Sahara Travels

2008-04-08T16:27:00.002Z

This blog is the diary of a journey through the Sahara undertaken February-May 2007.

Land Rover for Sale

2007-05-16T21:30:00.000Z

The adventure is over, and I'm back in Ireland, only three weeks later than originally planned. Sunday was the longest day's drive of all, 870km on the quiet motorways of Germany, Holland, Belgium and France. At Cherbourg the heavy duty springs finally got something to complain about - eight cases of wine and a couple of beer - and then it was onto the ferry for Rosslare and home.

Some numbers:

16 Countries - 98 Days - 14,823 Miles - 23,855 Km - Cheapest fuel €0.15 (Alg) - Dearest fuel €1.16 (Italy) - 1 Puncture - 3kg Lighter - 1455 Photographs - 50˚C (Agadez, Niger) - 5 days, longest stop (Agadez again)

My highlights were

First encounter with real desert in Mauritania

All of Mali - the baobabs, the music clubs of Bamako, and especially the Dogon region and the river trip to Niafounké

The mountains and deserts in Southern Algeria

The most enjoyable aspect of the journey was the people, especially away from the tourist centres of Morocco and Tunisia. Not a day passed without an interesting encounter.

Travelling overland, it is striking how quickly you can move from the rich world to the poor. Taking the UN Human Development Index as a guide we moved from Ireland (4th highest) to Spain (19); then - just eight miles over the Gibraltar Strait - to Morocco (123), Mauritania (153), Mali (175) and Niger (177), the poorest country of all by UN rankings.

Yet, despite all the problems of climate, poor government, and the daily struggle for survival, these are safe and fascinating places to visit. Well organised tourism, such as we experienced in the Dogon and southern Algeria, is one way to make a direct contribution to their development, in my opinion.

Anyway, this is the last post, and a big Thank You to everyone who wrote to say you enjoyed reading and travelled in spirit, it was great to get your emails and comments. And appreciation to my co-drivers Stefanie, Jason and Con for sharing the journey.

Now, if you know anyone interested in buying a well-tested Land Rover, you know where to look!

The End

Toumani Diabate

2007-05-10T20:55:00.000Z

Toumani Diabate is a Malian kora player, the 71st generation of a griot family. He and his "Symmetric Orchestra" played in Dublin twice last year, and he is really responsible for this Sahara journey. In Dublin he told us about the March concerts to honour Ali Farka Toure, and set in motion the plan to visit Mali, which expanded into the whole roadtrip. One of the highlights was meeting Toumani at his club, Le Hogon, in Bamako.

So, it was a nice bit of symmetry to find he was playing in Cologne this week, and Stefanie and I made it to the concert. It was in the Philharmonic Hall, and was filmed for German TV, so was a little more formal than the usual. It was funny to see rows of besuited men who I can only think were Philharmonic season ticket holders who were misled by the word "Orchestra" on the bill. Still, even they, with some encouragement, were on their feet by the end.

He finished with the first playing of a solo piece from his next album, due this year some time. It was a wonderful finale to the evening and (almost) to the journey. I'll do another post from Ireland next week to wrap things up.

For more information about Toumani, and a very nice short video, see World Circuit. Click on the album image on the lower left.

Great Hostels of Italy

2007-05-10T09:13:00.000Z

At the moment I am slowly travelling homeward via Italy, Switzerland, Germany, Belgium and France. The ferry is booked for Cherbourg-Rosslare and I'll be back in Ireland on May 14th.

Italy has a great network of hostels housed in historic buildings, and May is a good quiet time to be visiting. I stuck to small towns and was the only guest in each of them.

First stop was Cosenza (Calabria), a typical old southern town with narrow streets full of clothes lines. The hostel is a former palace in the old part of town, and people are friendly and interested, especially about the car. Maybe not too many right-hand drive cars make it this far south, but many times on the autostrade I see cars slow down to check the strange driving arrangement.

After a fine drive on empty roads through the Apennines, I reached the Amalfi Coast. The tortuous sea road is getting ready for summer, the traffic managers with reflective jackets and two-way radios managing the tightest bottlenecks. I stayed at Agerola, a town high above the Gulf of Salerno, where the hostel is in the former stables of a ruined castle. It was built in the 19th century by an Italian who had been an administrator in British India; he came to bad end when his young wife poisoned him, and the castle was destroyed by the fascists in 1930.

I had a brief stop at the ruins of Pompeii, then skirted Rome for the more relaxing Umbrian countryside and another little walled town, Amelia. This has escaped the tourism of nearby Tuscany but the hostel manager says the old town is struggling, as young families don't want to live with the problems of parking and steep stairs. She said it is starting to attract artists and some young people who commute to Rome. Part of the building is a former jail, and my room still has the original solid double doors. I parked in a little plaza (right) on top of ancient Roman cisterns.

The area where Umbria meets Tuscany has endless picturesque hilltop walled towns such as Narni and Cortuna, and I picked a small one for an overnight, the little village of Scorfiano (below), close to Sinalunga.

The hostel manager recommended her friend's restaurant ("13 Gobbi") in another even more beautiful village nearby, Montefollonico. Fine local food - a thick Tuscan soup of beans and bread, roast duck with mushrooms served with fried pumpkin flowers stuffed with anchovies and mozzarella, panna cotta with wild berries; a big jug of Nobile, the local red, and a bottle of mineral water - all for €20.

Tuscan Sky

The north of Italy seemed crowded and dull compared to the South, and I stuck to the autostrade until diverting again to slow roads for the area around Lake Como and into Switzerland at Lugano. The Land Rover looks very alien amid all the shiny Porsche Cayennes and convertibles.

