Leaving Astoria we crossed the bridge into Washington state and headed for Cape Disappointment. Seriously! The mouth of the Columbia river’s other bank (opposite Astoria) was so christened in 1788 by English sea captain, John Meares, as he mistook this large expanse of water for a bay rather than a river entrance. 

All of a sudden we were into a heavily wooded tranquil area. It was sparse on people and traffic. Strolling to the beach we chatted with leisure fishermen who, with their permits, were hoping to catch some salmon, steelheads (trout) and other rock fish. Fishing has long been a mystery sport/attraction to me and being sat in cool overcast conditions on a rock was still unattractive but the seals bobbing up and down in the sea did make the prospect of several hours hoping and praying for a bite less miserable. We drove on.

Our arrival at a hotel in the early afternoon was timely to watch England vs Argentina play their Semi Final in the World Cup. Suffice to say England simply returned the football to the Argentinian team for around 40 minutes until they scored two goals. It was a holiday low, however, as always there was something ahead to look forward to.

Olympia is the state capital of Washington. Washington became the 42nd state in the Union in 1889, which seems just like yesterday to us Brits! It had previous existed as a ‘territory’ of Oregon. We had a brief tour of the capitol legislative building. Despite the grand exterior you’re left with a fairly gloomy impression inside due to all the grey and white marble they hewed in Alaska and then clad virtually any wall including the toilets. Tiffany & Co (the Audrey Hepburn one) provided all the light fittings (400!) of from chunky lights on the stairways to the chandeliers including one that weighs over 4.5 tonnes. The Tiffany sales rep will have made a remarkable commission on selling all that.

The building was completed in 1926. The population of the state now is less than 9 million and just under 4 million of the population live in the greater Seattle area. Given the Left leaning nature of large cities then the Right leaning farmers in the east of the state will, probably, never hold sway in terms of politically running the state ever again. One guide said the farmers in the east of the state were agitating to break away from Washington and form their own state!

Downtown had a relaxed ambience and that’s helped by cannabis outlets. Recreational sale is now legal in 24 US states and so possibly only of note to a Brit rather than your average American. A quick Google says there are problems with this liberalisation eg. wider health issues, car accidents (whilst under the influence) and the high tax attached to it still encourages an illegal market. A positive is the need to enforce the previous prohibition laws have stopped and education programmes have reduced. This was a considerable cost and, no doubt, enforcement was a losing project that increasingly looked hopeless. Sadly, I’m still not comfortable with this legalisation but nothing is more useless than an unenforceable law. 

Whilst strolling through the Downtown, Anna pointed out, rather helpfully, a record store. She has no interest and will hover outside the establishment waiting for me to emerge. On my holidays finding some vinyl or CDs is always a great activity: this trip has been no exception with a few investments at various places. I’m always interested in a few specific albums or a genre when I enter a store. At this second hand store I strolled in and unbelievably found something I was looking for, not a popular or recent release, as the third record I flicked through. 

Another pursuit throughout our time here has been a quality coffee shop. Olympia didn’t disappoint. However, I do like to imbibe in peace. I admit to being grumpy and old but maybe having a little British reserve is also true. Not for the first time on this trip I listened, involuntarily, to a woman blathering on to an unwitting friend about her life and upcoming foreign trip. Her loud volume revealed no sensitivity to the rest of the cafe or, frankly, how dreary she was. In this situation one person always does the talking seldom stopping to breathe before their next stream of consciousness is delivered. Opposite this vacuous oracle sat their captive listener, unsurprisingly, starting to slump into a stupor. Eventually, as there must be a God, they both stood to go and her immortal words of ‘we must meet up on my return for a debrief’ must have struck terror into her companion, it did me. I felt like putting a consoling arm around her with the advice to enjoy her absence or maybe, even better, relocate to another town.

It was a drive through forests and down very windy roads when we left Bend, Oregon to reach Newport. We’d really enjoyed the state so far. Anna had booked an apartment there that looked out onto a marina.

