Electric Travels: Highs and Lows

December 20, 2025 Marie Noonanafrica, Andolucia, EV charging, Fez, hiking, ID Buzz, Meknes, Morocco, retirement, Salamanca, Sierra Nevada, spain, Tangiers, travel4 Comments

The night before we left home for our two-month roadtrip from Ireland to Morocco in our completely-electric van, I had a dream -more a nightmare – that camels were towing us through the desert because we had run out of charge. Thankfully that didn’t happen…..although at one stage in Central Morocco, it was looking like a very real possibility. But we survived – both us and the van arrived back home, delighted and exhilarated by our travels.

This final post is a brief summary and some trip highlights. We left home on the first of October, sailing with Brittany Ferries boat from Rosslare to Bilbao in Spain – the thirty-hour journey was a wonderfully relaxing way to transition into holiday mode. We meandered through central Spain to Algeciras in Andalusia, (charging as we went along without issue) where another ferry (only one hour this time) took us across the Strait of Gibraltar to Morocco. Having spent a little over three weeks in Morocco, we returned to Spain and made our way slowly back to Bilbao to return home on December 2.

Our highlights were numerous in both countries so….. here’s just a few in no particular order.

Haro is a small town in the Rioja Region where, in early October, the air was heavy with the tang of fermenting grapes and the hum of tractors pulling heaped trailer-loads to the wineries. The buildings were made of a mellow-yellow stone that seemed to glow in the late afternoon….but that could be just the effect of the wine-tasting. Sipping wine in a two-hundred year old cellar, surrounded by wooden casks which were slowly seeping alcohol into the dim air, was a memorable way to enjoy a tipple…. even if it was barely midday. Most wineries opened at 10am and closed by early afternoon. This activity also meant that most visitors were never entirely sober. We thoroughly enjoyed ‘The Haro Haze,’ that fuzzy, slightly inebriated state, but after three days, we had to leave or we might have stayed forever.

The Caminita del Rey is a trek along narrow walkways, that are pinned along the steep walls of a spectacular gorge in the Malaga region. This was a dramatic walk with stunning views…..and not as scary as the photos might indicate as new reinforced walkways have replaced the original rickety ones. The actual portion of the hike along the gorge is quite short, about 3.5 kms with a couple of kilometres at either end to make up about eight kilometres in total. Its popular and requires prior online booking.

Salamanca. In a country which is choc-o-block with stunning towns, we were truly dazzled by the scale and mesmerising beauty of the main plaza in the small city of Salamanca. No wonder it is regarded as the most magnificent plaza in all of Spain. Visitors and locals alike burst into spontaneous applause at dusk when the lights were turned on, enhancing its beauty even more.

Merida, the capital of western Spain’s Extremadura region was founded by the Romans in the 1^st century B.C. It’s a little ramshackle but its Roman origins were evident in the arches, aqueducts and amphitheatre. Many of the ancient structures were incorporated into modern living – cars drove on paved roads under ancient arches and people strolled over the old Roman Bridge which linked the old town with the new. A friendly place.

Walking Tour in Tangiers A walking tour of the medina and souk in the old town gave us a flavour of this fascinating city, a place where mosques became churches before changing back again, where being the ‘Gateway to the Mediterranean’ was both a blessing and a curse, a pawn and a prize to be coveted and fought over down the centuries. It was also a place that welcomed artists – Sir John Lavery lived here, so did Tennessee Williams and Jack Kerouac.

Riad Andalous was hidden away in the medina of the old imperial city of Meknes. Finding it was difficult – we walked in baffling circles through stalls selling shoes, scarfs and all kinds of food until a couple of young boys led us through a maze of dirty alleys. When we climbed the stairs to enter Riad Andalous, we entered an oasis of calm with tapestries on the walls, ornate ceilings, rug-strewn floors and a sunny rooftop terrace. It even had a little resident tortoise, who slowly followed the sun around the terrace. The price per night for a comfortable ensuite room including a huge breakfast was €28. The only downside was that we were within hearing distant of five different mosques (which weren’t synchronised) so the early morning call to prayer overlapped and lasted a long time.

Asilah Campsite Charging In a dusty campsite in Asilah, a windy town on the Atlantic coast, we plugged the van into a socket with the blessing of the campsite owner who was saying Inshallah. Lo and behold, the charging light turned green and the Buzz slow-charged all night until it reached 100% by mid- morning the following day. We didn’t know if it was because of the blessing or the lack of safety features and circuit breakers but we were relieved. Unfortunately it was the only time we managed to charge using a granny cable in Morocco.

The Wonder of Fez. The old medina in Fez was a place where little had changed in centuries. There was the clamour of commence and the rumble of wooden carts being pushed along the narrow ‘streets,’ a maze of over nine-thousand paths and which was reputed to be the largest pedestrianized area in the world. There was the banging of hammers on metal, the soft whoosh of looms, the silent concentration of calligraphy, the slosh of dyeing fabrics and much more. The scent of rosewater and orange blossom mixed with the smell of raw meat, fish, spices and fresh baking. It was like stepping back in time, we ate warm flatbreads directly from the ovens in a family bakery, tasted honey cakes from an old recipe and visited the tannery at the edge of the medina (see lowlights).

Cats Everywhere, If you have a fondness for cats, you will love Morocco. Did you know that a group of cats is called a clowder? Well, Morocco is definitely ‘clowdered.’ There is a cultural communal reverence for felines, with people leaving out food and water for them. The most basic shop had large displays of tinned cat food.

Mint Tea and Other Beverages. I grew to love the mint tea in Morocco, which was just as well as alcohol was difficult to obtain and expensive. In Tetouan, a city in Northern Morocco, we couldn’t find the alcohol section in the Carrefour Supermarket. We wandered around and eventually spotted an unmarked grey door on the side of the building. That couldn’t be it, could it? It looked more like a back entrance to some kind of warehouse. We peeked in. The light was dim, the air was stuffy but the interior was teeming with men (it was all men except for the women at the tills). There was the sound of bottles clinking and cans rolling against each other in baskets. The whole enterprise felt furtive, shady and clandestine. We were delighted.

A Blue City. Chefchaouen in Northern Morocco wasn’t looking it’s best under grey drizzly skies when we visited but it was still gorgeous. It is famous for its narrow streets with facades painted in different shades of blue. There are several theories about why the town is painted blue. Some said that the colour blue symbolised the sky and spirituality, that it came from the Sephardic Jews who settled here in the 15th century, others said that blue was a good insect repellent. Whatever the reason, the result is stunning and very photogenic.

The Roads in Morocco were excellent with a smooth surface, better than a lot of roads in Ireland. There was a surprising amount of donkey and pony traffic particularly when we moved inland. There were also lots of speed checks. If there was only one bush in the distance, it was quite likely that a policeman with a speed-gun was lurking behind it, ready to phone on details to his colleague up the road. We were never stopped as we were driving inside the speed limit to conserve our charge but many others weren’t so compliant.

A Slice of Heaven. We found our idea of heaven in a little unpretentious campsite in the Rif mountains, run by a lovely family who baked bread in an outside oven and made the tastiest tagines. There was the babble of a small river, a soft wind in the lemon and avocado trees and the bleating of a few goats. The resident dog befriended us – all it took was a bit of chicken. The days were warm, perfect for hikes, the nights were cool (about 9C), perfect for sleeping. We sat by the river, hiked in the hills, read, did some yoga and watched the morning sun hit the mountain peaks and slowly creep down to warm the valley. This tranquil place put a spell on us, forced us to slow down. It could have been boring….it should have been…but it wasn’t in the slightest. It was our favourite place in Morocco.

Trees in Cadiz, Spain. Cadiz is a place of narrow lanes, wide plazas, beaches, tapas bars with the aroma of frying fish, and always the sound of the sea which was never far away. The waves crashed or lapped (depending on the wind and side) on the reinforcements that kept the whole place from eroding and dissolving into the sea. But what impressed us most were the trees – dramatic Strangler Figs with enormous umbrellas of leaves and trunks as wide as a city bus.

Sierra Nevada We spent eight days in Niguelas, a small village in the Sierra Nevada, about an half-hour drive outside the city of Granada, staying in a little Airbnb apartment on the edge of the village. After seven weeks of constantly moving through Spain and Morocco and sleeping (mainly) in the van, we wanted to pause and stay in one place. The Buzz spent the time parked under an olive tree. The location of Niguelas was jaw-droppingly beautiful with a huge selection of hikes of various lengths and difficulty. This was a week of super hiking and some morning dog walks with our Airbnb host, Tim and his dogs. There were almond orchards, olive groves, Aleppo Pines bright green against the bare rock and the yellow foliage of the walnut trees and poplars.

A Flow of Creativity. In Niguelas, Helga, our Airbnb host, ran courses in felting and eco printing and we both opted to try our hand at eco-printing. This involved picking plants and flowers from the huge selection in the garden and using Helga’s techniques to transfer the images to cloth. It was a really enjoyable experience and our results were satisfying and really much better than we would have hoped. The unrolling of the fabric after the steaming process was greeted by lots of ‘wow.’

Parador Argomaniz Although we are usually fans of ‘cheap and cheerful,’ we are not adverse to a bit of luxury especially in unique buildings. Paradores in Spain are state-owned luxury hotels, in restored historical buildings, such as palaces, convents, monasteries and castles. It’s like stepping back into the past but with modern comforts and the hotel profits go to the buildings upkeep. Our last two nights were spent in Parador de Argomaniz which was about an hour south of Bilbao. The building dated back to 1712 and was once a convent, before being converted into a palace, and during the Peninsular Wars was used as a headquarters for French Troops. It even had EV charging points. If you have never stayed in a parador, I urge you to look them up and give yourself a real treat.

Lowlights

Getting into Morocco. We nearly didn’t get into Morocco. We forgot to bring the documents for the Buzz and only realized this when we were in the border queue. We phoned our wonderful neighbours at home who ran over to our house, photographed our van documents(the Vehicle Registration Document Form) and Whatsapp’ed them to us. The border officialsweren’t happy -they needed paper documents, it wasn’t the right document, we wouldn’t be allowed in. Eventually a senior official was called, an older man, slightly stooped but mild mannered. He agreed to give us a waiver and signed a piece of paper, necessary to enter Morocco with the van. Four and a half hours after disembarking from the ferry, we were in Morocco….by the skin of our teeth.