Over the St Gottard Pass (above) and onwards to Bern and the German border. No problems there, but French Customs was another matter. I'd gone over the Rhine to get a fill of diesel, as it is a bit cheaper there, and on the way back I got a long interrogation from four officers and the most detailed search of the whole trip. So much for the European single market, you'd think the Customs would be better off defending the external borders.

The Indispensables

2007-05-08T19:14:00.000Z

Ten things I’m glad I had in the Sahara...

Anti-septic spray. Lived on the dashboard and used every day for hand-cleaning, cuts, grazes, bites.
230 litres of fuel capacity in fuel tanks and jerries. Made it possible to cover the long distances between fuel sources in Algeria, and saved money too.
Water Tank. Great having 70 litres on board, enough for several days of camping and even an occasional shower.
Air compressor. With the weight of the car it was essential to let down the tyre pressures on sand, sometimes several times a day. And I’d hate to have to use a hand pump.
Fridge. After a day of heat and dust, nothing better than a cold beer.
Swarfega heavy duty wipes. Perfect for cleaning up after car repairs, and saved on water.
USB compatible radio. Allowed me to put over 100 albums on USB chips and they handled the bumps and dust without problems. So, never bored with the music, but can´t say the same for my co-drivers.
Postcards of Irish Farm Animals. North Africans know how to appreciate a fat cow or shaggy sheep.
Side Awning. Used just about every day, very quick to pull out for instant shade.
Percolator. No excuse not to have a decent coffee.

And ten things I carried but could have done without.

Winch. Never used it. Always quicker to use hands or shovel and mats if stuck in sand.
Solar powered battery charger. The idea is to recharge the main battery by solar power if both batteries fail. I can only imagine it being needed on a very remote piste with no other traffic, and I would never go on such a piste without a companion vehicle.
Firewood and fire lighters. It is recommended to bring firewood from home to avoid depleting local stocks. But we cooked on gas and rarely lit a fire until Algeria, where there seemed to be plenty of dead wood. And firelighters are not required when there is bone dry tinder at hand.
Siphon tube. For transferring fuel, used once only.
Tent. The free standing tent was never used. We had the roof tent, or slept out on the ground, sometimes with mosquito net.
Second spare tyre. Maybe we were lucky, but we had no punctures until the last week in the desert, and that was a slow puncture that lasted til town. The tyres were new and good quality (BFGoodrich) and I would have done with just one spare.
12V inverter. Allows 220V plugs to work from car power system. Tried two, both failed quickly. Better to use 12V connectors for cameras and phones, and save the laptop for hotels.
Solar shower. This is black bag that absorbs sun heat. Used once only, afterwards much happier to have a cooling shower.
Side awning walls. These zip around the side awning to make a room with shelter from the wind, but only ever used them a couple of times.
Spare set of springs. The four springs were heavy and bulky, could have risked not taking them.

I can’t think of much that I should have had but didn’t. Spare clutch plate I suppose!

Sicily

2007-05-06T17:45:00.000Z

I was pleased to find that there are ferries from Tunisia to Sicily, as it is a place I had wanted to see. The timing was good too, as with the May Day long weekend, Stefanie was able to fly down for a few days. The ferry was almost empty - just seven cars, and one of those was lucky to make it on board, as Tunisian Customs had the driver unpack everything on the ground. I don't know why they had a problem with him exporting 100 pairs of sneakers.

Trapani is fine town for a return to Europe. I turned off the ferry ramp directly onto the street, parked and went exploring. While I like Africa, and really enjoyed the travelling there, the cuisine is not the world's finest, so arriving in Sicily is going to the other extreme, it is food heaven.

Moon Rise Over Palermo

A torrential downpour delayed Stefanie's flight and filled the streets of Palermo with water. On the first night we stayed at a B&B in Cinisi, close to the airport. The prices are a nice surprise - an excellent pizza at €5, coffee is 70c, cappuciono is €1 - why are we paying €2-3 in Ireland? The best luxury of all is the icecream, and it might be a Sicilian thing, but you can have it served in a brioche or sweet bun. Worth trying - once.

We spent the next couple of nights near the slopes of Mt Etna, which kindly provided a spectacular eruption one night - apparently there had been several already in April. We drove close enough to hear the explosions and could clearly see the flow of lava.

The Trikeles B&B in Giardini Naxos was very good, but hard to find, and the owner had to come and show us the way. €40 included a big breakfast buffet with fruit juices and cold meats. Unfortunately he was full the next night and we moved to the Hotel Astoria in the hilltop town of Taormina - old fashioned and well located, but with the grumpiest owner ever. We were constantly made to feel as if we'd run over their dog on arrival.

Into Tunisia

2007-05-04T11:08:00.000Z

The Mediterranean coast of Algeria is to be avoided for security reasons, and the central deserts are not as dramatic as those of the South, comprising of difficult sand seas, or Ergs. So, like most foreign travellers on the route, we made for Tunisa, covering the remaining 600km to the border at Taleb Larbi in another long day.

Con not missing the opportunity to get stuck one last time, rescued by a truck

Approaching the Tunisian border

At El Oeud, a well populated series of oases, we tanked up to the maximum with 15c diesel. The next fuel (in Tunisia) would cost three times more (and then three times more again in Italy). Djafar guided us through the last couple of hours of officialdom, and pocketed his tip and present without looking at it. We said our goodbyes, we will miss his company after a very enjoyable couple of weeks.

Farewell to our Algerian Guide

The officials at both borders only glanced at the car contents, I think they are a bit intimidated by the amount of gear and would not know where to start a search. The Tunisian Customs asked if we have any electronics - they have a thing about GPSs - and we said "No". Since every single overlander car has a GPS, they evidently find it less hassle to ask and then not to look.

Culture shock in Tezeur, the centre of Tunisian Desert Tourism. A whole neighbourhood of hotels in the Zone Touristique, ATMs that actually accept our cards, gleaming convoys of tour group 4WDs. Con was here before and remembers a much quieter place.

