Tuesday 5 March 2024

A Moroccan Rendezvous..............

Leaving El Ouatia after a very useful service stop I bought fresh veg and continued up the coast past Cap Draa which is near the point where the mighty Draa river enters the sea after flowing largely underground from several hundred miles east having disappeared at M'Hamid south of Zagora. The huge cliffs to the south of the dried up river bed mostly mark the largely mined Algerian border - a sad sign of the ongoing friction between these two countries. I turned off to Plage Blanche, a place I have long been aware of and was pleased to find a good but empty road took me across to a small fishing village and then the descent to a large tarmac parking area that looked out to the huge expanse of sand threaded by a brackish river. A dusty track led on to the beach where it would have been possible to drive out and camp but I decided a firm surface and good view was preferable to a nervous night as the tide came in. There were a few other vans of various nationalities and disappointingly quite an accumulation of rubbish round the two bins - surely with vehicles we can take our own trash out - the same might be thought of bothy users back in the UK, a constant source of irritation.


 

Anyway I walked out to the surf and was amused to see tucked away between the simple fishermen's huts across the river stood an old VW Type 2 bus - the base vehicle for my very first camper van 40 years previously. A group of off road bikers turned up, posed for selfies and then roared off south followed later on by a group of Daccia Duster 4x4s on a similar jaunt. This contrasted sharply in my mind with the local woman who walked down at sunset selling bread at the doors of some enormous French and German rigs. After a very quiet night I left for Foum Assaka reached by another newly surfaced road and bounced the last couple of kilometres down to the beach where numerous half built homes were unchanged over the last two years since my last visit. The small cafe had reopened but I parked up to walk out to the Rayon Vert auberge - the quirkiest most unique place you could imagine - and checked out the availability of a room for our guest next week.

I stayed the night down on the beach, grateful as always for the practicalities and comforts of this van and reflected on how different the set up was in 1984 where a single cold tap and a few lights were the height of sophistication. Only the cooking set up is familiar with two rings and a grill being present in both! Up at Goulimime I avoided the the pricy European temptations of the Marjane supermarket and picked up the N12 heading east. At Ait Boukha I decided to try out a small campground in the oasis and after threading my way down a maze of tracks found myself at the gate of Aain Nakhla, a small well kept campsite with neat gardens and borders and a friendly young man in charge with good English. Before long I was off on the bike as I always enjoy nosing around these palmeries and then came out on the dried up river bed where a large number of camels were browsing - Goulimime has a large camel market every Saturday so these remarkable beasts are seen all round here. After a very quiet night I was back on the bike to find the 'Eye of the Desert' a hot water spring that had been left after drilling in the area for minerals. I arrived after a few miles of dusty tracks and more camel herds to this unusual feature where a steel pipe disgorged clear water at 40 degrees C in to a roughly circular pool to provide a desert spa experience. Of course the earth banks had muddied the waters but it was quite an experience, shared with a few other visitors who were camping out there, south of the village of Fask. I cycled back along with two French couples on scooters before another quiet night on the very peaceful site. 

 

My route north to Tafraoute followed an upgraded piste passing the recently completed Fask barrage and out to the N12 where a turn north on the R107 headed up through some remote villages and a series of dramatic hairpins before emerging on a high and desolate plateau with views north to the red ranges of the Ameln Valley at Tafraoute. A side road, again an improved piste, took me across to the Grand Canyon of Morocco - the stunning Igmir Gorge where on a gravel area above a deep hairpin bend in the canyon itself I decided to stay a couple of nights. The view was remarkable and the light sublime as the sun set and I had the place to myself and remarkably a good 4G signal. I walked down to the tiny village of Aoukerda where by following a path behind the mosque you could enter a tunnel that connected two loops of the canyon - I guess you could walk it north or south to other villages but this was the end of the road and I returned to the van passing the large rock arch once more to find I had been joined by a German guy I had seen in El Ouatia in a large overland truck.


 

Heading out the following morning two old guys I had spoken to outside the mosque were walking out of the gorge so I offered them a lift to the next village before beginning the long twisting descent to Tafraoute where I intended to check out the availability of rooms during the following week's Almond Festival. I based myself on the outskirts of town amongst the palm trees and as always was amused by the various vendors passing by offering bread, cakes, haircuts, windscreen wipers and the services of a mechanic and bodyshop in town. The following day I checked out other options but most places were already full and wanted a reservation paid up front - tricky as we had no set schedule. Various vans were having dents and scrapes attended to or even full resprays at the local garages specialising in foreign vehicles and the various markets and side streets were as intriguing as ever. I met another couple I'd bumped in to earlier - they were English but live off grid near Granada in Spain.

With the arrival of Mandy and her brother imminent I left Tafraoute to take the high road north to Agadir and stopped a night outside a cafe and craft shop building in Ait Baha which overlooked the town. I walked down in search of new crocs and refreshments and noted a number of bike packing cyclists probably on a loosely organised tour. Coffee but not foot wear was found after which I returned to the van where a few locals had come up to the cafe to enjoy the sunset.

Saturday dawned bright and sunny as I dropped down to Agadir and checked out  a site near to the airport that had rooms and booked a pitch and a room for two nights. I offloaded the bikes and had a good tidy out of the van and various cupboards prior to the arrival of two extra passengers. The site was run by a French couple and of a very high standard so appealed to numerous French and Dutch couples clearly set in for lengthy stays and was only half an hour or so from the airport. Having tracked Les's flight from Lisbon I knew it was on time so drove over to the modest sized airport and parked up where we had overnighted in previous years before walking across to Arrivals. Les emerged and we were soon back at the site for a catch up and evening meal, a delicious chicken tagine from the site's kitchen before turning in with another day to go before Mandy arrived from Manchester. 

We cycled out to the coast and were amazed at the large numbers of demolished buildings along the coastline which is supposedly in a national park - whether it was earthquake damage or unauthorised structures pulled down by the authorities was unclear but it was a hell of a mess and compounded by the usual broken glass and plastic waste. We followed tracks to complete a circuit as the sun got hotter and returned for a few hours in the shade before dropping in to Ait Melloul for Les to get a taste of Morocco and have some street food - a delicious flat bread filled with fried fish and Moroccan salad.

Mandy emerged from Arrivals after a trouble free journey and we returned to the site for a catch up stopping en route at one of the small shops for some basics before sitting outside on a warm evening. We headed out to the coast and stopped at the Legzira Arches again - the track down to the spot I'd stayed on a few times was unusable due to a new pipe being trenched in so we parked up a mile further south and walked down to the beach from there for a good view of the southern arch. We couldn't decide if the tide was ebbing or flowing so whilst Mandy and I skittled through the water to get through the middle arch we decided not to risk a stranding by walking up to the north one. Before long we were at Le Rayon Vert where Lez had a quirky room with a sea view and sheltered seating area where we enjoyed tea and watched the waves come crashing in, trying to decide if swimming was a good idea. A German guy said broken glass and spiny sea urchins would be an additional unseen hazard so we contented ourselves with the amazing view. We enjoyed a quiet night down on the beach and Les slept soundly in his room and was up talking to the two staff when we returned the following morning. We decided to stay on a second night so everyone could rest up but all the rooms were booked up so Les opted to sleep in the large tented lounging area and we brought the van up to the small parking spot. After walking along the beach for a fair way we returned for an exceptional  meal - grilled fish for Mandy and excellent octopus tagines for the guys. A French group who live in Agadir were also staying as well as two young Spanish doctors on a cycling trip who we invited to join us for a game of dominoes in the carpeted and cosy tented area. 