EV Charging in Morocco. Charging the Buzz was an issue in Morocco. Chargers were scarce – a charging map told us that there were forty-one chargers in the whole country, distances were large -Morocco is more than six times the size of Ireland. After getting into Morocco, the first chargers that showed up on our map were Fast Volt, the chargers were in a gleaming forecourt and looked impressive. We were hopeful. The instructions, in French, required us to download the Fast Volt App as charging was only available through the app (and not directly using a bank card). No problem, we thought, until we attempted to download the app and kept getting the message ‘Unable to download as app not available in your region.’ Catch 22. The Fast Volt were great chargers but we were unable to use them. Meaning that the number of available chargers decreased significantly.

Looking for a Campsite in the Desert Turning inland from the Atlantic Coast in Morocco, the journey was breathtaking with undulating and twisty roads. The countryside was a palette of browns with the occasional green scrub, villages like mirages clung to hillsides and everywhere there were goats, mainly jet-black, like shadows. We were in search of a farm campsite on Google maps which sounded like a place we might be able to charge the Buzz, plug it into a socket…..if there was a socket assuming that was even electricity. The trouble was that we couldn’t find the campsite. We left the tarmac road and followed dusty tracks…. to nowhere. Eventually we turned around and tried to retrace our tyre marks back to the ‘main’ road which was not an easy feat.

Azrou, a Berber town surrounded by cedar and pine forests with many walking trails and home to troupes of Barbour monkeys in the woods, should have been a highlight but it is here in the lowlights. It was exactly the type of tranquil place we liked BUT we had a big problem, we couldn’t charge the Buzz, We tried several sockets, the campsite manager, Khalid, allowed us to plug into the kitchen, he called a mechanic friend, brought us to a garage but the Buzz wasn’t buzzing.

According to various (unreliable) maps, we thought there were chargers in Fez, which we had intended visiting, or Meknes, which we had never heard of before. Fez was 89kms but Meknes was closer at 65kms but we had a mere 59 kms in the tank. Would either of them have chargers that worked……even if we got there? Our only hope was altitude – we were in the Middle Atlas mountains so it should be all downhill to either destination. We decided on Meknes and drove slowly….Khalid gave us his phone number in case we got stuck and said that he would come and rescue us. We made it to Meknes, gaining kilometres on the downhill but it was SO stressful……however the relief was also huge when we managed to plug into a charger (albeit a slow one) in Meknes which was free, like all the chargers we used in Morocco.

An Unforgettable Smell in Fez. At the door leading into the Fez tannery, a small man with a face like wrinkled leather pressed a few mint leaves into my palm and gestured that I should hold it to my nose. It didn’t help much – a whole mint bush wouldn’t have disguised the pervasive pungent smell that hung in the air, the smell of blood and chemicals although the tanning was done using old natural methods, many unchanged for a thousand years. The ammonia needed in the process was supplied by pigeon poop, gathered from the town’s buildings and from pigeon fanciers and the red dye came from pomegranate seeds. The recently eaten honey cakes were leaping into my throat as I looked down at a ‘clothes line’ of drying skins, a mixture of goat, cow and camel and the much-photographed ‘honeycomb’ vats of coloured liquid used in the dying process. The work was intense, the noise unrelenting, the conditions brutal…….and the smell was gut-wrenching.

Despite the difficulty with EV charging, we were charmed by gorgeous Morocco and Moroccans who are probably the most helpful people in the world. Our trip was curtailed somewhat in Morocco by the quest for chargers. This kept us in cities more than we would have liked but on the plus side, we visited Meknes and Rif Mountains which we probably wouldn’t have if charging hadn’t been an issue.

We learned a lot and could have made things a little easier if we had done some research…..although our usual ‘modus operandi’ is to ’wing it.’ We discovered that there are adaptor cable kits (aka Portable EV Charging Station) available to buy online which might have allowed us to charge from a household socket in places like Morocco by some regulation of current/voltage. (Much of our disappointment, our granny cable didn’t work with an adapter plug) This new adaptor kit has gone on our Christmas wish-list so hopefully in the future there will be no stopping us.

EV charging in Spain was easier than in Ireland with numerous chargers and suppliers. Most could be paid for with a bank card but with a higher tariff – prices were usually cheaper through the relevant app but pricing also depended on the type and speed of the charger. We found Electromaps to be very useful and the most accurate app for finding all chargers and by adding your bank card details to this app, it was possible to pay directly through this app for most chargers in Spain.

Thanks for reading and coming along on our journey.

Wishing you and yours a happy, healthy Christmas x

**Our Journey, through Spain and Morocco**

Central Morocco

Electric Travels: Closing the Loop

November 29, 2025November 29, 2025 Marie Noonanbilbao, europe, seville, spain, travel5 Comments

Spain in November was much colder than we expected.

Our week in the Sierra Nevada was gorgeous with mainly bright sunny days and cold nights (as low as 2C), Although the daytime temperatures rarely climbed above 13C, it felt much warmer in the sunshine and it was perfect weather for hiking. As we packed up the van last Monday, there was a change….clouds were dimming the brilliant blue skies of the previous week.

We headed north, skirting around the city of Granada, stopping to charge the van, outside a Burger King with little else around which meant that we felt compelled to eat something there. We had picked a different charger (a super-fast one) but when we got there, it wasn’t operational – one of the few times that this has happened in Spain and unlike in Morrocco, there was more public chargers within a few kilometres. The downside was that many of them are outside fast-food chains.

Spanish roads are reasonably good and they are almost all without tolls unlike France or parts of Portugal. We stopped for the night at a small hotel in the Castille-La Mancha region, outside Villafranca de los Caballeros, about an hour or two south of Madrid. The wind whistled through the shuttered bedroom windows and the aircon unit on the wall rattled and coughed but produced little heat. Our phones said the outside temperature was 10C but that it felt like 3C. The inside temperature wasn’t much higher. It had seemed a bargain – a convenient and cheap stop – when we booked it at €31 for the night. It could have been gorgeous but it had a desolate ‘out of season’ feel. There were lake views and an inner courtyard but the wind raced up the stairs to the upstairs ‘habitaciones’ (bedrooms). Flocks of migratory birds glittered over the salty waters…..the birds also found it a convenient stop ….but there were very few people. The man on reception was friendly but he was dressed in a padded jacket and woolly hat, and the restaurant and bar were closed. Our room had two single beds….totally by chance I got the comfortable one, Caoimhin’s was lumpy with a huge dip in the centre.

**Evening and Morning……doesn’t capture the cold and biting bre**eze!

After our ‘ budget experience’ and because the weather was too chilly to sleep in the van, we booked an apartment in Logrono in the Rioja region for three nights, eager to get north and closer to the Bilbao ferry. We choose Logrono, simply because we have never been there but getting to Logrono from the lake involved a long drive, over five hours, but we decided that one long hop was preferable to dawdling our way.

Continuing through Castille-La Mancha, the region is so flat that our eyes had to adjust to the flat plains and the unending horizons, so different to the mountain ranges to the south. A few old fashioned windmills – like the ones that Don Quixote tilted at…were visible in the fields. This time, we charged the van in a town-west of Madrid, Arunjuez, where we had breakfast in a local spot, a huge slab of tortilla omelette for Caoimhin and tostada for me which came with the typical tomato paste, olive oil and salt, washed down with rich café solos. We stopped again for a break and a coffee in a rural spot outside a hostal, favoured by truckers. It was pleasantly warm but things soon changed.

Soon we are in the mountain again, North of Soria, the rain turns to sleet and the temperature gauge drop it 1.5C, hovers there for a bit and then dips to -1,5C. The road was twisty and the surface slippery, it was only 3pm but the conditions made it feel much later. There was freezing fog and a fleet of snow ploughs already out on the road. We passed through gorgeous villages with stone houses, clinging to cliffsides, but were glad to descend from the Sierra Camero Neuve and the Sierra Camera Viejo to the flat plains around Logrono.

There was welcome blast of heat when we opened the front door of our lovely apartment with a little balcony overlooking the street. It was very central, less than a ten minute walk to the Cathedral, and a bakery next door and a supermarket three doors down. There was also free underground parking. Logrono doesn’t have a lot of ‘wow’ sights but it’s a friendly place where people smile and ask us where we’re from…..particularly as Caoimhin is walking around in shorts, a rain jacket and a woolly hat. Logrono is on the route of the Camino de Santiago so the shops in the covered arcade around the Cathedral are full of camino shells and walking sticks although there are no obvious pilgrims. The cathedral from the outside is a mishmash of architectural design but the altar inside is dripping in gold. There’s also a very impressive painting by Michelangelo behind the altar in a secluded alcove. You have to insert a euro coin in a slot to illuminate it for a few minutes…..a shrewd move to both protect the painting and generate cash.

The Museo de Rioja, in a gorgeous baroque 18^th century baroque building, is a really superb museum about the history and culture of the region from prehistory to the early twentieth century, stopping just before the Spanish Civil War. All the info is in both Spanish and English and is really well-done.

After loading the Buzz with some Rioja wine, we were ready to head onwards. Driving out of Logrono in sunshine to the sound of clinking bottles in the back, we headed for the hills on minor roads through farming countryside, stopping to take photos of the craggy peaks, windmills and villages. Spain is an astonishingly beautiful country with gorgeous diverse landscapes

When we booked our return ferry tickets from Bilbao to Rosslare, Brittany Ferries were offering special deals with the Spanish Paradores, which are a state owned chain of luxury hotels in restored historical buildings, such as palaces, convents, monasteries and castles. The hotel profits go to the upkeep of the buildings and create employment as they are often in rural areas Although we are usually fans of ‘cheap and cheerful,’ we are not adverse to a bit of luxury especially in unique buildings. We love paradors and have stayed in a few of them on our previous trips to Spain… it’s like stepping back into the past but with modern comforts. Our last two nights are in Parador de Argomaniz, about an hour south of Bilbao, for the incredible ‘special offer’ price of €50 a night including breakfast. If you have never stayed in a parador, I urge you to look them up and give yourself a real treat.

