With last nights karaoke still ringing in our ears and Larios yet to fully leave our system we woke to the prospect of completing our final destination by the end of the day. Whilst Gibraltar had signalled the end of the true cycling, we had left Oxford 3 weeks ago with the intention of setting foot upon African soil, and finally today was the day! In an effort to clear our dusty heads, we headed for the familiarity of M & S Gibraltar. After ploughing through the majority of the bakery section in this home from home store, it was time to head out of Gibraltar and towards the port of Algersiras.
As some of you may know, leaving Gibraltar is not like leaving any other town. The border queue snaked along the perimeter fence, as the Spanish scrupulously checked every GBZ number plate, seemingly searching for the reason why there is such a high concentration of tattoo lovers in this British enclave. We kept ourselves amused for the hour long queue by starting what became known as 'horn festivals', where one person beeps and others join to show their dismay at the long hold ups. A great game that I would recommend to any disgruntled queuer.
We finally left the border, and headed down the coast to Algersiras. We pulled in and were immediately greeted by a very unofficial bloke directing traffic. On closer inspection he had the look of a rabid dog and was in no way in a position to give sound advice. Laurie however took a bit of shining to him and invited him to the car window, soon realising his mistake. As we drove off to where we thought the ferry departed, this self proclaimed unofficial official followed, desperately trying to ensure we used his ticket seller for our crossing. This Wild West style atmosphere was to be the underlying theme for the day. We eventually boarded the ferry, having established a 'trust no one, suspect everyone' attitude was the order of the day, and steamed off towards Cueta the Spanish enclave on the northern tip of Africa, still trying to shake last nights endeavours from our system.
The ferry left the port and we settled into our comfy seats, with little knowledge of what lay in store for us over the next hour and a half. The boat began to roll after a few minutes to the amusement of the team, but as we moved further out to sea, the laughter stopped... All we could see out the windows was a cycle of sea, then up to sky, the back to sea, then back to sky. Soon Marcus and Fred were talking to the big white telephone, distributing M&S cookies far and wide, along with the majority of our fellow passengers. Rob found solitude in the windowless toilet cubicle, leaving only able seamen Price to ride the storm like a true sea lover, maintaining the dignity of the A2A team.
We departed what has now been unanimously voted the low point of the trip, to find solitude on the miracle that is dry land. Still swaying we sat and contemplated what we had just survived, before mounting our trusty bikes to head for the Africa border. We pedalled our bikes as we had done for the previous 3 weeks, but this time along the Northern most tip of the African continent. Riding the coastal road, shaking off the swaying of the sea as we went, the African border came over the brow of the hill.
We approached the compound, surrounded by barbed wire, 10 meter high fences and gun wielding officials. The road was lined with activity, as packages were being prepared to be carried on foot across the boarder. Everything from cans of coke to Disney rugs, were being packaged up and carried through the border by men, women and children. We cycled through following the cars, whilst the package mules carried their goods through a cattle run to our right. More unofficial officials greeted us offering to help us through the border, and ensure all our documents where in order. Cycling under the scaffold tent, avoiding the rogue drivers and abundance of suspect individuals, we got our passports stamped.
Crossing the border we entered Africa, we had done it! 3 weeks of cycling and months of preparation lay behind us, as we completed a challenge we had set ourselves nearly a year ago. There was no glitz or glamour, no luminous "welcome to Africa" sign, or expectant crowds, it was clear the A2A media campaign had not reached this area of the world! All that greeted us was the unloading of the goods, more unofficial officials, and the largest collection of battered Mercedes known to man. We sought out a photo, to prove our arrival, so asked a police officer if he could do the honours. He paused for a moment until another gentlemen arrived, with whom he shook hands whilst being handed a roll of bank notes. This gentlemen was then instructed by the officer to take our photo, underneath a very Moroccan looking road sign. A rather surreal, yet apt circumstance under which to round off our arrival into Africa!
We then cycled for the border town to make the most of our short time in Africa. The goods we had previously seen being packaged across the border, were now being traded from street markets and the old Mercedes were buzzing through the streets delivering their passengers. We ate at a road side restaurant and took in the sites and sounds of the street, before returning to the border once again, as dusk began to fall. En route we witnessed a fight in which one man was attacking another with a rock, whilst being separated by a uniformed officer who was still managing to smoke his cigarette.
Passing through the border was the same process of getting passport stamped, avoid unofficial officials, and generally pretend you know what you are doing! We cycled back to port as the sun set over the sea, and found our ferry waiting for us. We boarded nervously praying for a more mundane experience than our outward journey.
To our relief the journey passed smoothly and Fred even got to see his beloved Bale score his first goal for his new club. Arriving back at the van that was happily still in one piece, we packed the bikes in the dark and headed back for our nights lodgings in Gibraltar.
It had been an amazing day of highs and lows, but we had eventually achieved what we set out to achieve. It may not have been the Hollywood ending, and it may just have been the four of us, but in some ways this was a more fitting end. We started as four students venturing into the complete unknown, and that is appropriately how it had ended as well.
- @Access2a
- www.access2africa.co.uk
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