Tide and Time wait for no man........ The day I crossed to Africa turned out to be very much more than just about the paddle. What came after was probably more challenging and possibly more emotional. INTO AFRICA As I woke on Monday morning thoughts and cliches similar to many Id had in similar circumstances over many years, came to mind. Triumph of hope against experience , No point spoiling the ship for a hapenth of tar and of course the classic line from The Clash Should I stay or should I go? As the sky lightened, I could see the flag on the top of the Rock of Gibraltar flapping more than I wished to see. Ah thats just up high....... As I walked to meet Shane and Dan down at Ocean Village Marina, a breeze was coming off the water and halyards were clanging a little. Ah thats just funnelling between buildings....... The forecast hadnt changed much. But what had I to lose? There was a big yellow boat coming with me, the Dolphin Adventurer #dolphinadventure dolphin.gi. They were ready, I was ready. I grabbed a few bars and bananas, threw down a couple of coffees. Youre the bloke on the front of the paper today said the guy in the cafe. Good luck with the rest of it At 10-45am I paddled away from Gibraltar, from Europe. The next 30km was neither Europe nor Africa. For me it was perhaps the epilogue to Volume 1 of my journey, Europe and the prologue to Volume 2, Africa. The next hours would tell whether Id write them. It was a bit lumpy at first but things eased as I headed toward Punta Carnero. The Straits are a complex mix of tide, current and of course, wind. I couldnt head straight to Ceuta as Id end up being swept past it into the Mediterranean. I needed to bear away and use the current and changing tide to ferry glide to Ceuta. As always in such places, it was tempting to turn too early toward my goal. Im rather glad I didnt! Id never kayaked with a support boat before but it is an understandable requirement here with all the shipping. Some 30,000 traverse the Straits annually. Shane was at the helm, Dan was keeping me posted on progress, Rosie was spotting dolphins and Louisa was crewing. Plenty of banter and conversation early on but I realised I also had to buckle down. Off Punta Carnero I turned toward Jebel Musa, a mountain in Morocco; the second Pillar of Hercules. Now I was in the Straits proper. Conditions were pretty good; some small waves and a SW wind slowed progress a little. Plenty of big ships around. Theres a big bow wave from a container ship on its way Huw said Dan. Hey look at the dolphins playing in it said Rosie. It was all happening behind me. Probably about a minute away Huw. I glanced behind to see this big wave bearing towards us. Miss Grape was picked up (shes not usually that loose...) as the wave hit but we pulled off the back. 8 miles to go. Youll be pleased to know a couple of big ships have just changed course to avoid us! smiled diver Dan, a man in his early 30s with fingers in a few pies but at that point manipulating a sandwich. There was little doubt the wind was getting up, a good 15 knots with some spray and waves broadsiding both our boats. Shane was doing a great job trying to hold the Dolphin Adventurer in position to offer me some shelter from the wind and waves. It didnt always work and we had to be careful not to get too close. By 2pm I started to see the outline of the buildings of Ceuta, a tiny part of Spain surrounded by sea and Morocco. But more concerning was Punta Almina. Would I make it inside the point before being swept past? Now it was getting harder. The sea was full of whitecaps and waves, the wind getting stronger all the time; much harder to paddle into. 2 miles Huw I cant hear you Dan 2 MILES HUW! Whilst relieved to be inside Punta Almina, I was not there yet; still here. The combined effect of salt encrusted glasses and heading straight into the sun meant it was hard to see where the harbour sanctuary was. A couple of decent waves broadsided me. Miss Grape was having fun! There is a big difference to being out in those sort of conditions on your own and having a powerful boat there for you. Around 4pm we came toward the high port walls. As we did a Spanish Police boat came out of the sun. I kept paddling, Shane dropped the Dolphin Adventurer back. There is a huge amount of politicking between the UK and Spain over the status of Gibraltar that manifests itself in petty battles and point scoring. In the sanctuary of the harbour I was stoked, absolutely stoked. It had been about 5.5 hours across. Only 24 hours earlier Id given up hope of getting a suitable boat or suitable weather. 