Parador de Argomaniz doesn’t disappoint…..it even has EV charging points. The building dates back to 1712 and was once a convent before being converted into a palace and during the Peninsular Wars was used as a headquarters for French Troops. It is even rumoured that Napolean stayed here and planned his attack on the nearby town of Vitoria from this very place. It’s in the tiny village of Argomaniz with gardens and woods and a renowned restaurant where we plan to have dinner tonight…..our last night……before our thirty-hour ferry tomorrow. A great place to spend our last days in Spain.

Vitoria- Gasteiz is a beautiful city although we had never heard of it until yesterday. It is the capital of the Basque Country and is a wonderful mixture of medieval buildings, tree-lined plazas, quirky shops with an emphasis on modern sustainability. Since this morning, it may have become our favourite large unban centre in Spain……we have kept the best until last❤️

It’s been another incredible two month trip from Rosslare to Bilbao to Morocco and back, all in an electric van. We’ve slept in the van and stayed in a palace. There have been many highs and a few lows…..we never suffered ‘range anxiety’ until we went to Morocco.

When we are home, and have time to digest our experiences, I’ll post about the highlights but until then, thanks for reading and coming along on the journey with us.

Electric Travels: A Pause (paws) in Spain.

November 24, 2025 Marie Noonanadventure, Andalucía, europe, hiking, Niguelas, retirement, Sierra Nevada, Snow, spain, travel1 Comment

Most days, the air was crisp and clear…except when the locals burnt their mounds of tree clipping , wafting plumes of smoke into the air. The sky was a blinding blue and we were surrounded by a craggy silhouette of mountains in almost every direction. In the distance was the glittering white of the first snows, which had fallen the day before we arrived.

We spent eight days in Niguelas, a small village in the Sierra Nevada, about an half-hour drive outside the city of Granada, staying in a little Airbnb apartment on the edge of the village which we had booked two days in advance. After seven weeks of constantly moving through Spain and Morocco on this trip and sleeping (mainly) in the van, we wanted to pause and stay in one place. The Buzz spent the time parked under an olive tree.

We couldn’t have picked a better spot. Our apartment (Aguas calmas) was warm and cosy, with views of the trees and mountains. It was set in a shady garden with a lovely pool, which would have been perfect in warmer weather. The location of Niguelas was jaw-droppingly beautiful with a huge selection of hikes of various lengths and difficulty, many directly from our door. Some were marked but a hiking app like All Trails was helpful to keep us on track. This was a week of super hiking and some morning dog walks with our Airbnb host, Tim and his dogs, a Spanish Mastiff called Leona, who had liver disease, a nervous rescue lab called Dora and a neighbour’s dog who liked to come along for the company.

There were almond orchards, olive groves, Aleppo Pines bright green against the bare rock and the yellow foliage of the walnut trees and poplars. Niguelas is also on the GR7, the famous long distance hiking and cycling route which runs all the way from Tarifa, near Gibraltar, through Spain and France to Andorra.

Our days were bright and sunny, with cold nights (sometimes as low as 1C) but there was torrential rain on our second evening, which flowed down the paved surfaces of the narrow streets like a river. We sloshed around in the dusk looking in vain for an open café or bar but all five of them seemed to be closed….probably because of the weather… but opening hours were ‘flexible’. The village streets were winding and so narrow that many of the walls on the tight corners showed evidence of close encounters with vehicles. Tim told us that some guests arrived shaking and traumatised after the ordeal of driving through the village…. but not Caoimhin.

Despite the one evening of rain, water is rare and very precious here. The area can go months without a drop falling. In the mountains were ancient aquifer systems, which used a network of channels and pipes to divert snowmelt and rainfall, ensuring a water supply for downstream communities during dry months. Some of these originated in Arab times and are considered the oldest managed water recharge system in Europe.

Helga, our Airbnb host, runs felting and eco printing courses so we both opted to try our hand at eco-printing. This involved picking plants and flowers from the huge selection in the garden and using Helga’s techniques to transfer the images to cloth. It was a really enjoyable experience and our results were satisfying and really much better than we would have hoped. The unrolling of the fabric after the steaming process was greeted by lots of ‘wow.’ It is certainly something that we will try at home.

High above the village with a cross, silhouetted against the blue sky. Apparently the village women used to climb up to it on their knees, as a form of penance. We climbed up – not on our knees – and it was a pretty strenuous climb on rough stony surfaces. This is an area that has known conflict and poverty down the ages. It was a key battleground in the Spanish civil war with many atrocities committed against the civilian populations and summary executions in the mountains.

Maybe some of this unease lingers still among the dramatic landscape. In one of the village gardens, hanging from a tree by a noose was a baby doll (the ones that look like a human baby). It was very disturbing sight and had been hanging there for a year. Tim also told us of the local rivalries and neighbourly disputes, of outlaws living in luxurious houses and of a retired priest who set up a refuge for alcoholics, high in the mountains, away from temptation at 2000m……although some ‘escaped’ and made it to the village bars.

But sitting outside in the November sunshine, inhaling crisp mountain air and eating delicious tapas (that come free with a drink), all these simmering rivalries and tensions were completely invisible to us. We sipped our drinks and thought about how lucky we were, as we waited to attend a dramatization of some of Lorca’s work in the village casa de cultura.

Till next time

Thanks for reading

Electric Travels: Out of Morocco

November 15, 2025 Marie Noonanafrica, europe, Morocco, spain, travelLeave a comment

I was jittery, unable to eat anything. Caoimhin had no such qualms tucking into fried eggs and hunks of bread for breakfast in our little apartment in Cabo Negro, a little seaside town in Morocco on the Mediterranean coast, about thirty minutes from the border. Our entry into Morocco in the opposite direction three weeks previously had been dramatic. At first we were denied entry because we didn’t have the correct paperwork for the Buzz, entirely our fault. It was only after much pleading and several hours that we were allowed to enter by the skin of tour teeth and issued with a little white card with our vehicle details. We were grateful then, but would we be let out now without any more drama? Rationally, I knew that we wouldn’t, couldn’t be detained in Morocco, they had let us in, after all…..but still.

The road to the border passed a few seaside towns, M’diq and Frideq which looked nice, and far cleaner than other places. An army of litter pickers in hi-vis jackets were out in force, explaining the cleanliness. There has been a lot of investment in this area and a drive to promote tourism along this section of Mediterranean Coast with its pristine sandy beaches, hotels and cafés. Almost before we knew it, we were at the border, with zigzag of staggered barriers and a large police and army presence. The border was between Morocco and the city of Ceuta, a Spanish enclave although on the African Continent, the only land border between Africa and the EU.

Our passports were looked at and we were waved on with a smile to queue at customs. The sniffer dog sniffed, but didn’t find anything of interest, the officials were relaxed and even chatty, commenting on the electric van. There was more queueing to get our passports stamped with exit visas and phew, we were out of Morocco and nobody had looked for any car documents apart from the little white card we were given on entry. Now we just had to get into Spain. Five vehicle lanes shemozzled to get into the two lane track for the Spanish border. More passport checking, some fingerprinting (a new addition when entering Europe by land), a quick look inside the van and we were through, driving into Ceuta. The whole process took less than two hours unlike the almost five hours it had taken us to enter Morocco.

We had changed countries, that was obvious. Although Ceuta was unabashedly Spanish. The bells of a Catholic church rang out, a woman clutching a water bottle, jogged by the waterfront dressed in a tank top and shorts, a large poster outside a discount store brazenly advertised deals on liquor. All things so normal that we hadn’t even noticed on the way through three weeks ago but which now seemed strange and drew our attention. Ceuta was a handsome place, benefitting a city that was prized and fought over down the centuries. Now it was full of outlet stores, stout Roman fortifications that were beautifully restored, and views of the heavy ferry traffic crossing the Strait of Gibraltar. Lidl was as crowded as if its Christmas Eve with people piling everything from crisps to persimmons which were on offer. There’s no Lidl in Morocco but plenty in Spain so we were unsure of the clientele except that there were plenty of Muslim women,

We had booked our ferry back to Algeciras in mainland Spain for the following morning, allowing plenty of time in case of border delays which thankfully hadn’t materialised. We climbed out of the city towards a cove on the northern end of the promontory, near the lighthouse. On the map it looked like a quiet spot for some wild camping but we had no idea how gorgeous it was until we got there. A winding steep road led down to the glittering sea. A few families sat on the stony beach, a couple of fishermen cast their lines from the rocks. I changed into shorts (which hadn’t even come out of my bag in Morocco) and we had a picnic of cheese and olive sandwiches and chilled white wine in the sunshine. simple pleasures in an idyllic spot.

The following morning was cool, a few people came to watch dolphins out in the bay and a couple of spear fishing- guys got all their paraphernalia ready, donned wetsuits, while talking incessantly and headed into the water, armed with their spear guns. No-one disturbed us, the dog walkers waved at us. Our one-hour ferry was calm and uneventful. The port of Algeciras was busy, ports were always fascinating with their cranes for lifting, their lorries and container ships and the buzz of transporting goods.

We headed west towards Tariffa and the Costa del Luz. The roads were winding, the countryside parched and at one stage, the blackened evidence of an old hillside fire. We picked a campsite at random – there were loads stretched along the coast but when a bored woman at reception told us it was €27 to park for one night, we were so shocked at the price that we continued on – must be the Morocco effect where everything was so much cheaper (apart from alcohol). We spent the night at another campsite overlooking the Atlantic with crashing waves, kite surfers and even a beach bar set up on the rocks. This was in danger of being washed away with the exceptionally high tides with the waves crashing over the veranda and foaming under the seats. The campsite was surprisingly busy, full of Germans, many with babies or toddlers or dogs or all three.