 

 

We took the new road south and then turned off to an old favourite of ours - the French colonnial fort of Bou Jerif and met an English guy carrying out some survey work for an archaeological archive. He filled us in on some of the history of the fort and the way it was both provisionned and defended before we took to its crumbling structures for a closer look round. From there it was a short hop to the FBJ campsite which we thought Les would find remarkable situated as it is in the middle of nowhere and yet providing camping, rooms, a small hotel and even a restaurant. We took tea in a shaded area alongisde the huge bones of a long deceased whale and spoke to a Swiss couple who took a shine to the van as they find their LandCruiser a bit cramped, before returning to Goulimime for the temptations of the Marjane. 

Returning to Amtoudi off the N12 we were surprised to see that the once dusty yard with basic facilities had been much improved with marked pitches, a new ablutions block and rooms arranged round a central courtyard that met all our needs. After a walk in to the village we were soon set up for another evening of chat and played a closely fought game of Scrabble as dusk set in. The following morning we took the mountain path up to the agadir or grain store perched precariously on a rocky outcrop above the village. The same wizzened gardien opened the old door and after taking a fee of 20 dirhams each encouraged us to explore the sprawling structure by ourselves - I think he's getting a bit old for the walk up every day and I explained I'd visited twice previously. The maze of passages, dead ends, storage rooms with shelving, cool alcoves and dark pits would have stored a range of produce from the surrounding area against vermin and invaders. Much of the access was child sized so we bent our backs and scraped our heads having a good look round. In the various enclosed yards ancient structures that would have housed bee skeps were in abundance and all the flat roofs were limed and arranged to direct any rainfall in to a large cistern. With only the one entrance and just two paths winding up from the valley below it would have been easy to defend as most of the walls were atop vertical cliff faces. We took the second path down, stopped for a welcome orange juice in a small cafe and then returned to site to pack up and move on.

 

A return visit to the Gorge left everyone suitably impressed before we began dropping to Tafraoute and took the optional route through Tarsouat in the hope that the closed site might have opened for the Almond Festival but its gates were firmly closed so we carried on to Tafraoute - eventually a cafe owner rang a friend and we found Les a room in a riad that was perhaps a little above budget but every other option seemed to be full. After following the owner on his moped we left Les to settle in and took up a reasonably quiet spot back in the palmery despite the large numbers of festival visitors. We walked back in later to meet centrally and then enjoy various Berber music and dancing routines performed by a large number of white robed men in one case and seven veiled woman in another all sharing the same veil. After some food in a cafe watching the good natured crowds and beautifully turned out women go by we went our separate ways - our walk back through the palms led us to the van where the gardien had been waiting to give us the 5 dirham (40p) change for our parking fee, such decent people.


 

The following day we met up in town where Mandy and Les shopped for gifts and dropped a pair of Moroccan slippers off for resoling whilst I bought meat, chicken and veg for the next few meals. A quick trip up to the painted rocks provided some excellent photo opportunities under a hot sun and deep blue sky and on leaving town we spotted the lion's face on the imposing Ameln Valley mountains. A few hours drive through stunning scenery via Irherm brought us to Talioiune and the small site at the end of town we had used before. The old gardien Ali didn't recognise us but was as friendly as ever and the owner proudly showed us the new building he is putting up to house a cafe, restaurant and small hotel.

However this time round Les had to take a room in the Auberge next door after which we walked up to town being greeted by friendly teenage students and finding a cafe that produced an excellent meal in the shape of chicken brochettes, fries, salad, bread and drinks all for about a tenner. The N10 took us to Tazenakht after which the P1507 snaked across to the outskirts of Ouarzazate which we bypassed to pick up the N10 again and pull off at Skoura for the Camping Ameridil situated a five minute walk from the eponymous kasbah. After checking in and getting Les a room we all walked over to explore the well preserved kasbah with its cool courtyards, shaded seating area and roof top terraces. Various pieces of equipment and tools used in domestic life or the construction and repair of these mud walled buildings were on display and helped explain the various techniques and traditions. A few photos on one wall showed the kasbah and surrounding palmery covered in a foot or so of snow - that must have surprised the locals!


 

Moving on again we soon stopped at a village where the large weekly souk was spread out over land at the edge so enjoyed a good walk round the numerous fruit, veg, spice, grains, date and nut stalls as well as the various butchers, fishmongers and the small blacksmiths who had set up tiny hearths and were producing or repairing all manner of tools. Moving on we turned north at Tinghir to visit the impressive Todra Gorge with a clear spring emerging from the vertiginous cliff face - normally we would continue over a dramatic pass and emerge at Imilchil but with only a few days left before we needed to get Les to Marrakesh for his flight home we returned to Boulmaine Dades and climbed the dramatic series of hairpins to reach the cafe and lookout. Further on the excellent Hotel Berbere De La Montagne which we had stayed at last year had a room and quiet camping - perfect. It was cooler due to the altitude so we made use of the lounge area with its roaring fire and played dominoes before two Dutch couples celebrating a birthday joined us to eat dinner. The chef produced a cake which they kindly shared after which chef and the gardien Idris produced three drums and two sets of maracas for an impromptu music session. Idris also teased us with a couple of clever tricks which no doubt I shall be imposing on the folks back home one day.

Returning down the hairpins of the Dades we turned back towards Ouazazate and then took a very twisty road across to Demnate that had been a rough piste on my first visit 10 years ago with at the time several metres of snow banked up on either side. By last year the road whilst still very twisty and steep had been much improved but unfortunately last year's earthquake had dislodged huge tonnages of boulders from the new cuttings reducing the road to single track in places and requiring numerous collapsed bridges to be avoided by driving through the river beds. In the villages there were many deliveries of concrete blocks and rebar to help the locals rebuild and heavy machinery was undertaking the road repairs required. We stopped for lunch high in a pass noting how chilly it felt before dropping down to the natural rock bridge just short of Demnate. A large hotel was happy to allow us to stay in the car park whilst Les took a room and we walked back down to descend the steps in to the gorge leaving Les to play football with the local kids. A meal in the van and a game of Scrabble was accompanied by my first rain in 8 weeks and the cool temperatures encouraged me to fire up the Eber - lovely.

Camp Zebra at the Cascades D'Ouzoud met our needs as previously but Les wanted something cheaper down in town so we dropped him off to sort himself out and later met up to walk over to the falls. A large and to my mind over the top flood reduction project meant that one path down to the falls and many of the streets were dug up so we took a side street and then cut across through shady trees to reach the viewpoint. Here new railings prevented people from getting too close to the edge and therefore the best views, but a little further on the casacading waters could be seen albeit slightly muddied by the drainage works. A network of small paths brought us to the foot of the falls via a few stalls selling gifts after which we crossed the two sandbag bridges and began walking up through the dozens of souvenir stores and cafes. At the top we were tempted by grilled chicken so enjoyed kebabs, salad and chips with good fresh orange juice. After a final walk through the fascinating side streets away from the more touristy centre we left Les to get a shave and haircut whilst we headed back to service the van domestics ready for departure the following day.

 


We picked Les up next morning and set off for Marrakesh stopping an hour or two later to enjoy a final lively market before hitting the drama of the Marrakech traffic, a melee of scooters, taxis and buses that weaved around in a fog of fumes and tooting horns. We reached the long term parking without incident - Marrakech is not a huge airport and overnighting is allowed. A walk in to the nearby suburb was a final chance to experience the vitality of Moroccan street life and we also saw our first example of earthquake damage with a small number of collapsed buildings taped off. A lively cafe fed us well with pizzas for a change and we then saw Les safely through the security at the departures door before retiring for a quiet and comfortable night as flights ceased by late evening.

