Early start for the port and we joined the line of 4x4 vehicles and overloaded cars to get onto the ferry. Pleasant trip over but as you can see from the file of papers the "entry" system starts with police registration on the boat. We then joined the very long queue for customs.
We eventually made it to the front to see all of the vehicles being searched which prompted the conversation of who was most worried, Lynn about her beer or me about my wine.....neither of which we should have😀🍷🍷🍺🍻
The actual formality was tense but only lasted 15 mins of the two and a half hour total. We reached the front and I got down from the cab and stood in front of the truck one customs man comes to say something I don't understand I look baffled and he says "parley France" I say "un peu" and the rest of the dealings are in French. He takes the passport and vehicle import D66 document and disappears into an office for a few minutes then comes out to pronounce No, No Carte Gris! I look flummoxed and he points to a little cabin 35 meters back down the queue and gives me my passport. I go to the cabin and it's empty, I walk to two similar cabins before I find one occupied by an unsmiling 12 year old in a police uniform "he is obviously in training for the front line".
I ask for Carte Gris and offer my passport whereupon he types all my details into his computer and hands back my passport sans Carte Gris! I go back to stand in front of my truck and my customs man comes out with his mate and starts pointing at a different vehicle document and asking me if I am Spanish. I said no and could see a Spanish registration on his bit of paper. I say I am English and point to my reg plate. He asks louder am I Spanish and is "this" pointing at his bit of paper my vehicle. I say no and point to my reg plate. They both throw up their hands and head back into the office.
Lots of walking in and out of the office and searching vehicles in front of me later he comes out with my vehicle document and asks if this is me. I say yes, he asks me if I have any guns in the truck, I say no and he gives me my papers and waves me through!!!
My first proper border, no search, no English and definitely no GUNS!
Morocco is quite a surprise green landscape and lots of space....not a sand dune in sight.
We knock down the motorway to Asillah our first stop, as soon as you leave the motorway you know this is a new country. The roads are full of people, donkeys, handcarts and parked cars. We head down to the port as advised by Bob "the Scottish Morocco guru I met in Mijas" and find the motorhome parking where we are waved in by a Bob Marley lookalike in a yellow vest.
Lesson one here - block the entrance to the parking and wait for him to come and negotiate the price as you are at a disadvantage once you are parked up and you find out later you have been charged more than others😀😠😀
Nevertheless we have a good spot right on the beach next to the old town wall with a great view from the window.
We went for a walk around and to find the Maroc Telephone shop...we did and it's closed til Monday. The town is great, a bit intimidating at first with lots of strange faces and young men sat around watching everything. Further in there are little shops in doorways and some lovely people, the woman pictured was trying to lend me her hot bread for the photo, a great idea only let down by my reticence. More campers turned up later and we eventually got to sleep to the sound of the waves again 😀