24 hours earlier I was trying to resolve in my mind how Id feel about having to take the ferry across the Straits. Shane, who had done a superb job, brought the boat into the harbour. I so wanted to buy the crew a drink to celebrate but, without going through all the paperwork, they could not land in Ceuta. We shook hands through a drain hole on the side of the Dolphin Adventurer. A big thanks to them all and a big hug to Dan for sponsoring the boat costs for the crossing. A generous gesture from a generous man. In an hour theyd be back in Gibraltar. Having shouted my intentions to the Police waiting for me ashore, I rang the Special Package. It was 3am in Australia but 5pm in Ceuta; the time we got married in 2001. Wendy had mowed the lawn for our anniversary. Id paddled to Africa. OUT OF AFRICA I hauled Miss Grape onto a marina pontoon and spent an hour or so sorting gear. In the next few hours I planned to leave Spain, enter Morocco, leave Morocco, leave Africa. That was the plan...... As darkness fell Carlos and Juanfran turned up. They were local kayakers who would transport me and Miss Grape the 5km to the Moroccan border. She had a short trip up on the roof of their van but was soon on her own wheels, weaving through the border chaos. I think this was the first time I have actually wheeled a kayak into a new country. Across no mans land that was full of men; shouting, waving, honking horns. Up to the entry booths we went. It was now 7-30pm. Where is your car? I have no car Where have you come from with that ship? From Gibraltera. Would you like my passport? No I need the papers for your ship first Here we go I thought; memories of Albania, Croatia etc. I have no papers; it is a kayak No sir, it is a boat. You must have papers By now other more senior officers were gathered around. I tried to explain but they would not listen. I tried to tell them that I was headed to Tangier Med Port, 20km away, and that in 3 hours I was leaving Morocco by catching the weekly ferry from there to Genoa in Italy. They would not listen. No ships papers, no entry was the final call from the Chief; an unbelievably officious gentleman nattily dressed in a fine wool overcoat, collar turned up. Whenever his phone rang he would pull it out from an inside chest pocket, fully extend his arm to the side, flip his phone open (remember those?) and bring it sharply to his ear. This theatrical phone technique was repeated whenever I approached him, phone call or none. I skulked away with Miss Grape to one side to consider my options. Beyond the frontier a man was waiting to transport Miss Grape and I to Tangier Med. He had been organised by the Federation Royale Marocaine de Canoe-Kayak. I rang my contact there. He told me to wait and he would make some calls. I waited, he called back to say that the President of the club was contacting the chief of Police and others. I tried to get Mr Flip Phone to talk to Mr Kayak Federation but he waved me away with his phone. I waited some more but the ferry was not going to wait for me. From my position in the shadows I thought it worth at least a try. The triumph of hope against experience.........I casually grabbed Miss Grape by her bow and started wheeling her away toward the exit. Of course, within seconds there was shouting and I was surrounded by arm waving and arm pulling police. Mr Flip Phone glowered. It was now 8-30pm. Phone calls came and went. People elsewhere were doing their very best, telling me to wait for the next call but the ferry was not going to wait for me. Then I remembered. After similar fun and games on other frontiers earlier in the journey, albeit with less pressing deadlines, Id asked Dave Felton, owner of #tideraceseakayaks , the company that gave birth to Miss Grape, to email me a letter on their company letterhead saying I was the owner of the kayak. Dave did so. Id not asked him to but he included the serial number on the 2 line letter. It was a long shot but........... Ive found the ship papers; look I said to the young officer in the booth. She took the letter and stared a while. Go see the chief Mr Flip Phone was 200metres away. As I got within 50metres, he did it once; did it twice. Sir (time to be a bit more respectable) I have the papers. Look He took the letter and looked. It was a start. He did the phone thing again but this time made a real call. I understand no Arabic but there were enough common words - Australian , Canoe - for me to know he was talking about me. Follow me and obediently I did. Back at the booth he instructed the young officer to process a temporary import document. It was now 9pm. The officer was obviously puzzled by the lack of information on the letter but impressed by the long Serial Number. Why there is not this number on your boat? It is but on kayak ships it is always printed on the inside I told her. Taking out my headtorch I invited her to look deep down into the salty, smelly cockpit (there was no opportunity to stop for a pee whilst paddling across the Straits....). She looked at the letter, looked at the number embossed under the deck. She read out 4 numbers/letters at a time, twice. Back at the booth I was issued with the DECLARATION DENTREE ET DE SORTIE DES BATEAUX DE PLAISANCE. The Declaration for Entry and Exit of a Boat of Pleasure. Yippee!!! I thanked her, respectfully thanked Mr Flip Phone and headed out of the border gate. There, waiting patiently was Mourin. 