Leaving Marrakech we headed south picking up the Tizi n Tichka which I had last tentatively crossed in 2015 with defective suspension on the old van. Whilst a number of hairpins have been straightened out it is still a remarkable feat of engineering climbing to almost 7000'. I had misjudged fuel so we dropped down the south side to the first town with a filling station, took on food for ourselves as well and returned the 15 minutes or so back up to the turning to Telouet. We decided against staying there having visited the kasbah extensively last year but spotted a sign for camping up a rough track off the main road that had been closed due to road building last year. The works hadn't achieved much as we bounced our way along a precipitous edge, through some very tight hamlets and over some pronounced hump backed bridges. eventually we decided to turn back as there was no obvious sign of a place to stay and eventually pulled off above the village of Barda just along from the phone mast. It was another memorable place to stay with amazing stars and total peace and quiet and no passing traffic. We had noticed that in some villages individual houses had blue frame tents erected on flat ground and indeed just along from us were the remains of a few more alongside a water tank. Clearly after the quake villagers had moved on to this flat ground well away from the cliffs that tower over the villages and then returned to their homes once the fear of aftershocks had receded - the tents on the plateau had presumably being destroyed by the winter weather but no doubt the fabric and poles would be repurposed elsewhere eventually.


 

Next morning an old couple appeared by the van and after initially saying no we decided to buy a few bits and bobs and give them some extra as clearly the area had experienced huge challenges on top of those that are normally part of every day life. We dropped down to the valley floor and decided to walk in to the village where some women were washing clothes, rugs and blankets in the river, children were cutting forage for the livestock and men were rebuilding some of the damaged homes. After returning via a rickety wooden bridge we saw a woman hefting a gas bottle over her shoulder and as we caught her up she asked us to come to her home for tea. Mina soon had a pot of tea and some warm bread in front of us and her two children and their friends turned up as well - we had a lovely time showing them pics of things in Britain they would never see here such as steam trains and the Cumbrian lakes, before heading off. We gave her 200 dirham as a gift for the family and she asked to exchange contact details. We passed the huge, and popular kasbah at Ait Benhaddou and then took the N9 to Ouarzazate and eventually on to Agdz via another impressive pass( the Tizzi'n-Tinififft ) that had been improved on the north side with work underway on the south.

At the Camping a la Ferme Tensift Said recognised us and the van and made us very welcome. He had quite a few staying so we tucked in against a wall in a space not suitable for the larger vans and had a tour of the new loo and shower block finished only a few weeks ago. It was good to be back in such a well run place and we took the bikes off for a ride down to the busy little town in search of a replacement gas bottle which was quite a challenge to ride back with. The following day we rode out on one of the roads leading up in to the mountains passing several of the ancient pise kasbahs that being no longer lived in are now slowly collapsing. Having reached the end of  the tarmac after a few miles we stopped at a decorated public water tap and then returned with a quick detour on a side road bringing us back through the extensive palmery. A large German off road truck had pulled in and a Swiss estate car pulling a huge caravan - yet again we decided we preferred our more modest arrangements. Next day we cycled along the N9 to the huge and empty Kasbah Tamnougalt whose sheer size and scale never ceases to amaze. A nearby structure sports some street art but the main building shows evidence of much older artistry with its decorative arches, windows and columns still visible. We then decided to follow the road east running parallel to the superb Jbel Kissane until we could turn off across the dry Draa riverbed and pick up the N9 with its cycle lanes and head home. John, a British off road biker turned up with a dodgy knee from riding the pegs all day and seemed to appreciate a chat in English and a hand fixing a couple of loose bolts on his Royal Enfield Himalaya.


 

We left the following morning and are now as far south as tarmac will take us in the Draa Valley  at M'Hamid which I last visited on my first trip 11 years ago. The small camp ground at the far end of the village on top of a small hill still has its amazing views in all directions but there is also now a new building with a small restaurant, huge new kitchen and a terrace on the roof. The owner may well have been the guy I met, or his brother, and a lovely French lady who used to drive HGV's around Europe including the UK made us feel very welcome and gave us a spot with a good view west for the setting sun. We decided to have electricity, the first in two months for me, just to give the 240v systems a run - fridge, hot water and the LB charger, but it would work out more than the gas at say 15 dirhams a night when a full gas is only 11 and would last a week but I like to ensure everything is working OK. We cycled back in to the village which was busy with evening shoppers, mostly elegantly dressed women, at the dusty market and took the road across the dry riverbed for a circuit of the palmery.

Today we rode a few miles east past a desert camp beyond which the track became too sandy in places to ride. We met a deaf and dumb Tourag lad who was looking after a large number of camels and drew pictures in the sand to show he had a house tent deeper in to the desert and a compound to lock the beasts up at night. He also indicated that he milks the camels and seemed pleased to have an interaction with people as most fly past on 24 hour desert nomad experiences in shiny 4x4s. We rode back in to town for  fresh orange juice in a cafe whilst watching a guy hand paint a sign for desert tours and then picked up 5l of water and returned to the shady lounging area of La Boussolle du Sahara where at 6pm we are booked to dine up on the terrace.

 


Ramadan starts this week which may influence our onward plans so I will report back in due course.

 

Pics as always right here.

Thursday 8 February 2024

Returning North Through The Western Sahara

 From my cliff top perch it was only a couple of hours up to Cap Boujdour where I was planning a couple of nights at Camping Sahara whose initial impression would be off putting to many as a few ancient and abandoned French campers and cars were rusting away just inside the entrance. There was no one in the office so I sat and read for a while after having checked out the facilities which were unexpectedly clean and modern. Eventually a very friendly young guy appeared - he'd just been in to town for new mops and buckets. He booked me in and I chose a spot well away from the couple of other vans in situ and against a wall to provide some shelter from the winds. Later on a British couple with two kids and three spaniels turned up - lovely people living a very different life and all based in a venerable Merc van. A quartet of offroaders with roof tents arrived - they too tucked away behind the wall as the high tents and long travel suspension made for a rocky night if too exposed. 



I walked up in to town for a look around and noticed that all the cafes were lining up rows of chairs in front of TV sets as Morocco had a crucial game against South Africa in the AFCON tournament. A combined mosque, petrol station, shop and cafe seemed  to cover all bases and I was intrigued by the sight of all the male employees facing east and kneeling in communal prayer. I also spotted a large fishing boat being built behind a metal door and wished I coud have seen more as the craftsmanship looked superb.



Back on the site I tucked away to enjoy one of the many paperbacks I have brought along and kept an eye on the soccer results : Morocco lost and the fanfare that arose in Nouadibhou failed to materialise.

Next day I noticed that the gardien had turned on a borehole pump to fill the rooftop tanks but had obviously forgotten about it whilst he went in to town - thus for several hours hundreds of gallons of water spilled over and ran across flat roofs, down walls on to terraces and down staircases. I was tempted to turn something off in the small hut he had been in earlier but the potential to do more harm than good persuaded me to leave well alone. Later I walked up in to the town again for some basic foodstuffs and got chatting to a nice young guy just keen to practice his English for half an hour or so, he dreams of working in Europe and claimed to only earn £4 for a 15 hour shift as a chef - this seems low even by Moroccan standards where the minimum wage is set at about £240/month.

