Ella and Maddie with Moroccan girl who guided us round a ruined Kasbah

Ella’s Last Blog

Dad asked me to write about what Morocco smells like – so here goes… In Morocco one thing is for certain, there are way more smells and amazing sights than on a Dorset B road. Sometimes the smells are overpowering but some are just small hints of sweetness or stinky stuff.

In the main square of Djemma El Fna, in the middle of Marrakech, there are many stalls, sellers, hagglers, hasslers, hawkers and it’s absolutely heaving with both locals and tourists alike with everyone looking for souvenirs and bargains.

On the stalls there were so many smells wafting around. Spices like cumin, cinnamon, ginger, turmeric, cardamom, coriander and paprika. Fruity, zangy smells like fresh oranges and lemons all mixed with rich, dark and deep smells of meat being cooked. Suddenly you’ll smell leather and tanning oil as all around are various bag and ornament stalls all selling leather made in Fes, Marakech and elsewhere. You can buy little ickle sandals and leather shoes and sometimes even the odd wooden toy seller (the seller wasn’t wooden – the toys were) happens to pop up and the sudden smell of varnish rushes up to you. If you do get pounced on by someone selling these you stay smelling of varnish and wood chips for the rest of the day because the smell seems to stick to you as I discovered.

After managing to haggle for a good price I brought (well, Dad paid for) a nice Moroccan leather bag all made and tanned in Fes.  After having it for about three weeks it still smells strongly of leather and tanning oil even after being sprayed daily with Impulse and Lynx.

The annoying thing is how if you try and just stop and browse for a moment or two they will try and sell you something.  And in some cases they become your New Best Friend, sticking to you like glue, and even run after you – it’s very hard to shake them off.

Olive stall in Meknes Souk - smelly (but nice)

One overpowering incident was in the souks of Meknes. We were happily strolling through the Medina and BAM! We turned a corner into the food stalls covered in olives and spices and the smells filled the air so much I felt a bit light headed and ill. Dad was completely at home and wandered off to eat as many olives as he could. Alas, we went round the corner into the bit where they killed cows and things and there was a massive cows head with the back removed and brains, horns and insides everywhere – the stench of blood, raw meat and fetid sweat ridden slaughterers made me feel even worse than before.  I briskly walked (well Dad says more like ran in a blind panic) out of there as fast as possible so I could stop mouth breathing and get some fresh air.

So, although there were some mouthwatering smells there were some you would really rather block out of your nose but I shan’t put down too much detail because even talking about cow insides makes me feel a bit ill.  Queasy Face Smiley here (except Dad refuses to do emoticons).

That’s it from me – time to go home soon and at least home doesn’t smell like here.

ELLA X

Maddie’s Final Blog

We have left Morocco but I think we were ready to go.  We’d had enough of being tourists and being stared at (and not always in a nice way) – the haggling, touts and unofficial tour guides who even if they said the tour was free would demand a tip.

Camping in the Sahara - popcorn would have been good

We will miss Morocco: camping in the Sahara and watching the sun set and a stunning moonrise (which would have been complete if we had had some popcorn); staying half way up a mountain in a National park which did not make camping easy I can tell you – starting at one end of the tent and sliding all the way down to the bottom and having a chicken/turkey thingamibob killed and cooked for you; some horrific smells in the souks and having to mouth breathe our way out; discovering where Mannequins go to die and listening to Bleak Expectations and I’m Sorry I Haven’t a Clue endlessly.

What dying mannequins look like - one looks very surprised and the rest just look shot away

Anyway, we are currently waiting for the plane to take us home – Dad is driving home alone and the landy is holding up OK but is making some funny noises from the clutch that Habib fixed in Fes so I hope it holds up until he gets home.

So, this is goodbye from the girlies and the car will soon be back to the smell of men – well, I should say one lonely man separated from his feminine sides. Anyway, it’s time to go so goodbye, farewell, auf weederseyn and adieu to yer and yer and yer.

