From Astorga to Oviedo

After two weeks in Astorga I was ready to go on and took public transport to Lugo (Ok, this is cheating, but I REALLY did not feel to climb the Cruz de Ferro and O Cebreiro AGAIN -it would have been the second time in three weeks- so I invested the money in a bus ticket, packed my bike and hopped on the bus) and started cycling the Camino Primitivo that runs from Palas del Rey in Galicia to Asturias capital city, Oviedo.
Soon I found out that cycling in Asturias is great but tough on your legs, entering Asturias from the west it is a steady up and down along steep mountain ranges and the most direct way between remote villages is often a short downhill followed by a long uphill, or so it seemed. After two week sitting at a desk in Astorga my legs felt like jelly, furthermore I had a slight cold and could hardly breathe. So I suffered my way trough to lovely Oviedo and most of the days ended in a tiny pilgrims hostel with only 30-40 kms cycled (which felt like I did 120 kms).

Morroco to Astorga

Sorry for not updating my Blog until now. I haven' t been busy these days , but I just did not feel inspired to write... its just that some many things happend to me en route through Morroco.

I cross the plains to south-east Morroco, walked the Palmeries of Figuig with its 200.000 palm trees, enjoyed being invited to tea and couscous by strangers I asked for the way, took some tough off-road track ("pistes"), saw amazing sunsets, met the tourist hordes in their 4x4 drive vehicles near the Dunes of Erg Chebi, got sick with diarrehea and lost about 7 kilos in 5 days, cycled the beautiful Todra Gorge, camped in the High Atlas, got out of breath cycling the spectacular Tizi N Tichka pass, took a 40 kms long downhill towards Marrakech at 50 kms/hour,, shared my lunch with strangers in a road-side ramshackle restaurant, rode through the aparant madness of the Marrakech souk enjoying to ride alongside mule carts, street vendors and tourists. Once in Marrakech it somehow seemed unreal. Did I really ride my bike up to the Koutoubia mosque right from my doorstep in Madrid ? After lots and lots of couscous and tajine dishes I enjoyed a nice Hamburger, watched lovely Marrakeshi girls walk by, got a room in a cheap but clean hotel next to the station and bought a ticket for the overnight-train to Tanger.

Bak in Spain, I rode from Algeciras to Seville, visited Merida and returned to Madrid for a couple of days to fly to Germany for my cousins wedding. Then I left Madrid towards the north following the Camino de Santiago (St. James way) to Santiago de Compostela.
While writing these lines,I am in the small town of Astorga to help out as a Hospitalero at the local pilgrims hostal for a couple of weeks.

So I sit at the reception all day long stamping pilgrim credencials, receiving and registering the people staying in the albergue. I show them to their rooms, hand out blankets, run washing machine and dryers, cook tea, take out the rubbish and offer assistance and some advice in case the people need help or have doubts about the camino.
The albergue may offer space to 160 pilgrims and these days of mid-june there is always between 80 and 120 people coming and going each day. The majority is well over 50 years old and most of them from Europe.

From time to time I share my "job" with amazing people from Finland, Holland and even Corea. Some of them volunteer to help out for a couple of days while others decided to stick around due to some minor injury or fatigue.
Being Hospitalero - Definitely a good and recommendable experience for every pilgrim as it helps to see the camino in a different light.

En route to Tendrara

Its "only" about 115 kms to the next town, Tendrara. The map shows no hills whatsoever so it should be rather easy to cover this distance cycling the whole day I think rather happily as I stock up on oranges, dates and water the next morning. Ibrahims mother gives me hoobz (home-made bread), still warm from the oven. I say goodbye to the family and roll out of the little village in company of Ibrahim who insists to come along for the first kms. As we say our goodbye he tells me I am always welcome in his home and invites me for his brothers marriage.

I thank him many times for the hospitality and out of the blue start crying.

After a couple of kms of flat road there is a little detour due to road construction and I hear someone calling my name ?! It s Ibrahims brother whos is working at the site and also wished me farewell and Bon Voyage.

From now on I am surrounded by flat mostly arid land without any trees in sight and nothing around for miles and miles. Only the odd bus, Grand Taxi or truck overtake me honking happily.

