20th December : Between a Rock and a sandy place

Spaniards know how to party. I arrived in Toledo on the evening of the 18^th after dark feeling very cold and still wet. I logged on to Couchsurfing.com and joined the Toledo social group and left a round-robin message to see if anyone could put me up at short notice. Two hours later after riding around checking hotel prices just in case, I got a call about a couch. Brilliant.

However, all hopes of an early night, let alone an early start went right out the window when I was introduced by my host to the Spanish pattern of life. The siesta thing means people work later and so don’t start going out until midnight. It would have been rude to decline so I got dressed in my new shirt (my only Christmas present this year) and tried not to look like I’d been awake since 5am and attempted to socialise with as much gusto as I could muster. The Taberna bar was only next door. I had parked my bike outside it in the alley which inadvertently meant it was guarded by the bouncer and covered by the manager's CCTV. Bonus.

My Spanish is non existent but most of the locals I met knew enough to communicate some basics. First and foremost it was explained that it is considered rude and standoffish not to greet members of the opposite sex with a double cheek to cheek. Shockingly unBritish I know, but a few senoritas later, and I had the greetings thing down to a tee however the conversations never really got going past the comments that if we can't speak the language then body language would have to do. Gulp.

At 3am, I decided enough was enough, shoe-horned my way out of the heaving smoke filled bar, borrowed a key and went back to the flat. They didn’t get in until 6am but I was out for the count. I just don’t know how they do it.

Toledo has an old fortress and a few 16^th C buildings making it beautifully picturesque but after a lie in and chat with the bar owner who gave me two cans of Red Bull as a ‘one for the road’ gift, I was on my way again without so much as a chance for a photograph (other than this one). I had to catch up on the miles.

By Granada it was dark and I had not had any replies from couch surfers in Almeria so I decided to get a cheap motel and make my decision in the morning. Today I got up and decided I should get to Gibraltar, find my contact, Attila, and get some proper rest before attempting the crossing early on Monday. It will be good to have a full day of daylight when I first enter onto Moroccan soil, what with its reputedly chaotic roads, touts, and other general hazards. It can't be worse than India though...

Attila is a biker friend I ‘met’ on the internet after he viewed my video of the bike trip in New Zealand on the Africa Twin. Since then, three years have passed but we have kept in contact about bike trips. By chance, he has moved from his native Transylvania (where I missed him in the summer but about 2 weeks) to the rock of Gibralter. I am writing this now from the warmth and comfort of his restaurant where he works. After a free carvery dinner and a pint of lager I am going to relax here in this far flung and reassuringly British enclave and get an early ferry to Morocco tomorrow.

The bike is behaving beautifully, I can almost always corner at speed without the weaving and it feels planted like a supermoto round the roundabouts. Can't wait for the winding unsealed roads of the Atlas mountains.