Maddie x

The best thing about sleeping in a tent is that you are totally aware of your surroundings because there is only a thin layer of fabric between you and it. The worst thing about sleeping in a tent is you are totally aware of your surroundings because there is only a thin layer of fabric between you and it. And ‘it’ is an awful lot of noise which, indoors behind curtains, brick and glass, you just don’t notice, bother or care about.

Most peaceful yet noisiest campsite on earth

After a long day of driving through some of the most stunning Moroccan scenery we arrived at a small campsite on the outskirts of the southern town of Zagora.  Enclosed by a high wall and fringed by tall palm trees it seemed perfectly peaceful; it wasn’t posh but it was pleasant. Little did I expect as I drifted off to sleep to the gentle chirping of cicadas that this tranquil setting was not going to last.

2 donkeys, at regular intervals through the night seemed to be having some kind of bray off to see which had the longest, loudest and saddest ee- ee- ee-yore. 3 cockerels felt the need to not just herald the arrival of dawn but to crow at hourly intervals all the way towards dawn and seemingly at every quarter hour along the way. Then 4 abandoned dogs decided to hold a yelp, yowl and yap fest. Winner gets a sore throat, a kick and the next night off. And, although the campsite was at least 400m away from the main road, down a bumpy track and protected by the high wall I could still hear exhaustless and energetically driven trucks crunching past with one so loud I thought I was at the end of Runway 1 at Heathrow.

As if all this wasn’t noise enough for one night, the local Imam stuck his oar in at 4.45am when he decided to start calling the really, really faithful for the first prayer of the day exceedingly loudly over a mightily amplified tannoy (as is the way) and I was suddenly and rudely as wired and awake as if I’d just snorted 3 espressos.  An hour later, recovering from the impulse to go and offer up my own very loud prayer for him to shut up, I was just drifting back to sleep when the birds began trilling, tweeting and twittering at me to wake up by which time I was less than happy and lot more than grumpy so it took me some considerable time… and then Gilo started his early morning snorting and snuffling prompting the urge to smother him with his own sleeping bag and call the whole thing off. And as for the goats.  Don’t start me.

Happy Easter!  Homeward bound after a spot of lunch…

M stands for Morocco. And Marrakech.  It also stands for Mad – this place is mad as a box of frogs and sometimes nowhere near as pretty.  Having said that it’s also stunning, intriguing and damned annoying in more or less equal measure.  Found some truly great olives and way better than I was honestly expecting – in fact, my new favourite is now Green Beldi Olives with Harissa and Preserved Lemon – exceedingly salty but then we can work on that… you can expect that recipe to be arriving some time soon in an Olives Et Al label and on a shelf near you with any luck.

Late night food stall in Djemma El Fnaa - Marrakech - utter madness

As to the dramas of the clutch every gear change is one closer to home so we kind of regard the left hand pedal of the three as some sort of bonus:

“Woohoo!  Well done – you’ve managed to get from 6^th all the way down to 1^st and nothing’s gone bang, whoosh, clunk, thud, ouch or sod it.”

The kids are amazed at my capacity for swearing in foreign languages but despite repeated attempts and invitations I haven’t shared the intimate details of exactly what I’ve learnt.  Suffice it to say that words for bodily parts of both men and women (and as I understand it sheep and goats have a category all of their own) are commonplace and in just as much usage as all our much loved and over used favourites back home.

Shellfish at Ouladia

We finally left Marrakech and headed north to the coast near Oualidia – wonderful oysters but a little grubby – however, one night in the faded glory of the once noble, but now very down at heel, Oualidia Tennis Club was more than enough.  At breakfast (interesting cheese – it was either Launghing Cow, Chuckling Badger, or Giggling Squirrel – difficult to tell) the faded dining room was plastered in pictures of bygone tennis tournaments and we’re positive we discovered a picture of Colonel Gaddafi playing tennis – even more worrying, we found a picture featuring a dead ringer for our local accountant delivering what looked like a killer backhand.  Strange.

