Need to review notes in Notes.app: UK, Europe

After a couple of nights of cramping Stefano's impeccable style I moved South towards Marbella, where I planned a night or two with a school friend of my Aunt's, Annie—a fellow South African who had emigrated to the "Costa del Crime" many years ago with her husband Tony. I took in some more incredible scenery on the 600-ish kilometer day but stuck mostly to the motorway, eventually starting to circumnavigate the toll gate booms, having been stung with a big bill already and deciding to leverage my Australian-plated anonymity.

Heading into the area near Malaga I was struck by everything suddenly becoming very familiar. All the signage and advertising, apart from official road signs, were in English! The coast line was riddled with "urbanizacións" of semi-detached villas crowding in lush, green golf courses. Doding Range Rovers I eventually found my way to my host's home in the foothills of the mountains, and parked up behind the Johannesburg-duty security gate.

I was hoping to take advantage of T & A's hospitality for a couple of nights while I organised a set of tyres to post to myself further down the road, and a replacement fuel cap for the one I absent-mindedly left at a petrol station somewhere in Spain (not the same one I left my credit card at).

The next morning I made my way into Marbella proper to Motoz Ortis, the local KTM dealer, which I'd previously been in touch with and thought would be well placed to supply me with a new set of tyres and anything else I needed before crossing the Mediterranean to Morocco, where KTM-specifics would start to become much rarer.

The shop was well stocked with new EXCs and Adventures which was reassuring, and after waiting around for nearly an hour while the owner Carlos paid his Spanish respects to all the regulars who dropped in, my case was heard. Unfortunately I was unaware of a local public holiday which would see the shop and its suppliers closed until the following week, meaning I was stuck in Marbella for at least four days.

So we ordered in my tyres (another set of Mitas E-07 Dakars, which I'd been really happy with so far), the fuel cap, and a few other minor bits and pieces and I spent a few days hanging out and becoming fast friends with Tony, Annie and Dirk, another "adopted son" from Germany and an old friend of Annie's who was also checked in at her unintentional B&B while he got some very invasive dental work done.

So I resigned myself to being totally spoiled by Annie over the next few rainy days, getting driven around, fed within an inch of my life and shown all the sights and sounds of the local region. This included a trip with Tony to check out the "fiera" in honour of the local saint (the subject of the public holiday). We got our timing wrong so were too early for the festivities and skipped lunch in favour of beer, facing the fury of Annie for skipping a meal when we returned home.

The next week rolled by and I eagerly set off to find out what was going on with my tyres. Once again I had to wait my turn while the KTM pilgrims came to pay their respects to Father Carlos, but when it came there was no good news and I was told to come back the following day. This cycle continued for a few days and started to get pretty tiresome. In the mean time I borrowed the workshop to fit my side-stand relocator (which I'd picked up in the UK) and even had enough time to have Chris Scott's Morocco Overland delivered by Amazon.

Eventually my tyres turned up and feeling the pressure to keep moving after being "stranded" for a full week, I got a bit agitated about the fuel cap and enquiries were made while I boxed up the tyres to drop off to a DHL agent.

It turned out my order had been "lost" and it would take another 3-4 days for a new one to arrive. More agitation and more calls saw some progress, with a fuel cap tracked down in another town about 120km back up the track.

I decided that come hell or high water I'd set off for Morocco the next day.

The plan was to get on the road early, backtrack to get the fuel cap and then race back past Marbella to meet the midday ferry to Tangier Med. I strapped the bulky box on the back of the 990 and sped off to the copy shop which was the DHL agent to drop off the tyres. Unfortunately I'd totally underestimated the cost of shipping and it ended up costing me over €250 to punt them over the straits of Gibraltar and down to a hotel I'd booked in Agadir, which I felt was the last reasonable point that I could get away with before I'd need to swap tyres over. It was one of many "oh well" moments to come.

Early the next morning after a heartfelt goodbye from my new Spanish family I got moving to Zambrana Motos which turned out to be a huge multi-dealership supplier in the rural area of Mollina stocking Kawasaki, Husqvarna, Gas Gas and other brands along with a huge amount of accessories. If only I'd know about them earlier I could've got everything I'd needed here, but I was grateful for the forced leave I had in Marbella and the life long friendships I made.

It was down to the wire in the end but I made it through the fairly complicated network of roads down to the ferry port at Algeciras, was waved through the security checks thanks to my soft panniers being too annoying to unpack, and took my place in the queue ready to board the ferry.

The real adventure was about to begin.

Taking a British Beat in Marbella