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: 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..

Mexico: Driving by the Gulf

March 6, 2025March 12, 2025 Marie Noonanafrica, birds, Celestun, Gulf of Mexico, lagoon, nature, pelicans, photography, pink, pink flamingos, Wildlife2 Comments

Everything was pink, flamingo pink. Flamingoes were painted on the walls, plastic birds lurked in the foliage of gardens and even the bridge into the little town of Celestun was painted a soft dusky pink. Celestun was mainly a sleepy, dusty fishing village, sunbaked and sandwiched between a large lagoon and the turquoise water of the Gulf of Mexico. The combination of salt water from the Gulf and fresh water from the estuary made it a perfect habitat for flamingoes and waterfowl but the flamingoes were the real attraction. The Reserva de la Biosfera Ría Celestún was a large coastal wetland reserve and wildlife refuge in the northwestern corner of the Yucatan Peninsula covering 146,000 acres beside the town.

The breeze was welcome and cooling on our boat tour out on the lagoon, which we shared with two German couples. The air was sulphur-stinky but we didn’t mind. The flamingoes were beautiful blobs of colour, wadding and feeding in the shallow waters. The birds get pinker and more gorgeous with age as their plumage turned a bright rose colour that was almost orange from their diet of shrimp, tiny crustaceans and seeds. I was so enamored that I even bought a T shirt emblazoned with a flamingo, about the only thing I can fit into my small carry-on backpack. Their only predators were the alligators which were plentiful, snoozing at the water’s edge near the mangroves, superbly camouflaged and doing a great imitation of fallen logs.

There was a carnival parade through the streets on the Sunday night that we were there, People of all ages, dressed in flashing lights and sequins, danced to blaring music and honking horns on the back of pick-up trucks which were also festooned with balloons and streamers. The people on the trucks threw sweets, lollipops and fluorescent crisps to the clapping crowds. Mexicans love a party, the noisier the better.

The beaches on the northern side of town were reached along a dry, rutted road but they were gorgeous, miles of shell-strewn sand, empty except for the many birds. We spent two nights in a beachfront ‘villa’ far from town with a well- equipped kitchen where we rediscovered the joys of cooking after weeks of eating out. It blew out budget but was worth it. We had a large pool outside our front entrance and at the back door, we stepped from a little verandah directly onto white sand, shaded with coconut trees, just a few steps from the water’s edge. There was nothing to do except take long walks on the beach at sunrise and sunset and watch the birds, pelicans, cormorants, sandpipers and a whole assortment of seagulls flying overhead and vying for space on the wooden poles in the water near our villa. Having driven the long length of part the Gulf of Mexico over the preceding days , this was certainly a great place to relax.

Our guidebook told us that Villahermosa wasn’t anyone’s idea of a ‘beautiful town’ (despite the direct Spanish translation} but we found an excellent, good-value hotel and a place of friendly people. Hotel La Venta gave us a spacious room on the fourth floor for €32 in total which included an enormous buffet breakfast. Villahermosa is the capital of Tabasco State (nothing to do with the fiery tabasco sauce which is made in Louisiana in the US).

Tabasco State, a waterlogged and oil rich place, was full of mangroves and pipelines, most from Pemex (Petroleos Mexicanos). Pemex is the long-time, state owned hydrocarbon company which is being privatized in a bid to make Mexico energy, self-reliant even if that means turning way from focusing on renewables. As we drove around Mexico, we witnessed a huge number of newly-opened Pemex forecourts and others which were in the process of opening for business, complete with identical convenience stores (OXO franchise).

Although Villahermosa was busy with wide lanes of choking traffic, it also had a superb promenade by the wide green Rio Grijalva, an area favoured by elegant egrets and joggers. Our main reason for stopping in the city was to visit La Venta, a pre Columbian archaeological museum of the Olmec civilization.

Traffic roared on the highway with fire engines, buses and early morning work-traffic but inside the shady park, all was serene with long-tailed coatis roaming amongst the ancient colossal heads of the Olmecs, who were considered one of the first major cultures of Mesoamerica dating back to 1500BC, The sculptures were moved from their original location to the open arm museum to make them more accessible. A young archaeology student, called Darek, showed us around. His attitude was refreshing, admitting that most of what was known about the ancient Olmecs, was based on conjecture although it was recognised that they attached a huge importance to their ancestors and that the jaguar was a sacred animal to them. They also had a number system and had the beginnings of scripture, evidenced by marks carved into stone. He may have been looking at Caoimhin and might even have been joking, when he told us with a straight face that the Olmecs didn’t like beards.

Leaving Villahermosa behind, we headed for the Gulf coast and got a real impression of just how low-lying Tabasco was, with water in every direction, rivers, lakes, swamps, flooded fields and lagoons. The roads were long, flat and slow-going, busy with huge juggernauts and tailbacks, caused by the frequent roadworks. We crossed bridge after bridge over large stretches of water. The Gulf was a milky blue on our left hand side, bordered by a line of pylons with oil refineries like a mirage in the distance We stopped at one stage to stretch our legs by a white sandy beach where a mangy, half-starved dog ambled up to us out of a heat haze. He woofed down the crackers we shared with him, eating nervously as if afraid that we might treat him unkindly.

We continue, diverting a few times to nearby towns in the vain hope of finding somewhere to spend the night but our search continued, Finally just as dusk was falling, we stopped in Chompoton, at long stretch of town looking out on the Gulf which should have been idyllic but wasn’t. Traffic roared down the road between the town and the sea, belching fumes and dust, but we ate delicious tacos in a little open-air shack restaurant, popular with the big-bellied truckies, who sat drinking two litre bottles of Coke, Our hotel was relatively expensive (just under €50 for the night) but it had a gorgeous swimming pool and was set back from the road, far enough that the constant traffic was just a bearable hum. The sunsets along the Gulf were really spectacular, a really super intense orange, maybe because of the fumes in the air,

We drove along the Pirates route with fish factories and small, dilapidated towns where the paint on the houses was peeling and blistered. We laughed at a paint shop, which was in dire need of a lick of paint and not much of a advert for its products. Nowadays, the scourge was not the threat of pirates but the appalling traffic and the relentless sun.

Our next stop was Campeche, a lovely, colonial town with a siout-walled, historic centre, full of churches and museums. The best part was our accommodation, a haven of serenity with a fountain, shady garden, shared kitchen and free water and coffee. It looked nothing from the outside, a small, blue-painted house, but inside we were greeted with the smell of flowers and floor polish in the tiled floor and a lovely courtyard. The password was ‘relax’ which was so apt. If you ever find yourself in Campeche, I can recommend Hotel Maculis, situated in a lovely area near the church of the Black Christ(Christo Negro) and beside a park where locals sat out for hours in the balmy evenings and all greeted us with friendliness.

A retired Dutch couple staying at our accommodation were also driving around Mexico for a month doing a similar route to us. They told us that one late afternoon, just before dark, their car broke down. They had run out of petrol but they didn’t realise that at first because the petrol gauge was faulty. People stopped to help them, figured out what was wrong and refused to take the money offered as payment for their help.

There was a huge demonstration in the streets against abortion with chanting slogans and many dressed in white, which is the colour of mourning here in colourful Mexico. The marchers were mainly women of all ages including schoolgirls and quite a few nuns. Penalising abortion is unconstitutional in Mexico at a federal level since 2021 but abortion access varied from state to state and Campeche was saying a definite ‘no.’

But its time to turn away from the Gulf and turn inland back to Cancun and complete our long loop of only a small part of this huge country(twenty-two times the size of Ireland) which has so much to offer the visitor.

Thanks for reading, amigos

It’s a Bird’s Life

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