The auto electrician chappies turn up at 11:00 and in under 2 minutes have identified the problem - it's the HT coil. It is not original being completely the wrong type and mounted in the wrong place, it's made in Japan and should actually be in something like a Toyota or a Nissan and therefore understandably it is completely fried. That it's made it from Sweden to Marrakesh via South Wales is in itself something of a miracle.
All the others apart from father and son team George and Matt have already gone off into town, so Andrew and George squeeze into the electrician's little Peugeot and head off to an aptly-named part of Marrakesh known as "La Casse" (the scrapyard) where all the vehicle dismantlers hang out to find a suitable replacement. An hour later they're back with a second-hand Audi coil and another half hour later it's fitted, working and they've checked over Phoebe's altenator and electrical system and given her a clean bill of health. Sorted. Now to see the sights.
Accompanied by George and Matt we start walking down the main drag into town and try to hail a taxi, which does not prove easy as we're on a dual carriageway and there is surprisingly little traffic. After foot slogging it for a bit, taxi driver Mohamed Mellali who is on the other carriageway heading in the opposite direction sees us, does a U-turn at the next junction and comes to pick us up. An absolutely cracking chap, he refuses payment when he drops us off, points us in the right direction and then picks us up again a few hours later when we have aching feet and are suitably replete with cous-cous, sticky pastries and high-intensity black Moroccan coffee (to experience the effect of this at home, just stick your finger in a mains socket) and then gives us a bit of a guided tour and helps us run a few errands before coming to have a look at Phoebe. If you're ever in Marrakesh and need a taxi, give him a call on 06 77 35 75 37.
Thinking about it afterwards, we've been remarkably lucky that the coil didn't pack up when we were out on the road yesterday in the middle of nowhere (as it was obviously already very unhappy at that point hence the blips in power as it was intermittently cutting out), that it packed up only a short distance from the hotel and that our Banjul Challenge-aware, specialist-knowing, car-dealer chappie was passing by when he did. Either someone upstairs is keeping an eye on us, or, as author Terry Prachett once said, million to one chances happen nine times out of ten.
And in case we couldn't get Phoebe fixed, we also found a replacement vehicle...
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