An immediate pleasure was a fall in temperature by at least 10°C. As much as we loved the heat then things were more to our liking at 18°C and ironically cooler than Blighty at this point in time. Newport sits on a busy coastal highway that runs along the coast but toward the beach we found free parking (or maybe the car rental company will be receiving a parking fine?) and on arrival we found a bar to watch England vs Norway in the World Cup.

In the bar there were some noisy Americans cheering on the Norwegians. I have to say it does stick in my craw that folk who have, probably, no demonstrable link to a team are whooping away at their every move. It didn’t help that Norway were playing so much better than England and looked like scoring with every attack. We’d been identified as England fans and given their unseemly delight at our misery if they scored we left with 10 minutes of normal time to play to check in to our apartment. Later when England had won I was sorry not to be back in the bar!

The beach was big, wide and deserted. Next day a three mile stroll was bracing in the breezy morning air but enjoyable. 

After coffee I have to admit not a lot more happened that day as we did, for the first time on the trip, do nothing but flop. After two nights it was a drive north first stopping at a recommendation of Bob’s: Yaquina Head Lighthouse. 

On the beach beneath the lighthouse, commissioned in 1873, we saw many eagles, herons, cormorants and starfish. There were also many people staring out to sea hoping to sea grey whales. My whale sighting days were long over!

From here we stopped at Cannon Beach before getting to Astoria.

Astoria had two important associations in my mind. The first was that it was close to the eventual destination of the Lewis and Clark led expedition from the east of the North American continent to find the Pacific Ocean in the very early 1800s. A path that no Europeans had made up until that point. Secondly, it was where the Trans America Bicycle Trail finished (or started) if you were cycling across the country. In 2014 I rode most of this trail but turned off it in Colorado to head for San Francisco, most continued to Astoria. 

Frankly, a quick saunter around the town confirmed it was rundown. To paraphrase the bluesman Albert King – ‘If it wasn’t for bad luck / You know, it wouldn’t have no luck at all.’ Battered housing, odd shops, not part of chains or looking remotely prosperous that seem to sell little or second hand goods and must be on peppercorn rents. They had a feel that suggested it wasn’t getting gentrified any time soon. We had two nights here.

However, the next day we certainly extracted the best of what was here. We made a pilgrimage to the Lewis & Clark National Park. President Thomas Jefferson in 1803 wanted an expedition to go from the east of the country to the Pacific Ocean. It was only in 1803 that the USA had acquired, from Napoleon Bonaparte the western half of the USA in the ‘Louisiana Purchase’ for c$15m. History says Jefferson visited Paris to buy New Orleans but got more than he expected! The Spanish still controlled, at that time, what we know as the south west of the USA. 

Largely everything west of Missouri was unknown to the European immigrants. So, army officers, Lewis and Clark led this expedition across the company sticking to rivers that eventually crossed the continent. Of course the country was occupied by many First Nation tribes. The expedition moved by floating/navigating along the rivers. It wasn’t easy when it included rapids, waterfalls and any other obstacle that necessitated the party to work around carrying several tons of equipment and provisions. However after 18 months they got from St Louis, MO to Astoria, OR. It was an epic journey of innumerable challenges and discovery.

The Pacific coast was already known to the white man. In fact they had been trading for furs with the coastal First Nation tribes for a long time. This was achieved by sailing there. However, no white men had ever appeared overland from the east. 

This National Park is where the party spent four miserable cold and wet months after arrival before retracing their steps back east. They brought back detailed information of plants, wildlife, First Nation tribes and a route to follow. On their return they were celebrities. I knew most of this from a wonderful book I bought in Cody, Wyoming in 2022 called ‘Undaunted Courage’ by Stephen Ambrose. 

Back in Astoria I went on to learn more about the Columbia River maritime history at a museum.

I thought this might be less than special but it turned out to be very interesting and beautifully presented and told. 