Fishing Boats waiting

 Heading south along some of the most dramatically wide rolling coastline we headed for Essaouria arriving in time to find the local campsite (Camping Sidi Magdoul, by the lighthouse and we’re opposite the toilet block if you’re keen enough to look at it on Google Maps). Stopped along the way to cook up a mean pasta on a deserted beach – Moroccan pasta with tomatoes, onions and an olive or two along with some Merguez sausages chucked in for good measure. Rather nice to sit on a large driftwood trunk gazing out to sea while the kids made sandcastles out of old plastic containers they found strewn on the beach.  Nice to see how resourceful they’ve become. Fun.

 Went for lunch on the seafront where open air fresh fish stalls allow you to choose your fish and have it cooked there and then.  Red Mullet, Dorade, Crevettes, Sardines and Squid all grilled and served up with bread and salad for less than the price of a half decent bottle of wine. How refreshing.

Off to the mountains tomorrow to test Habib’s clutch fixing ability and to see whether I can remember all the parts of a goat whilst negotiating 460 hairpin bends.

Keep your fingers crossed and if you want a nive bed spread or silk throw brough back for you – let us know and we’ll oblige.  Email to the usual address… All orders gratefully received!

Giles etc

Maddie’s bit

What an action packed few days it’s been. Where do I begin. Well, first off last night the time on our watches was completely wrong – we thought it was 8.30pm when it was actually 6.30pm which is why I don’t think the waiter at the hotel liked Dad very much. He said to the waiter, “Je suis desole – we are English.” What are we like.

Now for today hmmm…….. oh we got out of the hotel and we were going to an olive factory buuuuut we drove 300yards ish and the car broke down so we had to wait 30 minutes for an engineer to come and tell us what Dad already knew and a further 20 minutes for a tow truck. Whilst we were waiting Dad said, “This is a bit rich.” because just before we left for the trip we had a new clutch fitted in and now it had gone again and there was a big problem with the transmission in the gearbox. Basically we couldn’t go anywhere and had to be towed to a garage. Luckily we got to the olive factory with help from the lady who was guiding us around.

On Tow in Fes

As I am writing this blog I am in a business meeting in the olive factory Dad said just think you are in a double lesson but all I could think was that I was in Double Latin.

I have some good news and some bad news the bad news is that the car won’t be ready till tomorrow buuuuuuuut the good news is that we are now staying in a POSH HOTEL BIG WOWZERS!!!!!!

The lady at the olive factory was very generous and kind she was called Heuda. Instead of the two hour meeting we were supposed to have she spent most of the day with us trying to sort out the landrover. She was very kind and bought us lunch. As the saying goes every cloud has a silver lining meaning bad things sometimes turn into good things, just look where we turned out to be we are in a posh hotel in a fantastic setting with an amazing pool. Ella said this morning “Could this day get any worse?” No it just gets better. More Maddie-ish blogs on the way

Maddie

Annie’s Bit

At last the day dawned when the Landy’s clutch was finally replaced by Habib and his crew and working well enough for us to leave Fes.  Over the last three days the girls

Just pray this doesn't happen to you... 3000 miles from home.

and I have not seen much of Giles as he has been embedded at the Garage El Habib policing the work being inflicted on the Defender in an effort to get us back on the road.  Before we left we spoke gently to Landy, patted her bonnet, prayed to Allah and then set off gingerly minding each gear change for fear of something breaking again.

Because we had a Riad booked in Marakech (which we had put back twice) we were unable to go the scenic route as previously planned and it was at least a nine hour drive across country and too wiggly for a fragile gearbox. Instead we gunned down the toll highway passing through scenery still varied and interesting. Flat agricultural plain growing uniform rows of vines, olive wheat and vegetables gave way to rolling hillside as pretty as a painting by Constable – although G said it looked just like Dartmoor.