Onwards to Cadiz, a place that we had never visited before. The road was wide but bumpy – the road surface in Morocco was much better than Spain. White villages gleamed on the hilltops among pine forests. The approach to Cadiz was flat and marshy, a spaghetti junction of roads, underpasses and roundabouts before crossing over La Pepa Bridge, the longest bridge in Spain, five kilometres with three of those over water.

Cadiz itself is a relatively small oblong-shaped island, squashed in by the Atlantic Ocean. It was a bright sunny, blue-skied day although the port was cast into shadow by two enormous cruise ships, far higher than anything else in the harbour. Car -parking spaces were scarce and expensive.

It was also a place where history was heaped on history, the most ancient still-standing city in Europe, claiming to go back to 1100BC. The Phoenicians were here, so were the Romans, the Moors, the Spanish. Columbus sailed to the Americas from here on two of his voyages, Napoleon laid siege to the city. Rick Stein was even here on a weekend break,

It was a place of narrow lanes, wide plazas, beaches, tapas bars with the aroma of frying fish and always the sound of the sea which was never far away. The waves crashed or lapped (depending on the wind and side) on the reinforcements that kept the whole place from eroding and dissolving into the sea.

But what impressed us most were the trees – dramatic Strangler Figs with enormous umbrellas of leaves and trunks as wide as a city bus. These trees get their name from their rapid growth and expansive root systems. Under our feet the tenacious roots were probably playing havoc with the drainage systems while we were wowed by the beauty of what was above ground.

There were also a lot of people sleeping rough in the crevices of the Santa Catalina complex and in the shadows behind the magnificent cathedral. It was also a place that had known tragedy. On a summer evening in 1947, a series of mines and torpedoes, stored in a harbour depot, exploded for unknown reasons, killing 150 people, many of them children and injuring at least 5000. Smiling family photos of some of the victims lined the walls of the remembrance museum.

We had booked an apartment on the morning we arrived. It was in the old part of town along one of the many narrow streets and was far nicer and much bigger than expected with a roof terrace, an inner courtyard, a separate kitchen, sitting room and a couple of bedrooms. So much space…after the confinements of the van, it felt like luxury which was nice as we were also celebrating our wedding anniversary (thirty-one years❤️ ). There was even Barry’s tea in the kitchen cupboard, probably left behind from previous Irish visitors. This ‘luxury’ was €118 for two nights which we regarded a celebratatory bargain.

For a place surrounded by sea, there was a surprising lack of seagulls. We soon discovered the reason. The birds had become numerous and aggressive so the city council ordered that their breeding grounds be destroyed, their eggs removed and many were even shot. The pigeons in the plazas must have got the message because they were exceptionally docile and the sparrows kept a low profile.

We charged the Buzz in Arcos de La Frontera, a white village, about forty minutes outside Cadiz, with an impressive hilltop castle. What bliss to have the choice of four different charging stations within three hundred metres of each other, but the downside was that we had to pay. After charging, we continued on to El Bosque , a village in the gorgeous Sierra de Grazelema in glorious sunshine although the area was reputed to have the highest rainfall in Spain. The Buzz blended in with the autumn colours in the campsite where we were the only visitors. The weather was dry although the wind became gusty, peppering the roof of the Buzz with leaves and twigs and sending us sheltering on the veranda of an empty cabin. The chomping of the naked sheep (very closely shorn) in the nearby field sounded like raindrops but the rain didn’t come until mid-morning, a persistent soft drizzle, reminiscent of the West of Island.

The rain became heavier as we headed to strange village, Sentinil de las Bodegas, where many of the houses were troglodyte, built from caves or snuggled under rocky overhangs and surrounded by olive and almond groves, These rocky overhangs were useful as a natural umbrella from the rain which bucketed down as if it would never stop. The wind tunnelled up the narrow laneways, sending locals and tourists running for shelter. The place has been inhabited for centuries and its topography made it difficult to conquer….it took seven sieges before it fell in Catholic hands in the fifteenth century. The following morning, there was a few blue-skied moments before the skies turned dark again.

**Sentinil de las Bodegas, where sky is rock**

The road to Ronda was shrouded in mist – I’m sure the scenery was gorgeous – but we couldn’t see it, we could barely see the road. The mist and the fog cleared after a while but the rain continued. We diverted to La Almazara Olive Mill, an impressive, architecturally-designed building, just outside Ronda, to learn more about olive oil and the olive trees that we see everywhere. Spain is the world’s largest producer of olive oil but its strange thing that the olive oil in Spain, even in the supermarkets is far more expensive than at home.

Rivers of water sloshed down the old cobbled streets of Ronda, soaking our shoes and socks, and seeping through my jacket. We splashed through winding streets, trying to find the mirador, the famous view of town, perched on the edge of a high cliff with a 100m chasm and misty views of the Serrania de Ronda. Despite the weather, Ronda looked impressive and we might return sometime.

Storm Claudia has a long reach, sweeping from the Mediterranean and Southern Spain all the way to Britain and Ireland. On this very wet Saturday morning in Spain, we are now ensconced in the warmth of Luz and Andreas’s house in Hornochuelos, a little town northeast of Seville. Lucky us! They even managed to source olive oil for us from a lovely, local grower with a passion for olive oil production, producing small quantities of organic oil from her own farm which she delivered to our door with enthusiasm and even photos of the beloved trees. All this love and attention produces oil that tastes rich and creamy, totally superior to anything we buy at home.

Thanks for reading,

Till next time, keep dry…..

Electric Roadtrip: From the Mountains to the Sea

November 9, 2025November 9, 2025 Marie Noonanafrica, art, campervan, camping, electric charging, ev, hiking, Medina, Morocco, tagine1 Comment

Our washing danced in the breeze on the clothes-line strung up between two olive trees in the rustic campsite in the Rif Mountains in Morocco. The figs had been harvested, and so had the chillies but two lemon trees were full of green skinned fruit although the few avocadoes were still small and hard. The resident dog befriended us…..all it took was a bit of chicken….he slept beside the van and followed us to the river, as if guarding us or more likely, hoping for scraps. We chatted to the other few campers who came for a night and then departed, an American couple who were at the beginning of a two year stint around Africa, having shipped a jeep over from the States and a trio of British campervans who were travelling in convoy. We watched the woman make bread in the outdoor oven and water the trees. We sat by the river, hiked in the hills, read, did a bit of yoga and watched the morning sun hit the mountain peaks and slowly creep down to warm the valley. This tranquil place in the Rif Mountains had put a spell on us, forcing us to slow down. It could have been boring….it should have been…but it wasn’t in the slightest.

Finally on the fifth morning, we packed up and left, taking the mountain road to climb higher still. A man in a djellaba waved a stick and shouted at his cow on the far side of the road, who scampered off in the opposite direction. The road rose before dipping down to the Mediterranean Coast.

The seaside town of Quad Laou was larger than we expected, with a handsome prom that stretched for more than a kilometre by an (almost) deserted beach. There were fish restaurants, palm trees and few tourists of any kind. We swapped the gurgle of the river at our last campsite for the hypnotic crash of waves, and our dog was replaced by a cat quartet, who danced around us as we ate the tagines that Mr Abdul had prepared for us in his homemade, outdoor oven. It was also peaceful in a different way. Blue fishing boats were on the beach. An old woman tended a flock of sheep down the road. Mr Abdul worked his small bit of a farm by hand and with the help of a horse and cart, augmenting his meagre living by allowing camper vans to park on his land by the sea, The toilets were squat, ‘flushed’ by throwing a few ladles of water from the bucket. There was no shower although Mr Abdul would bring a bucket of well water to slosh over you…if required.

Leaving Quad Laou, we took the spectacular road north that snaked along by the Med where road stalls sold enormous bags of walnuts. Tetuan was the largest town in the area, a prosperous place with all the usual international chains and an old medina with winding streets and alleys. We didn’t stop at any of this…we had one priority….we wanted to get to Ikea on the far side of town, not to buy any furniture or eat meatballs, but to charge the Buzz. It was no surprise that EV chargers were scarce in the area. Charging wasn’t absolutely critical because our recent hops from place to place were relatively short but it would still be reassuring to charge fully. We missed the charging slot by minutes….there was only one. Two women had just plugged in and said that they would be two hours but at least the Kilowatt charger was working and as usual, it was free to use. Another electric car appeared, also hoping to charge, so there were certainly electric vehicles in Morocco. I went into Ikea to use the bathroom. My visit coincided with the ‘call to prayer,’ which was broadcast throughout the store on loudspeakers, sounding slightly surreal among the flatpack Swedish furniture.

Deciding to return later, we backtracked to the medina in the centre of town which also had a small tannery. This was not in full production, although a ‘clothesline’ of animal skins were draped on the back wall and a pungent smell hung heavy in the air -blood and drains – but not as bad as the hellish tannery in Fez. Tetouan was known as the White City and from the balcony overlooking the tannery, there was views of the pale houses crawling up the slopes while on the other side, the tombs of the dead were equally white and shiny in the sunlight.

In the Carrefour Supermarket (which unfortunately didn’t have any EV chargers), we couldn’t find the alcohol section which we knew was often slightly separate to the main supermarket. When we asked, people told us that it was outside and around the corner. We wandered around and eventually spotted an unmarked grey door on the side of the building. That couldn’t be it, could it? It looked more like a back entrance to some kind of warehouse. We peeked in. The light was dim, the air was stuffy but the interior was teeming with men (it was all men except for the women at the tills). There was the sound of bottles clinking and cans rolling against each other in baskets. The whole enterprise felt furtive, shady and clandestine. We were delighted. Our meagre alcohol supplies had run out about a week before Mr Abdul had tried to source us two beers the night before in Quad Laou but despite his best efforts, he was unsuccessful and very apologetic.

Despite the obvious demand, it wasn’t cheap, we’re talking Irish prices for beer and far higher than home prices for wine, except the Moroccan wine which cost about €4 a litre and was drinkable…just about. At the cash tills, wads of cash were pulled out of pockets, crumpled notes smoothed and the balance made up with coins. Most paid in hard cash although it was possible to pay by bank card.

We parked in a hotel carpark beside other camper vans, reheated the leftovers from the previous day’s tagines (the portions were enormous) and enjoyed our wine, giggling at the process involved in acquiring it.

