VAGABONDING DOWN UNDER & ALL OVER

Monday, 15 February 2010

Location: Morocco

Ninety minutes. The length of a football match. Doesn't seem like very long. It's also the time it takes for the ferry from Algeciras in Spain to Tangiers in Morocco. Quite a short crossing. But with one problem. If you're travelling with a car, it's the exact time it takes for the highway code to be ripped into tiny little fish-food sized shreds and thrown overboard into the Mediterranean.

Upon disembarking onto North African soil, those who actually learned to drive are at a serious disadvantage. Thus a few points are important to keep in mind.


Abandon Good Driving Practice

Anything logical or useful previously learned through driving schools or experience on the road, should be completely forgotten. Any knowledge of road signs or fixed rules should also be cast aside like an unwanted Christmas puppy. Road surface markings especially should be ignored at all cost and despite years of proven safety success, it's best to abandon any form of lane discipline. Should you find yourself waiting at traffic lights, it's best to slot into any available space on the road other than staying within the silly white painted lines. If the said traffic lights are placed just before a roundabout then it is highly likely that they shall turn green at the same time as four other sets. This tends to result in what Westerners would observe as a scene similar to a demolition derby. However it pays to remember that when a queue, seven cars wide, is funneling into an exit with two lanes, never stop moving forward. Millimetres between cars is more than enough space and thus the brake pedal should be never be in use. Brake lights are a sign of weakness.


The Police

Although rules of the road are largely missing, the local constabulary feature heavily on Moroccan roadsides. These uniformed chaps are normally armed with two guns, one to instill fear in your mind and the other to instill fear in your wallet. Speed guns are a Moroccan policeman's best friend. There is therefore an extreme likelihood of coming into contact with Constable Mohammed as you pass through the country. Two tactics can be employed whilst dealing with these officials, the first being the standard "stupid tourist" routine. This is a simple 3 step process, firstly, offer a confused look at any question posed. When this fails, proceed to ask in very complicated English what the problem may or may not appear to be. Finally, when you are still without luck, deny all knowledge of any wrong-doing. It would be fair to say that this routine is very much dependant on the officer you incur. Should you be apprehended by a far thriftier version a second tactic must be deployed. Negotiation. As always, a Moroccans first price is highly inflated and it is likely a princely sum shall be demanded of you. Remain friendly, exit your vehicle and the said officer will likely guide you to a quieter side of the road. It's important not to offer a price yourself, he does afterall have two guns, but simply appear reluctant as he slowly drops his price. Within a minute or two you should save 80% on your original fine. Paperwork is always a pain...


The Horn

The horn on a Moroccan car is just as important as the engine. A vehicle without this necessary apparatus is the mechanical equivalent of a eunuch in a harem. Indeed it's highly likely that in your average Casablancan driving school, if such a thing actually exists, the students are taught situations which require the use of the horn. I would imagine examples are given of standard Western driving practice and subsequently disparaged as nonsensical. Someone is driving within a lane at the speed limit but is blocking your way? HONK. The traffic light is red but you expect it to change soon? HONK. The traffic is heavy with absolutely no sign of moving forward? HONK. There is a donkey and cart on the street? HONK. There was no couscous left at the market? HONK.


With these points in mind, do enjoy your journey!

Sunday, 31 August 2008

Location: Hamburg, Germany

Moin Moin,

Time once more for a change in scenery, although this time it's a little different. I'm still bracing myself for a full winter in the northern German shires but future internet warblings will be posted on a shinier webpage. I have a half finished blog to put up there soon but in the meantime I've re-posted a couple of the Australia blogs from the Campervan trip, just so the site isn't naked...

Click away,

http://www.saharanscot.blogspot.com/

Stuart

Tuesday, 08 July 2008

Location: Hamburg, Germany

G'day G'day,

The first month in Hamvegas, complete.

Geriatric sleep requirements and two glasses of wine mean that this will be a sketchy entry. I've been meaning to update this for the past month but the longer I put it off the more difficult it's become. So it's now at the stage where I have to dredge the recesses of a terrible memory before my recollections of June 2008 drown under a deluge of cheap Lidl Weissbier and Hamburger Berg €1.20 shots of Jägermeister.

So, now into the 5th week of living in the Hanseatic city and I have to admit that I'm a big fan already. Weekends on the Reeperbahn, teaching in a relaxed school with alot of good people, living 5 minutes from the lake and generally having everything on my doorstep is a huge change from suburban Nelson. Although in saying that, despite being a very green city packed with parks & canals, I do miss the kiwi countryside and especially Nelson's location with national parks all around, mountains, beaches etc... BUT, it's a compromise. There are without doubt far more good looking women in Hamburg and so it's merely a change of visual pleasures :) Unfortunately my German is progressing at a snails pace so the opportunities to try and dazzle the Frauleinen with Scottish charm is limited. It is partly my own fault as I haven't been very pro-active in the learning process and when I come home from school I can't be arsed trying to speak German with my flatmates.

So next month an attitude change is needed and I'll have to waffle more of ze Deutsch. I tried to register at the refugee office (honest!) as the German government offer language lessons for €1 per lesson. Fortunately I didn't have to sport an assortment of refugee-esque clothing or make up a story about being chased out of Dundee for not saying "eh, y'ken" as the small print stated that EU citizens were also entitled to the course. However when I went to the office the woman spoke to me in German jargon, stating the name of every possible form she could think of and simply throwing in gigantic words to confuse me. If she was able to speak English I'm sure she would have just said "f--k off" but instead she told me I needed to register as an official foreigner in Germany. So that's a possibility for improving my German and making new friends from Afghanistan.

In the meantime however, after just a wee entry, I must go to bed. A friend from Quebec was in town last weekend and last night was his final beer venture in the city. Home for 2.30am and then teaching at 9am...not for pansys ;)

Bis Bald

P.S. I've been listening to an unhealthy amount of INXS and Crowded House recently...Antipodean withdrawl symptoms again?