I stop at a couple of small houses to have a light lunch of oranges, hoobz with cheese and honey and some biscuits, there is a bunch of kids around which yell at me but keep their distance. Only three brave boys venture out to go see the stranger that arrived on a velo and is having a feast in the middle of their village. I share some of my bread with them and again they are off to fetch an adult to talk to me. A guy in dirty mecanics clothes and an old man approach me and wish me Salaam, inquire friendly about my trip and offer me some water. After a couple of nods and handshakes I leave. They must think me crazy cycling in Morroco.

As it prooves, I was wrong about the distance to be covered this day. After nearly 8 hours and only 85 kms cycling against a bloody steady headwind, I give in and decide to set up my tent for the first time during my trip in Morroco. I am rather nervous about this because there is nowhere to hide my tent behind and I will be seen from miles away.

I decide to approach some shepperds and ask them for permission (should they speak some french...). It prooves to be a good decision, "my" shepperds are a couple of funny guys, laughing at me they soon understand I want to set up my tent around here. They make gestures to come with them and making jokes we start walking towards their tents. As I start putting up my tent, they watch in wander and offer me fresh goat-milk for strong legs (actually they fill up my whole bottle !! The milk will last me a couple of days...) and call their mother and sister to come see and meet the foreigner. After having tea with me, they round up the herd of goats and sheep and lock them in the fence nearby their tent.

It is time for dinner and they ask me to join them for some couscous. I happily agree. The ladies are preparing a couscous with milk, onions and terfez. It has a sweet taste and is just delicious.

The running gag of the evening is that later I will encounter a donkey sleeping in my tent (On the way we saw a donkey and I asked wheter its theirs...).

But no donkey is around as I marvel at the million stars in the night sky, so I get into my tent and fall fast asleep only to wake occasionaly from the sound of coughing sheep and hoping goats hooves.

Ain beni Mathar

So we leave Ibrahims place to visit the local horse farm across the road. The manager greets us with a friendly handshake and of course I am invited to watch and take fotos of the horses.



My host explains me this is the place where local people and berber nomads from the surrounding area bring their steeds to "have sex" with a worthy stag.
After visiting the stables (each stag has got a different price for his services -according to origin and percentage of pure arab race - stated on small signs-and is more or less willing/able to have sex several times a day) The "act" itself lasts only a couple of seconds but is truly impressive.

After watching so much horse-power we start to feel hungry again and head for the local store to buy lunch. I must have been quite tired from the trip because I slept for more than two hours when Ibrahim wakes me in the afternoon. He asks me wether I want to change my clothes for "going into town". I do not but nevertheless he offers me a couple of trousers and a shirt for his wardrobe - a simple carton box.

We share some deodorant and off we go. We cycle past the local red light district (right beside the local Gendarmerie) and roll past the weekly market with people selling all kind of vegetables and fruit and Terfez (the morrocan truffels) by the sack- or lorry-load. We greet several friends of Ibrahims and some men in the nearby cafeteria engage me in friendly conversation, they work in Spain, Murcia, Barcelona or Bilbao and some of them insist on giving me their phone number, just in case. After a little snack of morrocan sandwich (some strange canned meat, egg, salad and mayo + ketchup) I visit a small cibercafe to check on the news and e -mails from home. A rather slow connection and the usual crappy Pc with funny letter keyboard but just fine for 4DH/hour.

School is over and we meet Ibrahims favourite girl on the street. I want to take a picture of the two but Ibrahim tells me this is not a good idea in public!

We visit the remains of a church the french built some 50 years ago and cycle homewards.

For dinner there is couscous with chicken and terfez.

They really look like small truffels but their taste is a little bit of potatoe, a little bit of earth and you hardly have to chew as the texture is really light.
A great vegetable to go with couscous !

Done with dinner we go for a stroll but it being after nine o clock at night, nearly everbody is in bed already so we do the obvious; return to base and do likewise.

Morroco Fotos

Lately, I have been spinning the wheels a lot ( yes, this country IS huge) and the thoughts for the blog did not come easy... nontheless you may get a taste of Morroco while having a look at my fotos at my Flickr page. Enjoy.