It rained early in the journey (which was why G said it looked liked Dartmoor) as we headed west to Rabat and Casablanca. However, on turning south for Marrakech the weather improved along with our spirits. Landy was holding up and the last 3 days of nervous uncertainty were falling behind us even though we had to stop every now and again to check if the clutch still worked.

Eventually arriving in Marakech I drove whilst G navigated – we have discovered this is a much better way to maintain harmonious marital relations. Whilst my map reading skills aren’t bad for a girlie, navigating us through the chaos of the city in full Moroccan rush hour needs a logical mind and a head for maps and that’s where G excels though he’s still rubbish with a potato peeler.  Once through the gates into the medina the traffic moves at a slower but somehow more manic pace as it’s mostly donkeys and mopeds and a map of it looks like a vipers nest of alleyways and narrow roads and is confusing in the extreme. I’m better at keeping a cool head behind the wheel and when we get lost I can blame him. S’not my fault – I just drive…

Once we’d found the parking place we were met by Papi (who sounds as if he should be small but he was anything but) from our Riad who hoisted all the bags onto his shoulders and set off at a rather brisk pace leading us down a maze of twisting alleys until we reached the tiniest of wooden doors down the tiniest of alleys and stumbled into the peaceful oasis hidden behind.

Fell into a large glass of Moroccan Rose and collapsed.  Deep sigh.  Hurrah – we’ve actually made it to Marrakech.

Once G has regained his sense of m=humour and recovered from he weeping and gnashing of teeth he’ll write something else. Meanwhile, I’m off for another glass of Mother’s Little Helper. I so suit Moroccan Rose.

Annie x

Ella’s Blog

Well, now it’s me, Ella, and I have to say it’s been a bit of a bumpy ride so far. Having arrived in Spain, Dad managed to get us to the Ferry a whole 5 hours early so we played around watching the other cars arrive and, when we got bored of that, we had a really long sleep and then played around some more, went for a good meal and a walk and still had quuuuuite a while left to wait.

As for border control at the other end? Niiiightmaaare! It took aaaages just to get into the queue with shouting and pushing and shoving and moving around trying to find people to stamp our passports but hey we managed to get through all of that – eventually.

So Anyway after the flight, the ferry and the faffing, we were on the road and on the way to Fes. (Maddie has said some of this but just re-capping). On the way we went through what turned out to be a very interesting village called Bab Boudir and whilst trying to find somewhere to camp we came across a sign for a hostel. This then turned out to be closed for the night but a neighbor came and said that we could camp with them. I didn’t think we would have too much to do with them apart from say thank-you and leave the next morning. But we ended up being invited into their home and having a chicken slaughtered and cooked for us which was incredibly kind hospitality from them. As well as this we woke up to the most stunning view. And it’s not everyday you wake up to see this:

And in Dad’s words ‘Now this is real Morocco’, I agree. (Not that I’d ever woken up to Morocco before but it certainly seemed very Moroccoey to me.

Later that evening, after arriving in Fes and getting lost in the maze of the Medina and souks, we were waiting for supper which Dad had ordered for (what he thought was) 8 o’ clock. Sitting patiently downstairs at (what we thought was) 8:30 Dad asked where the food was and the waiter proclaimed ‘you ave an hour and tirty mineets until your food is comeeng’. Dad, getting very frustrated then realized our mistake. We had been living the last 2 days 2 hours ahead of the real time. I shall not explain how this happened because it will hurt your brain. Mine still hurts but it’s something to do with Spanish time, Summer Time, Moroccan Time and Spanish Ferries and stuff. Still having the odd chuckle remembering our mistake.

So anyway after the whole kerfuffle things seemed to be going OK. Then the new clutch went.

And that’s another story… more blogs on the way

Ella x 

And that, my friends is that – we’ve been in Fes having the brand new clutch fitted in the UK specifically for the trip completely stripped and rebuilt.  I have to say, adversity adds spice to travelling but it’s the sort of spice I wasn’t expecting.

