We awoke and checked the train times to Málaga, having decided the night before that hitching would not be an option. The distance was short, but our haste was great. Our plane back to England leaves Marrakech on Tuesday morning. The RENFE website said there were trains leaving every two hours, and we made it to the station in good time. However, Spain wasn’t having any of it, and the conductor gleefully informed us that there were no trains to Málaga and that we should shut our cake holes and stop being so silly anyway. So we walked to the bus station (a faux art deco affair that looked like it had buried the better days it had once seen, and now only visited them on Sundays with some flowers) only to find out we had missed the bus. We attempted (half heartedly it must be said) to hitch until the next one.
Once we finally arrived in Málaga, we left as soon as possible (a good move of ever you visit) via the metro-esque cercanía train. Again we aimed for a service station, recommended by hitchwiki, on the west edge of town.
The recomendation was sound,and after crossing El Pinillo we found our way across the autopista by way of a tunnel and some fence hopping.
At the service station we saw the first hitchers since Château-du-Loir. Great to chat to them, but a bit rude both trying to hitch from the same place to the same place. We let them take the prime spot at the petrol pumps proper. In the event, we actually won, but not by poaching, we took people sipping coffee and happened to get lucky first. Good luck guys! As far as we know they’re still there…
Anyway, the lovely couple that Ollie got chatting with we’re not going to Algeciras, but to an urbanisation called Sotogrande about 30km before Algeciras. However, they said they’d take us there anyway, mostly due to our kind faces. Winning!
We made excellent time to Algeciras with lots of lively conversation which I could understand, but barely contribute to. Balls.
In the city, they took us past the port so that we could see where to catch the ferry the following morning, then delivered us straight to te door of our hostel. Amazing kindness.
So here we are then, one hours ferry ride from kissing Moroccan soil. Our last lift was an excellent one, but we have now packed away our hitching T-shirts (well, I have, Ollie has packed away the green T-shirt he has been wearing inside out for th last two weeks).
Tomorrow we’ll arrive in Moroccco, the official part of our journey over, and will begin the dash to Marrakech to catch out flight. Over and out.
tl;dr: I can take you as far as Alderaan
P.s. Ollie says “lets assume ‘prohibido pasar’ actually means step right on in..”