.

Saturday, 3pm, the race roared into life. At one time the drivers famously ran across the track to start their cars but these days a rolling start is the much safer option. The French air force flew over leaving a trail of colourful smoke. 60 colourful cars thundered down the track to the ubiquitous Dunlop bridge where we saw then at full speed for the first time. A Mexican wave of bobbing heads spread down a trackside absolutely packed with spectators. I needed to stand on tip-toes just to see the track. The noise is phenomenal. Ear defenders are essential. Then there is the smell, high performance racing fuel and burning rubber.

Things settled down a little after the first few laps but only a little bit. We wandered around the track. Had a cold but still overpriced, beer. Wandered round the track some more and generally mellowed into the race ambience. Eventually we looked at some of the commercial stands, considered eating some fries but got put off by the long queues and had a beer instead. A few hours later we reunited with Lars and Inge who we had lost somewhere near part of the track called Tertre Rouge. Overall, the track is 13.6 km long. This would be a good hike but I don’t think it is allowed to walk all the way around it.

Darkness comes late in the evening in June. We turned in around 10pm but then got up a couple of hours later, grabbed a bottle of wine and hopped on a bus to Arnage. One of the great corners of Le Mans. It might sound a bit strange to talk about a great corner but the cars come in here fast and have to negotiate a sharp right hander. At night you see a blaze of approaching headlights. The car turns in, brake discs glowing bright red with heat, tyres struggle to hold on, exhaust popping and flashing with unburnt fuel. In a flash it is past leaving that special smell of fumes and rubber. It is a great way to spend some time but I can imagine it is not for everyone.

We took second bus to Mulsanne and the end of the long straight. These days there is a chicane to slow the cars but even so they can still top 400 km along this stretch. For the brave, late brakers this can be good overtaking spot. Hitting the precise braking point at such a high speed is very difficult. Cars often end up weaving dramatically or even over shooting and crunching through the gravel before regaining the track. All fascinating to watch especially at night with the added drama of headlights, spotlights, floodlights, brake lights and flaming exhaust pipes.

A few more hours of sleep and we were into he closing acts of the race. Over a very late breakfast we tried to catch up by listening to the event radio. Fortunately, such is the size of the English presence here that there is a radio station entirely in English. The effects of 24 hours noise, sleeplessness and beer were making themselves felt. Many people were wandering around with an air of the zombie about them. Some had simply given up and gone to sleep. A few die-hards were still knocking back the beer. We made our way back to the track and watched the final few laps. The very last lap is really just a lap of honour. The cars slow down so the drivers can wave, the crowds applaud and the marshals wave their flags. A strange quietness descends.

Many spectators rush to leave as soon as the race finishes. There are long queues of traffic and many tired, irritable drivers. We chose to simply put our feet up and stay put while the crowds flowed past. Next day we were amongst the last of the stragglers to leave.

Then something very strange happened…

Pyrenees (West)

Descending a quite road on the French side of the Pyrenees, we came across a dam. There are many dams in the area but what caught my attention about this dam were the bear prints. Someone had painted bear paw prints all the way up the main dam wall. With a little bit of manoeuvring, I managed to park Baloo so that the prints on the wall lined up with the bear paw prints on the side of the truck. Many would regard this as a complete waste of time but I found it immensely satisfying.

Further down the road, the clouds and mist settled down around us. It began to lightly drizzle. I observed, as I have observed many times before, that when the cloud is low over the hills and it is raining that pretty much everywhere starts to look like Borrowdale in the English Lake District.

We parked up at Les Forges d’Abel. This is a disused railway station just on the French side of the border to Spain. It served the now defunct Pau–Canfranc railway and was the last station in France just before the Col du Somport tunnel. From here we took the motorbike over the Col du Somport to Canfranc. In particular, we wanted to have a look at the Canfranc International railway station. This rather remarkable station was opened in 1928 and is immense. It was intended to serve the border crossing and was built as a joint venture between France and Spain. Although cooperating on building a station, the two countries could not agree on a single railway gauge, so part of size of the complex comes from the need for extensive shunting, customs and goods handling area. The actual station in 240m long and has 365 windows. In 1970 the French side of the line was closed following a serious derailment that destroyed a major bridge. It was never re-opened. The station suffered years of neglect with only a couple of trains a day arriving from the Spanish side. Then, after much campaigning from various sectors, it was announced in 2020 that the EU would make funding available to restore the station and re-open the international line.

When we visited, the restoration work appeared to be well underway. There are no through trains yet but the main station building is coming back to life. Part of this will be a hotel and international conference centre. Should be a very sumptuous and interesting place to stay one day.

On the way back we explored a couple of narrow roads that turned into tracks. Eventually we came back over the Col du Somport to our disused railway station. The main road here goes through a tunnel under the col. It is long, straight, dark and boring. We saw several groups of motorcyclists heading through the tunnel. Don’t do it guys. Take the high road. Over the Col du Somport is a lovely scenic road that winds it way over the mountains. There are some great bends but nothing too serious, even a Harley Davidson could make it. Then down through the lovely village of Canfranc. Even if you do not care about railway stations there are some terrific cafes.

Finally leaving the Pyrenees, we headed to Bordeaux and stumbled across a Chateau which invited motorhomes to park for free. Of course you were expected to taste the wine and maybe buy a few bottles. This was not really a hardship. We found out about another place (thank you Davide) that also offered water and electricity. Thus began a short but fun tour of Bordeaux vineyards.

Meanwhile, I have been trying out the new oven. The oven story is very long and expensive but the endpoint was a new Gaggenau steam oven. This is turning out to be really very capable. First task was making bread. I often use this as a test of a new oven. You can tell a lot about how even the heat is. With a steam oven you can use moisture to loosen the dough initially and later to create a crispy crust. First attempts were good and then I went on to make a sour dough loaf that was possibly one of the best I even made. Really good solid crust while light and properly textured inside.

While shopping in Lidl, I came across a very cheap vacuum packing machine. The oven claimed sufficient low temperature control at high humidity to be good enough for sous vide cooking. I never tried this before. The principle is that you vacuum pack the food and then cook it at a relatively low temperature. These two conditions combine to preserve the flavour. First attempt was mushrooms. Cooked at 45°C for over an hour. They were spectacular. Simple brown mushrooms with garlic, butter and fresh coriander. Next came asparagus. Fresh asparagus, since it is that time of year, with butter and a little seasoning. 85°C for 25 minutes. Also very good. I can see why it is so popular with some chefs. Can be a bit of a fiddle getting everything arranged in the bag and sealing it but appears to be well worth the effort. More experiments will follow.

Pyrenees (East)

One of my many nightmares, I have quite a few, is about driving Baloo into a small village. The streets get increasingly narrow until we are stuck. Then I have to try and reverse out which is almost impossibly difficult. Cars are blocking the way. Walls are getting scraped. We are reversing over well-kept gardens. Angry villagers appear waving pitchforks and burning torches. You get the idea? Nearly happened during our first couple of days in the Pyrenees. From the map I could see the valley road led up to a col. Looked nice. No excess of hairpin bends. No weight or length restrictions. No road signs indicating it was not suitable for larger vehicles. First village was narrow but nothing too unusual. Second village was even smaller. I was starting to have doubts and began looking for a turning spot. Third village was ridiculous. Literally just a few centimetres either side. People watching out of the windows and scowling. We made it through onto the road that started to climb up the valley side. Narrow, crumbling edges, steep drops. I was losing my nerve but there was nowhere to turn. We took a sharp turn over a bridge where a dirt track joined. With a few shunts I managed to reverse into this, put the parking break on, stopped the engine and took a few deep breaths.

Carry on up? The road might widen above the valley. The map showed no more villages. Or it might become dangerously narrow and we could get impossibly stuck. One option is always to get the motorbike down and do a reconnaissance. However, we were completely blocking the track and it was getting towards evening. Eventually we chose to go back. It was tricky but we knew it was possible. In fact, knowing it was possible made it easier. Gave me the confidence that so long as I was careful everything would be fine. And it was. A few villages tutted at us but others saw the humour in the situation. Nothing got damaged. We did not get attacked. Shortly afterwards we were safe in a quiet layby. The stuff of nightmares.

The next few days we stuck to the main roads. Not so interesting but easier on my nerves. We ended up in Andorra which is a good place to buy cheap diesel. Cheap in this sense means cheaper than in the rest of Europe. The days of genuinely cheap diesel are long gone. There is a nice, truck sized, parking area right on top of the pass above the town of Pas de la Casa. We settled down here with a handful of other motorhomes. It has been quite hot lately but up at 2,000m it was deliciously cool. We enjoyed the fresh breeze with the sunset.

Next morning I took Cent for his usual short walk before breakfast and noticed a car further down the hillside. It was stuck in some mud. Looked like an attempt to dive along a boggy track that was really only suitable for a tractor. We had breakfast before checking again and he was definitely stuck. Baloo made short work of dragging the small hatchback out. The car and the owner were both very muddy but otherwise unharmed. We waved goodbye and continued west along the Pyrenees.

France

Diane has a clean bill of health. She has been tested and her bones are fine. The surgery has worked well and everything is knitted back together properly. Seems like breaking her hip was just really, really unlucky and no indicator of an underlying condition. Enormous thank you to Claudia at Unicat for helping us get this sorted out. Diane jokes that I kicked her crutches away when we found out all was well. This is not quite true but I did suggest that she could get on with a bit more walking. It will take many months before she has her full mobility and strength back but we are pleased that everything is going in the right direction. That sorted it was time to get back on the road.

France is mostly a relaxed and easy country to travel in with a motorhome. There are plenty of parking places, plenty of service points and wild camping is generally tolerated. The countryside is varied and rewarding, the people are friendly and the food is great. The last couple of weeks have been warm and sunny. Our French peregrination has been a relaxed and easy affair.

From Germany, we slipped up to Luxembourg to buy slightly cheaper diesel and then followed the Mosel river southwards. Avoiding main roads and taking our time, we attempted to link up several nation parks. This strategy was more or less successful and we discovered many new parts of France.

We have a new oven. The Baloo oven story is a bit of a saga and will be recounted in due course. This is the fifth oven to be installed since we set off. Hopefully it is the last one for a good while now. On the up side, it is proving to be the best oven yet and makes me very happy. Cooking is often high on our agenda. You might guess this by looking at me. Putting a tendency to podginess to one side, one of the joys in our life is preparing and eating good food. Bread is clearly an early test of any oven and this was reassuringly successful. A variety of bakes have followed and then we got to the pizza. This was good. But I think it can be better. Understanding a new oven always takes a while. Well, for me anyhow. This one has steam modes. A big step forward in capabilities but at the cost of complexity of operation.

There was a bit of a heatwave. By the time we were crossing the Grands Causses Natural Park it was getting hot. Properly 30°C hot. Fine while we were driving with the cab air-conditioning running but a bit much when we stopped for the night. The road took us high into some hills and appeared to offer a great opportunity. Higher up it would be cooler, fresher, more of a breeze and fewer flies. We parked up on a broad ridge overlooking several shallow valleys. Lovey views, cool air, perfect. Until the flies arrived, hundreds of them. While we were eating at one side of Baloo, a farmer had been busy unloaded tons, many tons, of freshly created organic manure. Cow shit. Mountains of it. A slight shift in wind direction put us right in the odorous path. We’d been at the wine. It was too late to move. We just had to rough it out, truly horrendous. The wind dropped, the stink rose, the flies descended and the temperature stayed resolutely high. Next morning was a quick breakfast, an early start and a promise to be more careful about where we parked.

Maritime Alps

We left La Plagne but were still feeling the after-effects of Covid. Nothing serious, just a cough and a general feeling of tiredness. The plan was to do a couple of weeks of easy travelling before heading back to Germany to get Diane’s hip checked out. North through Chamonix and over the magnificent Col des Montets into Switzerland. Starting the 1,000m descent there are several sweeping bends with wide open views down vertiginous slopes. Far below, the town of Martigny nestles in the valley. In 1981, my first experience of this pass was in a clapped out VW combi van. To this day, I still recall gripping the wheel more tightly and hoping the brakes, which failed periodically, would hold out until bottom. Baloo is quite another matter. As well as the service brake (foot pedal) it also has an exhaust brake, a system which changes the valve timing to increase retardation. The engine becomes a compressor slowing the truck and blowing out hot air. It works in conjunction with the semi-automatic gearbox. Often I can simply set the speed using the service brake at the start of a descent and then keep my feet on the floor while the truck systems maintain a safe and steady pace. The exhaust brake does make a rather satisfying noise. We stopped by a roundabout in the valley and the brake drums were barely warm.

South through the Grand St Bernard tunnel to Italy. In 1964 this was the longest road tunnel in the world. Now it seems a bit old and dusty. We emerged into the rather awesome Aosta valley. This runs south-east from Mont Blanc out into the plains of Northern Italy. It cuts past some of the great mountains of Europe including Monte Rosa, Gran Paradiso and the Matterhorn. There is a motorway along the length of the Aosta valley but also numerous castles and fortified houses. To the north are permanently snowy peaks while further south the valley broadens into cultivated fields and vineyards. We detoured northwards to drive up to Breuil-Cervinia. There is a dedicated motorhome area here with terrific views of the Matterhorn.

Next day we resumed our trek south and emerged on the flatlands north of Turin. Not wanting to have anything to do with either flat lands or Turin we turned back towards the Alps and a road into the Parco Nazionale Gran Paradiso. We were trying to get to the Lago di Ceresole but got thwarted by the narrow roads. Usually, at this stage we would have a motorbike day to explore further but we thought this probably unwise with Diane’s delicate hip. So we turned Baloo around while we could still find a turning place, back-tracked for a while and then joined the much more substantial road from Turin to the ski areas around Sauze d’Oulx. Skiing is long finished here and like much of the Alps the area is sort of catching its breath. Nearly everything is closed, for a few weeks, between the end of the winter season and the start of summer. The patchy and muddy remains of ski slopes are still visible. At the same time the grass is turning green and flowers are coming out.

We found a lovely secluded spot in a forest near Sestriere. So nice that we spent two nights there. It was calm and quiet and sunny. Ideal for a bit of recuperation and also to get some washing done. Further south and we were into the heart of the Maritime Alps and not far from the Mediterranean. We attempted to cross via the Col de Tende tunnel but discovered that heavy traffic is barred from this road at weekends. Another U-turn and we set off over the Col du Larche. This is a long and spectacular pass very popular with motorcyclists. We stretched it out over two days. By Monday, everyone had gone home and we had the place to ourselves.

Working our way back north we passed through Briançon and camped right at the top of the Col du Lautaret. Further west and we followed a lovely loop of road around the south of the Vercors Massif. By now we had thoroughly shaken off the Covid so we set a course for Germany.