A key attribute of the vast river estuary is the turbulent waters that are created when the vast powerful river hits the Pacific. It’s dangerous and has claimed hundreds of mariner lives. 

O The museum touched on the fishing industry over the decades, fishing mainly for migrating salmon, the large container ships that go upstream to Portland, OR and then coverage of ship building, WW2 activity, coast guard coverage and even First Nation navigation. It was top class. 

And then it was time to go and head further north up the coast and back into Washington state to the capital, Olympia.

A drive south though Washington State was a surprise. I’d never associated the state with growing fruit; in fact it was in these valleys that 67% of America’s apples were grown along with lots of cherries, apricots, pears and these strange things:

If that was surprising then as we continued the drive we found a place that looked like a Bavarian ski resort, quite Disney-esque in its construction. Leavenworth was a gateway to the nearby ski slopes and wineries. I celebrated this phenomena with a bratwurst in a bread roll with sauerkraut. Clearly, when in Rome do as my lederhosen clad friends would do.

Along the route was a small town, Shaniko, that time forgot. However it had some wonderful cars. If you’ve been reading my drivel long enough you’ll know I like the odd old car but usually in better condition than these.

The next morning it was onwards to Bend in Oregon. Dominating our drive were the Cascades, a range of mountains covering three States but as we drove south we could see the Three Sisters (South, Middle and North) and Mount Batchelor. The snowy peaks were in great contrast to our ambient temperature of 30°C.

On arrival we were greeted by a the large urban sprawl that gave way to an upmarket downtown close to the river Deschutes, it’s here we were billeted.

In the early evening Bob (Sanders) appeared. This was why we’d driven here: to genuflect at the altar of his magnificence. Bob despite a year on since his epic, record breaking, ride as the oldest man to cycle cross America was still trim and energetic and had lined us up for a busy time. This all started with a dinner and drinks with his wife, Kathryn, and some other close friends.

What struck you immediately was the bonhomie of the group and how they all seemed to thrive with this outdoor life of exercise and great summer weather. All the men were regular golfers and Kathryn was a keen tennis player. Some of the banter was hilarious, not least with the other Bob whose dry sense of humour made me wonder if he had British ancestry. In a discussion about people and places Bob commented on one passer-by that she reminded him of someone he couldn’t remember! Jack, Bob’s support on part of the World Record ride (Kathryn the rest) was there and it was clear to see how his positive and easy going nature was a vital asset in helping a probably very tired, hungry and occasionally irascible cyclist keep going for over 3,000 miles last Spring. 

Bob enquired as to what time we’d like to start the next day and we said early. We’re usually both awake at the crack of sparrows and whilst the day was cool it seemed best to get out there. So we were shown around on foot and in the car in central Bend before a brief drive up to Mount Batchelor. A cable lift took us up halfway on the mountain and afforded some inspiring and memorable views.

At this time of year it’s mountain bikers careering down the mountain side but in winter it’s a busy ski resort. Whilst Bob bought our passes we enjoyed embarrassing him by pointing out to the women on the desk of his world record. As is the way she pulled out a mobile/cell phone to verify our information. Surprisingly this released a 10% discount! I say surprisingly as our ascent demanded some lengthy form filling and as another member of staff took an age over this task Bob did provocatively enquire as to whether this was her first day on the job!

In our day together Bob talked a little of his military service: he was a Vietnam veteran. In the US they honour and seemingly support their former combatants so much better than the British do. Of course this war was decades ago yet the traumas still sit in the lives of its participants. A reason for Bob’s long distance cycling was as the result of finding a physical activity that attempted to manage these demons. 

Later we met Kathryn again at their lovely home. Stories flowed of their international travel and postings together and some hair raising stories of Bob’s career as a City Manager. (The UK equivalent would be as the CEO of a town council.) One town he managed had considerable embedded corruption and the vested interests had little enthusiasm for his overhaul and removal of the fraudulent parties. It got so fraught that the head of the local police offered him a firearm to keep Kathryn and himself safe. Of course Bob was no stranger to firearms but decided another job might be an even safer solution! 