If anyone can recommend a good Land Rover mechanic in Marakech then please Tweet or Email Me. We’re about to set off in that direction and I could do with a good check up when (if) we get there.  Full unexpurgated story in all the gory detail of the joy of backstreet garages in Fes to follow…

Giles

Are you sure I'm 50 tomorrow?

Finally back in touch with my feminine side, we arrived at Almeria port to wait for the ferry to Melilla – perhaps we should have taken more heed of the look the two security officers exchanged as they wearily gave us their instructions:

“Melilla? Ha. Ha.  A droite et waitez vous pour une long time avec les autre personnes ‘aving une mid life crisis driving le vehicle zat is frankly ridiculous…”

Excuse my continued use of Franglais when we all know Almeria is in Spain, however, respect for our Aztec looting European partners forbids me for trying to type in Spanglish.

Waiting pour une long time pour le ferry...

In our defence, though, I really don’t think that wanting to drive to the Sahara and back in a Land Rover Defender for one’s 50^th birthday is a mid life crisis. Far from it.  It’s a perfectly normal boyish desire fuelled by occasional couch potatoing in front of Dave and re-runs of Top Gear doing interesting things in interesting places with things that are well past their best.  And if that isn’t a fairly accurate description of me at 50 then my name’s not Nigel.

Waiting for the ferry was an interesting experience – a curious and motley selection of vehicles mostly at the extreme ends of things. On the one hand you had vastly overladen, flat tired old vans driven by fat attired families eating curious looking stuff out of wrinkled plastic bags or very slick fully pimped 4x4s with pumped up suspension, spare everything strapped to every available inch, winches and snorkels, sand mats and jacks, more fancy straps and buckles than a german massage parlour and all crewed by competitive cigar smoking and louder than average nervous looking continentals trying to convince themselves they had the best fully interlocking differential doubly wishboned (and ashed) super group of rufty tufty 4×4 superlatives than anyone else on the waiting list for embarkation. Either way ours looked definitely middle of the road but as that’s a position I prefer to drive in that was just fine with me…

Words cannot quite describe the almighty, colossal and international-relations-threatening bun fight that was the embarkation process but suffice it to say that it was every vehicle for itself as we hurtled towards the gaping maw of the wide open ferry deck and were funnelled into a little gap just slightly smaller than two vehicles width causing the odd screech of alarm, frustration and sheer pride ridden belligerence at either winning or losing the fight to be one whole cars’ length in front of some one else and so prove their importance and/or invincibility and/or amount of testosterone on board.  Personally, we just took great comfort in leaning out of the window and looking reproachingly at offending continental types and suggesting their language was “deplorable“… All added some enjoyment and a certain smug satisfaction from managing to remain calmer than everyone else to the spice of a long day.

Now, when persuading the family to join me in this I bribed them by saying they could write the blog and take some pics and put them all up so the world could see them… so here goes! Exactly as written.

Maddie’s Blog

Here we are first things first I am not Giles I am not Ella I am not Annie but I am Maddie the youngest of the troop that I call a family.

We got on the ferry at 10.45pm and got off at 8.10am and went to border control which if I have to be honest was absolutely rubbish. You did not know what line you were in and if you were in a line everybody was queue barging. There was lots of shouting at one another but the shouting was not us. It looked like the man in the kiosk really loved his job.

When border control was over dad had to get Moroccan insurance because the English one would not cover anything bad that we did not saying we’ve done anything bad yet.

After the hassle was over we set off to Taza. On the way there was a big long road that stretched out for miles it was just like a road that Top Gear could use for a drag race.

We stopped for lunch at 2’o’clock ish at a roadside scrubland, whilst dad was cooking the sausages a goat came to greet us but we did not know that the whole flock (which was about 55ish) was coming over to greet us too.  Seeing no sausages on offer they left and we were on the road again. I liked the sausages which Dad said were something called merguez.

4500ft up in Tazzeka National Park at Fatima and Mohammed's...