The following morning we were in Ikea before 8.30am, plugged in and charging. Moroccans don’t seem to get up early. All the nearby cafes were closed and shops rarely opened before 10 or even later in the medina. While we were waiting in the van, another EV’s pulled up beside us. The driver told us that although Ikea store doesn’t open until 10am, the restaurant was open for breakfast at 9am. So we enjoyed a three-egg omelette each, made in front of us, with bread rolls, orange juice and coffee for about €7. A bit of local knowledge is a wonderful thing.

Campsites in the area were scarce so we rented an apartment (mainly because we were in need of a shower, there’s a limit to what sprays of CK one will camouflage). This was such a bargain and so comfortable at €19 a night that we booked it for a second night and enjoyed a ‘culture’ day of visiting museums and a lovely art gallery.

Tomorrow we will head to the border and hope that our exit from Morocco will have less drama than our entrance. If the border crossing goes smoothly, we will spend tomorrow night in Ceuta, the Spanish city on the African continent and get the ferry to mainland Spain the following day.

Thanks for reading

A bientot

Electric Roadtrip: Blue Days in Morocco

November 2, 2025 Marie Noonanafrica, camping, Charging, Electric Car, ev, Fes, Fez, ID Buzz, marrakech, Medina, Morocco, Rif Mountains, travel, VW4 Comments

Fes was different, As we drove into the imperial city in the heart of Morocco, our priority was to get the Buzz charged. Following the map directions for a Kilowatt EV charger, a man on a motorbike pulled up beside us in the traffic and, noticing the van’s registration, shouted in English ‘Are you from Ireland?’

We nodded, replying that we were making our way to charge the van. He raced ahead and directed us to the EV chargers on the side of a busy wide street. Unfortunately neither was functioning but our motorbike ‘friend’ was now bombarding us about talk of city and medina tours of the medina for a special price for the Irish. This was our first exposure to touts in Morocco….and he was persistent…but we finally managed to get rid of him.

Our next and only option for charging the van in Fes, according to various maps, (Google, Electromaps, Kilowatt and Place to Plug) was a couple of kilometers away at a shopping centre. We located them in the underground carpark of a Carrefour Mall and, thankfully, they worked although they were again slow-chargers and free of charge. When we connected, the Buzz display told us that it would be over five hours before it was 100% charged. We booked a place to stay near the medina and walked the forty minutes there, deciding to return later for the van. Our tolerance for shopping malls, full of the usual designer shops and stuff we don’t need, was always low, but was now hovering below zero although we were grateful that the Buzz was charging.

Fez, the oldest of the four Moroccan Imperial cities, was blessed with an abundance of water and surrounded by fertile hills which also supplied defense. It was an important trading post for centuries, strategically placed at the crossroads of major caravan routes (silk, gold, salt and slaves) between sub-Saharan Africa and the Mediterranean. Its wealth also came from its rich natural resources and skilled artisans.

The following morning, wandering around the narrow streets of the medina on a walking tour, it seemed that little had changed. There was the clamor of commence and the rumble of wooden carts being pushed along the narrow ‘streets’, a maze of over nine thousand paths where Google maps didn’t work very well and which was reputed to be the largest pedestrianized area in the world. There was the banging of hammers on metal, the soft whoosh of looms, the silent concentration of calligraphy, the slosh of dyeing fabrics and much more. The scent of rosewater and orange blossom mixed with the smell of raw meat, fish, spices and fresh baking. In many ways, it was like stepping back in time, we ate warm flatbreads directly from the ovens in a family bakery, tasted honey cakes from an old recipe and visited the tannery at the edge of the medina.

At the door leading into the tannery, a small man with a face like wrinkled leather pressed a few mint leaves into my palm and gestured that I should hold it to my nose. It didn’t help much. A whole mint bush wouldn’t have disguised the pervasive pungent smell that hung in the air, the smell of blood and chemicals although the tanning was done using old natural methods, many unchanged for a thousand years. The ammonia needed in the process was supplied by pigeon poop, gathered from the town’s buildings and from pigeon fanciers and the red dye came from pomegranate seeds. The recently eaten honey cakes were leaping into my throat as we looked down at a ‘clothes line’ of drying skins, a mixture of goat, cow and camel and the much-photographed ‘honeycomb’ vats of coloured liquid used in the dying process. A worker at a tap tried to wash dye from his bare legs, stained a deep burgundy from immersion in one of the vats. The work was intense, the noise unrelenting, the conditions brutal… no wonder the number of workers had dropped dramatically during the last decades. In the heat of summer, the conditions would be even more hellish. The idea of buying a leather bag lost its appeal.

Although our accommodation in Fes was in a narrow laneway, outside the medina, it was an area full of life with playing children, barking dogs and the usual slinking cats, a guy fixed a motorbike puncture in a narrow doorway, another was welding without a mask in a tiny workshop. People lived in very close proximity with their neighbors, the shabby closed doors giving no indication of the beauty inside many of the houses….not everyone here was poor despite external appearances. Washing was always billowing on the flat rooftops, the day punctuated by the call to prayer from the mosques.

We left Fez with the Buzz 100% charged, thanks to the free (but slowish) charging in Carrefour Shopping Mall. Our kilometer range had reached a new ‘high’ of over 600kms, a consequence of our very ‘conservative driving style.’ At home, a full charge usually gives a range of about 450kms. Of course, fuel consumption in a diesel/petrol car also has direct correlation with how the car is driven but it isn’t as apparent…or as critical when you have numerous options for filling the tank.

Our next stop was Chefchaouen, supposed to be the ‘prettiest town’ in all of Morocco, a little under 200 kms north and about three and half hours away (depending on driving style). Leaving the fertile plains of Fes, the land got drier and dustier, children waved to us as we passed. At this stage, we had seen so many donkeys that we (almost) no longer reached for our camera. Our maps told us that there was a restaurant with an EV charger about two hours into our journey so we decided to stop there, with no real expectation that the charger would exist or that it would work but, for a change, this was a good charging story. While we were eating delicious pizza with mint tea, (is that Moroccan-Italian fusion?), the Buzz charged to 100% for free.

The terrain became greener as we continued on our journey and the temperature dropped from 26C in Fez to about15C. Ominous clouds scudded across a darkening of sky as we headed towards the Rif Mountains. By the time we reached our campsite in the hills above Chefchaouen, the wipers were working at full tilt and the gulleys at the side of the road were overflowing with brown sludgy water. A gusty wind blew the rain sideways but we were thankful that we were sleeping in the van. The canvas on several tents belonging to an Africa Overland Tour were bulging with water in the early evening The tour was only on Day 3 of a forty-five week trip down the west coast of Africa and up the east coast, finishing in Cairo. The biggest surprise was the age profile of participants. Many were in the fifties and quite a few looked a couple of decades older.

It rained all night. The wind blew off our awning, sent it sailing over the van but at least it didn’t collide with a person, tent or camper. The morning was grey and drizzly, the sodden Africa Overlanders, still in good spirits, were up and gone before 8am but many claimed they hadn’t slept at all.

Chefchaouen, famous for its narrow streets with facades painted in different shades of blue, was not looking it’s best under the grey skies. Men walked around with the pointed hoods of their djellabas (long tunics) covering their heads, giving them an old medieval monkish look. Nobody was entirely sure why the town was painted blue but there were several theories. Some said that the colour blue symbolised the sky and spirituality, that it came from the Sephardic Jews who settled here in the 15th century, others said that blue was a good insect repellent. Whatever the reason, the result is stunning and Instagram-able and a tourist magnet. Thankfully, the skies cleared for us and the temperature rose…..just as we were beginning to think we had been hasty in leaving the heat of the desert.

I’m writing this under an olive tree, the sunlight turning the white bark silver. Theres the babble of a small river, a soft wind in the bushes and the bleating of a few goats. We came here after Chefchaouen. The days are warm, perfect for hikes, the nights and early morning are cool (about 10C, perfect for sleeping. This little unpretentious campsite in the Rif mountains is a slice of heaven, run by a lovely family who bake bread in an outside oven and make the tastiest tagines we have eaten. We might never leave.

**Heaven in the Rif Mountains, Morocco** ❤️😎

Thanks for reading,

‘Till next time..

Electric Roadtrip: The Charging Saga

October 28, 2025 Marie Noonanadventure, camping, Charging, Electric van, ev, EV charging, hiking, Medina, Meknes, Middle Atlas, Morocco, travel6 Comments

Leaving our camping cocoon in Tangier was hard but it had to be done. Waving goodbye to Said, the manager, we headed off in search of EV chargers, making a minor detour to Carrefour Supermarket (Socco Alto branch) to stock up on a few beers and a bottle of wine. Alcohol is not widely available in Morocco, but you can find it…. if you know where to look or have inside information from a walking tour guide. It’s relatively expensive, especially compared to Spain.

We stop at a fuel station which has Fast Volt Chargers, which again look well maintained. Caoimhin had contacted the company for help about our inability to download the app (essential for charging as there was no option to pay directly using a bank card) but we were still unable to download it despite following their instructions of using a VPN and selecting France.

Google maps (but not Electro-maps) tells us that there’s an EV charger about 3 minutes away so we go in search but they aren’t there, and never were, according to a security guard who directs us back to the Fast Volt chargers. We continue down the coast towards some Tesla Super chargers which appear to be in the middle of nowhere,. When we get there, we discover that they are part of the high-end Hilton Golf Resort. The guys on the gates were friendly and helpful but the Tesla chargers were only compatible with Tesla cars. The guys were offering us cables to slow-charge off a wall socket but that would have taken hours so we pushed on down the coast where the sight of camels relaxing on the beach made us smile.

We continued to a dusty, dishevelled campsite in Asilah, a windy town of murals, artists with a long promenade by the Atlantic and an interesting walled medina. After checking in, we plugged into a socket with the blessing of the campsite owner who was saying Inshallah, and lo and behold, the charging light turned green and the Buzz slow-charged all night until it reached 100% by mid- morning the following day. Maybe it was the blessing – or the lack of safety features and circuit breakers – but we now had 450 kms to play around with. As well as that, the wife of the campsite owner made us a dinner of tagine and couscous/veg and delivered it to our van in the evening. Delicious. It rained heavily during the night, the first real rain that we have had since we left home on Oct 1, but there was little evidence the next morning as the thirsty ground had soaked it up.