Tezeur. We don't know either. "No car bombs in this street" perhaps?

We did not linger. On the road north we experienced the first sprinkling of rain since Morocco. We overnighted at the holy city of Kairouan in an old fashioned hotel. It is clear we are back on the tourist trail, tourist shop-keepers start with 1000% of the next offer price.

The Dutch went to Tunis to apply for their visas for Libya, we went to the coastal resort of Hammamet. From the shops and hotels it is indistinguishable from Agadir or any of 100 places on the Mediteranean. It has a nice beach, deserted apart from a lonely camel and its owner. We stayed at the Citroniers, where Con had been many years ago.

Two hours of professional cleaning transformed the car, with an impressive amount of the Sahara blasted out of the back by compressor. It also got another oil change, and some attention from an electrician and a tyre shop. We have our first puncture since leaving home, thanks to a 4" nail. The tyre man asked for 100 dinar (almost 60 euro) for the repair, and after I stopped laughing he got 10d.

The highlight of Hammamet was the "Cultural Evening" at the big resort across the street - a band in baggy pants, belly dancers, tourist dancers. The next highlight would be leaving, with an overnight ferry from Tunis to Trapani in Sicily.

Ghardaia, Algeria

2007-05-03T11:06:00.000Z

Sadly, there is no sign saying "thank you for crossing the Sahara, have a nice day". The changes come by degrees. At In-Salah we knew we would have the comfort of a tarred road all the way to the Mediterranean Sea, but there was plenty of desert scenery to enjoy along the way, as we skirted the Grand Erg Occidental to our West and later, the immense Grand Erg Oriental was to be our companion to the Tunisian border.

It was a long day of driving, over 600km from In-Salah to Ghardaia, made more tiresome by Gendarmerie checkpoints. It seems our fiche has been copied so many times it is no longer legible, and they must transcribe our passports, a slow business. Claire managed to scrounge fresh bread from the police at one checkpoint, a nice return after all the stuff police have scrounged from us elsewhere (not in Algeria mind).

The oases became more frequent, until we reached the biggest, the five oasis towns centred on Ghardaia. Haakon had gone ahead with his own guide from In-Salah, but we met again in the town centre, and after dinner they showed us the way to a hotel, a few kilometers from the town. We followed narrow streets and groves of palms until we reached a high walled compound, an old kasbah with beautiful grounds. A really magical old building with random steps and low ceilings, full of local artifacts. I don't know the name, none is shown outside, but the coordinates are N 32 deg 29' 296, E 3 deg 40' 802.

With another long drive ahead, a pleasant town and lodgings, we decided to stay a second night. We had a restful day, venturing out only for a haircut (Con scalped) and a browse in a junk shop. I am really enjoying Algeria. It is not just the comfortable temperature, the cheap fuel and good coffee, but it feels like a country rich in history, stoically enduring another time of difficulty, like the Lebanon. And it helps that the people are so nice, the first time in Africa that it has been possible to walk the streets without uninvited interruptions.

Later in the afternoon we explored one of the walled towns, Beni Isguen. Although the numbers of tourists are low, the residents are well organised. We must enter by a particular gate, where we were met by a guide and shown the small museum. Our guide spoke a rather entertaining English learned while working at the airport at Southend-on-Sea, and he handled our questions with good humour. His people are Berber, and from a particular Islamic sect - the Ibadi - that is more common in Oman. They are conservative, and the women wear white, and married women peer out from their headscarves with one eye only. I am very sorry we did not have a camera, as Con had departed in a hurry wearing shorts. He needed to cover up, but nothing in his size was available, so he ended up wearing a knee length smock that served to emphasise his hairy shins, and would he would have fitted in well in The Life of Brian.

The Town of Beni Isguen

We took in a view of four of the five oasis towns from a tower at the highest point of the town. The five are now joined by Arab communities, and relations seem to be good. We finished our walk in the market square, full of old men chatting. Perhaps it is an indication of the austere sect, but there were no games of dominoes or cards, no hookahs, and no drinking, not even a coffee.

Djanet to In-Salah - Part II

2007-04-30T10:22:00.000Z

The next day, we rounded the northern end of the Tefedest Mountains and approached the base of Jebel Djanoun. At 2300m it would be a good two hour climb from our level at 1000m, so instead Leon and I tackled a smaller peak which Djafar named "Jebel Tourist" in our honour.

We crossed a wide section of piste running North-South, that Djafar said is used by cigarette smugglers. Then we reached the main road that links Tamanrasset to the North, and Djafar paid a short visit to a lonely mosque at Sidi Moulay Lahsene. Following tracks 20km to the West, he brought us to the best camp of the whole journey. The area has mountains of smooth grey volcanic rock, steep sided with rounded tops. I don’t know the geology, perhaps volcanic extrusion, but the shapes are not unlike Ayers Rock.

The volcanic hills at Tesnou - for scale, note the Land Rover above and people below

My Favorite Sahara Camp

On the fifth day of the journey from Djanet to In-Salah we had another first, as Con lifted the food box to disturb a pale scorpion who darted away under the car. It was an easy run up 120km of tar to Arak where we could refuel and water. The only shop had very little fresh food, but we got potatoes and stocked up with luxuries like yoghurt and sugary chocolate. Then we had our last section of Sahara piste, turning off just North of Arak onto part of the old Hoggar route. There was plenty of security around in Algeria, and at Tadjemout we were intercepted by an army pick-up. The whole oasis was swarming with soldiers, even up the trees and behind rocks in the hills behind. Djafar waved the magic piece of paper – and on we went.