We then dined out in the centre of town to complete a wonderful trip to Bend with dear friends.

Hope was shortly behind us.

Factually rather than literally and we sped on a wide motorway towards Kelowna through steep sided rocky valleys and on stretches of highway where the 18 wheel behemoths stopped sparring with you in the outside lane at 70mph and had to crunch many gears and grind up 5% gradients at a fraction of that speed. Arriving in Kelowna Anna had identified a cool cafe, Sprout Bread, where I had another grilled cheese sandwich, this time on freshly hewn sourdough. A memorable treat.

From here we huffed and puffed through the dense traffic and gazillion traffic lights to the apartment where June lived. Kelowna will live long in my memory as a very busy city. June was a second cousin once removed to Anna. This connection was found relatively recently via Ancestry.com and we were keen to meet her face to face. June had emigrated to Canada in the 1950s and despite a short repatriation to Scotland this had been her home ever since. It brought home how different an age it was when, of course, reaching Canada was by ship! One interesting opportunity that arose in meeting at June’s apartment was to watch the osprey nest clearly visible from her upper floor location. These birds nested here every year and whilst we were there the mother protected the chicks and the male fished and returned with food for all. The burning sun was intolerable for the mother on this perch in 31°C but she stuck to the task of guarding the chicks and using her wings to provide shade.

Meeting up was a delight and family information was exchanged over beverages before we said goodbye and planned to meet the following day.

Our departure led us across the lake to West Kelowna where our hostess awaited. Kelowna is divided into two parts either side of the lake and connected by a bridge. The traffic is now of such a volume that this bridge is a bottleneck most of the time. The solution of building a newer wider bridge is hampered by the land on one side belonging to a First Nation tribe. Their negotiating stance is unsupportable and whilst legislation remains in place to allow such a ‘hostage taking’ position the locals and others will have to queue.

Our accommodation for two nights was at the mercy of the indomitable Suzana in her immaculate and beautiful abode. The landlady originated from Serbia and she’d arrived in Canada in the mid 1990s as a refugee from the Balkans war. An immediate feeling swept over us that we were in her grip: she wanted to know our movements, plan our stay, sort out our dining arrangements in the locality and promoted her Serbian cuisine for breakfast. She held a number of robust views on various matters not least the President of the United States: we were discovering she wasn’t alone in that disdain. She really wanted to make our stay memorable; she did, but not in the way she hoped! We went with the flow on the first breakfast and dined at her recommendations but when we said we’d leave on day two before breakfast we were made to feel quite small. “Why so early?” “We have a long drive” “ How far?” “Err, we’ll drive as far as we can south, maybe 300 miles” “Only 300 miles! I had planned a special Serbian dish for breakfast!” She and her husband returned to our unforgivable decision more than once during our stay.

Anyway we did leave when we wanted and parted on friendly terms but, frankly, her reaction was unnecessary and made the experience ultimately miserable.

Meanwhile the next day we took June out for lunch at The Quail’s Gate Estate Winery in West Kelowna where we enjoyed an exceptional meal in a beautiful setting, which was basically at the top of a vineyard on a lake. Completely magnificent, as was the food and drink.

It has to be said that despite June’s life in Canada her accent was completely untouched by her stay although I did feel it essential to correct her description of a pavement as a sidewalk! (She resisted the temptation, no doubt, to hit me.) June’s daughters had grown up as Canadians and lived in Toronto and nearby in a ski resort. Whilst I would never be so indiscreet as to divulge a lady’s age it would be sufficiently vague to advise June was a nonagenarian and happily in magnificent health. Several digital photos later were exchanged by AirDrop – now I know a lot of much younger folk who’d have no idea how to do that!