On down the Atlantic Coast, stopping at a Total Energies gas station in Lareche, we found two working chargers, that were also free to use. We didn’t really need to recharge but we couldn’t pass up the free offer. Things were definitely looking up.

We continued past acres of polytunnels gleaming silver in the sunshine, roadsides strewn with rubbish and towns that slide into each other until we reached Mehdia Campsite, a large campsite near an impressively long beach. It also had a large swimming pool, much favoured by seagulls who used it as a playground and a toilet. Two British bikers pitched a tent beside us and through the hedge, we heard them mention their longing for a cold beer. As we had a couple of cans in our little fridge, we passed them through the hedge to our grateful neighbours. They were heading north towards Tangier on their way home after two weeks in Morocco and told us of their favourite scenic rides. One of them produced a paper map with highlighted lines, marking their trip. This made me realize how much I miss the feel of paper maps, grubby from use, creased from folding ‘the wrong way’ but so easy to get a proper overview. One of their routes looked suitable for us, provided we could charge (we were unable to charge at the seaside campsite although we tried).

So we changed direction, abandoned the coast which was mostly dismal and dirty and ditched our plan of heading to Casablanca – it sounded alluring but many people told us that it was bustling, modern and quite miss-able. We managed to charge fully (for free) at another Total Energies fuel station on the motorway outside Rabat. These motorway stations were similar to home with Burger King, and shops that sell pastries/sandwiches and Pringles – generic places that could be anywhere on the planet. We chatted to two Norwegians who were driving to Gambia from Norway and who thought we were very brave (and quite mad) to be driving an electric van in Morocco. They actually went in search of us, curious about who could be driving the all-electric van with an Irish registration in the charging bay.

The inland journey was breathtaking, undulating and twisty, the countryside a palette of browns with the occasional green scrub, villages like mirages clung to hillsides and everywhere there were goats, mainly jet-black, like shadows. The temperature rose steadily until we hit 34 degrees. There was the bleating of the goats and the ‘call to prayer; from the village mosques but often there was miles of emptiness. We were in search of a farm campsite on Google maps which sounded like a place we might be able to charge the Buzz, plug it into a socket…..if there was a socket or even electricity. The trouble was that we couldn’t find the campsite. We left the tarmac and followed dusty tracks…. to nowhere. Eventually we turned around and tried to retrace our tyre tracks back to the ‘main’ road which was not an easy feat. A ragged boy appeared at our car window, offering us the bunch of grapes he held in his hand. He didn’t know anything about a campsite but knew the word for ‘money’ in several languages …and probably in a few more that we didn’t recognize. He wasn’t in the least bit aggressive but had a lovely charm about him.

We pushed on to Qued Zem, a substantial town, which was once called ‘Little Paris,’ a title which left us scratching our heads. It was after six in the evening and still almost 30C so we went in search of a hotel. There weren’t many choices, the review for one read ‘don’t expect clean sheets’ so we went for the other, a fairly pricey option in a grand old mansion. This looked impressive but the bedroom aircon refused to go below 26C and the blocked shower tray flooded the bathroom but the sheets was clean and the breakfast on the veranda facing the street was delicious. The quality of bread and pastries in Morocco was surprisingly superb, probably the French legacy, and juices were almost always freshly squeezed.

Although I had an e-sim from Revolut, I wanted to buy a Moroccan phone sim so we paid a visit to the Maroc Telecom office in the town where the lady behind the counter was extremely helpful but couldn’t understand why my Maroc Telecom sim in my phone worked for calls but not for mobile data. She eventually asked the doorman to take us to Hashim around the corner who was good at fixing things. Hashim was determined to find a solution but eventually had to give up….mainly because we wanted to get on the road. The Moroccan desire to help was truly amazing.

Although there were plenty of petrol stations in Qued Zem, there weren’t any EV-chargers -most people didn’t know what we were talking about. Although we would have preferred to continue south to the High Atlas, the difficulty with charging made us head north although in reality, chargers were scarce in every direction. The drive north through the Middle Atlas to Azrou was again spectacular with a timeless, almost biblical feel. It was Friday and in many of the villages, our passing coincided with people spilling out of the mosques and hopping on donkeys carts or bicycles. In many cases, the only evidence of modern living was that the man on the donkey had a mobile phone in his hand.

Surprisingly, there were lots of speed checks with police hiding behind bushes with speed guns. The advantage of trying to conserve fuel was that we were always within the limit and were waved on. Our charging issue was becoming critical, the kilometres ticked down and we mentally calculated how many we have left versus how many we needed to get to our destination. Morocco is a big country, more than ten times the size of Ireland. There were supposed to be EV-chargers in Azrou but we couldn’t find them and nobody knew anything about them. By the time we reached the Azrou campsite, Euro Camping Emerites (at least that existed), we had 62 kms left and we desperately hoped that we would be able to charge using a granny cable in a socket.

Azrou was charming, a Berber town surrounded by cedar and pine forests with many walking trails and home to troupes of monkeys in the woods. At about 1300 m, the days were warm and the nights were cool. The campsite was also lovely with lots of trees, a place where Khalid, the friendly manager, delivered free baguettes to everyone in the morning. It was exactly the type of tranquil place we liked, surrounded by nature BUT we had a big problem, we couldn’t charge the Buzz, We tried several sockets, Khalid allowed us to plug into the kitchen, he called a friend, brought us to a garage but the Buzz wasn’t buzzing.

A wonderful thing happened. A few kms outside the town, our available kilometres rose to 90 with 60kms to go. I began to breathe again, my stomach unclenched. The Buzz kilometres changed according to the terrain – going downhill, they zoomed up, any uphill, they went decreased but by the time we arrived in Meknes, we had an unbelievable 109 kilometres to spare. We headed to Carrefour Shopping Mall where there were supposed to be Kilowatt chargers and we had already downloaded the Kilowatt app. The good news was that the two chargers were working but the bad news was that they were in use. The friendly doorman suggested that we go for coffee and he would call us…which he did after about thirty minutes. Thankfully, the Buzz charging light turned green. As it was only a medium charger, we were only 50% charged after about three hours but we hated shopping centres and couldn’t bear to spend any more time there.

Maybe our diversion to Meknes was meant to happen. It was a lovely city with impressive architecture, and although it was one of the four imperial cities of Morocco (the others are Fez, Marrakesh and Rabat), it wasn’t very touristy. Driving from the Carrefour Mall, we were wowed by the beauty of the old walls, built by Sultan Moulay Ismail in the mid seventeenth century. These impressive mud walls encircled the palace and old town and were home to hundreds of stocks nesting in the turrets. Sultan Moulay Ismail began the first day of his reign by murdering any of his 83 brothers and half-brothers who refused to bow to him. Despite that – or maybe because of it, he is much revered even to the present day. We visited his lavish mausoleum with a stunning mix of exquisite tiling and simple design.

We stayed in a fabulous riad (Riad Andalous), hidden away in one of the alleys of the medina warren for two nights. Finding it was difficult, we walked in baffling circles through stalls selling shoes, scarfs and food. Riads are traditional Moroccan houses and what a revelation when we climbed the stairs to enter Riad Andalous after a maze of dirty alleys. Secreted away high above the clamour of the medina stalls, it was an oasis of calm with tapestries on the walls, ornate ceilings, rug-strewn floors and a sunny rooftop terrace for relaxing breakfasts. It even had a little resident tortoise, who slowly followed the sun around the terrace.

We visited a few carpet shops where eager salesmen pulled out rugs until the floor was strewn with them and our heads were swimming, so overwhelmed that we no longer knew what we liked. On the last morning, leaving our gorgeous accommodation, we turned into the alleyway to have one final look and this time we purchased after some hard bargaining.

It was time to head to Fes but as the Buzz tank was at 50%, we diverted by a motorway fuel station on the outskirts of Meknes that according to our maps had fast EV chargers but we were again disappointed. It will be absolutely essential that we charge in Fes which according to our (unreliable) maps has three chargers, one of which is a Tesla and so wont work for us (In Morocco, Tesla superchargers are only compatible with Tesla cars), so that leaves two medium chargers. Yikes!!!

On the bright side, we have really enjoyed our visit to Meknes, a city we would never have visited without charging issues.

Thanks for reading.

Till next time

Electric Travels: Onwards to Morocco

October 24, 2025December 11, 2025 Marie Noonanadventure, Asilah, beaches, camping, Ceuta, Electric van, EV charging, Medina, Morocco, nature, Picasso, retirement, Souks, Tangier, travelLeave a comment

When I left you last, we were waiting to enter the Picasso Museum in Malaga. Picasso was truly a genius, could turn his hand at anything from pottery to sculpture to iron works and was constantly working. I love his quote ‘Everyone knows that art is not truth. Art is a lie that allows us to realize the truth. Definitely worth a visit.

Malaga was gorgeous but too crowded and hectic for us so we continued along the Costa del Sol, past the high-rise holiday complexes to the western side of Marbella where we found a lovely campsite with good facilities, Gregorio Beach Camper Park , about a hundred meters from a quiet beach. The Wi-Fi was strong enough to upload photos and blog and it was cheaper, at €21 a night, than our hellish stay in the hills above Malaga the night before. We have never visited the Costa del Sol before but the beaches were not what we expected- no fine golden sand, just long stretches of dun-beige but the sun shone and the October temperatures were a comfortable 24C, Ireland has far better beaches…..but maybe not the sun. Spain was fabulous but Morocco was calling so we drove towards Algeciras, a port town with lots of ferries across the Strait of Gibraltar.