La Plagne

A consultant checked Diane’s hip before pronouncing that all was well. She is still not allowed to walk on it but the healing process appears to be going in the right direction. I figured that since she could not get out and about wherever we were, that we might as well go to a ski area. One of the many joys of travelling with Baloo is that we can follow the resorts with good snow conditions. At the end of this season the situation was very mixed. Some areas even had to close early. The best conditions appeared to be at La Plagne in the Savoie area of the French Alps. We have not been there for over ten years and so, two days later, we arrived.

The snow was not great. South facing slopes were bare and the lower runs were slush and mud. I don’t think there had been any fresh snow for a couple of weeks. Still, any skiing is better than no skiing and I enjoyed myself. Diane could sit out in the sun during the day. The parking area for motor homes is right next to one of the runs. You can watch skiers and snowboarders going past with varying degrees of competence. You can watch ski instructors patiently coaxing the aspirants following like a line of ducks. There are people walking or plodding in snow shoes. People on sledges, mostly younger people. Paragliders dot the air with their colourful canopies. On a pleasant sunny day it can all get very busy.

La Plagne is very popular with the British. You can spot groups of Brits at the lift queues. Everyone else converges on chairs in a rather haphazard fashion. Brits, however, have a great cultural background in orderly queues. They like to stand in well organised lines. Queue jumping is considered a moral sin up there with adultery and taking the last biscuit in the packet. On a six person lift, the Brits will organise themselves into neat rows of acquaintances to discuss the weather while they wait. Rows of five people, four, three, even just two at times. This is great for me. I can slip down the side to the front of the queue and grab one of the unoccupied spaces. This is not queue jumping, I am in a seat that was otherwise going to be empty. But still, I am often regarded as a queue jumper. I have intruded into their group and their carefully reserved place in the queue. There are glaring scowls and muttered tutting sounds. I pretend to be foreign and either ignore them or give my best impression of a French “boof” while shrugging my shoulders. Occasionally, I will move up to the gate of a six seat lift and the four Brits will just stand still. The gate opens, I sit down on my own, they take the next chair. Preferring to wait, to queue a bit longer, rather than share a chair with someone outside of their group.

Colin, from Scotland, was camped in a motorhome just opposite us. He was on his own and we ended up skiing together. Colin is a much better skier than me. This was fine for me. I had to really improve my game to keep up. He was good company as well. We skied on several days and then the snow came. The area really needed some new snow. Two days later everything was looking much whiter and less muddy. A big improvement. The morning was dull and overcast. Snow was in the air and visibility was poor but we thought we would have a look anyhow. Great decision. At the top of the main lift we popped out above the cloud. Brilliant sunshine and fresh snow. Big vistas and cloud filled valleys. We had a terrific day bouncing around in the soft snow and were both pretty shattered by the end.

This time of year the fresh snow never lasts for long and within a few days it was thinning. Bare patches starting to show through again. Colin went off to the airport to collect his daughter and I caught Covid. I had been avoiding travelling in gondolas preferring the chairlifts where you can sit in the fresh air. However, there are a couple of areas that can only be accessed by gondola. One, called “Le Glacier”, is served by tiny little bubbles that six people can squeeze into. Covid capsules as I came to think of them. No windows to open, not even any air vents. I only used them four times, but that was enough.

Obviously Diane developed symptoms a day later and so we isolated ourselves for a few days. Each of us had a mild temperature and a day when we preferred to lie on the bed. Fortunately, neither of us got very poorly. Colin came back, skied with his daughter for a few days and then left to go home. We waved through the window. Eventually we tested negative by which time the snow was all but hopeless for skiing so we gave up on La Plagne and set off for a short tour of the Maritime Alps.

First and last

Helen and David’s last day in Grindelwald was fast approaching, so we went to First. Grindelwald First is a place, at the top of a gondola, on the other side of the valley to Kleine Scheidegg. The gondola is a few years old, small and completely inaccessible to wheelchairs. Fortunately, it was a warm sunny day so we left David and Diane at a restaurant. Again.

At the top of the gondola, at the First restaurant, is a cliff walkway. Helen tried suggesting that, because she had already done one of these, that there was not need to do another. We did it anyhow. You should do something scary at least once a day. Then we got on with some skiing. Late season ski conditions can often be a bit uncertain. Today, despite being overcast, the weather was warm. The snow was soft and sticky. The visibility was poor. We made the best of it. A long, meandering run took us back to David and Diane. It was fun but hard work.

Later, we all went out for our first and last evening meal in Grindelwald. The pizza was good. Helen and Diane shared a particularly large vanilla ice cream drizzled with hot chocolate sauce.

Next day dawned overcast, grey and miserable. Helen and Dave set off for home. P&O Ferries had just incited industrial action cancelling all their ferries and this did cause Helen and David to have a mini adventure. After a day and a night in the Black Forest they drove north to spend an extra night in a comfortable hotel on the banks of the northern Rhine. Finally, via a DFDS ferry from Amsterdam to Newcastle, they made it home.

We set off to Germany to find a consultant that could check out Diane’s hip.

Interlaken & Jungfraujoch

Switzerland turned orange. Not just Switzerland, much of Europe was tinted for a while as dust from the Sahara filled the air. This is not unusual. It happens every year or two. However, it does look very strange. Left a layer of orange snow on the mountains and orange dust on Helen’s car. We drove down to Interlaken. As the name suggests, this is the town between two lakes – Brienz to the east and Thun to the west. We pottered around for a while. Interlaken is a tourist town but on this particular day nothing very much appeared to be happening. We had a pleasant time and then headed back via the car wash so as to remove the thick layer of Sahara from the car. A few days earlier, David had mentioned that he was missing one of his favourite dishes – sausage, mash and beans. So when I spotted some Heinz baked beans in an Interlaken shop I thought I would attempt a fusion of Yorkshire, Swiss and vegan cuisine. With the baked beans we had rösti and tofu bratwurst. Rösti is a traditional Swiss way of roasting grated potatoes. Bratwurst is a type of sausage popular in Germany and Switzerland. I have no doubt that many would argue that something made from tofu could not be a proper sausage – it did however all turn out to be very tasty.

Next day we tackled the Jungfraujoch. This is a railway station on the saddle between the Jungfrau and Mönch mountains at 3,454m. Tunnels connect to the Top of Europe building, an ice palace dug into the glacier and, via an elevator, the Sphinx astronomical observatory. First part of the journey was the now familiar train up to Kleine Scheidegg. From there we travelled on the Jungfrau Railway, the highest railway in Europe. The track climbs 1,393m in just over 9km through a steep tunnel inside the Eiger and Mönch mountains. The tunnel was dug just over a hundred years ago, took 16 years and remains an engineering masterpiece. On the way up, the train stops at some observations windows where you can look out from the north face of the Eiger.

From the underground train station we made our way to the Top of Europe building where an elevator took us to a small café. After ascending some 2,400m we were ready for a coffee. Refreshed, we managed to avoid the souvenir shop and headed for the observation platform just underneath the Sphinx Observatory.

The mountain scenery here is awesome and we were not disappointed. There was still a little Saharan dust from the day before in the air. This reduced visibility but also gave a slightly surreal and very atmospheric tinge to the views. We felt like we were in a very unusual and vaguely other-worldly place. We could see down several deep, distant valleys and also across the Aletsch Glacier which, at 23km, is the largest glacier in the Alps. As if to emphasise the height of our viewpoint, a helicopter flew past underneath us.

After the best part of an hour, the cold was eventually starting to penetrate. We retreated inside and installed ourselves in the restaurant for lunch. Service was a bit slow but with incredible views through the windows we did not really care. We drank champagne. It seemed appropriate. There was also salad and pasta. By the time coffee was done we were warm again. We were also quite relaxed and so did not think twice about heading off to the ice palace with both wheelchairs.

The palace is a series of tunnels carved into the glacier. The floor is ice. Flat, smooth ice that we could skate along while pushing the wheelchairs. Along the way are alcoves with assorted ice sculptures. At the end of the ice tunnels we emerged on a short snowy ramp leading to another view point. David surprised everyone by walking up here. We did not linger though. The weather was coming in cold and windy. Also, we were running out of time for the last train down.

The last down train was a bit chaotic. Not only were there some dawdling tourists, like us, but also quite a few staff and a fair bit of luggage. It took quite an effort to pack everyone in. Helen and I found seats for Diane and David then had to fold the wheelchairs up and get them out of the way. Eventually, we found ourselves squashed into a corner by the doors and behind crates. The ticket inspector was the last person in through the doors. She looked at how cramped things were and then asked us if we wanted to sit next to the driver at the very front of the train. Oh yes. We rode down the Eiger looking out of the front of the train chatting with the driver about his job. Very cool end to the day.

Skiing & Thunersee

This time we left Diane and David on the balcony of the hotel room. It is a magnificent balcony that looks out across the Grindelwald valley and up to the north face of the Eiger. You can keep an eye on three ski slopes and the sledging run. We made sure there was an adequate supply of red wine, beer and snacks. They also had the binoculars and the camera. Helen and I took the new, high speed, Eiger Express gondola and in just twenty minutes or so we were high in the mountains up on the ski slopes. Another trip to Wengen was followed by skiing all the way back to Grindelwald. We stopped at the top of the final run to wave to David and Diane. With unaided eyes we could just about make out the hotel but had no idea if they could see us. We just stood there for a few minutes waving like idiots. But they did see us. Diane even took some photos.

Next day we all went for a drive around Lake Thun (Thunersee). Down in the valley the weather was warm and sunny if a bit hazy. We stopped at several places along the far shore. Helen and David were particularly taken by the pollarded plane trees dotted along the shore. Here and in France, roadside trees are commonly heavily pruned to control how they grow. In particular they tend to develop knobbly lumps at the branch ends. Because of this they bore a striking resemblance to the Whomping Willow of Harry Potter fame. Cent was also quite interested but possibly for other reasons. For lunch we found a perfect hotel balcony. Here we were served beer and snacks while looking out over the lake and a small arboretum of Whomping Willows.

Back to the skiing. Using the Eiger Express we could get to Eiger Gletcher railway station. Above the station is an excellent small restaurant with seating on the balcony. From here, at 2,320m, you can look up at the slowly shrinking Eiger Glacier and down at the ski slopes. Once again, Diane and David had a full-service arrangement while Helen and I went to ski. At this altitude the sun can be intense. By the time we got back, Diane and David were possibly a little sun-bronzed but had managed to keep themselves hydrated by drinking beer judiciously.

Here are a couple of videos of Helen skiing. I took one of Helen skiing on her own. The other, filmed by Diane, shows Helen following me off the start of the run down from Eiger Gletcher.

Meringen & Piz Gloria

This part of the Bernese Oberland has strong cultural connections to Britain. After visiting Wengen, where the Brits invented skiing and Lauterbrunnen that lent inspiration to ‘The Lord of the Rings’, we set off to visit another cultural reference near the town of Meiringen. All of us piled into Helen’s car, four adults, two wheelchairs and a large German Shepherd. We drove out to the Reichenbach Falls, famous for something that never actually happened. In Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s book, “The Final Problem”, his legendary detective, Sherlock Holmes falls to his death after an altercation with his greatest foe, the criminal Professor Moriarty. Of course this is just a novel and never happened. Furthermore, in a subsequent novel we discover Sherlock did not die but actually used the incident as an excuse to skulk off to Tibet and Japan. So, even in the Holmes fantasy world, he never died there. None the less, the notoriety has rubbed off and made the Reichenbach Falls world famous.

Unfortunately, when we arrived, the falls were closed for the winter. There is small mountain railway that takes visitors up from the valley. But only in the summer. We looked at a small plaque and the wall. This was a bit of an anti-climax so by way of compensation we wandered into town in search of lunch. What we actually found was the man himself. Or at least, a bronze statue of him. Created by John Doubleday in 1988, this is the world’s first statue of Sherlock Holmes. The same year a statue appeared in Karuizawa (Japan). In 1991 the first statue in Britain was erected at Conan-Doyle’s birthplace in Edinburgh and in 1999, another Doubleday statue was installed outside Baker Street tube station – they failed to find a site actually on Baker Street. In 2007, a statue of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson was erected in Moscow near the British embassy. What would the great detective make of current events there? Meanwhile, back in Meiringen, we examined the statue very carefully. Purportedly there are clues to all of the Holmes novels embedded in the statue. We failed to find any but Helen did seem to enjoy sitting on his knee.

After an excellent lunch we drove round the far side of the Brienzersee lake just as the sun set.

Another day and another British cultural reference. This time we headed back in to the mountains and up to the summit of the Schilthorn, 2,970m. From Lauterbrunnen, we rode up a cable car and then a small mountain railway to the isolated Alpine village of Mürren. From the train station it was a short taxi ride in a 4×4 pickup with wheel chains to another cable car that took us up to Birg at 2,677m. Here we found a nice sunny platform where David and Diane had coffee. Meanwhile, Helen and I explored the “Thrill Walk” – a thin walkway clinging perilously to the cliffs high. This features a glass floor and a kind of crawling net that hangs out over an immense drop. Helen was very brave.

Finally, from Birg, we took another cable car and arrived at the top of the Schilthorn. The views up here are truly spectacular. It is one of the highest places around and over 200 peaks are visible. The view is so good that in 1969 the world’s first revolving restaurant, called Piz Gloria, was built here. Part of the funding came from the James Bond movie production team who were working on the film of “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service”. The name Piz Gloria came from Flemmings novel and it features prominently in the film as the villainous Blofeld’s mountain top hide-away.

George Lazenby played Bond in this film. He was rubbish and fortunately this was the only time he played Bond. All that business with kilts just makes me cringe. Despite this, the restaurant proudly broadcasts its Bond connection. There are life sized Lazenby cut-outs, little “007” notices everywhere and a Bond inspired menu. Double 0 pasta anyone? In the Bond themed toilet a sound track of movie clips occasionally declares “Oh James!” while you are trying to concentrate.

Despite all the Bond nonsense, this is one of the genuinely amazingly places to be in the world. The scenery is breath-taking and constantly changing. Especially if you sit in the rotating restaurant. It is wonderful – you can enjoy a bite to eat in warmth and comfort while the whole of the Swiss Alps rotates for your pleasure and convenience. We had lunch but first we had champagne. We invested in a bottle of Bollinger – “the champagne of James Bond”. It was delicious and completely appropriate but note that I pointedly used the word ‘invested’. This is not wine for casually quaffing. The food was very good despite being called “Bond… this” and “James… that”. After some 007 coffee (I kid you not), we wandered around outside absorbing the views and breathing the pure alpine air. Helen found a stuffed Ibex that she took quite a liking to. We almost missed the last cable car down. Not sure what would happen then – would they let us stay?

Grindelwald & Kleine Scheidegg

Diane had just broken her hip and we were supposed to be meeting Helen, my baby sister, and her husband, David, for a skiing trip. This excursion had been difficult to arrange. Very nearly happened in January but was scuppered by the Covid outbreak. Now it was in doubt again but we decided to press on anyhow. At Brixen hospital, Diane’s hip had been pinned back together. Hopefully she will recover without any lasting problems but for the next few weeks she cannot put any weight on her leg. Climbing into the cab of Baloo is quite impossible and using the crawl-though would require far more agility than is possible just now. So Diane had to stay in the living compartment, using the bench seat and facing backwards.