Maybe after a lot of desert we were getting jaded, but I found it a rather boring route, wind-blasted and tiring. We have been gradually descending for the last couple of days, and it is hotter again, almost 40C. As the piste has been superceded by a tarred road that runs to the West, it is no longer maintained, so every time we got to third gear we’d find the track washed out and would need to slow and crawl over boulders. We spotted a couple of gazelles, dancing away across the rocks.

Our best camp was followed by one of the worst, windswept and insecty, a bad combination. But even that camp was better in the calm of morning, and I’d rather be in the desert than any of the towns.

As we got closer to the tar again we met Haakon returning at speed. He’d heard gunfire ahead, and soon we could hear it too, heavy machine guns and explosions. The most likely explanation was army exercises, and Djafar agreed – he knew there was a base a little ahead, and waved us on. However, he got a severe ticking off from the army once we reached their checkpoint. He wasn't intimidated, and brandished our fiche, which includes the route as registered with the Gendarmerie. I suppose the army, and most Algerians, cannot understand why tourists would want to travel a washed-out old piste when there is a nice tar road instead. But with thousands of square miles of desert you’d think they’d find somewhere else to practise, not near a tourist route, no matter how few we are.

In-Salah: A helpful list of some of the worst towns in North Africa (Tamanrasset excepted)

At In-Salah, Mohammed Haffaoui of Tanezrouft Voyages entertained us in the courtyard of his home, reclining on cushions and carpets. The delicious meal of salads, couscus, mutton and sauce was prepared by one of his wives, a native of Timbuktu. We treated ourselves to the best hotel in town, probably the only place for a thousand miles that serves beer.

It can even happen to a Series III

2007-04-28T11:00:00.000Z

But there are worse places to be stuck...

Djanet to In-Salah - Part I

2007-04-26T08:56:00.000Z

Although we had a rough programme - hand written on a piece of paper in a Tamanrasset restaurant - we were never quite sure what to expect each day. I am sure Djafar had a fairly clear idea as to our route and where we would camp each night, but it was difficult to communicate anything beyond the day at hand.

So, we set off again from Djanet not certain if we’d be camping for three, four or five nights. Djafar warned us to bring maximum fuel and water. There was a short queue at the filling station – being close to Niger means that a lot of the local fuel disappears over the border. Then, down to the oeud where a tap delivered water from below the sand. The market veggies looked well travelled, but we bought what we could and put them in a cloth bag and sprayed it with water. Also got a tray of eggs and a whole Edam cheese.

Main street, Djanet with Claire and Leon

On the first day we travelled north via Route National 3, turning off to explore a couple of canyons in the Tassili to the East. This is a beautiful area of eroded pinnacles.

At the deepest extent of the Essendilene Canyon was a murky green pool, but not enticing for a swim at this time of year. Haakon’s bike is very heavy, even though we carried his spare fuel and water, and hard to keep upright in heavy sand. If the bike goes over, he must get help to lift it, or else unload his bags. When he did not appear for a while we went back to look for him, and managed to get badly stuck in the sand.

Stuck, again

For the next few days we meandered West and North West on the Route de Djafar. A diversion took us along a rocky track to deep guelta, where I enjoyed my one and only Sahara swim.

10% camel pee apparently

We passed South of Mt Tazat, and for a while travelled back on our eastward route. Somewhere along the way we passed the 10,000 mile mark.

As always, Djafar knows good places to camp, and led us to a sheltered spot with a view of spectacular high dunes. As we had some daylight, Leon decided to show us some dune driving, but was stuck before he left the camp. To be fair, the Dutch car handled the sand pretty well, and they rarely resorted to dropping tyre pressure.

As we sat on the crest of the dune in evening light, a lone Tuareg and his camels appeared on cue, crossing the plain below, the only other human we’d seen all day.

A Rare Excursion Onto a Dune

On April 16, we continued West towards the Tefedest mountains. Our lunch break was in an oeud with a concrete lined well. Since we only have enough water for drinking and cooking, we used the chance to drag up buckets of water from 30m below for a wash and shave.

We set camp in an area of tree islands, where erosion had left the root systems exposed so that each little tree was sitting on its own five metre high platform, one of which provided us with a windbreak. We have been eating well, and this night was especially good: aubergines fried with garlic in olive oil, then layered with tomatoes, tinned mushrooms and slices of Edam; all wrapped in tin foil and buried under the fire for half an hour.

Yes, it's steep

Djafar Mohammed, Guide du Desert

2007-04-26T08:52:00.000Z

We had been told that there are two types of guide in Algeria – the young ones, who are good at languages, good at dealing with officials at checkpoints, and like to sleep in a bed; and the older ones, who know the desert. Thankfully, we got the second type. Mohammed Djafar is a Toureg from the south east, 48 years old, and totally at home in the desert. He had been a guide in the army, and travelled by camel on long journeys in Southern Algeria. We were very lucky to have him with us from border to border, not just for route finding, but for his good company and mischievous sense of humour. The dye from his turban, and ash from the fire, gave him a blue/grey glaze, so we called him Azar Sh’arab, or blue beard.

At lunchtime and camp he would have the fire lit almost before the engines had stopped. In the mornings we could hear him stir at 5.30 am, but he had little to say until about 10am, when he’d come to life. The day was punctuated by his prayer stops and tea making. He carried large bags of tea and sugar, and a couple of little pots and a set of glasses. In the Sahara style, we would always be offered three glasses, the first undrinkable, the third perfect. He catered for himself on a separate fire, eating beans he’d soaked during the day, unwrapping a cloth with dried mutton, baking bread under the sand of his fire; but he didn’t say no to some of our Edam or biscuits either. By nights he was wrapped up in his bed roll by 9pm, and I don’t think he ever slept indoors, even during our lazy hotel days in Djanet and Ghardaia.