I left after filling up the water tanks and emptying the loo and the gardien was delighted with one of my finished books as he too was keen to improve his English but also bought four 5l bottles of water as the site water was a little salty, possibly the over pumping yesterday had dropped the level to a saltier part of the aquifer.

Strong easterlies on the 100 mile drive to Layounne blew large amounts of sand across the road so I was glad to pull in at the parking at Foum El Oued where several 4x4 trucks were also in situ. The huge empty beach back in to town was deserted and again the long tiled and illuminated promenade was equally empty with the same guys posted every few hundred metres in small shacks for no obvious purpose. It was a quiet night and I had a lie-in the following morning as I had decided to stay two nights. Later on I cycled around the largely deserted town, found a shop for bread, milk and yoghurt, carried on out to the port and then turned back spotting a familiar van heading in to town. It was the Italian couple who had helped me out of the sand and I caught up with them as they pitched up in a large empty parking area. It was good to see them again and we provisionally arranged to go out for a bite to eat but they called later to say it was too cold to be heading out. I guess if you've lived in Cadiz for 20 years 15 degrees is a bit fresh! Kids were playing footie bare footed on the beach which alarmed me as there is so much broken glass around, the plastic is far worse but at least in the short term not a nasty hazard. Salvo and Sylvi dropped by the following morning as they were off to try and buy a solar panel as unless they drove daily their leisure batteries were struggling but we planned to meet up in a day or two at Naila on the cliffs.


 

After filling up with water from the gardien and paying the 20 MAD per night I headed up to Tarfaya with the strong winds again raising huge amounts of sand. As an HGV passed a stone or something flew up putting a ding in my passenger door and giving me quite a start, annoying as I'd just got the van paintwork in tip top condition last Autumn in Brecon. Anyway at least it wasn't the screen and I'll leave it for now as there are plenty more miles left for similar mishaps to occur. I turned off the N1 to a place I fancied staying at but  was told by the military guys that day time parking was fine but overnighting wasn't allowed. At Tarfaya the kids were as persistent and cheeky as ever and I recognised a couple - however they soon got bored and were very polite as they skipped off. Having walked in to town earlier and enjoyed a meat and veg wrap with fries I cycled the few miles back south to see the wrecked ferry at sunset which was well worth it. Two fishermen below me hooked the smallest of fish but were obviously delighted and took selfies of their prized sardine as I set off back to town. A port security guard wanted a chat - he has an uncle living and working in Edinburgh and again wanted to practice his English so as I left the following morning I dropped off a couple of my books to his delight. I called back at the LPG depot where my 907s were filled for 80p each - these will now sit in storage until we return to Europe and I will use the local cylinders.



The N1 was largely a good straight dual carriageway although at one point it reverted to two way as it dropped in to a dry riverbed where an army Toyota was being winched up from the creek. Being open topped I suspect the occupants had been badly injured at best but there was only the recovery truck present. Crossing another similar creek further on I was unable to pass an ancient aggregates lorry wheezing up the slope as it belched out remarkable quantities of black smoke. 

 


Turning off to Naila it was an absolute pleasure to be back in such a unique spot and I parked up perched on the cliff edge and waited for the dust laden winds to abate. They dropped by mid afternoon so I walked out along the shore heading north to the dunes that curved out to the coastline before returning to pay the gardien his 20 MAD, talk to the two soldiers who took passport and vehicle details and settle down to watch a striking sunset. After dark behind the dunes that separated the sea from the lagoon I could see numerous powerful searchlights sweeping the coast for people smugglers as the elusive Canary Islands are only 10 hours away by fast Zodiac RIB.

 

Next day SnS arrived mid morning having failed to get a panel so I offered to charge up various power banks and gizmos as my panel had topped all my toys up - I need to find a way of using this remarkable amount of wasted power (imagine the potential - which is in the process of being captured - on an industrial scale) and ideally would like to use it to heat water via the Truma so I guess an inverter powering the existing EHU would do it. The Eco Flow one is only 300w with a 600w max surge so wouldn't be up to the job although it would run the fridge but that actually uses very little gas anyway and is currently working better than ever after its good clean out and service last year. I walked out south to the viewpoint over a large curve in the delta but missed a call from SnS who had arranged to go out on a tour of the lagoon in the local fisherman's boat. The following morning we all went in to the simplest of shacks where the day's catch was being dealt with. Mostly monkfish and squid with a metre long conger eel to boot. Food hygiene would have had a fit as we stood in the shack, cats waiting patiently on the ancient car bonnet, buckets of heads and guts spilling over and the older guy nailing the tail of each fish to the doorframe prior to gutting them deftly. The roes were retained, the cats got the innards and the heads went over the cliff to feed the gulls. I bought a prepared monkfish for 30MAD, no doubt including the infidel tax, but still fine by me and I left totally absorbed by the scene that has probably changed little in a thousand years.

 

After another quiet night SnS left only to return an hour or two later with fresh bread for me as they had decided it was a beautiful spot to spend another night. They have travelled extensively, previously in a Nissan Patrol and roof tent and spoke highly of Turkey, Armenia and Georgia which whetted my appetite. The three of us walked right out to the coast passing some huge dunes and a solitary fisherman who is out all day long and lives in a shack of plastic sheeting with the boat fishermen bringing him out water and basic foodstuffs in exchange for whatever he has caught - an unbelievably hard and isolated existence. On our return I left him a couple of oranges and a bottle of water which he acknowledged with a hearty wave. Sadly even out there the plastic water bottles and other detritus were ever present and a salutary reminder of man's awful legacy. There were a few more vans dotted about that evening and a different soldier came for our details carrying a powerful searchlight, scoped rifle and radio set - they clearly mean business and apparently most of the migrants are from West and Central Africa so like those arriving on more distant European shores will have endured the harshest of journeys - time to count our blessings...


 

We went our separate ways after another night under starry skies, in the early hours a pickup full of soldiers passed by but otherwise there was absolute stillness. A couple of hours got me up to El Ouatia on the coast a few miles west of Tan Tan where Camp L'Atlantique has provided two nights to park up, get two loads of laundry done at £4 a pop, deal with the WC and on departure tomorrow fill up with good water for the next week or so. The facilities are very good and appeal to perhaps a hundred or so French vans who are obviously here for most of their 90 days and have very much settled in with awnings, gazebos, flooring and outdoor kitchens. It's good money for the owners who keep the site well and are improving the infrastructure whilst employing quite a few locals and the nearby cafes and shops also benefit but I guess once most people return to Europe in March or April things will go quiet for the hotter months. I chatted with a guy from London in a 10m van on his first trip to Morocco - he was enjoying it but of course in a very different way to me and was grateful for some tips as to options further south.

Anyway after a couple more days on the coast I will be heading inland towards Tafraoute before reaching Agadir in 10 days time to meet Mandy and her brother who will be arriving to begin a ten day tour of some of this amazing country's finest highlights. So until a report from the airport carpark enjoy a few pics


HERE

Monday 29 January 2024

In Ore of Mauritania........