Our destination was in a National Park on a mountain I can’t remember the name of but we couldn’t find it so we looked for a sign saying hostel so we could stay the night somewhere. We followed a sign for a Gite and when we got there the owner was not in and we were about to go but then a man came and said, “What are you doing?”, but in French, and Dad replied in the best French he could (and by what it sounded like it was not very good), “We are looking for a place to stay”. The man said no but in the end we stayed in the man’s back garden which was definitely the best experience of camping ever even though you couldn’t get to sleep because it was freezing and Dad said it was like camping on Ben Nevis.

Just like camping on Ben Nevis...

In the morning it was very cold but the man came out and gave us his horse riding rosettes as a souvenir and said Dad was now his brother and asked us all to go back next year.

Having just spent the afternoon, evening and night here in Fes celebrating my birthday things are a little on the fuzzy side this morning but we’re off out of blogging range again shortly so nothing more till we reach Marakech.  Please do tweet us or offer comments – we do see them – we just can’t reply to them as internetivity (nice word, eh?) is verv scarce off the beaten track.

Thanks for all your comments so far – Morocco really is a wonderful place to discover…

Giles and Maddie

Annie and Ella to follow!

Actually I'm sitting in Sturminster Newton dreaming all this up.

According to the map I’m around 600km as the crow flies from Fes but given the long winded and windy – that’s windy not windy as in twisty turny not blowy smelly  (so, how come windy and windy are both spelt the same?) route we’ve chosen looks like another 1300km or so left to do – got a little wistful as I drove south all on my lonesome today – Rodrigo Y Gabriela banged and strummed away rather energetically and kept me company for some of the way then that turned into Horse With No Name, Al Stewart and Fleetwod Mac (I like Genius playlists…) before having a few rolling km of Cesaria Evoria before finishing up with JJ Cale as I wound through the last few miles of rolling olive trees before arriving with Alfonso in his home town of whitewashed walls and terracotta tiles.

Alfonso's home town - not exactly Milton Keynes (Sorry the MK Postcode but Spain it ain't)

Just in case anyone thinks we’re armchair travelling and I’m sitting at home with a cup of Horlicks I thought you might like to see a spot of proof that we really are in a Land Rover and really are among olive trees… So here you go.

Went and had a peek at the Bodega just around the corner that specialises in PX Wine as I wanted to get the real inside story on Pedro Ximenes grapes and wine again – we came here a few years ago with a journalist and photographer from Jamie Oliver during the Full Moon Olive Harvest and since I love PX (and for that matter, all things Sherry – a very under-rated and misunderstood wine in my humble opinion) this was too good an opportunity to miss.

Marco, the Commercial Manager, explained it takes 10kg of Pedro Ximenes grapes to make 5kg of Pedro Ximenes raisins after they’ve been laid out to dry in the sun and turned by hand for days.  That 5kg is then collected and brought to the Bodega where, under pressure, it will produce just 1kg of juice.  That juice is then carefully fermented to produce the richly dark and sweet PX sherry-like wine that is so highly prized and this region is famed for. If you take that juice and gently cook it you end up with a thick, heavy syrup laden with natural goodness that has been used to treat anaemia, winter colds and just about every other ailment that the cold season brings round here for generations.  It also happens to taste damn fine and is a perfectly cracking partner for all sorts of foods – you simply have to try it…

Annie and the girls arrive tomorrow then it’s along the coast to Almeria and the night ferry to Mellila.  The finally into Morocco, Taza and then to Fes – if anyone has any tips or favourite places we’d love to hear them – as Tim Vine said in a line that won him best joke of the year – “Went on the holiday of a lifetime last year.  Never again” and I don’t reckon we’ll be passing this way again for a while so best make the most of it.

Off for flamequines and salmorejo – recipes might just follow – depends on the levels of PX and Cruz Campo…

Giles

Co Founder Olives Et Al

“Everr eeee one wants iiice – eet is forbidden to dreenk in zee bar wiz ze wine. You cannot ‘ave any.”