He doesn’t read or write or use maps. He would navigate by picking features on the horizon, then steer us on the best routes to avoid soft sand or the sudden dips caused by water erosion. Although he speaks some French, he would give instructions in Arabic, or by hand gesture - Imin for right, Yasar for left, and G’jam is straight on. If you did not take his advice he would stay quiet for a while and suffer the bumps, as if to say "you’ll take my route the next time", and we got a little better at recognising the changes in sand colour or vegetation cover that determined the best routes.

At Bordj el Haous, Djafar invited us to his home for tea and biscuits. It has a number of stone compounds. As far as we could tell, his mother is in one section, and each of his two wives has her own compound, and he has eight children. There was no fuel at the station there, but he soon sourced 60 litres in jerries for us, at twice the official price but still cheap.

Sometimes Djafar stops at In-Salah and does not go to the Tunisian border on the tar road with his tourists, but this time he stayed with us. He seemed smaller and out of place in the towns, and often picked the wrong route. I think he was happy when the last couple of hours of paper work was completed at the Algerian border post and he could turn around for the long trip back to the deserts of the South.

A guide is compulsory in Algeria, but even if it were not so, a person like Djafar makes it much more enjoyable. We were very happy with his agency, Tanezrouft Voyages, who were very flexible considering the group they had - arriving two days late, and not even knowing where in Algeria we wanted to visit.

Tamanrasset to Djanet

2007-04-26T08:48:00.000Z

For three days, 9-11 April, we travelled from Tamanrasset to Djanet through the Algerian Sahara. After registering our route with the Gendarmerie, we set off on Route National 1 to the North, then turned East towards Ideles. The track became variations of sand, gravel and stone, and the scenery became more interesting, with plains of tuff rubble, eroded volcanic peaks and sandstone mesas. Temperatures were very pleasant, in the low thirties, and everyone spent some time taking in the view from the roof of the Dutch Land Rover, except Haakon who was enjoying his bike.

After checking in again with the police at Hirafok we drove on a few miles to camp in a well-wooded Oued, or dry river bed. With plenty of firewood, we were able to grill the chicken bought in Tam.

We passed to the North of Jebel Telerhteba, stopping at the first large dune we encountered to take some photos. Our second camp was on a gentle slope of sand under one of the large basalt hills in the area. Djafar went off in search of water, and as we climbed the hill we could see him far away, a tiny speck in the desert, heading for some greenery. The hill has outcrops of basalt columns like the Giant’s Causeway in Antrim.

The next day we stopped to check a rattle under the car, and instead found a different problem – lots of diesel. The fuel lift pump had given up and was spraying fuel out of a small hole. We tried driving a few hours, but it got so bad that the Dutch could see a trail of diesel behind us in the sand, so we stopped to change the pump, as we had a spare.

It was a pleasure to drive on the regs as we got closer to the Erg d’Admer, since we could do a good speed without fear of hitting something nasty. Nevertheless, because of the repairs, it was later than planned when we reached the tar for Djanet. We did the last couple of hours in darkness on the potholed road. We made Djanet at 9pm and the town was brightly lit but already shut down. The campsite was taken over by the military, but we found a nice place in the town centre with a car park and adequate rooms. In Djanet we heard news of bomb attacks in Algiers. They were suicide attacks, which is unusual for Algeria, but apart from that the local opinion was that it was - sadly - not unusual, intractable, and far away.

We ended up spending three nights in Djanet. It is the Alice Springs of Algeria - an outback outpost, full of hard looking desert characters, Berber and Arab, Toureg and Tourist. The standard vehicle is an ancient Land Cruiser with a rack of jerrys, sand ladders, shovel and grill on the roof and always a guerba – a water bag made of an entire goat skin – slung on the body. It was good to have a break, eat pizzas garnished with tinned tuna and mayonnaise, and laze around in the café under an arcade. This, like all the cafés in Arab world, is a mens' world, and sadly also alcohol free. But it does very good coffee and croissants.

Photos - Tamanrasset to Djanet

2007-04-21T10:46:00.000Z

We are now in Ghardaia, a city made up of five old fortified towns. It is really beautiful, so we have decided to stay a second night. These are some photos of the journey from Tamanrasset to Djanet.

Travel companions - Claire and Leon from Holland in a Series III, and Haakon from Norway on his bike. The Dutch carried our guide, and Claire spent a lot of time on the roof.

The roof was a a popular place to sit - good view, good breeze and no danger of this old Land Rover going too fast, especially on lava boulder terrain.

For the first day we travelled through volcanic hills, like this one where we camped. It had to be climbed, and of course turned out to be a lot higher than it looked - we earned that Amsterdam beer. The hills have basalt columns like the Giants Causeway in Antrim, and they have crumbled to form boulder slopes.

Morning coffee...

We crossed great gravel plains known as regs, and any feature, such as these boulders, stood out for miles.

There wasn't too much sand - our guide knows the desert well and was very good at picking routes that avoided tricky sections.

Not many trees either, so we were happy to use this one for a lunch stop.

Back on the tar road, and a long way from Algiers.

Leon - generally he spends more time under the Land Rover than on top.

A Note from Algeria

2007-04-19T18:11:00.000Z

Today we reached In-Salah in southern Algeria. We spent the last ten days crossing to Djanat near Libya and back via the Tefedest mountains. Great trip. Will post some photos when we reach Tunisia in a few days.

Diesel and Dust, the road to Tamanrasset

2007-04-09T08:47:00.000Z

The Algerian border post - we camped on their football pitch

Lots of this en route

Con and Haakon are wondering how this chap was changing an axle, solo, in the middle of nowhere; so far for five days

The first part of the road from the border town to Tamanrasset has nice tar

Later it doesn't

We have arrived in Tamanrasset, Algeria and it is a wonderful place. 35°C seems crisp and cool after the heat of Agadez and it has a Mediterranean feel despite being in the heart of the Sahara: pavement cafés under trees, good coffee again. It is also relaxing to have no hassles at all on the streets, no hawkers, no cadeaux cadeaux. Even the sky is clear of dust.