We agreed to meet Helen and David at the Unicat workshop. Arriving a couple of days early we had time to install a seatbelt in the rear so that Diane would be safe (thank you Daniel). We also collected a wheelchair to help her get around (thank you Claudia and Rainer). It was great to meet Helen and David although it was clear that David’s condition was progressing. He has Motor Neurone Disease. This is a rare, degenerative condition that affects the brain and nerves. He is gradually losing the use of his muscles, can no longer lift his arms and needs a wheelchair.

After a gentle, two day drive we arrived at the pretty Swiss village of Grindelwald. Here we had booked Baloo onto a campsite and also found a nearby hotel for Helen and David. Next day we all went out in Helen’s car – four people and two wheelchairs. It all worked quite well. We found a nice place to sit in the sun for lunch and looked at some glaciers. We were encouraged by this and so set our sights to the mountains for the following day.

The Swiss trains turned out to be very accommodating when it came to wheelchairs. On our first venture, we went up to the Kleine Scheidegg mountain pass at 2,061m. Nestled under the Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau peaks this celebrated alpine pass is a focal point for the mountain railway and chairlift systems. The railway people were very helpful. So much so that we felt empowered to continue down to the mountain village of Wengen on the far side of the pass. One story has it that alpine skiing was invented here, by the British. Winter holiday makers requested use of the train system effectively turning them into the first ski lifts. The British downhill championships of 1921 featured a “straight down” race and the worlds first slalom, where skiers had to negotiate trees as they raced.

While we were waiting at Wengen train station to head back, there were a few tantalising views of the Lauterbrunnen valley. JRR Tolkien drew inspiration from this valley in his depiction of Rivendell. The Wengernalp Railway, from Lauterbrunnen to Grindelwald via Wengen and Kleine Scheidegg, is the world’s longest continuous rack and pinion railway. Trains going downhill take longer than those going up. This is because it is a single track system. The downhill train arrives at the mid-point passing place slightly before the uphill train so that the uphill train never has to stop.

Next day Helen had her first ski lesson. We all went back up to Kleine Scheidegg. David and Diane had to help up with carrying the skis. It would have been handy if the wheelchairs could be fitted with a ski rack. We then abandoned the pair of them at the train station for a couple of hours. This was not all bad. They had a table outside the restaurant , in the sunshine, with waiter service and a spectacular view of the north face of the Eiger. Helen’s first lesson, with a professional instructor, went well and she arrived back beaming from ear to ear. Her background as a long time fell runner probably helps – she has good balance, strong legs and no fear at all about going downhill very fast. By the time Helen and I returned to the others they had not only taken coffee but also lunch and several beers. We mutually agreed the day had been a success and headed back down to Grindelwald.

Valles

Passo Pordoi has 33 hairpin bends and climbs to 2,950 m. It was fun but very slow going. Several corners required shunts to get round. The views, however, were spectacular and the towering cliffs of the Dolomites add drama with a hint of danger. Fortunately there was very little traffic otherwise we might have caused a few queues. We arrived in Arabba late in the afternoon and found a great motorhome parking site ideally suited to Baloo – big grate for emptying the tanks, fast fresh water tap and plenty of space – perfect.

The next day, the forecast promised “light snow”. As it turned out there was about 50cm of light snow. We dug the snow shoes out and took Cent for a walk in the woods.

The next couple of days, I went skiing. Diane was not so keen. There was quite a long walk up to the ticket office and lifts. Tricky in ski boots. The conditions for skiing were not so great and the slopes were very crowded. The fresh snow had been chewed into moguls and icy patches within hours. After a 50 minute queue for the cable car, I made it up to the top of Marmolade – the highest peak in the area. Very cold and windy. Also very crowded. Getting down on hard, icy snow and very busy slopes proved to be quite difficult and not much fun.

Time to move on. We drove north and up an easy valley to the little village of Valles. By now the weather was overcast and drizzling. We walked around the village. Next day we walked up the valley and discovered Llamas and wooden sheep with strings on. Finally, the weather came good and we went skiing. The snow was not brilliant, a bit slushy and heavy for turning. However, the sun was shining and the slopes were not too busy. We had a pleasant day. Come late afternoon we set off home. Disaster, in the shape of a young lad skiing backwards, struck. He caught Diane’s skis and flipped her down the slope. She landed with a bit of thump but, initially, thought that she had just acquired another bruise. Five minutes later she was back on her feet but very shortly after that she realized that she could not really stand up at all. The lad and his parents had long since gone. I called the ski rescue who, quite remarkably, turned up less than five minutes later. By the time we had loaded Diane into a sledge behind a snow-mobile, she was getting very uncomfortable. Painful waves of cramp all the way down her thigh.

At Brixen hospital they discovered that Diane had broken her femur. Snapped it clean through so that the ball of her hip joint was detached. The same evening, surgeons operated to pin the joint back together. They are very experienced with ski injuries here and very good at fixing them. I moved Baloo down the valley closer to the hospital. Me and the dog sat down and waited. Because of Covid, I was not allowed into the hospital so I next saw Diane when she was discharged three days later.

Carezza

We finally made it to Italy. But we went to Austria first. From Samnaun there are only two roads. Staying in Switzerland involves driving through some very small tunnels. A larger vehicle, like Baloo, needs to drive down the other side of the valley in Austria. At the bottom of the valley you can immediately turn west and go back into Switzerland. Or you can continue south on a well-made, modern main road some ten kilometers to Italy. The only problem with the route Italy are the ubiquitous Austrian 7.5t weight limit signs. We risked it and a short while later arrived at the border to Italy where, somewhat to my surprise, we got stopped by the police. Not the Austrian police, who were nowhere to be seen, these guys were Italian. They checked the vehicle documents, my driving license and our passports. Fortunately everything was in order and a few minutes later we were on our way. We finally made it to Italy.

A day later we were in the Dolomites. This is a fantastic area. 18 steep, rocky peaks rising to over 3,000m, crisscrossed by deep, narrow picturesque valleys. Vertical walls, bare rock, narrow winding roads and postcard villages. It is also home to one of the largest ski areas in the world. A network of lifts and pistes collectively referred to as Dolomiti Superski.

Last year, while we were parked in Samnaun, we made friends with Carston and Silke, who were parked next to us in their remarkable motorhome with a Porche in the back. They gave us some really good pointers for parking and skiing in the Dolomites. Thank you! Our first stop was Carezza. Small village, small ski area, very pretty. Ideal for us to hang out for a few days. The skiing was good in that the pistes were well prepared and there were some interesting places to visit. However, in general there is not a lot of snow here. Not as much as you would hope for mid-February. So off-piste there is not really any skiing at all. None the less, we had a few excellent days, saw the sights and enjoyed the location.

Our final task was to look out some Legrein wine. Thanks for the suggestion Max. Legrein is a red wine grape variety local to this area. Apparently the wine is rarely exported so you will seldom find it elsewhere. Wikipedia tells me that it is becoming increasingly popular in Australia. It also tells me that Legrein produces wines with high acidity that are congenial and straightforward. Deliciously plummy, earthy and chewy, dark and full-bodied but not heavy, with a pronounced minerally edge. I agree – although I might have struggled over the description. We have been trying wine from several producers. It is reasonably priced and really nice. Think I may go and try another glass just now. Cheers.

Samnaun

We crossed the Julier pass. Drove round St Moritz. Nearly went to Italy but then realized that were not far from Samnaun. This is the little duty free enclave where we spent two months last year. Back then, Switzerland was one of the few European countries where campsites were open. Now, travelling is a bit easier and more ski resorts are open. One reason to visit Samnaun was to see what it was like in full swing with the links to Ischgl in Austria open. Another reason was cheap diesel.

Arriving in Samnaun we not only went to the familiar campsite but also the same pitch we had last year. Other than that, things were very different. Far more people for a start and a steady stream of skiers coming down the valley from Austria, drinking beer and then carrying on down to the cable car. Last year, the morning cable car catered for about ten people. My first trip up it was packed. Best part of a hundred people on two decks. Ischgl almost caused me culture shock. The pristine, quiet and peaceful mountains were now packed with people and ski slopes. The pistes were wide, steep and dense with high speed skiers. The lifts are big, brash and fast. Restaurants and bars were heaving. There is an intensity and frenetic pace to this sort of ski resort that actually makes me a bit uncomfortable. Somehow I think the mountains should be a bit more peaceful and relaxing. The rather apt catch phrase that Ischgl has adopted is “Relax. If you can…”.

Two days of cross border skiing was ample to satisfy my curiosity and we were about to leave. Then the snow came. The forecast showed a big dump of snow in this area of the Alps and not so much elsewhere. Exciting news especially since, after almost becoming a local the previous year, I now knew many of the good places to ski in fresh snow. We sat it out. Three days of continuous snow. Well over half a meter. Finally the clouds passed and the morning arrived, clear and fresh. Along with many others, I headed for the hills and had a fantastic few hours making fresh tracks in the soft, virgin snow. The local knowledge really helped. A couple of times I skied a new line and then, within a handful of minutes, it had been repeated by a score of others. Such was the density of skiers, that by lunchtime, pretty much all the good areas had been skied out. Once the all the fresh snow has been churned up into uneven mush, it becomes much harder and far less pleasant to ski. The next day I explored the Ischgl side. There is clearly much off-piste skiing there but it was all skied out. A strong wind during the night had blown much of the fresh snow of exposed ridges so they were looking bare already.

The next day we actually, really, definitely set off for Italy.

Bivio

It took half a day at the Unicat workshop to find the problem with the generator. Then about two minutes to fix the loose wire that was the cause of all the trouble. With that sorted we set off for Northern Italy.

Two days later we were crossing the Julier pass. Heading south towards St Moritz. We stopped at the little village of Bivio at 1800m. There are a couple of drag lifts here and a small camping area for motorhomes. We had passed the place several times previously. Many of the mountain roads in Switzerland are closed in the winter so the total number of routes though the country is quite limited. The road on the Julier pass is often snow covered and requires care but a gang of people with a range of snow clearing machines manage to keep it open most of the time.

The drag lift opposite the camp area is only open at the weekend. It was Friday afternoon. Every time we had passed here, I thought it would be a great place to ski for a couple of days. This seemed like too much of a good opportunity so, despite the slightly dodgy looking weather, we parked up.

Next day the weather was truly terrible. Misty, cold, snowing and windy. We took a walk down to the village and found some goats in a shed.

Sunday dawned very cold but clear. The entire ski area consists of just three drag lifts. They are very long. Each one takes about ten minutes. At the top of the highest lift you are way above the valley with wide open vistas of the surrounding mountains. This area is very popular for ski mountaineering. Small groups of people were working their way up the slopes in every direction I looked. A sunny Sunday and fresh snow was an irresistible lure. The skiers fit self-adhesive climbing skins to their skis, walk up a mountain, remove the skins and then ski down making elegant patterns in the virgin snow. By the evening, just about every slope and couloir I could see was covered in wiggly ski tracks. I confined myself to areas accessible from the ski lifts but still had a great day. Lots of space, not many people and some fantastic views. Diane has never liked drag lifts so she was happy to walk with Cent and take a few photographs.

Next day we carried on towards Italy.

Les Saisies

East from La Clusaz, a little bit closer to Mont Blanc, is the village of Les Saisies. We were here a few years ago and thought it worth another look. There is a large motor home parking area that you can ski into. The main part of the village is not far away. Not much après ski here but there are numerous artisan shops selling food, drink and odd souvenirs. Many restaurants, a few bars, some small hotels and a lot of small chalets. Like La Clusaz, this is a very French kind of ski area. Totally different from the clubbing orientated resorts that cater to package holidays.

In the evening was a lovely colourful sunset and then it started snowing. Serious snowing. Snowed all the next day as well. And the next night.
Early in the morning we were woken to the sound of snow ploughs clearing the parking area. Large 4×4 loaders fitted with snow chains and hydraulically controlled snow ploughs. Twelve tonnes of engine and wheels. They clunk and scrape and roar as they push snow around. Ripping up the compacted snow and driving terrifyingly close to the fragile motorhomes. I am lying in bed waiting to feel and hear the sickening crunching, tearing sound as they misjudge Baloo and rip a side panel off. Cautiously I risk a look out of the window. The loader shoots past fast enough to make Baloo shudder and close enough that I can see the driver’s teeth. It appears to be guided by a disaffected teenager complete with hoody. He is chatting away on his mobile phone while waving to his co-worker in the other loader. Clearly he does not notice my aghast expression peering through a crack in the curtains. I close the blinds firmly and retreat under the quilt. Half and hour later it is all over. Dressed and fortified by coffee, I check for damage. There is none. There are tracks right next to Baloo. The snow has been scraped within inches or the tyres and right underneath the tail lift. But not a scratch. I guess the youth is a pretty good driver.

I find skiing in the fresh snow a complete delight. Diane does not. So for the first couple of days I skied on my own. Poking around some of the less visited areas of the mountain where I could make fresh tracks in the powder snow. Later Diane came out and we pottered around under the shadow of Mont Blanc. After a week or so it looked like the weather was turning bad again so we packed up and headed back to the Unicat workshop. We were having a few problems with the generator overheating. Parked up for days at a time in the winter is the one time we really need the generator so since expert help was not far away we decided to head back.

Les Rousses et La Clusaz

We stumbled across les Rousses while trying to avoid Switzerland. The plan was to head for the French Alps for some skiing. We wanted to by-pass Switzerland because the emergence of Omicron had brought with it a rash of new border controls. Driving a few more miles was preferable to having things stuck up our noses again. We stayed north of Geneva. This took us through the Jura mountains. A picturesque area famous for cheese. Add a small, friendly ski resort and that is me very happy for a few days.

Diane had a chance to re-acquaint herself with skiing. After falling last year and hurting her knee, she avoided skis for the rest of the season. Les Rousses was an ideal place to start again. No crowds. Gentle slopes and snow in remarkably good condition for so early in the season. After a couple of days she was definitely starting to get her ski mojo back. We even spent xmas day skiing.

The weather turned to rain. We moved on to La Clusaz, a French resort not far from Mont Blanc. It continued to rain. Solid rain for three days. I tried to ski in the rain. Enjoyed it for a couple of hours before wetness and coldness dampened my enthusiasm. Took days to dry my gloves out. That afternoon a big, wet, soggy avalanche came down one of the pistes I had skied in the morning.

Eventually the sky cleared and despite the sun it became very cold. This was no good for the skiing at all because the runs became seriously icy. Hard and fast. Much harder to control your speed and direction. Diane rather sensibly avoided this. I dabbled a bit more until eventually conceding that while La Clusaz is a lovely area, it needed a bit more snow. Another Covid New Year arrived, marked by a single person cheering from a balcony. We moved on.