So creeping out of our accommodation we departed before 7am and sped south to the American border. Routine questions were asked by the Border official including “Where are you headed”  (I did feel an urge to suggest “where are we going?” was better English but as she was holding our two passports and had the power to block our passage I thought better of it.) So I said “Yakima”, “Where?” “Err, Yakima”, thus ensued a blank look and a peevish countenance. Anna lent across and translated for me: “Yack-eema”. Two nations divided by one language, eh? Anyway after this we confirmed we were not packing weaponry and were allowed to go.

It’s not often Google lets you down but on asking how long it’d take to cross the USA border into Canada it suggested between 45 and 90 minutes on a holiday weekend. This was a ‘holiday weekend’. So as we had a 11am lunch date on the outskirts of Vancouver we set off in good time to avoid being late.

Of course there wasn’t another car in sight as we handed across our passports to the border official and answered his questions. Were we carrying firearms? Anyway, wildly ahead of time for our luncheon we drove to Steveston, a twee little suburb of Richmond and had our first quality coffee of the trip.

Anna then spied there was a charity shop across the road from the cafe and we whiled away the rest of our freetime buying LPs (me) and jeans (her) until it was time to go. Henry and Stella lived in Richmond and had emigrated to Canada from Hong Kong nearly 30 years ago. I met Henry as his tour guide on my last tour leading a small band of North Americans around the Cotswolds. We’d stayed in touch and when I mentioned my proximity he’d offered to buy Anna and myself lunch. 

We found their property, enjoyed some tea and a catch up and then drove for some Dim sum. I have never had such delicious Chinese food. All freshly prepared with delicious ingredients including prawns and lobster. It was noticeable that Anna and I were the only non-Chinese in the 70 or so in the large dining room. (Anna was the only one not using chopsticks.) However, apart from confirming that the food must therefore be authentic and the highest specification it did also confirm our mutual love of football. Brazil versus Norway was on large screens and Norway’s superiority and goals was met with considerable glee. The bond between Asia and Scandinavia was probably not as strong as the probable long odds on Norway winning that was fuelling their vocal support. Many Chinese do like a flutter.

After such a wonderful lunch we thanked our hosts and headed east to Hope.

The town was on a main road heading east into the Canadian interior. The town had been used as the set for ‘First Blood’, the first in a long line of Rambo movies in 1982. To mark Sly’s time in the town there was a wood carving just off the Main Street.

However, aside from the Hollywood connection it now seemed a fairly small, unimportant and down on its luck place where the heavy traffic rumbled through the settlement possibly stopping at the McDonalds or the other common Canadian fast food outlet, Tim Hortons. To paraphrase Simon & Garfunkel from “The Boxer” – ‘I do declare I took some comfort there’ – with a grilled cheese sandwich later that night.

Back in the BnB I watched England beat Mexico in some comfort. Never in any doubt….cough!

After rising and meeting some other folk, originally from Bridlington, we fired up the Nissan and continued east to Kelowna.

A trip to the north west of the USA was conceived when Anna found a deal, 10 months ago, to fly Business from Heathrow! This opulence isn’t the way I usually roll but when I’ve previously embarked on a long haul flight and trudged through the fuselage to the cheap seats in ‘stowage’ I’ve often cast an envious eye to the luxurious spaces in Business. On my 12th flight of 2026 (!) this was going to be my turn. However, into every life a little rain must pour and whilst the journey was comfortable to Seattle it would have been better if our luggage had been on the same flight…

So our first task in downtown Seattle was to buy some clothes to tide us over until BA despatched our bags. The next day obvious battered by jet lag, there’s an 8 hour difference, we came too at 3:25am and were nicely in time for breakfast that started at 6:30am. We started the day with a Walking Tour down by the waterfront. The guide explained how Seattle got its name – a corruption of a Native American’s name, how the city got started with lumber felling, a great fire that levelled it all in 1889 and something about a notorious very large octopus in a big tank in an aquarium eating sharks in another large tank nearby. He prattled on, thinking he was hilarious, for two hours and left me convinced Seattle was slightly undersold by his efforts.

My mind was on the missing luggage all the while and calls were made to customer service numbers and I either got no answer or someone whose quality of English was dire. “Sorry, can you repeat that, por favor?” Needless to say no information.