I have already written too much car stuff, but it is hard to avoid. All I can say is that the roads, heat and dust are tough on all vehicles, and everyone has problems. The piste from Agadez to Tamanrasset is littered with the remains of hundreds of vehicles that never made it. So, the short version is as follows. 25km out of Agadez we had a big deja vu of Timbuktu - clutch went, the hydraulics (again) this time. Back to Agadez, where after a day of work they found that the push rod was broken, a fault on all Discoverys and Range Rovers. They sourced a part, fixed it and we were off, two days late. Our Algeria guide had been waiting for us at the border, a lonely walled compound in the desert, and we met on the evening of the 6th April. The border was fine, the officials very friendly.

The piste north is beautiful, with volcanic hills, rubble piles, some deep sand, some long fast stretches of harder sand. The piste braids often and the faster guide car (Toyota HJ80) and Haakon's bike went ahead and we travelled with the Dutch LR Series III. At one point we saw that they had taken a parallel piste in the distance and cut across to catch them (Con was with Leon, reclining in comfort, Claire with me). Just as we reached their piste my drive belt disintegrated in spectacular fashion. The guide car and Haakon arrived soon after, and though we had the spare belt on quickly, it was several hours before we caught up with Leon and Con - despite having the slowest vehicle, they made steady progress.

The border had no fuel, so we were all low on diesel. Haakon had got petrol with special permit from the police. We managed to get 20 litres from a drilling work site. So there was a lot of jerry can work today, and we arrived coated in diesel and dust. A pleasant camp in the east of the town, where we met Yves and Mohammed of Tanezrouft Voyages, our agency. They have just returned from a short trip to Mali. Over dinner of camel brochettes they devised a two-week route for us that will take us East to Djanet, back to In Salah via the Tefedest mountains and to Tunisia.

Grande Fantasia for the Colonel

2007-04-03T10:33:00.000Z

In Tahoua we stocked up the beer supply – whatever about fuel and water, it would be a disaster to run out over the coming weeks in the desert. This is not so simple, as it is hard to find – although bottles and cans are brewed locally, it is a luxury most people cannot afford. We started in the market, changing money with a clothes seller. Surprisingly, he pulled out two electronic counterfeit detectors from under the piles of cloth. The rate is the same as the bank, but it is quicker and avoids commission. They prefer big notes, sneering at 10s and 20s.

The lad then hopped in the car and brought us to three different places in search of the beer. We found it at a private house near a rubbish-filled gully, buying a couple of cases of Amsterdam from the lady of the house.

The next 400km to Agadez saw a shift from Sahel to desert again. Where there was water there were people, green crops and animals. But as we drove, the trees thinned to bushes, and villages were fewer. The attractive rounded huts of mud and straw, shaded by old trees, were replaced by squat buildings with flat roofs, cracked walls exposed to sand laden gusts of wind. The road tar is pock-marked by some nasty potholes, and near villages the local boys had made amateur repairs, and made great show of throwing earth as we approached, in hope of a coin or two.

100km before Agadez there was hardly a tree to be seen and we returned to piste - the road is under construction but no activity was to be seen. Like Timbuktu, the town arrives suddenly - a water tower on the horizon, then the tall mud minaret of the Grande Mosque. The bored police at the checkpoint had a long chat and confirmed that Gaddafy was still in town for the festival of the Prophet’s Birthday. He was in residence in a large white marquee on the approach to town. Not surprisingly, we had trouble finding a room, as the town is teeming with officials, drivers, police and military.

We finally found a dark room at the Hotel Agriboun, where the ceiling fan did its best to move the hot air. Streams of people and Toyotas were going to the North – a grande fantasia was to take place in honour of the Colonel. Every 100 metres a soldier stood guard. On the outskirts of town there was an amazing sight - thousands of camel-borne Tuareg and Fula lined up in full ceremonial style surrounded a crowd that represented every tribe in the country, also in their best. The camels stand very patiently flank to flank, not bothered by the size of the crowd. A line of tall young Wodaabé men stood in front of the camels, their faces painted. They are famous for the annual Cure Salée festival, where their make-up and dancing are used to attract a bride. I got the impression they had already being waiting for hours, and after a few requests my water was gone.

In front again were clusters of musicians, dancers and singers, all waiting for the two Presidents to arrive. A stage had been built and furnished with two large cream armchairs. As we waited, a tanker watered the sand of the performance area, and the police made an effort at crowd control. This was generally good-natured. A group – especially the Toureg women – would decide they did not like their vantage point, and they would get up en masse and move. As the army rallied and tried to muster them, another part of the crowd would flow around them. The officers would shout at each other and shrug. But as the time got closer, patience wore and some of the police waved clubs and took to shins with branches. Closer to the stage was patrolled by Libyan officials in khaki, and when the dignitaries arrived they were almost invisible behind another layer of security – although sad to say I could not see any of Gaddafy’s legendary team of female bodyguards. The man himself was just about discernible, dressed in blue robes, as he accepted gifts, including a fine white camel. Then the thousands of camelmen paraded past the stage, to the sounds of women singing and ululating. Fireworks finished the event, as the cavalcade departed in a cloud of dust, and later I heard jets taking off.

The nights in Agadez are oppressive, the houses are ovens, and people move outside to sleep. After one night in the hotel we moved to the house of a Frenchman who has kindly offered to allow us to stay, even though he has departed for France to escape the coming hottest months of the year. His cook is looking after us.

