The Wandering Potato

Morocco was technically my finish line but it felt like I had landed on another planet. I could still  see  Spain from where I was standing, but the moment i crossed the border everything was different. The streets were made of dust, the buildings cement, and there were vendors selling SIM cards, mint tea, and breads I had never seen with men lined up in djellaba’s carrying plastic bags full of fruit and veggies. One huge street of people moving in every direction at 7 am…I was STOKED!  Until I couldn’t get any money out. A very long story short and three weeks of trying to figure it out… Tangerine doesn’t work in a Morocco. I always travel with multiple bank cards for this reason and it came in handy once again. I have made and re-made every mistake in the travellers 101 of what not to do, and next time I cross a border, I’ll take money out  before  crossing. But Morrocan helpfulness & kindness was instantly felt. Many different people tried to help me, wal...

*tap* *tap* *tap* is this thing still on? Is anybody still there? Or have I been away too long and written to many words at this point to keep up? I’ll keep standing like a bad comedian on this self created soapbox of mine, actually no, let me sit down, and speak my stories into the voids of the internet crossed legged.   P2 Continued:  As I cycled into Andalusia, I found peaceful solitude. I rode for a few days along a greenway, an old railway rode turned into a bike path , a slow gravely incline along the mountain range “Sierra Los Filabres” it was quiet and peaceful beside mountains with snow, with rabbits, foxes, tunnels, and more goddamn Ramblas. I met a German guy, a total character, with the most packed bike I’ve ever seen, and who I could barely get a word in with. He had been cycling for 15 years. One leg From Vancouver to New York City up and back up to Valdor. His bike had trinkets from Nepal and a flag for anti-nuclear energy and a gay pride flag, but “not for the ...