Driver training

I made a list of what needed to be done before we could set off on our travels. It looked fairly straightforward:

Sell Dethleffs motorhome
Sell our houses
Sell company
Get married
Learn to ride a motorbike
Learn to drive a truck

The house was the first item I tackled. After 20 years in an ex-council house on a large estate, I was not too sad to see it go. It was a very practical house and the neighbours were great. There were views over a landfill site, sewage works, the M1 motorway and Meadowhall shopping centre. I was ready to expand my vistas. Diane also sold her house and we moved into a lovely rented cottage in the Peak District.

Selling the houses gave us enough money to buy the truck. Just the truck. A cab on a rolling chassis. December 2015. The last possible date to buy a Euro 5 truck before the emission regulations were succeeded by the Euro 6 standard. This was important, not because we wanted to create clouds of diesel fumes, but because a Euro 5 engine is much more tolerant of the lower quality fuels commonly used outside of Europe.

I launched myself into what became two years of almost continuous driver training. After some initial trepidation, I came to thoroughly enjoy this. Just about every week I was doing some sort of training. First came the IAM and addressing my road craft and car handling skills. The last driving tuition I had received was as a spotty teenager so not too surprisingly there was plenty of scope for improvement. Achieving the IAM standard was a great boost to my confidence and prepared me for truck driving. Thank you Stockport IAM.

The HGV test is very different from a car test. There are the obvious vehicular differences but the real issue is that this is a professional driving qualification and a long way from the beginner’s car driving test. First up is a medical examination and then two theory tests. One is concerned with hazard avoidance and feels a bit like a video game. The other is a knowledge test covering not just the Highway Code but also truck specific aspects such as the tachograph, securing loads, weight limits and so on.

Finally I was ready to get my hands on a real truck and discovered that I loved it. As a youngster I had always fancied driving a big truck so to finally get into the driving seat was a real thrill. Enterprise LGV Tuition in Manchester introduced me to a truck and I drove it four hours a day, every day, for a week. On the last day, me and the truck were taken to the test centre and I passed. Thank you Enterprise. I was enormously pleased with myself and quite annoying to be with for several days.

This felt like a big step towards the dream. We now actually owned a truck and I could drive it. On the way back from skiing in the Dethleffs we called in at the Unicat workshop and met our truck, the fledgling Baloo. First impressions were that it was enormous. The wheels were massive and the driver’s seat was way higher up than my training truck. Once upon a time, I used to consider the 8.5m Dethleffs pretty big but it seemed dwarfed by the MAN TGS 33.540 6×6.

Back in the UK I made a start at the motorbike problem. I was the problem. More specifically, the problem was that I found the whole motorbike thing quite scary. If I had started with motorbikes when I was young and invulnerable this would not have been an issue. However, I am now old enough to appreciate the potential pain involved in falling off a bike.

First were two more theory tests. Then come two practical tests. The first of these, in an enclosed compound, covers basic handling and manoeuvring. Took me a couple of attempts. The final part of the test involves accelerating to at least 30mph and then, at the examiners signal, doing an emergency stop. The night before, I dreamt of dropping the bike, sliding across the compound, taking out the examiner and smashing into the wall at the far end. Reality was much kinder but on the first try I did not go fast enough.

Before I got to the second test I needed to change instructors. Sadly my original instructor was taken badly ill so I ended up in a new school. Here I met Paul Beatie. He taught me in a way that built my confidence. This was a turning point in the quality of my riding. There are many variations on teaching style and I realised that finding the right instructor was a very individual thing. There are many good teachers but your particular instructor needs to be someone you can work with. With the dawning realisation that the bike was not going to kill me, I breezed through the road test and finally held a full bike licence. Thank you Paul.

In the afternoon, after passing my test, I addressed myself to the 690. Baloo is designed to carry a motorbike on the rear. I had bought a beautiful KTM 690 Enduro R that I was itching to ride. The guys at Unicat told me to buy a 690. I didn’t know one bike from another but they were correct. In the fullness of time this has turned out to be the perfect bike. Back then, it was a steep learning curve in the difference between a tame learner’s bike and the raw performance of a KTM. I fell off. Several times. A few weeks of practise later, I thought I was getting the hang of it, took the bike off-road and fell off some more.

Much tuition later I passed my ERS qualification and then, rather impulsively, bought a KTM 1290 Super Adventure. Absolutely loved this beast. My fear of bikes had now completely evaporated and I felt compelled to ride it every day. Went on to pass the IAM motorbike test. In the summer, Diane and I did a terrific motorbike tour of Europe.

In the spring of 2017, Diane and I got married. We had been together for well over a decade but somehow circumstances had never seemed quite right. Eventually, I surprised the hell out of her by, literally, getting down on one knee and offering her an engagement ring. We rode to the registry office on the KTM 1290 and then had a big party back at the cottage.

My business partner, Andy, and I sold the company. This aspect of the preparation took over a year and was truly horrible. We I had decided 5 years earlier to sell. My position in the business had metamorphosed. When Andy and I first started it was all about computer programming, which I loved. As the company grew I had become exclusively a manager, salesman and accountant – roles that I did not enjoy and was not good at. After 25 years I was totally ready to get out. However, we were both completely unprepared for the uncertainty, anxiety, stress and intense emotional roller coaster ride associated with the process. When the documents were finally signed, both of us were left gasping for breath.

Diane really needed to get her truck licence. Not least from the safety perspective, it is important that we can both drive Baloo. She procrastinated for a long time but eventually, in 2018, decided to get on with it. While she trained for her class C licence I tackled my C+E. This is not necessary to drive Baloo unless we choose to pull a trailer, but I found it interesting and satisfying. Just a few weeks before we were scheduled to collect Baloo, Diane passed her test.

One medical, four theory tests, seven driving tests and a wedding later we were finally ready to start travelling.

Boxes and borders

From Estonia we drove south through Latvia and Lithuania to Poland. We had arranged to meet friends in the bottom, right hand corner of Poland.

Shortly after to getting to Poland I began to form an opinion that driving in Poland was a bit more exciting than normal. The typical driver tended to be faster, closer and more assertive that we had been used to. Clearly one always needs to be careful of broad generalisations so I looked up some statistics. In particular, I looked at the ETSC (European Transport Safety Council) website that contains up to date road safety information. Poland is right up there with a road death rate about three times that in Sweden. Romanian and Bulgaria appear pretty dangerous too. We have that to look forward to. Our first evening in Poland we parked by some lovely forests and found one of the more deadly poisonous mushrooms, Destroying Deathcap, growing abundantly. Feels like you need to be careful in Poland.

Look at this photo closely. It was taken by our dashcam, looking down through the front windscreen. In the top, left you can see another truck. This is approximately the same size as Baloo, 20 tonnes, and doing the same sort of speed. So the gap between the trucks is closing at around 160 kmph (100 mph) which is 44m per second. When that gap closes by another 5m there will not be enough space for the car to fit through. This will take approximately a tenth of a second. Baloo was already as far to the side of the narrow road as possible. I was breaking as hard as I dared given the queue of vehicles that were far too close behind me. All the first two or three cars could see was the back of the truck so if I slowed too rapidly they would all run into each other and me. Our rear under-ride guard suffers enough damage without having to disentangle cars from it as well.

At best, this guy and his passengers avoided dying and causing a major accident by less than two tenths of a second. That is not judgment or skill – just luck.

We met up with the wonderful Lars and Inge with their magnificent Volvo C303 and pottered around Poland for a few days. They have been working hard on the Volvo, turning an aging military vehicle into a terrifically capable overland camper. The weather was working against us. Rain and wind much of the time. We had a few pleasant walks and ate some foraged mushrooms one evening. We camped on a hill, by a river several times, on another hill and finally by a lake. Eventually they headed north to explore Kraków and we were feeling the call to go west in preparation for returning to the UK. A day later the road we been following for hours was abruptly closed. Lacking any diversion information, we wandered down some increasingly narrow lanes and then got forced, by weight restrictions onto the motorway. Five minutes later we were in Slovakia.

When we stumbled into Slovakia we had to buy a tracking box for Baloo. This is how the road toll is paid. The box is pre-paid, you can top it up and the funds trickle away at about €1 per 5 km. I am not a fan of road tolls. I doubt many drivers are. It seems to me that if each country maintained its own roads through national vehicle taxation and made them freely usable by foreigners then the costs would about balance out. However, while the cost of the tolls is an irritation, the implementation of the toll system in some countries can be a real problem. Arriving at the Polish border, I was expecting to need to buy a tracking box. However the border guards thought they were only needed for commercial vehicles and anyhow there was nowhere to buy one. They also cheerfully directed us down a road with a 7.5t weight limit. It was very strange and a bit uncomfortable. I was sure there would be a police car waiting round the corner for us. We got on to an unrestricted road as soon as possible and then avoided the motorways just in case. I still do not really know if a heavy motorhome needs a tracking box in Poland.

Some countries use toll booths. They are rarely suitable for a truck, at least, not a modern truck like Baloo. At the French Péage, my technique is to stop so that the door is just past the automated pay station. Then I can open the door and lean out, hanging onto the window frame, to reach underneath the door and access the ticket slot. In Morocco I looked down out of the window to see a hand reaching out of the ticket office towards me. At full stretch I could just touch the hand with the tip of a ten dirham note. The hand disappeared for a second and then reappeared with my ticket, which I retrieved using the same ligament stretching manoeuvre. Never saw the person, just a hand. Czech Republic uses a similar looking box to Slovakia but, I think, it only charges for certain major roads. For Austria we have a post-pay box linked to a bank account and for Slovenia a box linked to an internet account that I can top up remotely. Our collection of boxes is steadily growing.

Would you drive a 20t truck over a 10t bridge?

Baloo is registered as a motorhome (wohnmobile) rather than a commercial vehicle and in some countries this is respected. Germany for example, charges a toll on all heavy goods vehicles but not motorhomes. In Norway they use number plate recognition cameras. The implementation is almost painless in that you do not need to anything. You can register on the Norwegian toll company website. I think they will still find you and send you bill even if you do not register but it gave us the opportunity to prove our motorhome status and get a reduction. As described in an earlier blog, Hungary uses it toll system to prohibit all but the keenest large motorhome drivers. This may not be an intentional consequence so I would encourage them to rethink what they are doing.

Three more days of steady driving and a blast along the German autobahns saw us back at the Unicat workshop. We left Baloo to be serviced and tested, jumped in the car and set off back to the UK. The blast of Covid bureaucracy was staggering. Most of Europe is getting on with life now but approaching the UK we stepped back into the thick of the pandemic and country that loves its paperwork. At the port I had to spend twenty minutes re-doing our passenger locator forms. These cannot be changed, only re-done from the start. We had come from Germany and were told to include being in the Netherlands. The reality was that the only time our feet touched the ground in the Netherlands was the twenty minutes when we had to go into the terminal building to redo our passenger locator forms. Cent had a narrow escape. On the previous day his passport had only been marked with the date of his worming treatment and not the exact time. The requirements are that the treatment should be between 24 and 120 hours before entering GB. Mathematically there was no strict necessity for an exact time. The previous day was separated from the arrival time by at least 30 hours but no more than 54 hours. I considered getting out the blackboard and chalk but obviously it was more productive to just to smile hopefully while petting the dog. The official consulted with two other officials and someone senior. Not sure if they eventually worked it out but they did agree, on this occasion, to let the omission pass.

Estonia

We reluctantly started to make our way south. Both of us really like Finland and resolved we should try and come back to spend a bit more time here. The mosquitos are a bit of a pest so our plan would be to arrive in the north at the end of summer. Once the temperature drops the mosquitos go away. Then we would stay until it gets too cold. Hopefully catch some more aurora. We saw the Northern Lights in Finland just once this trip, the day Cent had his operation. Another motorhome had arrived late on and they came banging on the door about 11pm to tell us the aurora was out. It was faint in the late twilight sky but still quite visible and exciting to experience.

Meanwhile, plodding south, there were still many forests and lakes to explore. They are a complete delight and we spent many contented hours wandering small tracks and lakesides. Gave me chance for a bit more swimming as well.

Also, many mushrooms still to collect. Our identification skills are slowly improving. It can sometimes be difficult to be certain about a mushroom from the picture and description in a book. We have taken to occasionally accosting other foragers to see what they are collecting. They are usually quite obliging and even a bit proud of their collections. Once you have positively identified a particular species it tends to get a lot easier to spot them again. On this trip we have extended our knowledge of edibles by at least eight more fungi. One high light was discovering Matsutake mushrooms. These are highly prized in Japan and can fetch a significant price but have only fairly recently been recognized in Finland. We only found a modest handful but they made a tasty snack fried up in butter with a bit of garlic.

Arriving at Helsinki in the afternoon, we found a quite parking spot well outside the main part of the city. Our ferry to Tallinn sailed the following morning so we got the motorbike out and had a run into town. This gave us a bit of a look around the main parts of the city and was also a useful reconnaissance of the route to the ferry terminal. To be honest, neither of us are great lovers of cities and a brief tour by bike was fine. Helsinki seems like a very nice place but was very quiet. Most of the bars and restaurants are still closed. The harbour area especially, was clean and colourful with many small boats, sailing yachts and immense power boats.

Next day we boarded a half-empty ferry and three hours later arrived in Estonia. Getting out of the harbour area proved tricky because of the narrow streets and weight restrictions. We were happy when we had not only escaped the confines of Tallinn but also avoided any damage or fines. So we headed for the country and by the evening were back in a forest. Our natural environment.

Peregrination

Our Scandinavian peregrination continues. Peregrination – “noun, a journey, especially a long or meandering one”. Seems to fit what we are doing perfectly. In the north of Sweden we found a few hills. We also found some snow and many reindeer. There are several long valleys that run westward towards Norway. These are picturesque, quiet and peaceful so we lingered a while.

Once we’d finished lingering, we got the bike out and rode right down to the far end of the valley. We could have taken Baloo but the bike was much better suited to the narrow, winding road. Also, we really enjoy having the occasional ride out. On the way back we spotted the sign for a feature. It looks like this ⌘ Apple people will recognise it as the command key but in fact it has been used to indicate places of interest across Scandinavia since the 1950s. This particular one was showing us the way to a waterfall. To Diane’s dismay, this involved walking along planks for most of the way. Balance was required but it kept us from the bog. The waterfall at the end was worth it.

This far north it is getting close to the limits of where trees can grow. We had a few walks and saw how you only need to climb a couple of hundred metres before the trees give way to small, stunted bushes of silver birch. Then, a little way higher, nothing but moss, heathers and grasses.