 


After a quiet night at the petrol station I joined the short queue of cars in one lane alongside a longer queue of lorries at around 9am when the border opens as the sun created a luminescent sky. Nothing then moved for 2 hours but eventually I was waved through for the first of a number of checks starting with the gate guard. Over the next couple of hours I received contradictory instructions so waited patiently, as a huge dust storm blew up, walked between various offices, stood at various windows, presented my documents to numerous officials and was finally directed to the line for the scanner. This included the HGVs so took a while and was followed by a customs' dog inspection, all the while the fine white sand getting in to everything. This finally included the various computers being used so everything had to be started from scratch using paper records meaning that it took almost 7 hours to finally be waved through on to a rough track with almost zero visibility. I carefully followed a truck's tail lights for the kilometre or so at a snail's pace until we reached the Mauritanian border which felt very different. The officials were all dressed in a military garb with head turbans and dark glasses- quite intimidating. I was aware that this border shut in 2 hours and didn't want to stay overnight in a no man's land so having read on the iOverlander app about a trustworthy fixer called Cheikh I was pleased when he sought me out and arranged for his father to guide me through the formalities for 20 euros. First we joined a number of others in the Visa Room where after fingerprinting and a photo, plus 55 euros, the relevant visa was glued in to my passport. Some Korean women tourists looked absolutely shell shocked by the continuing dust storm which battered all and sundry. Then a 10 euro TIP for the van (Temporary Import Permit) was procured : far cheaper than a Carnet de Passage after which  the guy introduced me to another man offering money exchange discreetly and a Mauritanian SIM with some credit. The rate was not too bad and he got the card up and running in my spare phone so I could set up the usual hotspot. After a Customs inspection we crossed the border with my guy running ahead and directing me to the insurance office where I took out 20 days of cover. We then settled up and I gave him and the phone guy a decent tip as their efforts had saved me hours and I would be able to drive in to Nouadibhou before sunset. Fabi had been in touch to say their hostel (Auberge Sahara) in the Senegalese quarter had a yard big enough for me to park in so I set Google Maps to work as by now I was off the sat nav. The hour's drive, still in a ferocious dust storm passed dozens of wrecked lorries and cars in the border environs, apparently they are abandonned as people then try to head across the frontier illegally - a risky business as it is claimed to be heavily mined .


 

Where the road crossed the railway line a friendly enough check point was happy with my pre printed fiche and I then drove in very limited visibility down the peninsula to the town. The contrast with Morocco was immediate with the dry, barren landscape, a line of decrepit tents on the outskirts with huge rubber water bags lying alongside on the ground giving way to the various vehicle repair workshops followed by a manufacturing section with wood and metalworking, then fabrics and bedding and finally shops and various offices all on a small scale and in a state of disrepair. Almost every vehicle seemed to have escaped a demolition derby and the traffic was a chaotic throng of bangers, ancient Mercedes taxis, donkeys pulling carts, three wheeled motorised trailers, busses, lorries and of course mopeds and scooters all honking and swerving, ignoring all traffic lights and road signs and yet as always no one actually coming to grief. By driving as they do you can emerge unscathed and I was soon in a maze of dusty streets looking for the hostel sign. It was in a residential area of shoddy shacks and hastily thrown up buildings with rubbish and debris everywhere - it felt worse than India 40 years ago and yet people seemed happy enough. I spotted the sign on the hostel gate so nipped through the pedestrian door and soon heard Fabi and Anthony chatting on the small terrace - it was good to meet up and I then spoke with Fanta the owner who said parking inside was fine. A youngish guy then came and opened up allowing me to reverse in tightly to the small dusty compound. Fanta offered tea and announced a rate of 300 ouighars - about £6 a night - which was fine by me. I met a lovely French lass : Juliet and John from New Zealand and given the time we all decided to head off in search of a meal. We found a very simple shack that produced a surprisingly good fried chicken and chips but would have scored null point for food hygiene but at £6 for four of us what would you expect. We hatched a plan to get a taxi down to Cap Blanc the next day (Saturday) and I retired to the comforts of the van after a remarkably diverse day.

The chants from the mosque at dawn stirred me from a good sleep and I was out early in search of bread and an ATM but only had a result with the edible dough as both nearby ATM's were out of order. Our taxi arrived and the four of us piled in to what was left of a Mercedes saloon for the half hour south passing the fishing port, an industrial quarter, the wharves for the iron ore trains and then some oil and gas storage depots. Beyond this point the tarmac stopped and our young driver seemed unsure of the way so again Google maps came to the rescue bringing us to an entrance arch for the Natural Park. Almost immediately we spotted a huge vulture who took off at leisure as a gardien armed with binoculars arrived for the £4 entrance fee. The original plan was for the taxi driver to leave us to walk back but as it had been further than expected we negotiated a good price for the round trip and invited him to join us. I shared out the oranges I had brought before we dropped down to the beach to admire pelicans, a large flock of gulls and another vulture. The all too depressing plastic littered the beach as it had in town and two fishermen were occupying some very flimsy shacks and were also grateful for the proffered oranges. Up on the cliff top there was a small shabby museum dedicated to the monk seal colony that lives just up the coast and the gardien was keen to show us round and play a couple of videos.


 

Eventually we all piled back in to the car which lacked suspension for the return trip and I later walked out in search of working ATMs. Even those that were working would not accept my card, I think Mastercard was the problem and I only have a credit card on the Visa system. However I eventually found a money exchange office where the rate was better than the border and probably even the bank after withdrawal fees and other charges. We all went out to eat again at another small shack with meat filled baguettes the only choice and then bought water, nuts and biscuits for the planned trip on the iron ore train. Two young Polish couples had arrived in an ancient Merc estate car with the intention of reaching Sierra Leone and then selling it to cover their air fares home - good luck with that plan and an Italian couple had just finished cleaning off the residue from their ore train experience and had some useful advice. On the Sunday the same taxi lad turned up with even less of his car and managed to get five of us plus luggage on board by the simple process of placing one case on the roof and driving one handed. Its owner was hopping out at the bus station for a ride to to the capital Nouakchott after which we stopped for the others to get their passports photocopied and to seek out some blankets for the train. No one wanted to shell out for new ones so in the end the driver took us to his house and found some old ones which the others promised to return. I'd got an old picnic rug, Thermarest and fleece throw to use and had made a couscous salad in a Tupperware box with spork for simplicity.

 

A few miles north of town the taxi dropped us at the single station building in a dusty and somewhat desolate area with a few people selling snacks and sweets and a tea stall. A gendarme glanced at our passports but we did not need tickets as riding the wagons is free. Some trains have a small wooden passenger compartment with few comforts that women and children use but we all preferred the alternative. No one was sure exactly when the train would pass through so we walked a few hundred yards up the track passing various locals all patiently sat alongside their various loads. Fifty or so goats were also penned in and we met a guy Mhen who suggested we join him and his two friends. After an hour or two we heard a horn and saw the 3km long train approaching out of the dusty haze. The 3 locos rumbled past and after several minutes the 200 or so wagons came to a halt. There was then a frenzy of loading with us getting our bags in first freeing us up to form a chain to load the other guys cargo. They had collected a bag of sand from the trackside, poured some in to one corner to make a base for a fire and placed the bag with the remaining sand in an opposite corner - le pissoir.