Also guests are a Dutch couple, Leon and Claire, with an ancient British Army Land Rover III and a Norwegian, Haakon, with a motorcycle. We will all join forces for the next part of the journey, through Algeria.

Faces of Niger

2007-04-01T19:53:00.000Z

Northwards Again Through Niger

2007-04-01T19:36:00.000Z

Since Bamako, we have mainly been following the Niger river in an easterly direction. At Niamey the river flows South for Benin, Nigeria and the Atlantic, and we turned East and then North for the Sahara again.

Mali had some prior familiarity – the music, Timbuktu, the travels of Mungo Park – but I knew nothing at all of Niger, apart from a famine appeal a couple of years ago. But it looks very interesting, the people are friendly, and I’m sorry we don’t have more time to explore the country.

The road to Agadez is tarred most of the way, and passes through many villages. Dust devils, mini tornadoes, sweep across the fields which are stubble at this time of year. Many people have deep facial cuts. I asked a policeman about his four cicatrice – two at each side of his mouth, and he said he was a Maouri, and received the incisions at the time of his birth. When we told him we were going to Agadez he said we would have plenty of security, as President Gaddafy of Libya is visiting the town for the Prophet’s Birthday.

In the mornings and evenings we come across streams of people and animals going to or coming from market. We stopped at a couple, one of them near the town of Dosso. Activity was winding down, trucks and old Land Rovers being packed. But there was still plenty of people of diverse tribes, animals tethered under trees, mutton kebabs cooking over wood fire. I started with a couple of boys trailing me and ended with about fifty, swarming around and trying to jump into photos.

We camped undisturbed in savannah near the border with Nigeria, and continued to the town of Birniri-Konni. This turned out to be a centre for smuggled fuel from Nigeria. We were tempted to fill up at about 50c/litre, but were worried that it could be adulterated so went to the filling station and paid the usual 80c. We stayed that night in Tahoua, at what is listed as the best hotel in town. It looked basic but had the essentials: clean room and cold beer; plus some extras – air conditioning, and pretty good steak and chips. A cold shower would have been nice but the water comes roasting from the roof tank. And the night guard washed the car.

Gao, Mali to Niamey, Niger

2007-03-30T18:40:00.000Z

After our breakdown adventure near Timbuktu the rest of the journey to Gao was uneventful. It was a beautiful desert drive, sometimes on the banks of the Niger, or in the riverbed itself, as the water is low. There was a lot of sand and gentle dunes, and our ‘new’ clutch gave us a burning smell for the first day as it settled in. The area approaching Bourem was beautiful, with villages between high dunes and the river. It is probably the remotest part of the journey so far, in terms of distance from a tarred road, but we were never long without seeing a mud-walled house or a shepherd resting on a stick. We saw only one vehicle in two days, a truck. We picked up some travellers, Christophe and Judith getting a tax collector in sand-coloured camouflage and armed with AK47, while we got three gents on the roof.

Coming into Bourem we left the river and travelled over a wide empty plain, then an area of sand with many interwoven tracks. We camped among some low dunes a little south of the town.

There are villages every few miles, so we were not surprised to have some visitors for the evening, and morning. In Gao we pulled in at the Sahara Passion hotel for a shower, lunch, and filled our water tanks. They have a nice shady courtyard full of birds, a relief from the heat, which is in the mid 40s. We registered with the police, as advised by the guidebook and hotel staff. The officer offered to stamp us out of Mali to save time at the border - for a fee - but we declined.

The River Niger at Gao

We camped again half way between Gao and the border, staying at a police post. The policeman is exceptionally nice, and told us he does a week’s posting there, night and day, before moving to another town. But there is little traffic, and none at night. In fact the only vehicles we see on the route south are those working on a major upgrade of the road, which will be tarred to the Niger border, and the occasional bus.

The border formalities were very smooth on both sides. On the Niger side the officer said "Sinn Fein" when he saw the Irish passports. The granaries are different now, built in large beehive shapes with little straw hats over the openings at the top.

The tarred road reappeared, and we pulled in under a tamarind tree for a salad of potato, tomato and sausage with oil and vinegar dressing.

Niamey is incredibly hot. I left the Rough Guide on the dashboard for half an hour and the glue in the binding melted and the book fell to pieces. (The BradtGuide to Mali, well stitched, survived). There is not much of interest here to keep us, and we stayed just one night at the Hotel Oasis. I have been in contact with other overlanders that are heading for Algeria, and am keen to catch up with them in Agadez.

Timbuktu to Gao

2007-03-30T18:07:00.000Z

56km East of Timbuktu, our clutch burned out. We were not even on a track, but travelling cross-country from the bank of the river Niger to the main piste, some 10km to the north. We were slightly lost and came upon some woven reed huts, and a man in deep blue robes was kindly walking ahead to show us the route to the main track when we came to a sudden halt with the unmistakable smell of burnt clutch plate. We were in a hollow, amid thick spiny scrub on low dunes. Happily we had other company also, as we had met Christophe and Judith in Timbuktu. They are travelling from Germany to South Africa in their Land Rover Defender, and we had decided to travel to Gao together, just in case of an event such as this.

We tried towing, but the sand was too deep and the car too heavy. The sun was low, so we made a quick decision to take our coordinates, grab our bags and return to Timbuktu in the Germans’ vehicle, about one and a half hours away on a rough sandy piste. The man in blue kindly offered his services as guardian of the car, and settled down under a thorn tree.

The day’s excitement was not yet over. On the way back, Christophe hit a sand trap, and, just as we did two days ago, landed on his steering rod and bent it. He is a mechanic and was completely unfazed – in ten minutes flat the bar was off, straightened roughly, and back on.