10 time Moroccan Kayak champion he had, unbelievably, driven 300km from Rabat to take me 20km to Tangier Med. But kayak champion he might be; the car had no roof racks! We made do, flipping Miss Grape upside down and using some foam and straps she was good to go. It was now 9-30pm. In an hour and a half the weekly ferry to Genova via Barcelona would leave. Tangier Med turned out to be a massive, sprawling new port. I had to laugh as we sped under a sign indicating directions to the Logistic Free Zone. Certainly not my mediterr annee journey! We passed the turnoff to Ferry - Foot Passenger Entry and continued to Ferry - Vehicle Entry 4km further on. We reasoned that, whilst Mourin was not coming on the ferry, he would be allowed to drop me and Miss Grape near it. The kind people at Gran Navi Veloci #GrandiNaviVeloci had kindly provided free passage with cabin for the 60 hour journey in support of mediterr annee. I checked in while Mourin checked with the police to see if he could drive me to the ship. The answer was, of course, no way. They told him I was a foot passenger so I needed to go through that terminal. It was now 10-20pm. Id blown it for sure. But perhaps the ferry would be late. The triumph of hope....... We went through the motions; driving the 4km back to the Foot Passenger terminal. I thanked Mourin profusely but it was not enough; it could never be enough for what he had done for me. I wheeled Miss Grape to the terminal and up the first short set of stairs. I just knew what was coming....... I want you to imagine now that you are late for an international flight at your international airport of choice or necessity. You are at the terminal door with your luggage. But your luggage includes a 5.3m hulk (sorry Miss Grape....) of Fibreglass and Kevlar and a bag of soaking paddling gear. There were no queues but the metal barrier maze signifying the queuing regime stood like barbed wire on a wartime beach as my next barrier. It was all too bizarre, far too bizarre. But I had to go through with it, to see this day to the end. With the assistance of some Customs officers we lifted and slid Miss Grape over and under barriers to Passport Control. I handed in my passport and my cherished Boat of Pleasure document. A group of officers gathered around both. You cannot take this out of Morocco said one. I didnt have the humour left in me to say that I was actually going nowhere. It was now 10-50pm. Why not? I asked, explaining that Mr Flip Phone had said I could Why you come into Morocco only one hour ago and now you leave? asked the officer, looking at the entry stamp in my passport. I started to explain that Id kayaked across from Gibraltar to Spain and walked into Morocco........ I think I needed to cry out in pure frustration. I was dog tired, I was salt encrusted, I was starving. But I held it together. My documents were taken away to a higher authority. As I waited I struck up a conversation with the one officer remaining. It is fine. You will catch the ferry But it is 11pm now. Is the ferry late? I asked. No it is not 11pm, it is 10pm Sorry?!? He repeated himself then showed me the time on his phone. Wake me up, kick me, punch me, get me out of here. What the f@!k is going on? Morocco is one hour behind Spain. It is 10pm I could not believe it. I just could not believe it. Despair to elation in 10 seconds. You can go with your ship to the ferry. The other officers had returned. They helped me load Miss Grape into the X Ray machine. I quickly took a photo of a 5.3metre sea kayak sitting like a hot dog in a too small bread roll. An officer made me delete it. Now you go down the stairs and the bus will take you to the ferry. Thank you for visiting Morocco. Nothing now surprised me. Nothing. I took Miss Grape and my luggage; one bag still dripping, down an escalator; down a bloody escalator........ We can do it Mr Huw said Hussein, the bus driver. No way, I told him. No way can we shoehorn this boat onto your bus. It will be first time for me but we can try. He was so genuine. For Miss Grape too, it would be the first time. Somehow; some how, Miss Grape caught the bus. We were the only passengers. 4km later we got off the bus and boarded Gran Navi Velocis ship Excelsior. It was 10-35pm. 3 days earlier I hadnt felt I could fully celebrate arriving in Gibraltar, arriving at the end of Europe, until I had got across the Straits to Africa. In the past 12 hours I had kayaked across the Straits from Gibraltar to a tiny piece of Spain in Africa. I entered Morocco then left Morocco. As I sank a celebration beer near midnight, the Excelsior steamed across the Straits to take me away from Africa. Ill be back there on the first day of 2015. I hope they let bikes in without papers. I might just check.
Posted on: Thu, 18 Dec 2014 09:39:06 +0000
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