 


Two loud blasts of the horn, a very dramatic lurching as the couplings took up the slack and we were on our way with 10 hours and 300 miles to go to Choum where most of us would be getting off. The train carries on to the mine at Zouerat another 100 plus miles, is filled up and then returns. There are numerous trains running 365 days a year with a load of 17,000 tonnes and the line has been running 60 years - do the maths. We ran parallel to the border road for an hour and then as this crossed us and headed north we trundled on east in to barren scenery with infinite sandy expanses. Mhen produced tea and we all got used to the various alarming jolts and loud bangs as the empty wagons rattled around - obviously the suspension was designed for when fully laden. On a passing loop we slowed to a halt and were considering hopping off but Mhen said it was too dangerous so we took his advice. Within half an hour another fully laden train passed us with a few people sitting on top of the iron ore dust - literally a taste of things to come on the return journey....More alarming jolts saw us underway again and this pattern was repeated as the sun set and we began to consider trying to sleep. It was too exciting to drop off really and by moonlight we could still see a fair bit and late in the evening we suddenly slowed in the middle of nowhere and came to a halt. Mhen had borrowed my head torch and was signalling wildly to headlights in the distance - we'd seen no sign of any settlement in three hours so assumed they were nomadic people living in the desert. We helped off load most of the cargo and were left with one guy going all the way to Zouerat, fortunately we'd been told it was OK to jump off for the loo but didn't hang about as it would be suicidal to try and climb back up the 4m high wagons once underway. At 3am we reached Choum having passed nothing in the way of civilisation, no lights in the distance and just the odd tent erected near the track that mostly seemed unoccupied. More 4x4 pick ups appeared to collect people and goods and we as a group were walked in to the tiny village by a guy who said we could sleep in a large low room for 100 ouighars each. It was hot and sweaty with loads of flies but preferable to crashing outside but by 7am we were awake again largely due to the calls from the mosque. My intention was to return by the next available train whilst the others were looking for a ride to Terjit where they hoped to stay on a small commune. Thus by 9 I was on my own and spotted a derelict hut near the track that would provide shade as I waited. A young gendarme came over and said that no trains would stop until that evening as it's only the one with the passenger wagon that stops. Thus began a long day of patience and reflection with various kids coming over to be both nosy and friendly. I walked in to the main body of the village (which amounted to a hundred or so very run down mud huts)  but didn't want to stray too far from the line as the gendarme said he had called the railway operator up to see if they would make a special stop - this seemed unlikely and of course didn't happen.

 

In fact more worryingly apart from one northbound train of empties with, to my surprise and intrigue some flat beds carrying a few cars and a lorry, there were no trains at all and I began to wonder if there had been a derailment in which case my only option to return to Nouadibhou would be 300 miles by road to the capital Nouakchott and another 300 back up the coast. Then to my surprise I saw a dozen or so westerners making their way down to the trackside. I went over for a chat and learned that they were on an organised trip to ride the train which they'd been assured would turn up at 6. This was very reassuring and as they returned to the village to get refreshments and their baggage I relaxed a bit. The train eventually arrived at 9pm scuppering all photographic opportunities and revealing to those with snazzy tinted ski goggles that after dark there was a flaw in that plan. They took over two waggons and I jumped solo in to another and began to level off the dust at the front to create a place to spend the night. The dust got everywhere and had an unforgettable smell but at least the ride was smoother and the jolts less severe.as we got underway. Again it was an incredible experience rolling through a vast empty landscape but finally sleep caught up with me and I dozed fitfully. Around dawn I began watching the sun attempt to shine through the hazy atmosphere and before long we were stopping at another passing loop - this time however one of the crew walked back a kilometre from the locos and said we would all have to get off  - apparently one engine had failed and they needed to split the train in to 3 separate sections. He wasn't bothered about us - after all it is a freight train and passengers travel on the hoppers for nothing. In fact I think had we waited they would have parked two thirds of the train in the loop, hooked up the remaining third with the coach and taken us the final fifty miles some hours later. However the leader of the organised group had called their 4x4s to come out and recover us and in due course 4 vehicles arrived and were kind enough to allow me to ride on top of the luggage with two Mauritanians also off the train perched alongside. An hour later they were dropped off at the station but I remained onboard in to town until they veered off to their hotel. I hopped off, thanked them profusely and walked the final 3 miles to Auberge Sahara where my absolutely filthy state caused much amusement.

 


I took a long hot shower in the hostel and did my best to remove the dust and ore from my belongings, the Thermarest and blanket having been left in the wagon for someone else to use. I walked back in to town to change some more euros for my onward trip but then had some useful exchanges with fellow travellers. Apparently there was now a scam at both crossing points in to Senegal with 250 euros being demanded from foreigners with vehicles on top of the usual costs. As it would be a thousand mile round trip to get there and being disinclined to pay I began to review my options. My euros would soon run out if that sort of bribe was required and if I couldn't pay for fuel by card I could end up stranded a very long way from a solution in a hugely impoverished country with huge distances between any towns. I walked down to the port on a very brown overcast evening with the heavy skies flattening out all the light for (illicit) photos of the chaotic scene as hundreds of painted boats returned with their catch. All manner of huts and shacks were repairing nets, fixing outboards, welding carts, weighing fish and so on in quite the most remarkable deprivation - it was a thought provoking and moving sight that tugged at the emotions.

Thus after reviewing the situation I decided that doing the train was reward enough for getting down here and left the following morning for the border. Whilst still in a desolate nomansland the dust storms had eased and with fewer formalities I soon had my passport stamped with the van's exit also noted and then arrived at the Moroccan border where things were a lot smoother other than a misunderstanding over the scanner procedure. One gendarme seemed very intrigued by my large number of paperbacks and I offered him one as he was keen to improve his English. This returned a dividend half an hour later when in the small shop I bought a Moroccan SIM but the guy didn't seem interested in helping me set it up. The aforementioned gendarme happened to come in, recognised me and made it clear to the lad that I should be helped...

Anyway I then set off north having passed both borders in under two hours and by mid afternoon turned off west on to an arrow straight stretch of tarmac that led to a new port. At the end where the road looped round to cross a flat dry riverbed to get to the port I stopped to look for a track down to the point where overnighting was allowed. After a few false starts I rounded a corner and to my amazement saw perhaps 20 or so vans tucked against a wall or dotted around the cliff edge. I chose a more secluded spot, no surprise there, and settled in for the night. Later a Spanish plated van arrived with Salvo and Sylvie coming over to say hello and in fact it turned out they were Italian coming from Sicily and Sardinia respectively but lived in Cadiz and had run a successful ice cream parlour for 12 years before selling up to hit the road. They had done a lot of 2 and 4 wheel off roading in Morocco over the years and were trying out the van as an alternative but so far felt they were missing out in the remote stuff. It was good to chat and again I reflected on how much choice and opportunity we have thrown away with the decision to leave Europe.

 

After another quiet night with the waves crashing in just below I set off for a walk across the riverbed to the new port which was half finished passing dozens of the brightly painted boats hauled up above the high water mark. Salvo who used to be a diving instructor had got talking to the construction workers - apparently after constructing the new breakwater the currents had altered and the harbour mouth was now constantly silting up so another breakwater was being installed. I really couldn't see what benefit any of this would bring to the shanty village back on our side where people (men only it seemed) live in the humblest, most precarious of shacks with no utilities of any kind, just two or three sparsely stocked kiosks and an incredible amount of waste and plastic everywhere. Under the continuing brown skies and sepia lighting it was a disturbingly thought provoking place. On departure the next morning I got myself well and truly bogged in deep sand but fortunately Salvo came over with his rescue ramps and with a slight tug from a French quad I was out and soon on my way - thanks guys.

After just two hours I found myself taking a rough piste down off the main N1 to drop down steeply to a beautiful beach with a level space to park up on. There was nothing there but a small military hut and after taking a photo of my passport and the accompanying fiche the three young conscripts were happy for me to stay in the most amazing place - Plage Portorico. Earlier I had stopped on a long empty stretch of the N1 to assist a couple from Senegal in a heavily overloaded estate car with even more stuff piled on the roof. A rear tyre had shredded and two Moroccans had stopped as they were prepared to sell them their spare wheel and take the rim away to get another one put on. However their flimsy jack had collapsed and the rear quarter of the car was on the tarmac. My low level trolley jack was able to get the car high enough to chock with rocks allowing me to reposition the TJ and get the car high enough to remove the rim and replace with a tyre. Then I used my 12v air compressor to get everybody's pressures up to scratch before we went our separate ways. The Moroccans had wanted to buy the TJ and AC but I explained I might need them myself and they seemed surprised I didn't have 2! Later I stopped for a small French 4x4 who had also shredded a tyre - he was carrying forty 5 litre bottles of water which he'd removed before jacking the vehicle up and seemed confident he would soon be on his way so I left him and his wife to carry on.