We tried to charge (Cepsa Chargers) in a garage forecourt near a Chino Shop where we bought camping gas canisters but the chargers were powered down and covered in dust. Then on to Ionity chargers down the road. Sun blazed on the screens making them opaque and impossible to read. Sweat dribbled off us and I searched for my umbrella to provide some shade and maybe make the instructions on the charger screen legible. Although €40 was taken from Caoimhin’s bank card to validate it, we couldn’t get them to work. We next stopped along the road at a casino which had two Tesla chargers…these might have worked but they were only slow chargers so we pushed on and stopped at an Iberdrola charger outside a hotel on the outskirts of Algeciras. The Buzz charged to 100% here without issue and….best of all, the charging seemed to be free (the cost hasn’t been deducted from my bank card…yet)

While we were charging, we booked the ferry to Morocco for the following morning. It was a little bit disquieting that the first time we had any charging issue in Spain (which has loads of EV chargers was the day before going to Morocco which has very few (41 chargers in the whole country according to one source and Morocco is about ten times larger than Ireland). Would our travels there be severely curtailed?

We could have sailed from Algeciras–Tangier (Morocco) but Algeciras–Ceuta was cheaper and sounded interesting. Ceuta is not part of Morocco but is a Spanish coastal city on the African continent. A one-way ticket for two passengers and the van cost €183.

Then we checked into a hotel as there weren’t any campsites nearby– really splashing out at €60 a night. We read our guidebook on Morocco, feeling excited, until we made the disturbing discovery that we had forgotten to bring the Van Registration Documents with us! This hadn’t been a problem in Europe but it would likely be a real issue leaving Europe

We were early. The woman in the ferry queue in front of us wore a black burka and a beggar wandered down the row of cars with outstretched hand. The Med glittered in the morning light, although cloud obscured the Rock of Gibraltar The African continent was tantalizingly close, …a mere 17 kms to Ceuta across the Strait.

**The Journey so far …..and a View of the Rock**

There was a brief custom check in Algeciras port, just a cursory look in the back seats and in the booth, for everyone except for us. We were waved onto the ferry with a smile. I guess the rationale was that nobody in such a neon-coloured van could possibly be smuggling anything. The crossing was smooth and shorter than expected, about an hour. The time difference gained us an hour so we arrived in Ceuta, at the same time we had left Algeciras. It felt as if we had departed Spain, crossed the water, only to arrive back in Spain. The city has been ruled by Spanish princes, Moroccan sultans and Portuguese kings down the centuries. Now it is surrounded by high-security barricades to prevent smuggling and illegal immigration to Europe.

Ceuta was a handsome town with Spanish architecture, plazas, old city walls and sunshine, we didn’t stop, anxious to get to the border (La Frontera) and discover our fate. An official demanded to see our ‘ticket,’ we didn’t know what he meant but he directed us back into town and uphill to a huge parking lot, where cars wishing to cross into Morocco were corralled before being released in rows to prevent border congestion…..in theory at least. While waiting, we phoned our great neighbours, who hurried over to our house, photographed our van documents (thanks Donal and Anita) and Whatsapp’ed them to us. After an hour of waiting in the carpark, we approached the border a second time to join snail-like queues of cars, vans and motorbikes. A further two hours went by before we were at the top of the queue. Our passports were stamped without issue, we were welcomed to Morocco and proceeded to the vehicle window. Like all the vans (no exceptions for the Buzz this time), we were asked to drive to one side where it was searched and then we were asked for the van registration form …and the trouble really began. They needed paper documents, it wasn’t the right document, we wouldn’t be allowed in.

Alternative itineraries were dancing around my head, if we had to return to Spain, we could wander around Southern Portugal….it would be very disappointing but not a calamity. Eventually a senior official was called, an older man, slightly stooped but mild mannered. He agreed to give us a waiver and signed a piece of paper, necessary to enter Morocco. Four and a half hours after disembarking from the ferry, we were in Morocco….by the skin of our teeth.

A row of white taxis hovered around the border gates, a couple of dogs barked and ran uphill after the van, while several head-scarfed women sold fruit, laid out on the ground on colourful blankets. We kept going, wanting to get away from the border as quickly as possible. Thankfully, the e-sim we purchased from Revolut for Morocco activated, so we had mobile data on our phones without the hassle of haggling for a physical sim.

The road surface was excellent and the scenery was ruggedly beautiful with brightly painted, flat-roofed houses with mountains casting light and shadows. Although we were fully charged, we wanted to check out the Moroccan EV chargers, just to see if charging would be an issue so we headed in the direction of Tangier. The drive from Ceuta to Tangier was spectacular with the backdrop of the Rif mountains with small towns and some beautiful white-sandy beaches.

The first chargers that showed up on our map were Fast Volt, the chargers were in a gleaming forecourt and looked impressive. We were hopeful. The instructions, in French, required us to download the Fast Volt App as charging was only available through the app (and not directly using a bank card). No problem, we thought, until we attempted to download the app and kept getting the message ‘Unable to download as app not available in your region.’ Catch 22. The next chargers on our map were part of a Casino Hotel and their use (behind a manned barrier) was for hotel guests only and we were refused entry Tangier seemed a modern city with palm lined boulevards, a wide esplanade along the sea-front and buildings on the steep slopes, a city of hills and hollows.

We headed to a Google campsite, Miramonte Camping, in need of a lie-down after the stress of the day and were welcomed by Said, in perfect English The campsite in a hilly location was really a resort complex with three swimming pools and stunning views of the Med. We feared it might be way above our budget but it was about €19,50 a night, which, although expensive for Morocco ,was excellent value for us.

A walking tour of the medina and souk in the old town gave us a flavour of the city, a place where mosques became churches before changing back again, where being the ‘Gateway to the Mediterranean’ was both a blessing and a curse, a pawn and a prize, a strategic position to be coveted and fought over down the centuries.

The sleepy back alleys were full of cats, all seemingly related, except for one tabby who blended so perfectly with the black and white tiled step.

We lingered at our luxury campsite for a couple of days. We still haven’t managed to charge the van……but as we have almost 400kms in the tank, we can always drive 200kms and then return if all else fails.

‘Till next time. Thanks for your company

Merci d’avoir lu

Electric Travels: Into the Sun

October 16, 2025 Marie Noonanadventure, cycle-touring, cycling, spain, travelLeave a comment

The days flew by, sun-drowsy, as we made our way south through Spain.

After leaving Salamanca, where we were dazzled by the town’s beauty, not just in the famed main plaza, regarded as the most magnificent in all of Spain, where visitors and locals alike burst into spontaneous applause at dusk when the lights were turned on. Although the city was full of visitors, it was still possible to find shady corners and quiet courtyards where there was only the chirping of birds, which nested in the nooks and crannies of the sandstone facades of old buildings.

Driving through the Extramadura Region, with views of valleys and mountains, we reached the outskirts of Merida, which was founded by the Romans, two thousand years ago. We set up in the Merida Campsite about four kilometres outside town. It was a bit ramshackle, outdated and cheap (but that’s the way we like it, especially €15/night). There were stables next door with white horses and a yard with all sorts of fowl, hissing geese, chickens, ducks and a raucous rooster who only crowed during the day. Occasionally all hell broke loose until the pecking order was re-established. There were falling leaves and shade under eucalyptus trees. The only downside was the flies. There weren’t that many but they were really attracted to the Buzz as if it was emitting some fly pheromone.

A friendly British couple with a motorbike camped in a tiny tent beside us. They were heading to Morocco, planning to do a huge loop of the country in just fifteen days and then a hurried ride back to Santander for a ferry home. Thankfully, we’re in no such hurry.

Merida town was also a little ramshackle but its Roman origins were evident in the arches, aqueducts and amphitheatre. Many of the ancient structures incorporated into modern living – cars drove on paved roads under ancient arches and people strolled over the old Roman Bridge which linked the old town with the new. We found a packed café (Joplin Cafe), whose specially was ‘tostada,’ huge hunks of bread plastered with a savoury tomato paste, topped with thin slices of cured ham, or grilled aubergine, cheese and a fried egg. Two coffees, a tea and two enormous tostadas came to €8.40…no wonder it was packed.

After charging the van at a Zunder EV charging station, where only one other of the sixteen spots available was occupied, we were on our way again. The huge number of charging stations and the lack of queues makes charging in Spain much easier and quicker than in Ireland.

**EV Charging Station….no queues, no hassle.**

We selected ‘no highways’ in Google maps so we drove through villages and small roads lined with vineyards and olive groves. The hills were topped by ruined castles or villages of red-tiled white houses as we crossed into Andalusia.

In Alanis, a pretty whitewashed village in the Sierra Norte, surrounded by rivers and pine forests, a crowd of teenagers, disembarking from a school bus, were as mesmerised by the Buzz as the campsite flies.

Our next stop was Hornocuelas, a small town in the Sierra Morena in the province of Cordoba where we were welcomed by Luz, my brother in law’s mother and her partner, Andres. We loved staying for a couple of nights in their comfortable, typically-Spanish townhouse with tiled floors throughout a shuttered windows to keep out the light because here, the sun is the enemy. Although, it was a pleasant 26C in October , the temperatures hit a melting 46 C last August. The town is surrounded by olives groves because olive oil is big business as well as almonds and fields of cotton, full of soft white balls, almost ready for harvesting.

A visit to Almodovar Castle, setting for many Game of Thrones scenes, was a walk through the centuries. Originally the site of a Roman fort, a Moorish fortress was built here in the eight century, overlooking the Guadalquivir River, before being taken over by the Christians. It was extended and remodelled over the years with stories lingering between the cracks in the many towers, torture chambers and courtyards. It’s well worth a visit with an excellent audio-guide.

Saying ‘Adios‘ to Luz and Andres, we left loaded with gifts of cheese, honey, wine and homemade ‘angel hair’ pastries (muchas gracias🥰 ) and headed in the direction of the Caminita del Rey, which is a hike near Ardales in the province of Malaga. Numbers are restricted and it’s so popular that it has to be booked in advance. We reserved a spot two weeks ago (before we left home) and were fortunate to get a spot so soon, as it can be booked out months in advance.