The mosquitoes thrive in the valleys and get quite voracious at times. Chemical repellent helps a little, so does the smoke from a fire, a strong wind and hiding inside Baloo with the windows shut. Camping nearly always involves a fire. There are campfires everywhere and no shortage of wood. In the summer your fire provides protection from mosquitoes and in the winter it stops you freezing to death. Possibly worse that mosquitoes, are their little cousins, the midges. These little blighters can get through the mesh covers we have on the windows. Occasionally, we have woken up in the morning covered in little tiny lumps where they have been biting us.

My previous visit to Kiruna was in 1981 with fellow venture scout Tim Mulroy. We arrived by train in March and set off to ski to Narvik on the Norwegian coast. I really cannot recall why we decided that this particular route was a good idea. Neither of us had skied before and we had never been in the arctic. It was a steep learning curve. We made our way through the mountains, skiing very badly while carrying large rucksacks. We camped most of the time, even on frozen lakes. There were a few cold nights and some terrible food but we prevailed and it was a terrific experience. We achieved the requirements of the scout Independent Explorer Belt. It is a kind of badge, except that you receive a nice belt with a compass on it. I still have it.

Lappland

We are in Lappland. Not to be confused with Lapland, which is part of Finland. However, both areas are often called Lapland and frankly this just adds to the confusion. Lappland originally included the Finish Lapland but was annexed in 1809 by Russia. Lapland became part of the Grand Duchy of Finland, an autonomous part of the Russian Empire and predecessor to Finland as we know it now. We plan to visit Lapland, home of Santa Claus, shortly. For now we are in Lappland.

Just after I wrote this, as if to prove me completely wrong, we drove past a signpost for “Lapland Airport” in Sweden.

Sweden has a lot of lakes. Lakes and trees. Sweden is mostly lakes and trees. In an attempt to embrace the lake culture I have been swimming in a few of them. I used to be very keen on swimming but went off public pools several years ago. The thought of swimming in a tepid mixture of chlorine and human effluent is just too revolting. You need a shower when you get out, for goodness sake. Also it made my eyes sting for the rest of the day. The lakes in Sweden are beautifully clear and fresh. They are a bit chilly. Some of them are really chilly. Slightly to my surprise I have found myself coming to like this. In fact, I feel like I have rediscovered swimming. The water is beautifully clean, the scenery is fabulous, I come out feeling refreshed an invigorated. Then I have to get dressed really quickly before the mosquitoes find me.

Sweden has a lot of trees. Trees and lakes. Forestry is a national activity. They probably teach it at infant school. My first chainsaw; a felt toy at age three. The forests all appear to be well managed. In any region you can usually spot areas in all stages of the forestry process from the recently clear-felled, through compartments in various stages of regrowth, to the mature trees. This scale of forestry requires big machines, much bigger than Baloo: harvesters cut the trees down, forwarders carry the logs to the roadside and trucks carry the logs to the saw mills. Consequently the supporting roads and tracks are, for the most part, quite suitable for us to drive along. There is a whole network of smaller roads and tracks which we have been exploring.

Down one such track we came across a sign that read “Husky farm”. So we were compelled to investigate and indeed, we found a husky farm. I have no idea why huskies are bred in farms whereas other dogs are bred in kennels. The owner, Constantin, was very friendly and happy to show us round. This despite the recent downturn in tourism which just about drove his business down to nothing. The dogs are quite small, very fit and agile, bred for stamina rather than strength. They were also very friendly and much calmer than I had expected. This time of year it is too hot to run them so mostly they just laze around but they seemed very happy doing this.

Pushing further north the countryside becomes more rugged, people are more sparse and the mosquitoes are more voracious. We saw an Elk which I completely failed to photograph. We have also see quite a lot of reindeer. Trying to photograph these is tricky because they always spot you first and wander off. We have a lot of pictures of reindeer bottoms. Eventually we crossed the Arctic circle. This is the geographic line that marks the start of the midnight sun. A roadside parking area marked the line and some large billboards announced the grandeur of the midnight sun. However, it was overcast, cold and raining so some of the splendor of crossing the line might have been lost on us.

Sweden

In two months we have to be back in the UK. We figured this was just long enough to circumnavigate the Gulf of Bothnia. We would see a bit more Scandinavia, this time in the summer, and more of eastern Europe.

We took our time heading north. Settling back into the rhythm of travelling while exploring some of the wonderful forests in northern Germany. The forests are suffering at the moment. Extreme weather events, three successive droughts, storms and forest fires are taking their toll. Some areas have massive bark beetle infections. Vast tracts of forest are being clear-felled, leaving the hills bruised, battered and bare.

Suburban camping – sorry about upsetting the neighbours

In the very north of Germany we visited Kai and his wife Urte whom we had first met outside the walls of Taroudant in Morocco. We had a terrific evening eating, drinking and listening to some remarkable and scary tales of their desert travels in a Unimog back in the days when it was actually possible to drive south to north through Algeria. Next day we crossed into Denmark and spent a couple of days with the ever wonderful Lars and Inge. They loaded us up with fantastic homemade and home grown produce before we headed for the coast.

A quiet night on the beach and we were ready for the ferry to Sweden. Two years ago we had driven over the bridge from Copenhagen. The bridge is an awesome engineering achievement and fun to drive across. It is also very expensive. This time we took the slightly cheaper and much more sedate ferry to Halmstad. By the evening we were parked next to some woods in Sweden.

North and still further north. For the first couple of days it rained. We plodded along in the drizzle watching endless forests and lakes go past. Before long the roads were getting quieter and we felt we were leaving the bustle of holiday season in southern Sweden behind us.

We both enjoy being in and around woodland. In years past, we owned a small plot of ancient woodland. This was a complete delight and the perfect retreat from the stresses of running a small company. It also taught both of us a lot. We achieved a formal qualification in woodland management but more importantly, we also learned to deeply appreciate what goes on in the forest. The way balance is achieved and the delicate interactions between the vast multitude of living things deep in a forest is quite remarkable. These days we are very happy to spend time exploring and experiencing new forests.

The weather cleared up just as we happened to find ourselves in a quiet, secluded area of forest. So we stayed there for a while. Exploring the forest we discovered discarded antlers and other traces of reindeer. We also found an abundance of fungi. I was particularly proud to find an example of the mushroom featured on the cover picture of my mushroom book. We also found a wonderful edible fungus called Hedgehog mushroom. This is a firm, white mushroom that makes excellent eating. After a bit of sorting, we gently fried them in butter with a dash of fresh thyme and black pepper. Went perfectly with a glass of white wine.

Hungary

Two months of housekeeping chores. Mostly this was sorting out some of the post-Brexit officialdom that has been dumped on us. Being in mainland Europe during the final spasms of Brexit has not only been deeply embarrassing but has also caused us a whole bunch of practical problems. Other jobs on the list included making a few improvements to Baloo and getting Covid vaccinations. This has now all happened but was a bit of a chore and some days ran dangerously close to tedium. Cent is now German. Britain has turned its back on the European pet passport scheme so British dogs cannot sensibly travel abroad any more. In fact, because Cent was out of the UK when the Brexit guillotine fell, he was in serious danger of becoming an illegal immigrant. Happily, he is now a genuinely German, German Shepherd with a passport recognized all around Europe and in the UK as well.

At the end of June, with our chores almost complete, we made a short trip to Bologna to meet up with Franca and Davide. They have a beautiful house in the countryside that they let us use for a few days. They also acted as local guides, giving us a great insight into life in this part of Italy. We stood on the beach at San Marino – but only briefly because it was very hot. We visited a vineyard in the hills and then visited a dog sanctuary run by Lia. Here the dogs could play in the river and cool off properly. Italy is hot in the summer. Cent and I struggled with the heat a bit.

We went to a producer of Balsamico di Modena (in Modena of course) where we saw how vinegar is made and drank some that was 100 years old. Most “Balsamic” is ordinary vinegar with artificial colouring and flavouring. Having tasted the real thing it is obvious why, but still rather sad, that it is copied so frequently.

We ate breakfast Italian style – strong, fresh coffee with sweet pastries. We explored the old city of Bologna and visited a big church on a hill. One evening we went to the most remarkable shop where we tasted many types of wine. Each one was paired with some tasty cheese or other small serving of food. For me, this was the perfect way to spend an evening.

Somehow, during the day or even last thing in the evening, there always seemed to be ice cream. Not just ice cream but intensely creamy and very tasty Italian ice cream. Even I enjoyed it – and I don’t like ice cream.

We needed to get back to Germany for our second covid jabs but we promised to return, possibly when the weather was a little cooler. Coming back over the Swiss Alps we took in a couple of mountain passes, partially to enjoy the views but also to enjoy being cool for a while.

Balsamico di Modena begins life as grapes

Travelling in Austria is difficult and expensive. We tried it twice and vowed never to go there again. However we wanted to go to Budapest to buy some sand ladders so we chose to suck it up, pay the tolls and straight line Austria to get to Hungary. We were looking forward to visiting Hungary.

Hungary has the most remarkable road toll system. Like many people, I am not a fan of road tolls. Modern European road tolls arrived in the 20^th century to fund the development of the motorway network. The Italians started all this in 1924. In the 1950s France, Spain and Portugal began an enormous expansion of motorways based entirely on tolls. These days pretty much every European country has some sort of toll system. We have noted before that entry into Switzerland is usually about making sure that you have paid the toll. Other countries take things a bit further by requiring vehicles, usually the heavier vehicles, to carry tracking devices that are detected by sensors on overhead gantries. This is linked to an account which is debited every time you pass a sensor. The device emits a ding when this happens but in my mind it is more like the “ker-ching” sound of a cash register.

Hungary, we discovered, has now raised the bar even higher if you drive a vehicle over 3.5t, regardless of classification. Each day, you need to visit a special machine which will plan your route for you. Obviously you need to know where you are going first and in some detail. There is no chance of stumbling upon the serendipitously perfect place to end the day. You need to choose from a list of approved destinations. If it is not on the list then you cannot go there. Then you need to enter your vehicle information – weight, dimensions, registration details and so on. With this the great machine constructs your route. It will choose motorways even if this is the long way around or if this by-passes a scenic route. The machine informs you of the cost. The route is printed and you go to the cash desk to pay for it. This involves a microphone to record the conversation, a prepared speech (in Hungarian – I have no idea what was said) a couple of signatures, payment and more speech. The route is valid for 24 hours. You must have a pre-paid route for every trip you do and you cannot deviate from the route.

In practice, what this means in terms of exploring Hungary, is that you can drive around a few motorways. You will pay a lot to explore these two lane, poorly maintained, motorways and at night you get to park in one of the rubbish strewn service stations. I guess pre-booked space at a campsite might be an option but it would need to be pre-booked because if you got there and they were full – you would have to immediately find a machine to make a route and pay the toll to go – to go where? – well, somewhere on the list that you could spend a night, probably a service station.

We entered Hungary having paid €25 for a D2 vehicle ‘sticker’. With the information presented at the official website this appeared to be good for a motorhome for ten days. To be on the safe side I checked with a roadside office when we arrived. They were displaying big signs with the exact same information as the website. All good then? No. No – not at all good. We were escorted several kilometers down the road to the Nemzeti Útdíjfizetési Szolgáltató (National Toll Payment Services) office in Lébény. Here I was introduced to the great machine and told we were not a D2 but a J3. Baloo is officially registered as a motorhome (wohnmobil). This is respected in most of Europe to distinguish it from a commercial vehicle. In the National Toll Payment Services office this distinction was irrelevant. Where did I want to go? Well – we wanted to potter around Hungary for a couple of days absorbing some scenery and culture before ending up in Budapest to buy sand ladders. But where exactly do you want to go? I pointed to the map and we typed a destination into the machine. It described a long route which was almost entirely motorway. And where will you stay? No idea. We usually just rock up somewhere and find a quiet spot. It slowly dawned on me that the only way we could ‘potter’ would be to move between pre-determined service stations so at this point, we bailed. Hungary was clearly impossible. I explained that I just wanted to return the 10km we had come from the border with Austria. Most of this distance was while we were being escorted to the office. Back to the great machine. Create a route back to the border, enter the vehicle details and pay the €10. Do we have to pay for driving to the National Toll Payment Services office? Yes. Any chance of credit on the D2 sticker we were misled in to buying? No. No chance at all.

That was our experience of Hungary. 10km of motorway, seen in both directions, at a cost of €35. Temperature 30°C. Traffic moderate. Scenery non-existent. Most of the time spent in a soulless National Toll Payment Services office poring over a soulless machine getting my money patiently removed by soulless officials. This now makes Hungary our most unwelcoming country in Europe and Austria is relegated to number two.

This was the only photograph I took in Hungary

From Austria we looped south to Italy before returning via Switzerland. Europe is clearly getting back to normal. Housekeeping done, jabs done, truck done – time to get back on the road.

Austria viewed from motorway service areas

Samnaun (still)

An unseasonal cold spell and occasional snowy days kept the ski area in great condition right up to the official closing date of 25^th April. I skied roughly every other day. Right next to the camping area was a prepared piste, less than a kilometre, down to the cable car. I could put my skis on within a 20 second walk from Baloo. Perfect. The cable car was a double decker capable of carrying 180 people. Most mornings there would just be 20 or so skiers. We all had to wear masks and all the windows in the cabin were left were open.

Up on the slopes were half a dozen chair lifts servicing sixteen pistes. All of which were kept immaculately groomed. This is only about 1/3 of the skiable area but the rest was in Austria and closed. Most days there were very few other people skiing so there were some excellent opportunities for making fresh tracks on and off the piste. I got to know the mountains better and started to work out where the good snow would be and how the weather conditions would affect it. On a few good days, powder days, I was lucky enough to be able to ski some beautiful deep soft fresh snow before anyone else had got there.

At lunchtime there was a great run down into the valley from where I could catch a bus back up to the campsite. The same run, by late afternoon, was often getting a bit messed up. Tricky soft snow with the consistency of sugar. On the last few days the snow was not so much white as the colour of mud with an assortment of small branches and the odd rock mixed in. At the bottom of this run was the only grocery store in four villages. Very handy as I could nip in and grab a few supplies before catching the bus back up to where Baloo was parked.

On other days, Diane and I would walk or take the bike for a spin. The old road down the Swiss side of the valley was the only place we could ride. In the small tunnels there were icy patches so extreme care was needed. Once down the valley it was warm and sunny. This made for a few great days out.

Everyone and everything appeared to anticipate the official closing date, 25^th April. Just two days earlier the marmots appeared. We had not seen a hint of them all the time we had been there and then, suddenly, there were marmots and marmot holes everywhere. Even up on the prepared skiing areas. They clearly knew when the lifts were closing and when they would be able to get on with whatever it is marmots do. A small group of ibex appeared near the top cable car station. The four of them paid no attention at all when the cable car went past. Unfortunately the windows were so scratched it that it was impossible to take photographs. Even the small piste from the campsite got in on the act. The day before closing I just managed to ski along it. A small detour through a bush was required and balancing on one leg was needed for another section. The next day it was completely impassable.