 

Anyway the cove and beach were superb with a view west to the peninsula that Dahkla sits on and I enjoyed the warm sea and a walk along the shore line, pleased that I had made this decision as Mauritania had turned out to be quite a challenge even in just the week I had been there. Two friendly gendarmes pulled up to stretch their legs but otherwise it was all very quiet and very beautiful.

At the point where I'd picked up Fabi and Anthony I turned off and headed south to Dakhla, they had been in touch a couple of times with worrying news of problems at the 'commune' in Terjit : apparently it was all a bit misleading and the owner was making very clear his intentions towards Juliet. It was in the middle of nowhere and they asked if I'd be able to head there and collect them all but by now it would have meant 100 miles back to the border, more protracted procedures and expense and a 600 mile drive with little money to then try and cram four plus luggage in to the already heavy van. I could see this escalating in to another drama so apologised and felt I had made the right decision. I gave them the contact details of a friendly guy I'd met whilst waiting in Choum who spoke some English and might have been able to help more effectively, advised them to stick together at all times, have somebody awake at night and let as many people as possible know their whereabouts.

On the north west side of Dakhla I found the place where overnighting is allowed and pulled in amongst a melee of European surfing vans whose occupants were mostly out in the impressive waves that rolled in regularly. There were no facilities on what was effectively the prom and some half finished buildings lay across the waste ground but it was in fact a lovely spot and I settled down to sit out the heat (hovering around 30 +) with all windows open to admit the fresh breeze but many flies. As things cooled down local families appeared, two mobile coffee vans parked up and the evening developed in to a colourful scene of enjoyment and music. The range of vans was impressive from a Belgian RV costing about a million euros apparently, with integral garage for his quad through to two ancient Land Cruisers rigged out for off roading and various more run of the mill vans, many I suspect being borrowed by the offspring of the owners for a few winter months away searching for that elusive break.

After a quiet night I noticed a French guy working on his large Iveco van - his rear caliper cradle had seized which had worn one of the pads to the metal causing his brakes to screech and overheat. I offered to help and we tried various methods to free off the recalcitrant pin. I had the same problem on my old van in Western Australia as the arrangement was similar but it refused to budge. After some lateral thinking I reckoned that if we put a bolt through with a big washer at each end and then a nut we could replicate a press and force it out. However neither of us had a bolt quite long enough so as I was planning to ride in to town anyway I set off in search of a droguerie. Town was the usual bustle of streets and shops, already more affluent than Mauritania but bear in mind all things are relative. The bits were easily sourced and I also found a place that filled the plastic bottles locals came in with with good drinking water and he was happy for me to come back with the van next day. I had taken water earlier from a roadside tank that the army were also using to fill a bowser that supplies the numerous look out huts but it was salty and not really good enough to drink.


 

Back at the surf beach Alex had decided to put everything back together and go for a drive round but was soon back as the metal to metal contact was getting very hot and would affect his wheel bearing if left unresolved. I suggested we left the solid pin and cradle in a dish of diesel overnight and then left him, his partner and their 10 month old to enjoy the cooler evening. Again the locals came out en famille for a very enjoyable scene and I again considered that family time together seems to make people happier than possessions and media. This morning - success : we managed to free off the pin which would allow Alex to install both the new pads he sourced in town a day or two earlier so I left him to reassemble everything knowing they could be on their way soon enough. Having dropped a pin on Google maps, and memorised certain points on the ride back I soon found the water place and had my hose hooked up. It was quite a slow process and I'm not exactly sure how much went in but I think it was more or less full but didn't want to hold up others arriving with their bottles so paid my 30 dirham and headed out of town. Dakhla sits at the southern end of a long peninsula and has an airport linking to Fez and Marrakech almost a thousand miles away but the inherent beauty of the blue seas and golden beaches are in danger of being overwhelmed by the sheer number of half (or less) built hotels and apartments. I can't see where that number of tourists would come from and  it would certainly burden an already limited utility infrastructure in this very remote place.


 

A Shell garage provided a top up of VPower diesel but I noted a drop in mpg which I put down to the hours crawling through the border crossings, the extra load of the two hitch hikers, a very strong headwind heading south and some slow urban driving. Over the next few days I will monitor this as it could be a response to the huge amounts of dust last week that might have affected the air filter - I carry two spares and it's an easy enough job to change one over. Incidentally blocking all my gas drop outs beneath the van with pieces of fine mesh sponge has cut dust ingress by 90% and will I hope stave off the problems with the fridge and water heater last year.

Well that's been a long post covering many adventures, I am holed up above the clifs where I met Ken a fortnight ago with the fishermen in their rubber rings, a miltary post happy for me to stay and the passing gendarme seeming not to mind - this is at odds with stories I'd heard at Dakhla of people being moved on so I hope for an uninterupted night.


 

The change of plan means that with luck Mandy will arrive in 3 weeks with her brother who is over from Canada and currently in Portugal. He will join us for a week of Morocco's finest before we carry on in to March before heading back to Spain and France as Spring and Summer arrive.

 

Click for a pic or two 

 

And there's more - clicky again 

Video clips in both albums...

Thursday 18 January 2024

Western Sahara

 


Leaving the spectacular location above the Legzira Arch I missed the chance to say goodbye to Bibi but hope he will be there on my return north in 4-6 weeks. I rejoined the main road at Goulimim (or Guelmim) having avoided the temptation to stay at the remarkable Fort Bou Jerif and after a couple of steady hours with the usual caution over speed cameras and friendly police stops I arrived at Tan Tan and turned towards the coast for an overnight at a largish campsite at El Ouati. This was busy with dozens of European vans on long stay overs and a fair few vans, 4x4s and overland trucks all mostly heading south. One Brit couple were heading north having failed to get through to South Africa where they were hoping to start a new life. Plan B is to ship their van and fly themselves and their dogs instead, the later sounding like an expensive pavlova. Apparently in Guinea diesel was almost unobtainable having been largely seized by the military.

Anyway there were good hot showers enabling me to wash clothes and body, the necessary waste point for the loo and a potable water top up point so it made a useful service stop for under a fiver sans EHU. I joined another Brit couple, ex publicans from Dartmoor, for a useful evening of exchanges and conversation.

Leaving by 11 I did a small amount of shopping but failed to find any insect repellent in the pharmacies and was soon on my way for another shortish hop down as far as the Naila Nature Reserve where the usually arrow straight road loops around a vast lagoon. A mile of tarmac brought me out on to cliffs above the lagoon where it was OK to stay - there were already perhaps half a dozen other rigs stretched out along the tops with a jumble of perhaps half a dozen semi derelict block huts making up the village. Down below a few small fishing boats were moored up alongside a wooden jetty and a large heron stood silently at the water's edge. Eventually he flew offshore a couple of hundred yards and landed on a submerged bank - herons cannot take off from water and he obviously knew his stuff. 