In the afternoon we visited the Chilhuly Gardens. This Slovakian artist has designed wonderful creations in blown coloured glass. The works reflect underwater vegetation or flowers. With the lighting, presentation and setting they were all stunning. A 5 Star unmissable attraction.

One common US benefit is differential pricing for Seniors. That is pensioners/old people. Our entry was discounted down to $40 each but sadly when seeking this admission charge we weren’t challenged to prove it.

We strolled back to the hotel down a leafy avenue, absorbing the cannabis aroma that permeates the city, and got back to the hotel to find still no luggage. More calls ensued to indifferent customer services staff. The information was that the courier had collected 12 bags and could be ‘anywhere in Washington State but you will get them tonight’. I was still not consoled. However, when we returned from dinner at the waterfront at around 9pm they had just arrived. Tony was a happy boy.

You may be aware that the World Cup is underway with games being played in the USA, including Seattle. There were fans strolling around in team kits, but not many. The city had some advertising and several bars had TV’s showing the games. The usual presentation was the ‘FIFA World Cup’. In the UK the term FIFA is not referred to and often viewed as toxic. As we’ll discover it got more toxic. I think in such a large nation then soccerball has a following but the mainly interested parties seem to be the Latino, European and Asian immigrants. FIFA’s wish to get the USA more interested has probably failed but their coffers have swelled.

The next day, with our luggage, we took an Uber to the airport and picked up our Nissan Altima and headed north. Our destination was the Boeing Everett factory where the 747, 787, 777 and 737 are assembled. 

We were not allowed to take photos and so nothing to show here. The site was massive and we were taken into an enormous hanger at a high level and looked down on a long line of partially built aircraft that as they progressed from right to left became more complete. Then they were then moved out to another building for painting. The size of the aircraft was impressive as was the variety of specifications ie. some were passenger planes but others may be for freight shippers. All the while we’re getting a commentary from a guide that was detailed and interesting. In our group of about 40 the majority were either Chinese or Indian and I, frankly, don’t think they listened or understood the fast talking narrative which was often quite technical but just gazed down at the partially built giants beneath us.

Next it was whales. Now please take heed, never go on a whale sighting cruise. We’ve done it twice around this coastline and it’s six hours of our lives we’ll not get back. People get on board to see Orcas or Killer Whales. They’re as rare as hen’s teeth despite the promotional spiel. So over our three hours we saw some wildlife – one grey and one humpback whale, some harbour seals, the odd sea lion or two and a bald eagle. We paid £135 (plus £10 for parking) for this. Stick to YouTube is my advice.

From here it was continuing north to Bellingham to a motel for the night.

Morocco originally placed its capital in Fes until the French eventually moved it to Rabat, where it stayed. However it illustrates the importance of this city in north of the country. The city had an old part that was known as the medina: a warren of small alleys often linked by covered passages that variously house shops, residential housing, restaurants and some manufacturing such as leather tanneries and textile production.

Our morning started with meeting up with a new local guide – Hafeed who had excellent English and a sense of humour. He led us for the day around the medina and initially the mellah. The latter is where the Jews lived until their departure to Israel. After wandering through this selection of streets he did comment they’d all gone long ago! Going back to the Middle Ages Judaism was a more popular religion than Islam but at some point many converted to Islam. Frankly, the chance of that happening today seems unconscionable.

