The bus trip North was an easy one with no connections. The countryside was pretty barren and dry. When we arrived at Peniche we were able to be picked up and given a lift to our apartment with our airbnb host, Marco. He was a really nice guy and joked about Aussies and their long holidays “I hate Australians, do they ever work?”
As happens when you travel a bit I guess, we had gotten pretty lazy when it comes to looking everything up before we arrive in a new country. Usually the result of this slackness is two very frustrated humans. In Portugal we fluked it! We arrived at the airport and headed to information to find out about busses. “The next bus leaves in 15 minutes”. Perfect. So we jumped onto the bus to Faro city centre. From here we waited a total of ten minutes for a connecting bus all the way to Albufeira. It was the last bus trip we were a little worried about as it was getting to be late arvo on a Saturday when we arrived at Albufeira and started asking around for the last leg trip. Amazingly the bus was sitting right along side the one we arrived on, ready to go. We were stoked.
Mum and dad have arrived!!! 🙂 🙂 It was so exciting to see them pull up at the house in Nett’s little red car. It’s crazy how as they hop out they look just as if they’ve come to visit us in Newie and it feels like it was only just a few weeks ago we saw them! Mum and dad have a month holiday here in the UK and we get to spend about 2 weeks with them. That night we had a lovely family dinner (one thing I do miss about being away), a catch up on all the goings on back home and travels and planned the next few days trip to Wales.
We had a great time with the Scots. They were always up for a chat and found our van pretty funny too. Think they mostly enjoyed the fact that we weren’t English though…
A Scotsman walking through a field, sees a man drinking water from a pool with his hand. The Scotsman shouts ‘ Awa ye feel hoor thatâs full Oâ coos Sharn’ (Don’t drink the water, it’s full of cow crap.) The man shouts back ‘I’m English, Speak English, I don’t understand you’. The Scotsman shouts back ‘Use both hands, you’ll get more in.‘
When you’ve been travelling for so long and have arrived at an innumerable amount of bus stations, ports, train stations, and airports with not a familiar face in sight it is exceedingly wonderful to walk through the doors to where your beloved aunty is waiting with a warm hug and a big smile! We had arrived in Manchester on the evening of the 30th of July ready for a full month of being spoiled by our family, lovely catch ups, beautiful road trips and good food, not to mention the ease of English speaking shopkeepers and drinkable tap water.
Hard to believe, but Fez was even more crazy than Marrakech! From the second we jumped off the train at 2am (not literally this time) it was nuts. We caused a massive argument amongst the cab drivers by not using the first guy we spoke to and loaded our bags in while they all yelled at each other in Arabic. Our driver was pretty sheepish two minutes later when he realised he had a flat tire and that we needed to hop in one of the other taxis.
As you may be aware, I love mountains. I love the challenge of hiking to the summit, I love the wilderness and lack of people, I love staying out somewhere where the only way you can see it and experience it is to have hiked up on your own two feet and most of all I love the view from the top.
As we pulled into the crazy bustling streets of Marrakech it was time to part ways with Ibrahim. He had been good fun but really up and down thanks to Ramadan. He was cranky and tired one minute and the next cracking gags. Like when Jared first tried his turban on, Ibrahim spotted him and said “Hello Muhammad, where is Fatima”. I lost it! After dropping the kids off he left Clare and I at the main square, Jamaa El-Fnah. And after asking what riad we were staying in, gave us rough directions through the old town (or Medina) streets and told us to look out for a number 7 over the door. Sounded easy enough.