 

Later Hassan a friendly soldier from a military blockhouse came over to take a photo of my passport but generally I
hunkered down for a couple of hours as the strong northerly was creating a dense sandstorm of the finest and finest Saharan sand. The wind eventually abated and I took a walk out along the cliffs to nose at other rigs and enjoy the remarkable views. On my return an old guy appeared from one of the shacks and asked for 20MAD to stay - absolutely fine by me in such a unique spot.


 

After a very quiet night under an amazing starscape I moved on for another relatively short hop to Tarfaya where overnighting on the promenade (as such) was allowed. It was a great spot looking out across to the Casa Del Mar, a fort built by the British in 1882 but now cut off at high tide and slowly crumbling in to the sea. After walking the short distance in to town for an excellent fish tagine I sat and read in the shade of the harbour wall for a few hours waiting for the tide to surround the fort. Back at the van a young German couple in an ancient T3 were on a fairly ambitious journey to reach Dakar and get back to Berlin, all in a month..... Later that evening the usual group of excitable kids came round in search of sweets or pens but seemed happy enough with one of my cards each to show their teacher. One lad was an absolute whizz on his rollerblade, and no that's not a typo. Earlier I'd walked past the military post and looked round what I think had been intended to be a new military complex - all the empty block buildings were inundated with sand and the project seemed to be at an impasse.

 



 
New roads took me through acres of new infrastructure with streetlights, utility boxes and so on but no actual development and would probably have put me back on the new 4 lane RN1 but I chose the old coast road and was rewarded with the dramatic sight of a wrecked ferry that had come to grief in 2008 whilst crossing to the Canary Islands some 80 miles away and thus quashing the idea of a regular link to promote tourism to over here. A few miles further south I technically crossed in to the disputed Western Sahara - this issue being the main reason why every 2 kilometres saw a small military hut, many with a demountable living cabin tucked away out of the wind and a solitary bored looking soldier keeping watch. I passed for the second time and I think travelling separately, two cyclists, one on a recumbent and the other later on with a bike packing set up - the strong, sand laden southerlies must have been something of a challenge but both were OK for water.

So Tuesday saw me arrive at remote Layounne where again overnight parking was permitted in front of a hotel development that had not been finished. The long promenade and wide sandy beach was cleaner than El Ouatia which had shown Morocco's ever increasing and heartbreaking plastic waste problem at its worst. The place was deserted but along the beachside road there was a guy sat in a hut every 200m in an approximation to lifeguard duties but with no one on the beach let alone in the water. I bought some basics at a small shop and returned to the parking lot for an excellent chat with Alan from New South Wales who had shipped his Land Rover with camper box on the back to Southampton and was doing the UK and Europe. He'd just finished a Portuguese organised rally to Dakar but felt the mad dash across the Atlas and through Morocco had been too intense and caused some issues with his vehicle and his intention was to head slowly back to Spain to get various problems resolved. He was keen for tips as to where to go on his return journey so I traced out a rewarding itinerary that included many of my favourites from the last decade. He'd been in the navy for 35 years but even so was finding his camper box a bit confined and enjoyed a look round my comparatively sumptuous quarters. Later another couple from California arrived - they had shipped their van over as well and the young Polish couple doing it the hard way in a Mercedes estate car added to the UN atmosphere.

South of Layounne even the map abandoned all pretence of scale and jumped to 50 miles per inch but the sat nav, apart from changing to Mauritanian time a bit early, continued to do the necessary as I picked up the long route south through barren landscapes broken only by comms masts, a line of pylons, the regular military huts and occasional HGVs heading in both directions. Fresh water had been available at the park up and remarkably at the huge LPG complex on the edge of town I was able to get both my CG907 European cylinders filled for 80p each giving me enough gas for the countries beyond Morocco and until my return. 150 miles further south below Cap Boujdour I turned off on a dusty track, crossed a huge expanse of limestone and stopped to talk to a UK plated van occupied by Ken from Oz and his young lady friend Claudine. He'd already stayed a couple of nights and assured me it was fine to stop so I pulled over a few hundred yards further on looking down across a jungle of huge parts of the limestone shelf that had become detached and fallen away to the beaches below. Remarkably in amongst these vast chunks of rock various families lived with the menfolk earning a very basic living from fishing out beyond the breakers sitting in large lorry inner tubes. Two vans were loading up the day's crates of fish and octopus and later another van drove along the cliff edge stopping at each shack to sell bread, water and other essentials. Apparently the police come and burn down the shelters to discourage the fishermen so they have now resorted to digging caves in the soft sand beneath the limestone edge. As the sun set I watched tens of thousands of gulls flying north - Ken said they had been non stop for his two days so at a conservative guess there would have been over 2 million passing through, but even with binoculars it was difficult to ascertain the species.

 

 
This morning I took the first of my antimalarial tablets, an antibiotic in effect that also treats syphillis so covers many eventualities, and counted perhaps 80 inner tubes out at sea and another dozen or so attempting to get out beyond the breakers - absolutely humbling -  before joining the road again where within half an hour I saw two guys hitching for the border. Fabi from Germany and Anthony from Canada had met up back at Sidi Ifni and were heading through to South Africa eventually so they jumped in for the long empty run south crossing at one point the Tropic of Cancer almost unnoticed as we flashed past the single rusting sign. Later we passed three cyclists spaced a few kilometres apart - an older German couple and a young German lad, all were fine for water but we stopped anyway after a few more miles at the only cafe we'd seen for miles. It didn't provide food but the tea was welcome and I produced oranges for everyone including the owner which seemed popular. The younger cyclist arrived soon after and said he was intending to ride as far as the Gambia and then fly to Turkey before cycling back to Germany from where he had left in September.

After another two hours and only one friendly police checkpoint we arrived at the Morocco Mauritania border just an hour before it closed so I decided to call it a day and stay the night at the Shell fuel station as my crossing would no doubt, and according to information gleaned en route take longer. The guys decided to try for it so I walked the last km with them to get a feel for the place and bid them farewell with a loose plan for us all to meet up in Nouadhibou and try for the infamous iron ore train together. As they have not returned I assume they have made it so will hope to meet up with them again in a day or two - I believe the campsite is OK about leaving the van there for what will be a couple of days of torture.

Really pleased to get here 2800 miles after leaving Sheffield five weeks ago (plus the Biscay mileage) and touch wood the van chugs on giving a steady 45+ mpg, using no oil or coolant and providing a comfortable refuge at night in some amazing places. It also today passed the total of 90,000 miles since purchased just over 6 years ago with a total of 120k on the clock. I've got 7000 miles until the next scheduled oil change so that should get me back to Spain but I carry the oil and filter anyway so at a push could get it done over here - all the Shell garages have a lube shed adjacent to the lavage.... stop sniggering at the back...

So tomorrow should be - drive 1km to Moroccan border formalities, complete: drive 1km of nomansland to Mauritanian border and then probably spend a few hours getting my visa, the van's TIP, insurance cover, a working Mauritanian SIM card and money exchange - the various blogs and chats seem to imply that with adequate French a 'fixer' is not necessary so we'll see. It's hard to guess the accuracy of information obtained as I'd been led to believe that military checkpoints were every few miles on the way down here, I've seen none, just the one friendly gendarme , and that a pre printed 'fiche' with all one's basic info would be advantageous : printed off 30, haven't used one. Just chatted to 5 adventure bikers from the Czech Republic who said it took 3 hours in total so we'll see and I've plenty of books.

No idea how much data or connectivity to expect in Mauritania so the next post may be a while, thus piccies  HERE will have to do.


 


 


 





 

A Moroccan Rendezvous..............

Leaving El Ouatia after a very useful service stop I bought fresh veg and continued up the coast past Cap Draa which is near the point where...