The day after the resort closed the valley was deserted. Even the bread shop closed. On the campsite the only other vehicle was an immense MAN coach based motorhome owned by Carston and Silke. It is even bigger than Baloo and they keep their Porsche in the back. We packed up, said goodbye and set off back to Germany via Covid tests, registration forms and quarantine.

Samnaun

There are two roads up the valley to the collection of little Swiss villages that is Samnaun. The old road goes up the Swiss side of the valley and features three very small, unlit tunnels. A sign at the bottom of the road indicates a maximum height limit of 3.0 m, width 2.3 m, length 10 m and weight 10 t. Baloo fails on all four counts so we needed the newer road on the Austrian side of the valley. Because of Covid, popping in and out of Switzerland is not the trivial task it used to be. Fortunately they have a system. Once we explained where we were going to the Austrian border guards they gave us a piece of paper that, 12km further up the road, we gave to the border guards as we returned to Switzerland.

That sorted, we settled into the duty free enclave of Samnaun. The place boasts 50 duty free shops. This may well be true but the difficulty is buying ordinary food like carrots. Pretty much every shop can sell you vodka, cigarettes, chocolate and perfume. Potatoes are a much more difficult. In fact, there is just a single general grocery store about 4km down the valley from the campsite. The bakery is much closer. They sell cigarettes and vodka along with bread but also have locally produced eggs, butter and cheese. The eggs are the largest hens’ eggs I have ever seen.

In a normal year, the ski area links with the Austrian Ischgl area. Unfortunately Ischgl was the location of one of the big super spreader Coronavirus events last year. Thousands of people headed home from the bars, restaurants, night clubs and other après ski venues carrying the virus with them. Now the place is very firmly shut down. Completely. Ski lifts and everything. So Samnaun is a much quieter place than normal. There are a few visitors, mostly Germans in motorhomes. A few hotels are open. Bars, restaurants and other indoor venues are closed. Fortunately the ski lifts are open. The skiable area is much reduced but still ample for a good day’s skiing. The slopes are very quiet. No lift queues. On powder days there are plenty of fresh places to go round.

The campsite or wohnmobilplatz, is just for campervans. There is probably space here for 25 or more vehicles but today there are just 5. We have electricity, water and somewhere to empty our tanks. That is all we need really. There are showers and a toilet block but we don’t use them. We are at the end of a valley so it is very quiet. No through traffic in fact hardly any traffic at all.

I’ve been enjoying some skiing. Diane’s knee is still getting better. She can walk quite well now but skiing for this year is probably out. We have been exploring the local area. I did a couple of trips on my touring skis. We got the snow shoes out and walked up a small but very pretty valley. No idea where we will go next. Europe is still locked down for the most part so just now Switzerland continues to look like our best option.

Switzerland

We were not exactly getting bored parked up outside the Unicat workshop, but there was an element of running out of interesting things to do. We had walked along the canal looking at the Coypu. We had walked down to the Rhine when it was in flood to see the inundated forests.

When it snowed, we lined all the Unicat trucks up and took a photo of them. I did an interview for the new Unicat web site that will be very embarrassing if it is ever used. We contemplated the project to mount an Airstream caravan on the back of a 6×6 – and wondered why. We fitted additional snow chain hooks onto Baloo and bought a second set of chains.

Then the boss told us that he thought Switzerland was still open for business. Some of the ski areas were still running and, importantly, some of the campsites were open. The significance of the campsites is that, uniquely in Europe, it was legitimate to be driving around in a motor home. A few days planning later, we were ready. The idea was to visit campsites by ski lifts, stay a while at each and get a bit of skiing in.

Arriving at the Swiss border, we explained who we were and what we were doing. No problem at all. The border officials’ main concern was that we had paid the road tax on Baloo. I have an app for that.

First stop was Savogin, a pleasant little village where the campsite was a roped off section of the car park. According to Google maps, the car park is a lake in the summer. We could walk to the ski lift. There was a bakery and a cheese shop nearby. All good.

This time last year, many ski resorts were closed in the wake of ‘super spreading’ events. Through most of Europe, the ski areas are still closed. Switzerland is the exception. We now know that SARS-CoV-2, the virus that causes COVID-19, spreads from an infected person to others through respiratory droplets and aerosols created when an infected person coughs, sneezes, sings, shouts, or talks. Setting ripe for transmission are:

closed spaces
crowded places
close-contact settings and close-range conversations
settings where there is singing, shouting or heavy breathing, for example, during exercise

The après-ski scene caused the big outbreaks. The bars, restaurants and, in particular, the night clubs packed with dancing, singing people all breathing the same air for hours at a time. Up on the slopes, the air is clean and fresh. It is easy to keep your distance. Some of the lifts present a minor risk but even so there is plenty of fresh air and the time spent on each lift is small. Use of masks may help.

The enlightened Swiss approach is to close bars, restaurant and clubs but keep the lifts open. This has been the case for many months now and has proven to be safe. So, we are not breaking any rules and still get to ski. The slopes are quiet. With much of Europe in various states of lock down not many people can travel. Some hotels are open but obviously, there is risk associated with this. We are very happy in our personal, mobile space, living a life of isolation where the only real contact we have with anyone is when we buy food.

We skied for a week in Savignon. It was very pleasant. Most of the lifts are draglifts. Very safe Covid-wise but tiring compared to the small rest you get on a chair lift. Our last day of skiing, Saturday, Diane took a tumble. We could not ski down the very last piste because they were preparing it for night skiing. Instead, we were directed down the sledging route. This is very narrow, just a couple of metres wide in places. Also very bumpy and icy. Diane mastered the most difficult bit like a pro but then got caught out a bit further down and sprained her knee. Getting off the mountain was a tricky combination of half carrying and half skiing. We took the direct route to the nearest village then banged on the door of the first house and asked if they would call us a taxi. The very nice people there got their own car out and took us back to Baloo. Given the Covid situation, I thought this was an act of exceptional compassion. Thank you nice people.

We moved onto Flims. The campsite was very friendly but had a bit of a problem with the size of Baloo. Eventually, we were put down the bottom of a road by the sports centre. This was a nice enough place but meant a long walk in ski boots to the lifts. Diane could not really walk very much in any event. There were a few sunny days so I got the bike out and enjoyed a couple of runs along the valley. This and some lovely walks in the woods with Cent were about it for Flims and a week later we moved on.

Schwarzwald

The Covid is messing with our travel plans. It is messing with everyone’s plans, not just travel plans. I am not complaining. The problem for us is about deciding where to go. We have been camped in the field at Unicat for way too long. Christmas is going to bring a surge of new outbreaks and the evolution of a new, more infectious strain makes things even worse. We are hoping that patience is the key. This will be over soon. There will be an effective vaccine program and then life will get much easier. In the meantime, we have to stay safe and follow the rules. International travel is possible. but problematic in a motor home. We are clearly not travelling on business or going back home. We would need to pay for Covid tests at every border. The situation could change with very little notice and we might end up stuck again. For a while, we are going to stay in Germany, explore the hills and forests, avoid people.

The Black Forest is a large, forested area of mountains in the bottom, left hand corner of Germany just to the south of the Unicat workshop. It is roughly 160km NS by 50km. To the South is Switzerland and to the West is France. Tourism is important. There are many attractions and pretty villages. There are also numerous hiking trails and large tracts of forest and hills. We can park in lay-bys and designated parking areas for a night or two, do a walk in the local area and then move on. Some places were very busy. I guess nobody has gone away on holiday. No one had gone to visit friends or relatives. The cinemas, hotels, leisure centres, bars and tourist attractions are all closed. One of the few activities left is to drive out to the hills and go for a walk. Fortunately, we could still find some quiet places and usually, a kilometre or so away from the car park there was nobody at all.

The snow came. A great big overnight dump that transformed the scenery. Me and the dog got very excited about it. There are a few ski areas in the Black Forest. Typically, they have one draglift and one piste. All closed because of the Covid but after the snow came they were packed with visitors. The car parks were full to bursting and overflowing. The slopes were thick with people, sledges, skis, children and the occasional dog. We did our best to stay well clear but even so were caught up in a traffic jam caused by excessive roadside parking.

By New Year’s Eve, we were pushing the limits in terms of finding quiet places and found ourselves on a very narrow road deep in the woods. The road climbed up and the snow was falling. Just after we reached the highest point, the truck started sliding. We were only going slowly. Not much more than walking pace. However, Baloo was inexorably slipping sideways. The soft fresh snow compressed to wet ice under the tyres and gave us no grip at all. I stuck the front left wheel into the ditch to stop us. To the right was a steep, wooded slope that I really did not want to get involved with. We eased the truck forward to straighten it up on the road and dropped the rear wheels into the ditch to get everything stable and safe.

Several deep breaths later, we set about getting the snow chains out. These were stowed inside the spare wheels for summer storage and it took us over an hour just to get them ready. Baloo has work lights front and back. These proved to be very effective in the gathering darkness, reflecting off the snow on the floor and in the trees to illuminate the whole area. Normally snow chains are fitted by laying them out on the road and driving the vehicle to pull them onto the tyres. We had to modify this approach because one wheel was in a ditch. I managed to get very wet and muddy. Eventually, the chains were in place and we set about getting out of the ditch. With diff-locks fully engaged this worked really well but we needed to be very careful about the rear wheels. We only have one pair of chains, fitted at the front, so there is nothing to stop the rear wheels sliding sideways. This had never been a problem in our previous ice travels but now it was a serious worry. The road was treacherously slippery with quite a steep camber towards a very steep slope into the forest. The dark made this look especially ominous. We reversed back up the hill. The camber was less this way and pushing the vehicle carefully uphill we could make sure that rear wheels did not drift sideways. A few hundreds of meters later, we reached a level patch where we could park off the road and finally relax. The champagne to celebrate the New Year was particularly enjoyable.

Next morning, not a single vehicle had passed in the night. The snowplough came past about 8 am dropping grit behind it. We had a slow start and by the time we left, just before midday, the road was completely clear of ice and snow.

Over the next few days, we completed our exploration of the Schwarz Wald (Black Forest). Found a few more delightful places to walk and some quiet corners to park. Eventually we turned back towards the Unicat workshop. Time, yet again, to reappraise our travel plans. Also we might think about getting a second pair of snow chains.

Fettling

We have been fettling Baloo. A few repairs and a few modifications at the Unicat workshop.

Our nine-month trip to Morocco was quite harsh on the truck in some respects. The dust from the desert gets everywhere. It is quite remarkably invasive and persistent. I imagine we will still be finding it years from now. In addition, the sea air is insidiously corrosive. The windows suffered quite badly from this combination of attacks. The blinds jammed up with dust, the hinges seized up and even the stainless steel metalwork had developed a patina. Fortunately, the windows are solidly built. I was able to completely dismantle them for cleaning, oiling and rubbing down. Most of the blinds were freed up without problem although we did need to replace two that had ripped. Cleaned and reassembled they are looking good again.

Many of the door locks and switches were jamming up with dust. Especially the ones at the rear of the vehicle that, at times, was completely enveloped in dense, billowing clouds of the Sahara’s best. Careful cleaning was the key to restoring the locks. Compressed air helped a lot and gave rise to several minor workshop sand storms. One of the rear compartments locks had failed completely so this was replaced. Extra seals have been installed wherever possible.

The truck parked next to Baloo in the Unicat workshop is “Hungry Wheels“.

The water at Insouane was drawn from a well. This is common practise in Morocco. Some of the well water is beautifully clear and fresh. Unfortunately, the Insouane water was not only slightly saline but also very high in dissolved solids. All our pans and the kettle became thickly coated in carbonate deposits. This is easy enough to deal with but I was concerned that our hot water tank could become clogged. Several internet searches and some calculations later saw me pouring a citric acid solution into the tank. After heating, we drained this out along with loads of brown sludge. Eventually it ran clear. Hopefully this has helped preserve the tank a little longer.

The under ride guard is a continual problem. It is a horizontal bar at the rear of the truck designed to stop a car accidentally going underneath. We can fold it away when we go off-road but even so, it is quite easy to catch. Previously we have damaged it. This time we brought it back in pieces. The guard is a requirement for TUV so we need to have one. The Unicat workshop did a magnificent job of hammering, grinding and welding. Finally, a coat of paint and it looks like new. Ready to save the next car that runs into the back of us. Unicat also designed some nifty removable mud flaps (spray suppressors). When we go off-road we will be able to take them off rather than rip them off as has tended to happen so far.

In April, while we were locked down in Morocco, I described our concern about the state of the tyres. They made it back to Germany but were looking seriously knackered. We now have six nice new ones and have switched from Michelin to Continental. The new tyres are a bit harder and have a slightly less aggressive tread pattern. They will not clear mud so well but might be better behaved on the road and longer lasting. The best two old tyres are now our spares. The motorcycle rack has been extended so that we can carry two wheels. In Feb, way out in the desert, we realised that two spare tyres were essential for travel in to remote places. The motorcycle is now secured in a different and hopefully much better way. This avoids having a clamp onto the saddle and compressing the suspension right down. It also allows the bike to fit more snugly to the tyres. Overall the bike rack is just 200mm longer. At the other end of the truck we have installed dual shock absorbers to make the vehicle a bit more stable off-road.

Other jobs included a second mast on the cab roof. This gives us more altitude for the WiFi bridging antenna. A solar powered extractor fan has been installed in the bathroom. In the cab is a new mount for an iPad dedicated to navigation. In addition, we replaced the drawers behind the driver’s seat with a set that do not rattle. The noise of the old draw unit upset the dog. For further canine comfort, we have installed a high anchor point for his harness with a rotating joint to reduce tangling problems. We thought about fitting an external awning but eventually opted for a gazebo as being much more flexible. In the bedroom, we have installed curtains. This may seems like an obvious one but many similar vehicles do not have them. The window has an internal blind and a fly shield. If the window is open then the blind has to be at least partially open to allow fresh air to circulate. This also lets the light in so when the bright desert sun comes up at 5am it shines right in your face. Curtains keep the bedroom dark and make it feel cosier. We are very happy with them.

Baloo is fully serviced TUV is passed. We are just about ready to go.

Thuringia

Not long after we arrived back at the Unicat workshop, the incomparable Lars and Inge turned up from Denmark. They have bought a 45-year-old Volvo C303 and wanted to try it out for camping. This is a magnificent 4×4 ex-military vehicle. Enormously capable off-road and with a bit more space than a Land Rover to live in.

We met them near Rothenberg and spent the next day exploring the ancient walled city. Interesting place with some lovely old buildings. Very quiet because of the Covid but that actually quite suited us. We are not very happy in crowds.

From there we went on a bit of a tour of Thuringia. Rolling hills and colourful autumnal forests. Autumnal weather as well – mostly cold and damp. We found some lovely areas to drive in. Walked in the woods and explored an old castle.