Beside the old town was a new settlement built by the French and it was here that our hotel was located. It’s worth now adding that whilst G Adventures curated a historic tour it was a shopper’s dream with many opportunities to browse and procure. All transactions in these shops were in cash. Also you couldn’t buy dirhams outside of Morocco. Inevitably all this enforced money changing meant all sort of little currency bureaus making a nice ‘drink’ on converting cash. You could use plastic in more upmarket establishments such as some bigger city hotels but it meant we and the rest of the party were spending time changing money. I mentioned the uncertainty of knowing whether the prices were value for money as you haggled but restaurants and cafes were ordinarily at tourist prices. These prices may be cheaper than the UK or North America but not by much. Also, frankly, the food was mediocre and the choice limited throughout. I sympathise with G Adventures selecting more expensive restaurants as they wanted guaranteed hygiene levels and inevitably many restaurants were near tourist attractions or en route. However, as in all purchases if you pay over the odds and it’s of good quality you don’t care but otherwise you do and whilst it is a small complaint I did develop the view that we were ‘there for the taking’ as you entered establishments. I would add that the average salary in Morocco was $9,500 pa. Frankly, if that’s the mean average then the mode ie. most widely received salary would be far less, so which Moroccan would pay $15 for a tagine? (The minimum hourly rate in Morocco is $1.80.)

We had a busy programme and I’ll let the photos tell a story:

The medina in Fes was vibrant, colourful, busy and interesting. A key observation was how do these traders make a living with such small businesses and, in many cases, how did they ever shift all this stock? a lot of the product looked well made and by now the prolific shoppers in our party were hitting their stride with the purchase of table cloths, leather bags, leather coats, scarves, ornaments and the like.

Exhausted by the heat, culture and emporiums we were deposited back at the hotel with the party left to make their own dining arrangements. We were getting tagine’d out and fancied a pizza. A restaurant was found, a seat was taken and a pepperoni pizza duly placed before me. Error. Pork isn’t eaten by Muslims because they don’t eat animals that eat other animals and pigs eat anything… apparently? So I have no idea what the salami substitute was in my pizza but it was awful and I picked it out and shoved it to the side of my plate. Anna and I had slipped off from the party, which made us feel a little mean. Whilst they were a good bunch I was working on making ‘absence make the heart grow fonder’ as 9 hours, from an early morning start until drop off, with them absorbed my full pleasure quota.

The tour necessitated long distances to be covered in the bus to get to the next hotel or interesting site. The bus was comfortable, well driven and the stops were frequent for comfort breaks and refreshment. Often a toilet would have a female attendant maintaining the facility sat outside. She needed tipping. That was only an issue in finding the necessary small coins to pay. If you didn’t have any change you felt underhand slipping in and out! This brings us to the manning of most hospitality venues: there always lots of staff. They must have all been paid little as I think the businesses couldn’t stretch to serious wages. The guide always emphasised that tourists were helping to support these people by their generosity.

As we entered the Atlas Mountains the poorer the people appeared. Free education was now available but as a child got older and possibly more helpful to the family it wasn’t certain they would stay in school. Healthcare has improved over the decades but was still inadequate. Our guide, Ridouane, a man with a couple of degrees and fluent in three or four languages had been one of 12 children. He was a Berber and said his home was in the mountains. Horrifically his parents’ first six children died as infants. He reflected that some would have survived today with the current availability of Moroccan healthcare. All this emphasised that Morocco was on a steep trajectory as a developing nation with much achieved but a long way to go.

After seeing and hearing about this struggle it made me muse that the illegal immigrants, often from countries to the south of Morocco who entered Europe didn’t stop in Morocco because they were unwelcome/not allowed but passed through to cross the Mediterranean. Northern Europe must seem like Eldorado with its personal freedoms including free legal assistance to remain, free subsistence money, free welfare, free healthcare, free shelter and their preceding countrymen to join. The comparison with their own countries would be unrecognisable. Clearly Europe was struggling today with the sheer numbers, welfare costs, cultural incompatibility, fear of violence and growing national rejection of the movement of these peoples that had political consequences for governments. It may even be the most highly debated issue throughout Europe now.

The landscape of Morocco can be coastal, attractive arable or grazing lands, forests, barren plains and mountains of enormous height and beauty. It was on occasion ravishing. It’s little surprise that Sir Winston Churchill took time during WW2 to paint these mountains from Marrakech.

Our stopping point for the night was to be Merzouga close to the Algerian border. This was a tour highlight for us all.