I'd met my Canadian boyfriend whilst we had both been hitch-hiking through Scotland the previous year. He had returned to London with me, and for several months, we'd laughed, loved and lived together.
Then, just before Valentine's Day, he returned to Vancouver...on the west coast of Canada...promising to come back 'one day'.
We had since written regularly to each other, trying to make our relationship work across eight time zones. But, cheap phone calls, texting and the Internet were yet to be invented and communicating via snail mail was both unreliable and frustrating.
At that time, a one-hour transatlantic telephone call cost more than my monthly salary, thus any voice-to-voice communication proved impossible. Our romance had inevitably floundered, and I had called a complete halt during the last days of March.
While the split had been my idea, I missed my boyfriend and was profoundly saddened by the demise of our friendship. So now,
I desperately needed
to lift my spirits!
That winter's rolling electrical blackouts had continued for far too long, hurling London into a gloom, from which its hospitals and massive underground system were the only escapees. Their emergency generators kept these essential services lit, warm and safely functioning.
Everyone was depressed by the blackouts, including my colleagues and me. But, with our usual British stoicism, we commuted daily, from our flats to our jobs in Central London, praying that we might get through a single week without blackouts.
We had coped in offices deprived of warmth, electricity and even that British staple - a nice cup of tea. But when the lights that signalled which of our several desk phones was ringing failed, all hope of efficient communications ceased.
By Easter our last nerves had been rubbed raw! That was when the lifts (elevators) in our Mayfair offices failed, and our huge Government complex began to unravel from the top down.
Nothing prospered during those hateful black-out days! Unable to do our jobs efficiently, we minions were frequently dismissed long before quitting time.
photo by courtesy of: www.http://www.instantoffices.com
On one such afternoon, dizzy with
happiness to be dismissed into a pale British spring day, I decided to walk home through London's parks. Sunshine had been in very short supply in England that year. It was now early-April, officially springtime, and the gift of this warmish afternoon was just what my flagging spirit needed.
From Mayfair to my home in Kensington Olympia, is a distance of two and a quarter miles, if one flies like a crow.
map courtesy of The Guardian Newspaper, UK
To avoid traffic fumes and London's manic crowds, I decided to walk home that day. Crossing Park Lane, I entered historic Hyde Park and enjoyed a brisk walk beside the Serpentine and into Kensington
Gardens.
I had planned to walk as far as Holland Park, eventually emerging mere yards from my flat in Kensington's Olympia district.
But when I noticed that the lights were on in Knightsbridge, the chance of a hot meal suddenly seemed possible. So, at 3.30pm, I left the park via Church Street which led me to Kensington Road.
Thus was I in the right place at the right time to participate in a minor miracle!
Thus was I in the right place at the right time to participate in a minor miracle!
Through the open door of a nondescript store, I heard a voice saying:
"By this time
tomorrow,
you could be on the Road to
Morocco!"
map courtesy of turkey-visit.com
"What an absolutely
delicious idea!!"
delicious idea!!"
Wrapping myself in a blanket and straining to read via candlelight in the chill of my tiny Kensington flat was most decidedly not living my best life.
The chance to visit ancient Spanish locales, en route to the sunshine and romance of Morocco sounded so much saner than suffering another sombre spring in stiff-upper-lipped silence.
Following an overwhelming impulse,
I signed up for this exotic adventure, on the spot!
The idea of eating now completely forgotten, I
practically ran home! Secretly thanking my globe-trotting Mother for insisting I keep a current passport, I threw a few clothes and travel items into my trusty backpack, and then tied my sleeping bag securely onto the frame.
There was only one drawback that I could see, but it was a big one - I detested camping!
In a word: desperation!
I yearned to set my soul free and hoped that this 2000 mile road trip through France and Spain to Morocco - and back again - would banish my blues while expanding my horizons.
Just signing up for the trip improved my mood, partly because it was a dream vacation, but mainly because
I was willing to risk living life to the fullest.
little did I know that the
events of the next few days
would blow my mind!
.
.
.
.
Section 3 - Chapter 2:
cross the English Channel to Belgium where we
camp overnight then begin our epic adventure in
My Road to Morocco - Day 1-Day 2
from London to Bordeaux
Meet my travelling companions as we leave London,cross the English Channel to Belgium where we
camp overnight then begin our epic adventure in
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