A week later, Lars and Inge had to get back home. Diane and I continued pottering for another week and then headed back to the Unicat workshop. Hopefully, by now, some of the stuff on order for Baloo has arrived.

Britain

We had finally escaped from Africa and were back at the Unicat workshop. Specifically we were camped at the end of a field that Unicat use for training and testing. First, we needed to complete two weeks isolation. Next job was to head back to the UK but we had no idea when would be a good time or where we would stay. Our plan, from a year ago, was to travel around, visiting friends and family, staying as guests and using a few hotels. The Covid meant this was no longer a good plan. Instead, we managed to find a cottage we could rent for a few weeks and also leaned rather heavily on the ever-supportive Liz & Andy.

While arrangements were being made, we did a second interview for Unicat. This one was about our travels out to Mauritania. You can see it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZBrLt-zKQLQ .

I also drove Baloo over a small hill designed for driver training. Then I did it again and Bernhard, ace drone pilot at Unicat, made a short video.

We also went on a short canoeing trip with the boss of Unicat, Thomas. He and Claudia were terrific hosts and very proficient. Despite our complete lack of paddling experience, we had a thoroughly enjoyable time. Diane only capsized the boat once.

Returning to the UK in the midst of a pandemic was a strange and slightly disturbing experience. Many things were just as we had left them but now with different behaviours, making the familiar feel unfamiliar. Each country deals with the lock down in its own way. With England, we could sense the plethora of petty rules and social controls. At one supermarket, the disabled parking bays were inexplicably closed off. At another, we were chased away from the checkout and made to walk a small maze of one-way aisles to the designated queuing area. Nobody else was waiting so we proceeded to exactly the same checkout but this time, having arrived from the correct and presumably Covid-safe direction, we were allowed to pay for our goods. We rented a cottage for a few weeks and the day before we arrived, I received a text message. It explained, very politely, that because of the Covid situation, the cafetiere had been removed from the premises. Coffee without Coronavirus. I have yet to understand this.

We managed to get to see most of our friends and family. This was also strange and rather unsatisfactory. I have never regarded myself as much of a touchy-feely person but it seems I do miss the odd hug or even a handshake. None the less, we stuck to rules and waved to friends over the garden fence. For the most part, there was a lot of walking. This was actually a very pleasant way to spend some time catching up. We had several thoroughly enjoyable treks into the hills. We even went for a walk with my Mum. A couple of days later we took a freshly cooked hot meal round that we shared sitting in the garden.

Visiting the UK was also about a bunch of housekeeping chores. Seeing the doctor, the optician, the dentist (I now have one less tooth) and that sort of thing. Also applying for a new passport and driving licence. We had flu jabs and got the car serviced. Eventually, chores and visiting done, we headed back to the (relative) safety of Baloo. The second wave of virus was grabbing hold and we were concerned that if we waited then we might not be able to leave the country at all. Given that we have nowhere to live in the UK this would have been problematic.

The Hull-Rotterdam ferry, in both directions, was pretty much deserted. Dinner was just us and one other couple in the dining room. It all felt quite safe and actually rather pleasant. I think we saw more shipboard staff than other passengers so service levels were outstanding. Back in Germany, we needed a Covid test and five days isolation. Now we are allowed back into society.

Ferry

A steady drive to a service station. Then, next day, another steady drive to the last service station before the port at Tanger Med. Not very much to be said about the motorway. It is just a motorway with many tollbooths. The cab window in Baloo is too high for most of the toll pay stations. I need to drive just past the machine, take off my seatbelt, open the door, lean down and poke my credit card out under the cab door to reach the card payment slot. It is a bit acrobatic and, on occasion, involves reading the instructions upside down. In French.

At the last station before Tanger we met the lovely Kim and Jan of Phoca Mobil https://www.phoca-mobil.be/en/ in their MAN truck called “Bakkie”. We have known of Phoca Mobil for several years and been following their blog. Our paths have nearly crossed many times. They were in Norway at the same time as us. It is about time we met up with them. Their truck is mostly self-built and they have made a terrific job of it. And they had washed it so Baloo was looking very scruffy when they were parked together.

In the morning, we had time to kill. Ferry was not scheduled to sail until 10pm. With Phoca Mobil we drove a way up the coast past the port. Partly this was to go fill up with cheap Moroccan diesel but it was also a nice drive. We stopped for lunch high in the hills looking out of the Mediterranean. Europe was clearly visible in the distance. 2pm we got back to the port. Our tickets were checked and we were ushered into a car park. Plenty of time before the ferry. Things were looking pretty good.

By 10pm nothing much had happened. We investigated a queue at the end of the car park and discovered that we had to queue on foot to check in. Jan and I collected our documents and braved the queue. This turned out to be, by far, the worst queuing experience of my life. I am not a fan of the queue at the best of times. Seems to me that they only happen as a result of an organisational failure. However, they are a fact of life and sometimes you have to just get on with it. The problem here was two-fold. First of all the queue was long, disorganised and moving very slowly. Secondly, everyone was packed together and almost nobody was wearing masks. When I say packed, I mean properly sardine like. Within my 2m social distancing radius, there were probably about 12 people. It was genuinely concerning and I could see no way out of it. Given the state of the pandemic and the wide variety of people present the situation was genuinely dangerous. We tried, with very limited success, to ask people to keep their distance but it is just not the Moroccan way. There were port security officers around and police. They could have organised the queue but chose not to. My poor opinion of GNV (the ferry company), already lowered by the ticket cancellations and price increases, went down several more notches. I passed the time wondering whether, if I caught Covid-19 because of their awful queue, that could I sue them.

By 1am there were just two people in front of us. An hour earlier, it had been more like ten but it was hard to tell who was where in the queue. It was solid knot of people, shoulder to shoulder, jostling for position, squeezing past each other and talking loudly and expressively. One by one, in no obvious order except that of boisterousness, they cleared until an almost manageable two were left. Then the man behind the ticket window vanished. He came back 15 minutes later. Then he carefully cleaned his glasses, arranged some bits of paper, talked to his colleagues, had a drink of water, went away again, came back and finally took some notice of the queue. At 1:30am I made it to the head of the queue. Passports and tickets were no problem. Then came a signed document stating why I was travelling to Italy and how I would pass through on my way to Germany. It was the correct form sent to me earlier by GNV. It was completed correctly and in Italian. One of my Italian friends had checked it for me (thanks Davide). It was typed up and printed out clearly and legibly. Despite this, the GNV man spent a good five minutes checking, tutting, asking questions and scribbling corrections all over it. I had been in the queue for well over two hours. I was hot, tired, my back was aching and I was sure I had caught Coronavirus. It was difficult to stay civil. I imagined leaping through the small window and strangling the pedantic, smarmy official. Sinking my fingernails deep into his throat until the blood flowed. Instead, I answered his questions then smiled and said thank you when I finally got our boarding passes. Jan fared less well. He was taken round the back into a small, crowded office and spent fifteen minutes filling in forms. Just after 2am we moved Baloo into a queue of vehicle trying to get out of the car park.

Then we queued for passport control. This was not so bad. At least I could sit in the cab and run the air conditioning. Then we queued for vehicle permits. Then the x-ray machine. Three lanes into one made for quite a lot of close quarters vehicle juggling and a few frayed tempers. A hairpin bend after the x-ray called for two shunts. This upset the cars trying to squeeze past me. It also upset a couple of officials. They clearly considered that the truck could not get round was because I was not turning the steering wheel enough.

Then we were searched. I was asked to open the steps. To do this you need to stand back and press the button for the electricly s on the outer edge of the door. Each time I tried this the officials pushed me back to steps and indicated I should open them. and then they sent the dogs in. Well, one dog, a rather placid German Shepherd. It went in, sniffed at where Cent’s bowl is normally kept and then came out again. Along another road and the ship hove into view. At last, we were getting somewhere. Round lots of bollards, which made for a terrific manoeuvring course and involved a few more shunts. Then a very grumpy man checked our tickets again and we moved forward to almost within touching distance of the ferry. We could see the boarding ramp, smell the rust and heavy fuel oil, hear the clank of chains. “Please open all your lockers and drawers, inside and out, for inspection”. This was another half hour while several officials poked, prodded, checked under seats and generally made a mess. One guy explained that they were not looking for drugs but for illegal immigrants. He said this as he was peering into the cutlery draw. I just let them get on with it. It was 6am by now. I had a rotten headache and so tired that I could hardly string a sentence together. We boarded. At last. We ran round to find our cabin, take some luggage up, take the dog up and finally collapsed into bed.

The trip to Genova was three nights and two days long. We spent most of it hiding in our cabin living off the food and films we had brought with us. I needed to take Cent up on deck at regular intervals and other than that, a coffee in the morning was our only excursion. It was a shame. The voyage would have been more fun with some time at the bar and in the restaurant. Given the circumstances and how crowded the ship was, it did not seem worth the risk.

Saturday morning we docked about 7:30am and waited patiently to be allowed back to Baloo. Getting out of the port was mostly a matter of getting through passport control. This was a two hour queue. A brilliant bit of planning saw some six lanes of traffic being funnelled into a single lane controlled by a barrier. Every time the barrier opened, everyone tried to push forward. Inevitably, there were many minor collisions and a couple of fights broke out. A VW Golf drove into our front wheel. It did not damage Baloo at all but made a mess of the side of the car. The driver made a rude gesture at me implying that I should look where I was going. This struck me as ironic since he obviously could not spot a 20t truck. Five minutes later, I waved imploringly at a Mercedes trying to get down the other side. He made a point of not seeing me. It fascinates me when some drivers do that. You know they have seen you but they very pointedly look in every other direction. I let him past and he drove straight into the side of the white van in front.

At passport control, a duplicate copy our signed form was accepted with barely a glance and our passports were unopened. At customs control the border guards waved us through so we never actually stopped. That was it. After 260 days we were properly back in Europe.

Two days later we are at the Unicat workshop in Germany. Now we have to self-isolate for a couple of weeks. This is not so bad. We have a nice field to camp in. The weather is pleasant. Amazon deliver most days.

We did an interview for Unicat which you can see here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ansfDYYkbHs

Agadir

Our first night at the Terre d’Ocean campsite was great. Cool and fresh with a gentle breeze. We cooked outside and could hear the breaking waves in the distance. The next day it was a bit hotter but the following day it was already an alarming 36°C at 9am. The air was still and heavy. It was overcast and quite misty. We have a small air conditioning unit in the bedroom. Now seemed like a good time to start it up. Then a text message arrived from GNV, the ferry company, announcing our ferry was cancelled. It was not shaping up to be a good day.

The temperature crept over 40°C by lunchtime and maxed out at 47°C mid-afternoon. This is really, properly hot. Standing outside felt like standing too close to large furnace. Baloo was too hot to touch. The ground was too hot to walk on. Everything inside, the table, the door handles and the cutlery was all hot to touch. In the cab, the internet router shutdown spontaneously and the iPad was showing a warning message. The light from an overcast and dusty sky was diffuse and dull with an odd orange tinge. The air was still and shimmering with the heat. To me it felt quite intimidating and close to a vision of hell. We all hid in the bedroom for most of the day. Me, Diane and Cent. The temperature in the bedroom reached 38°C. Uncomfortably hot, but better than outside. Our other salvation was the small campsite swimming pool. We jumped straight in and lurked there in the water while flames passed overhead. At least, that is what it felt like. Unfortunately, Cent was not allowed to join us in the water.

By early evening, it began to cool down a little and small breeze started up. Here on the coast, the ocean is the big cooling influence. The first waft of air from the sea brought a blessed relief. We thought we were past the worst and crept out to make tea. It was still hot, in the high thirties, but was getting more bearable especially with the freshening air. Then suddenly, in the space of about ten minutes, it all changed. The wind swapped direction and the temperature shot up. At 11pm, it was 42°C. We crept back into the bedroom. It is noisy with the air conditioning running so we need earplugs to sleep. There is just enough space for the dog to curl up at the bottom of the bed.

Next day things started to get back to normal. I contacted the ferry company and they offered me a sailing two days after the cancelled one. We feel like fish out of water. This is the coolest part of Morocco but it is still too hot for us. So we took the ferry booking despite the additional €150. GNV really have us at their mercy. We cannot change our ticket and they will not give us a refund. If they decide to arbitrarily increase the price of the ticket there is little we can do. It is exploitation.

On our last day in the High Atlas, I forgot to lower the weather station mast on top of the cab. The predicable result was to smash the weather station into a tree. We collected the bits in a plastic bag. I messaged Gill Instruments in the UK, the manufacturer, to see if they could offer me any guidance in putting it back together. They came back, a few days later, with some brilliantly detailed instructions. I spent the afternoon successfully repairing the sensor head. Made me feel a lot better.

A few days later, we left on the start of our trip to catch the ferry. We hope. First stop, just a little way north, was at Imsouane, location of our long lock down. There are still a few of the people here that we spent so long with. It was nice to catch up with Jean Loup, Steve, Karen, Maggy and Len. They are all getting anxious and twitchy to leave now. Officially, the Moroccan border opens at midnight on the 14^th. Moroccans are free to come and go. Foreigners can leave. We have a ferry ticket for the 15^th to Genova. This morning we said our goodbyes and then drove to Essaouria. More particularly, we went to the big supermarket to stock up. Now we are camped in some quiet woods a way outside of town. Tomorrow we start the trek north.

High Atlas

Potentially we can now travel around much of Morocco. In practise, we are confining ourselves to the cooler areas. Summer in Morocco is just not a good time for pale Yorkshire people. To compound our overheating problems, there is a heatwave going on. So we are drifting west across the High Atlas towards the coast. We already know the road south from Demnate. It is a spectacular drive and while it can probably be done in a few hours, we managed to stretch it out over three days. Perched high on the hills there was usually a fresh breeze and at night clear skies helped keep us cool. Even so, the temperature was well over 30°C most days.

Eventually we had to drop down onto the high plains around Ouarzazate where the road took us past the world’s largest concentrated solar farm. Completed in 2018, the 3,000 ha site consists of hundreds of mirrors that focus the suns energy onto the top of a tower. The heat energy is stored using molten salt and released at night to generate electricity. The glow surrounding the tower is quite otherworldly.

Moving further west to get back to higher ground, we got lost and arrived at a dead end. Next day we turned back, found a better route and ended up on a delightful road just to the south of some big mountains. Eventually we got to the end of the High Atlas and started to descend towards the coast. The temperature began to creep up. A series of interlocked valleys took us down towards the Aoulouz dam. We squeezed through several small villages. One was having a market day and this made the streets a bit crowded. Then we were down and on the main road to Agadir. The outside temperature was just on 43°C. As we drove the last hundred miles to the coast, the air began to cool.

We picked a little campsite perched on some steep hills overlooking the sea. As we sat contemplating the sunset, over a gin and tonic, the cool gentle breeze was in the low twenties. It was bliss.

But we didn’t know what was coming.