“But I’m not drinking it here,” I replied with a suitably Gallic shrug, “I’m drinking it somewhere else.” Perfect logic and hey presto one completely confused French Barman who proceeded to donnez moi le ice pour ma vino.  Result? A happy and slightly chilled me.  Top.

The following morning at breakfast I settled for the Full English only to notice the translation of this was “Le Petit Anglais” – The Little English. The little English? How demeaning can you get? I can just imagine the chefs considering this…

“So. Ze Eeenglish theenk that this petit dejeuner of zairs is Le Full Thing. Pah! Not so.  We will call it Ze Leeetle Eeenglish wiz their ouefs frite and soss ages and back ed beens avec bacon, dippity bread and ‘alf a tomato. Hmmph – ze full English indeed. En France we ‘ave cafe avec un croissant an’ zat is zat.  Oo could possibly need more?”

Having said all that it only seems fair to compliment them on some very nifty seamanship and we docked bang on the dot in Santander.  Driving a Land Rover with rather natty darkened glass in the rear seemed to interest the customs chaps a tad so I was pulled over for a quick rummage and a polite conversation about where I was going and once they’d heard Fitos y Fitipaldi (Basque country Spanish Rock band – very tuneful) playing we had a rather nice chat and a cup of coffee along with some handy tips about the location of speed cameras.  I took that as a real compliment because anyone who’s every driven a Land Rover will know that getting done by speed cameras is more an aspiration and something of an achievement than a credible risk.

Ooh look. Snowy mountains...

So – great drive through the mountains still with snow atop them I’m now just South of Madrid and off to Cordoba tomorrow to meet up with our man in Spain – Alfonso. Given that today is Thursday it seems amazing that by Monday we plan to be in Fes sitting on a roof terrace and drinking Bollinger to celebrate the fact I’ve made it to 50.  Some way to go and tomorrow is, as they say, another day.  Off for Jamon y queso and a coppa de vino tinto…

Feel free to follow us at Twitter or Facebook – links are around somewhere.  Or just comment on the blog and as and when we can we’ll drop another line.

Buenas Noches and apologies for the appalling franglais…

Giles

Co Founder Olives Et Al

20 years on it’s high time we had another adventure – so we’re taking a proper old Land Rover down through Spain and over to Morocco and over the Atlas mountains to go and complete the trip we started back in ’92.  Who knows what we’ll find? Last time we discovered all things olive so it’s inevitable that this time we’ll be looking for more recipes, techniques and styles to bring back and try out on all of you.

So… Today’s the day that the trip starts.  A trip that has been in our minds ever since we started Olives Et Al in 1993 inspired by the sights, smells and experiences of the original journey. Last time it was just Annie and me – since then Ella and Maddie have arrived on the scene so this time it’s all four of us and we’ll see Morocco through their eyes which will be an altogether different type of travelling experience.

We're off - ferry leaves Portsmouth 11.22 21st March 2012

As I type this the ferry is taking me and a packed Landy over to Santander so I can drive down to Malaga, meet the girls and take the night ferry to Morocco on Saturday. Once there it’s down to Fes for a birthday celebration, then to Marrakech and over the Atlas to see what we can find. Beldi olives, Argan Oil, Tagines, Souks, Camel traders – who knows…

I’m thinking of this as a sabbatical not simply a holiday – more a busmans (or olive mans) journey – plenty of experiences to fuel the imagination and inspire us for another 20 years.  Check in from time to time as we update this travel journal and share what we discover and, if you’re in the vicinity of the high or low Atlas, Rif or plains of Morocco in the next 5 weeks let us know and perhaps we can get together…

Catch up soon…

Giles

Co Founder Olives Et Al

(shortly to be joined by Annie – the other co founder and mother to Ella and Maddie – the oliveers daughters – blogs from them in due course…)

Have fun and enjoy the Spring sunshine