The two hour and a quarter journey from Hornocuelas was mainly through flat, empty countryside. Driving through Osuna, we spotted a large number of cars parked outside the hilltop church overlooking the town. Curiosity made us stop for a look. The church doors opened and wedding guests, as colourful as butterflies, spilled out. When a vintage car carrying the bride and groom drove up the little side road, there was a lot of yelling before a series of ‘bangers,’ arranged in a long row by the edge of the pavement, detonated in sequence sending black smoke everywhere. This custom certainly starts married life with a bang.

The Caminita del Rey is a trek along narrow walkways that are pinned along the steep walls of a spectacular gorge. These walkways were originally used by the workers in the construction of a hydroelectric power station about a hundred years ago. The company employed quite a few sailors with a head for heights from climbing ship’s masts. This is a spectacular walk with stunning views…..and not as scary as the photos might indicate as new reinforced walkways have replaced the original rickety ones….although not for anyone with vertigo. The actual portion of the hike along the gorge is quite short, about 3.5 kms with a couple of kilometres at either end to make up the total kilometres. Although there is no need for a guide (the path is self-evident), the number of unguided slots is very limited. The advantage of being in a guided group was the people we met, some Aussies and a lovely couple from Oregan, who we shared a cold drink with at the end.

We stayed in a campsite at the northern end of the gorge (€19/night), which was a convenient 500 metres from the tunnel entrance to the starting point. The 7.8kms hike is one-directional but there are buses at the El Chorro end (finishing point) to drop hikers back to the starting point or to one of the carparks along the route. This all sounds very logical but the website is quite poor and potential hikers found themselves at the wrong end without enough time to get to the start or at the starting end but thinking they should be at the other end. A lesson in confusion! If you are in the area and haven’t made a reservation, at 9am each morning, the first 150 people in the queue are allowed in without a booking…..or so we heard.

**Shady Camping at Caminita del Rey**, **Malaga Province**

**Countryside, north of Malaga, Sun-bleached and dusty, but not barren.**

After relaxing in our shady hillside campsite, we journeyed to the city of Malaga through mountains and windmills, reservoirs and dry river beds. Traffic snarled around the city, all roads heading into town were so choked that we headed for a campsite in the hills which had good reviews, and arrived to a dustbowl with no shade, relentless sun, poor facilities (one women’s toilet and one men’s toilet for about forty camping cars) plus an occasional whiff of sewerage. The surprising thing was that it was full, we barely got a spot and it was relatively expensive (€25)….not a promising start to camping along the Costa del Sol.

The following morning, we were up and gone by sunrise……not very early as its dark here until about 8.15 am. We parked in an underground carpark on the edge of the Centro Historico which also had ten EV charging points, convenient for topping up the Buzz although we just made it under the 1.9m barrier, with barely a whisper to spare.

Malaga is truly a gorgeous city, teeming with tourists and with enough museums to rival Waterford. Deciding to go to the Picasso Museum, we discovered that the earliest slot we could get was at midday so we ate breakfast at one of the many cafes, people watching, enjoying the vibrant atmosphere and listening to the squeal of the tyres of delivery vans on the ceramic tiled streets.

Morocco is now firmly in our sights, just a few more hops.

Till next time….hasta luego.

Thanks for reading

Electric Road Trip: The Journey Begins

October 8, 2025December 13, 2025 Marie Noonanadventure, electric vehicle, europe, EV charging, Ferry, ferry campsite, france, Haro, retirement, spain, travel, wine, wine tasting5 Comments

The night before we left home for our nine-week roadtrip from Ireland to Morocco in our all-electric van, I dreamt that camels were towing us through the desert because we had run out of charge. Range anxiety in my dreams…..hopefully not an omen.

The journey to the ferry port in Rosslare was short and the crossing to Bilbao was smooth. Taking the ferry was such a comfortable, relaxing way to travel, a slow transitioning to holiday mode. Wi-Fi was only available for a fee and our mobile data only kicked in briefly when we sailed near the tip of England and the French coast with a fleeting flurry of What’s App messages. We were in a floating cocoon, out of contact with the world.

We were fortunate to sail on Wednesday morning (Oct1), well ahead of Storm Amy. Our original preference was for the Friday crossing but it was full when we tried to book it the previous week, so we opted for the earlier sailing. Sometimes it pays off to be ‘last-minute’ because that Friday evening sailing was cancelled due to the adverse weather conditions.

The thirty-hour journey flew by. The talk given by the resident on-board conservationist (from the Ocra Charity) about whale identification was really informative and a good initiative on the part of Brittany Ferries. The breeze on deck was brisk for the whale-watching session, and as the whales refused to turn up, we went down to the bar and marine-watched in comfort through the large windows, accompanied by live music followed by a quiz about French food and drink. It was multiple choice so we guessed most of the answers….. wrongly. (Sample question: What is Roscoff famous for? Onions apparently.)

There was plenty of other entertainment, Caoimhin did a short course on rope-knots and the whiskey & chocolate tasting in the shop was very popular. There was bingo, more quizzes and dolphins appeared at dusk for a little sunset somersault.

In the cabin, Caoimhin cut my hair, lopped off a couple of inches…. we had been so busy in the run up to our departure that I didn’t have time to visit a hairdresser… and did a good job. Our ensuite cabin was comfortable, the shower was hot and the hum of the engine was so soporific that I slept for ten hours straight, lulled by the gentle swaying motion.

It was a sunny 25C at 2pm in Bilbao when we emerged from our cocoon. There’s always a bit of tension when driving on the ‘wrong’ side of the road in a new place and trying to figure out Google’s instructions. Taking a wrong roundabout turning, we ended up back in the port where the officials looked at our Irish reg, and sighed before raising the barriers to let us loose …again. But soon we were driving south towards Haro and the Rioja region….this destination was only decided on the ferry when looking at the guidebook. We had never heard of Haro but we like wine and we wanted to head south.

Our next task was to figure out EV charging in Spain before we reached the ‘range anxiety’ stage. Our maps indicated that EV charging stations were plentiful. Although we had 50% in the tank, we stopped at an Iberdrola charging area before any topping-up became critical. Our Buzz was the only vehicle charging at a whole bank of chargers, all fast chargers with a couple of ultra-fast. It was possible to get instructions in English and pay by bankcard. It was relatively expensive at 0.70 a Kw, more than we have paid at public chargers in Ireland but at least we know that charging is easy, at least with Iberdrola.

Haro proved to be a good choice. It was a town with the tang of fermenting grapes in the air and the hum of tractors pulling trailer-loads of grapes to the wineries; the building were old and made of a golden-yellow stone that glowed in the late afternoon….and the wine was cheap (starting from less than €2 a glass). A perfect combination.

The bodegas opened at 10am, or before, for wine-tasting and closed in the early-afternoon. Sipping wine in a two hundred year old cellar, surrounded by hundreds of wooden casks which were slowly seeping alcohol into the dim air, was a wonderful way to enjoy a tipple even if it was barely midday. This activity also meant that most of the visitors to this gorgeous little town were never entirely sober. Early morning walks along by the Rio Ebro and through the vineyards went some way to clearing our heads. The mornings were cool – about 10C- but by midday it was a gorgeous sunny 26C until the evenings required a light jacket.

Haro holds an annual festival in late June, Batalla de Vino (Battle of the Wine) where the attendees dress in white tunics and throw thousands of litres of wine at each other, staining their clothes red. A clock in the main plaza was already counting down the days and minutes to next year’s event.

Haro owes its wine success to a plague (phylloxera) in France which ruined the French vineyards in 1863. French wine producers set up storehouse in La Rioja and began to produce Riojan wine with their own techniques which the locals adopted and adapted. Never an ill wind and all that…

As we stayed in a campsite by the river (€28 a night with electricity), Caoimhin had high hopes that we might be able to slow-charge the van onsite using a ‘granny cable.’ When that wasn’t compatible, we dispensed with electricity, and the nightly charge dropped to €21. The campsite was very social and we met several Irish people who were having an unplanned extra week in Spain due to the ferry cancellations and disruptions.

After three days, we felt that we should depart Haro for our livers’ sake. The ‘Haro Effect,’ that continuous hazy, slightly inebriated state, was becoming too seductive so we packed up, with some regret.

Heading south in the direction of Burgos, the weather turned cool and cloudy with even a slight hint of rain. We drove by bare fields, shorn of corn and bleached white from the sun and fields of blackened sunflowers, withering on the stalk with drooping heads. The climate in Burgos, like most of central Spain, has been described as ‘nine months of winter and three months of hell(summer).’ It was sunny when we arrived with a stiff easterly breeze keeping the temperature a chilly 13 degrees although the streets were full with lots of people going around in medieval costume. The Cathedral was jaw-dropping, a Gothic Treasure where the concept of ‘Less is More’ was never considered, every available surface was crammed with ornate carvings. After charging in Burgos (Zunder Chargers@ €0.58/kW) and wandering around the Sunday market, we pushed on to Lerma, a pretty town, with a castle, convents and a big Plaza Mayor. We parked in a picnic area on the outskirts of town and settled for the night.

The cold woke us. The temperature had dipped to 1.5 degrees which was unexpected and the coldest it’s been so far. By 9am the following morning, the sun was shining but temperatures were still hovering about 2 degrees. We moved on, before we had to invest in blankets and woolly jumpers.

We are now in Salamanca, staying in a cheap guesthouse (Hispanica Hostal €38 a night) in a basic ensuite- room but it is clean, light-filled, central with free parking. The Plaza Mayor in Salamanca is considered the most beautiful in all of Spain and we believe that claim, having been in the Plaza last night when the lights came to spontaneous clapping. The plaza which was already gorgeous became even more magical when lit up and with a full moon rising over the splendid architecture.

Thanks for Reading

Hasta Luego

marienoonanblog

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Electric Travels: Highs and Lows

Electric Travels: Closing the Loop

Electric Travels: A Pause (paws) in Spain.

Electric Travels: Out of Morocco

Electric Roadtrip: From the Mountains to the Sea

Electric Roadtrip: Blue Days in Morocco

Electric Roadtrip: The Charging Saga

Electric Travels: Onwards to Morocco

Electric Travels: Into the Sun

Electric Road Trip: The Journey Begins