La Cathérdrale

We were trying to find our way to a rock tower called La Cathérdrale. In the morning, we descended from our lofty overnight perch over a thousand metres down to the village of Anergui. There was a sign in the centre of the village directing us towards La Cathérdrale. It even had a picture of the rock tower on it. We set off confidently but were stopped a couple of hundred metres later by a police officer. There are roadworks he asserted. We attempted to discuss the situation but were stonewalled. No option other than to back track. Later we discovered that in fact the road is still under construction and, so far, nowhere near completion. The large tourist orientated signpost in Anergui is a future truth.

Back up the hill and then a big loop round to the north to join the R302 at Ouaouizaght. Fortunately, we did not have to ask directions because I have no idea how to even begin pronouncing Ouaouizaght. We crossed one end of a large reservoir and then started climbing. Just as we passed the base of the immense rock tower that is La Cathérdrale, the tarmac gave out. Delicately we nudged out way through overhanging trees and then resumed climbing on a rough track up a densely forested steep slope. The sun was getting low and the view spectacular. However, if you ever want to take good photographs of La Cathérdrale from here then come in the morning. We mostly had the sun in our eyes, which was very moody but hopeless for the camera. An hour or so later, at an altitude of 1,500m we regained the tarmac and stopped for the night. Despite being reasonably high, it was still a hot and not very comfortable night.

Next day we climbed even higher through some small villages and then took a left up a dirt track to arrive at a col at 1,700m. Morocco is having a bit of a heatwave at the moment. So, given that Morocco in the summer is already too hot for us, a heatwave is a bit of a problem. The best we can do is try to stay high in the mountains or on the coast. There were some petroglyphs by the road and a nice parking area so we stayed a couple of nights. In the evening a gentle breeze was a fresh and cool. Next day we walked up a track onto the shoulder some 300m higher up and discovered some old mine workings. Iron ore was my best guess. Did not look to have been very successful though and there were only a few shallow diggings. I found a nice looking lump of very heavy rock that I think may be iron ore and brought it back.

While we were hiding from the heat, Coronavirus politics have been unfolding. In particular, the EU is about to open its borders and has voted a list of safe countries which includes Morocco. This means, I think, that we can travel from Morocco into Europe without quarantine or other restrictions. At the same time, Morocco is talking about opening its borders on the 10^th July. Do not forget that both sides of a border need to agree that it is open for it genuinely to be passable. We have a ferry to Genova booked for the 13^th of July so it is possible, just possible, that this time it may actually run.

Filled with renewed optimism we descended through the beautifully named Aït Bouguemez or Valley of the Happy People. Apparently the name was given by foreign visitors impressed by the hospitality of the locals. It is a very pretty area although some of the smaller villages took a bit of care to squeeze Baloo though. Eventually we arrived at the large town of Demnate and the chance for fuel, food and water. In the evening we headed south, back towards the mountains, and found a nice spot just high enough to cool off in the evening.

Cirque de Jaffa

In Midelt everyone seemed pleased to see us. Especially the shopkeepers. We restocked on food, fuel and phone cards before setting off for the Cirque de Jaffa. The Cirque is a rocky amphitheatre in the mountains with a thin track passing below it. We were not sure if we could get through this in Baloo but the approach seemed promising. The track wound along some precipitous mountainsides but it was wide and had been recently graded. Quite safe with a bit of care. Then it stopped. Just as if the gang improving the road had got so far and then, in the middle of nowhere, got bored and gone home. Onwards the track was thin and rough. This in itself was not enough to stop us but it was also off-camber and on the side of a long slope. The wider axles of a truck means that sometimes we have to straddle the track. If the route is already on a side slope then putting one wheel off the side of the track exaggerates the lean of the vehicle. At a certain point, this gets a bit scary. I am not sure how much sideways lean Baloo can safely maintain but I know where my terror limit is and this slope slightly exceeded it.

We parked at the end of the improved track and enjoyed a night in the mountains. In the evening, some local children came to ask us for sweets. We also chatted with a shepherd bringing his sheep and goats back down into the valley for the night. In the morning we back-tracked a little and then found our way round some tracks to the north. Then it was west following the line of the Atlas range along wide rich and fertile valleys. We also drove around a reservoir that did not exist, well, not according to any of my maps. Eventually we arrived at the town of Imilchil. Just north of there is a delightful lake and camping area. At 2,300m it is beautifully cool at night.

We met Mark, again. His ferry arrangements had gone completely awry. After several days of running around and pulling in a few favours, he had eventually managed to book a ship but in a few days’ time. So he had come back to the mountains to hang out. This being much more pleasant than the stinky hot and fraught atmosphere around Tangier. We also met Chris and Melisa. They had spent the lock down in Merzouga in just the sort of conditions that we had worked so hard to avoid. Merzouga is on the edge of the desert. Temperatures were regularly over 40°C and at night, it was still above 30°C. To compound their misery there was nowhere to buy alcohol. Fortunately, they are very resourceful and started brewing their own ‘desert wine’ using sugar, yeast and tomato paste. We tried some with lemon, ice and tonic water. It was really quite acceptable. Diane and I were incredibly impressed. Proper survival skills.

A couple of days drifted by while we enjoyed the lake views, watched the locals taking running dives off a makeshift pier and had some pleasant walks. On the second afternoon, the sky turned black and there was thunder. A storm seemed imminent. The first drops of rain fell. Then a magnificent rainbow appeared and shortly after the sky cleared. At night, the stars were terrific. Altitude, a new moon and an almost complete absence of light pollution made for some great stargazing.

Mark left, again, to get his ferry. This time he actually made it and several days later got back to the UK where he promptly started to regret leaving Morocco. Chris and Melisa left to go and see a waterfall. We left to search out a rock tower called La Cathédrale. Our route wound up some skinny mountain roads and we squeezed through a couple of small villages. Eventually we pulled off the road on the high shoulder of hill. A shepherd taking his flock down came to ask politely for cigarettes. We could not help him. Sometimes I think we should maybe buy a few for just such occasions. I am sure it would really cheer up some of the nomads and shepherds we meet. Later, just as it was getting dark, a solitary pickup truck drove past. The guys sat in the back gave us a friendly wave. After that, we had the place to ourselves until morning.

Mid-Atlas

Next day we left the sanctuary of the Carrefour carpark and headed for the hills. Literally. We drove up into the rolling, cedar-covered hills of the mid-Atlas. The air was cool and fresh. Flowers were in bloom. The fields were lush and many of them ready for harvesting. Mark had a few places he wanted to visit. We followed him to a lake where we fed the donkeys. Then to a deep fold in a steep valley where a multitude of cold, clear fresh water springs erupted from the ground. A series of little shelters were built next to them so that you could sip mint tea while dangling your feet in the icy torrent. More lakes. More rivers. Then a tight squeeze up a track through immense cedar trees and we emerged by an enormous lake in the centre of a nature reserve.

In the morning, Mark left to head north for his ferry and we wandered a short way down the road. A little track took us into a clearing between towering cedars. It was so nice there that we stayed until the next day. The smell of the trees was intoxicating and a myriad of small birds fluttered in the branches. We used the shadow of one of the trees to estimate how high it was. A little trigonometry revealed it to be 34m. A properly tall tree. Most of the trees were a similar height.

We were killing time. Our ferry was cancelled. We had nowhere in particular to go. Lock down restrictions in Morocco were being eased but how much this meant we could travel was unknown. I have booked another ferry on the 13^th of July but experience proves that we have no certainty whether this will actually happen. The best plan we have now is to head roughly southwest staying up in the cool mountains. Morocco can be fiercely hot in the summer and just now, there is a little heatwave going on. The High Atlas and the thin coastal strip are pretty much the limit of where we want to be.

A series of delightful winding tracks led us south through the hills and onto the main road to Midelt. We found another lake and stayed there for a couple of nights. During the day, flocks of sheep were brought down from the surrounding hills to drink. We also saw ponies heavily laden with firewood. Further down the road we came across the Hotel Meteorites. The very friendly owner was happy for us to camp there and refill our water tanks. I spent the afternoon doing a bit of maintenance on Baloo. Later, after I had walked the dog, we went into the hotel bar and had a beer. First beer in a bar for months. It was delightful.

No ferry

Time was dragging on in Imsouane. I had started making scones. And the marmalade to go with them. We ran out of poppadums so I fabricated some from gram flour. Then we ran out of gram flour so I spent an hour or more grinding chickpeas. Eventually I took to arranging fruit in a bowl and photographing it. Time to go.

We had a ferry booked. Many had been cancelled but this one looked promising. Enough post-corona virus normality, the new world order, was arising to make us optimistic about getting out of Morocco. Quite a few special ferries had already sailed. These were mostly arranged with the embassies of Italy, Spain or France. They focused on their nationals and were charging quite outrageous rates. They also assumed that you could be on standby to get to the port in a day. For us, Tanger Med is more like four days. We did not want to move up closer because that would take us into the areas most badly affected by Covid-19. So our strategy was to bide our time until things had settled down enough that we could make a steady, planned drive to the port. This appeared to becoming around.

First job was to get a permit. We already have one travel permit but for this job, we needed a different, more powerful permit. It is over an hours drive down the coast to the government offices. We did this trip four times. Each time involved at least an hour standing around in crowded waiting rooms full of strangers. How this helps the corona virus campaign is beyond me. Eventually, on the day we had to leave, we got our permit. Lockdown restrictions were being lifted. Agadir was coming back to life. “No virus in Agadir”, the petrol pump attendant assured me. It was getting late by the time preparations were complete so we did a few hours up the motorway and stopped at a service station near Marrakech.

Morocco is now divided into two types of zone. Zone 1 areas have very few cases of Covid-19 and an Ro less than one. In these places, which is most of Morocco, life is slowly returning to normal. Zone 2 areas are still in lockdown. These are primarily the coastal areas from El-Jadida north to Tanger. Obviously, the authorities want to prevent traffic between the two types of zone.

Next day we took a wide detour around Marrakech, which I think is Zone 2. We also wanted to avoid the coastal route so we intended to go inland then north through Meknes. Mark caught us up near Kasba-Tadla and we found a great place by a lake to camp. His ferry had just been cancelled but he was going to the port anyhow, hoping to get another one. We had heard stories of people just turning up at the port and managing to get a ticket. The lake had turtles swimming around in it. They were very shy and usually all you could see were their heads.

Next morning notification arrived that our ferry was cancelled. Just two days before we were due to board. I talked to GNV, the ferry company, and booked the next available vessel on July 13^th. Now what? The plan had been to head to Chefchaouen where there is a reasonable campsite a couple of hours from the port. On our new schedule, we did not want to be stuck there for a month. Mark had a couple of days before he wanted to move north so we thought we would explore the locality a little. Enough to get our heads straight again. We like Morocco but we have been here nearly eight months now and a long list of European luxuries is calling. Baloo needs some maintenance and servicing. So do we. The postponement was a disappointment but the counter point is that Europe will be a few weeks closer to normality. What to do for another month?

We are at the western end of the Atlas Mountains. The terrain is up to 2,000m altitude and this helps keep it cooler. The mountains also attract rain, giving rise to a rich and fertile area. This is very different from the arid desert areas we have spent so much time exploring. Just now, early summer, there is a cacophony of wild flowers and fields full of ripe wheat. There are streams, Aloe Vera plants and forests of towering Cedar trees. We pottered for the day, then drove up a quiet dead end lane and parked up for the night. A man on a moped appeared, scowled at us and spent the next hour sitting across the road from us messing with his phone. Eventually the police arrived and they were not in a good mood. After quite a lot of unintelligible mixed language shouting, we were escorted some 25 km to the town of Khenifra. We arrived just after sunset and a different type of police officer took our details.

Twenty minutes later, he returned, welcomed us in a very warm and friendly fashion to Khenifra and said we could camp anywhere we wanted. In retrospect, we think that we had wandered into the private hunting area of someone wealthy and well connected. Whatever the cause, we found ourselves in the Carrefour supermarket car park. The night guard said we could not stay there so we explained that the police said we could. This was nearly true. We paid him a few Dirhams and he went away happy. Between the ferry and near arrest, this had turned out to be a bad day but there was an unexpected benefit. In the morning, we could shop at the supermarket and round the back was a small but adequate wine shop.

Imsouane village

After eight weeks in lock down, we are getting to know the village a little better. The area is all about surfing. We do not surf and nobody else is supposed to be surfing. I have no idea what makes for good surfing conditions but every few days it appears to happen. Probably something to do with waves. The surfers go out. A little later, the police arrive and blow their whistles. There is then a fair bit of running around as the surfers try to avoid being caught and getting their boards confiscated. There is probably not too much danger of losing their boards, as the police seem disinclined to run in the heat.

Most of the buildings here are to support surfers. Hotels, apartments and other types of holiday accommodation. Mostly they appear to be aiming at the cheaper end of the market. Nearly all the buildings are empty just now giving the whole place an air of abandonment. Like many Moroccan villages, there are numerous unfinished building projects and this adds to the overall sense that everyone has packed up and left. Painting is much more common here than the inland villages. I guess this is a nod to surfer culture. Many buildings are painted bright colours. Murals are quite common, although some of them are only distinguishable from graffiti by taking a generous view of their intent.

So far, I have found eight shops. There is a pharmacy and a tobacconist. The other six shops all sell exactly the same limited selection of products apart from one who does not sell vegetables. Trying to photograph a shop is difficult. Quite a lot of the locals do not like photographs being taken. Not of them, or the shops or anything. The other day someone threatened to throw a stone at me just because I was carrying a camera. This attitude must be counterproductive in a resort so heavily dependent on tourism. Superstition and fear underlie much of this. In city centres, there are locals who encourage photography on the clear understanding that they will be paid. In the more rural areas, there is a fear of witchcraft and exploitation once someone has taken your photo. Fortunately the village is quiet enough that I can grab a few pictures on the deserted streets.

As close as I dare photograph to the shops

This last picture, a map of temperature, explains why we came to Imsouane. It has been quite hot in Morocco over the last week or so. In Marrakesh it has reached 38°C. At Errachidia, where we started our long drive to get here, it is 36°C. Further south, some of the places we visited in Western Sahara have been in the mid-forties and Atar, in Mauritania, is regularly around 48°C. Look carefully at the map and you will see a thin, cool (yellow) strip running along the coast. This is the cooling effect of the Canary Current, a wind-driven surface current that is part of the North Atlantic Gyre. It brings cooler water south from Portugal and carries it all the way to Senegal. This is why the coast of Western Sahara and Mauritania can be reasonably pleasant while just a short way inland the heat becomes brutal. We are north of Agadir, marked by the X. Inland are the Atlas Mountains. These also contribute to cooling. You can see the cool yellow area ENE of where we are. So we are staying here, staying relatively cool, until we are ready drive north for the ferry. With the extension of the lock down period, we have chosen to go for a later ferry, June 15^th. Our hope is that some of the travel restrictions will have been lifted by then and it will be easier to get around.