Another picture of people under a car (Christophe and Con in this case)

We returned to our friendly mechanics in the outskirts of Timbuktu. The chief was all set to leave immediately for the bush to remove the clutch, but we said it could wait til the morning. We gave him a description of the part, and he promised to track one down. Indeed, by 9.30 the next morning he was at the hotel, used clutch plate in hand – not exactly pristine, but serviceable. After a few hours of mysterious delay, our enlarged expedition set off. We had a driver, four mechanics, Judith and Christophe (who kindly stayed with us, delaying their own progress) in their own car, and two GPSs, without which we would never have found the car again.

On the way, the mechanics’ car broke a back leaf spring, and they fixed it with a bit of wood cut from a small tree, and plenty of wet rope. Their bush mechanic skills are incredible. For replacing a clutch, the Haynes Manual says:

Remove the transmission, or the engine. If no other work is to be carried out on the transmission, it is far simpler to remove the engine... Locating a suitable place to work is extremely important. If a garage is not available, at the very least a flat, level, clean work surface is required.

"Clutch Camp"

Needless to say, Timbuktu mechanics do not need a Haynes manual. In just two hours - in the sand, in the heat, in the middle of nowhere - they removed the exhaust and transmission and found that the spare part would indeed fit. Sadly, the other part of the plate was worn and cracked and would also need replacing. So, they left their tools and set off again for Timbuktu, while we made camp and cooked - red curry, with polish sausage, imported by Con.

Christophe and Judith enjoying the delay

At 7.30am, the mechanics were back with the part, and I have no idea how they found us without a GPS. By 10.00am, the car was back together and we were ready to continue our journey, a bit poorer but with gratitude and admiration for their quick and expert work.

Despite our remote location, it was amazing how many people dropped by to visit. On foot, camel and horseback, we had a series of visitors, many with headaches and other ailments. We dispensed paracetamol, which is at the limit of our medical competence.

On the bank of the Niger with Christophe, Judith and local residents

Back on track, lunch stop

Timbuktu, Mali

2007-03-30T17:16:00.000Z

Although the approach to Timbuktu is tarred, the streets are of sand, often deep. We settled in at the Hotel Colombe, which has a roof terrace that is fine for observing the coming and going on the main street. Most traffic is donkey powered. The breakfast bread is baked in an oven in the street, and is gritty. Dinner is beef, mutton or chicken with potatoes, rice or couscous. The bottles of Castel are ice cold.

We had a half-hearted look at some houses of European explorers, and the attractive mud mosques. The majority of time outside of the hotel is spent in involuntary discussion with souvenir vendors, camel owners, prospective guides, people wanting to buy the car (tempting), and once, a gentleman who said I was in need of a haircut (true) and offered to come to the hotel with his shears. Con invested in a full Tuareg wardrobe.

Faces of Mali

2007-03-23T13:54:00.000Z

Limping into Timbuktu

2007-03-23T13:22:00.001Z

The piste runs directly north of Douentza to Timbuktu, 200km away. It weaves through an undulating Sahel landscape of acacia bushland, sand and close cropped grasslands. The surface has heavy corrugations, an effect created by the passing of vehicles over time. These literally shake a car to bits, and the wayside is littered with parts of exhausts. It is possible to get relief from the corrugations by driving on parallel sandy tracks, but these are also wearing, as you must keep up momentum to avoid getting stuck, and will inevitably hit a large hole and decide to try the main track again.

So, the car was getting a pounding - by half way it was spraying grease from a leaky hub seal on the right, matched by hydraulic fluid from a broken shock absorber on the left. The corrugations are much less noticeable if you can keep up speed, about 80kph, as you then skim the tops, but it takes full concentration to scan the road ahead to plan the route and also to avoid the holes.

About 10km before the river crossing for Timbuktu we hit a big one, the hard surface suddenly gave way to a deep pit of soft sand. The car landed heavily on the front end. We managed to drive out of it, but everything was not well, the front wheels pointing in different directions - the steering push rod was badly bent. We spent an hour trying to straighten it using the bottle jack.

The Sand Trap That Did The Damage

It was lucky we were not far from Timbuktu. We drove slowly on to the river crossing, having lunch by the bank as we waited for the ferry. We reversed up the ramp, followed by a horseman with a decorated saddle, bare feet in round metal stirrups.

There was only another 10km then to Timbuktu, and we limped in with great grinding and squeaking. We checked in at a hotel and gave them a pile of very dirty clothes and towels, showered, and went in search of repairs. The hotel called a mechanic, and he sat in and showed us the way through the maze of sandy streets. Along the way, the police gave us a hard time about having three people in two seats, which is a bit of a joke considering how they fill vehicles here. They also insisted we should visit the Customs for a laissez passer document, and register with the police, both of which I expect will be opportunities to make donations to local funds.

On the outskirts of town we parked under a tree amid a collection of vehicle wrecks, mechanics, apprentices, consultants and onlookers. With a handful of tools, they set to work, removing the steering rod and dispatching it to the forge for straightening. A couple of hours later, the car was driving better than ever.

Hitchhikers

2007-03-23T13:21:00.001Z

Mali is one of the poorest countries in the world, but fuel prices are not much different to Ireland - 82c per litre for diesel and almost €1 for petrol. I expect this is because of the cost of trucking it in on poor roads from the Atlantic coast in Ivory Coast or Senegal. There is little motor traffic - government or NGO Toyota Land Cruisers; some heavily laden trucks, often broken down; and a variety of decrepit buses. It is much more common to see people walking, in donkey carts, or - especially here in the North - on camel or horseback.

We pick people up whenever feasible. One fine gentleman sat into the car and announced that he was Baobucar Cisské, the Grand Marabout and Grand Imam of Hamdallaye, a historic town north of Djenne. The next day, we stopped in the middle of nowhere for a young man who spoke surprisingly good English. He was a Nigerian footballer who had come to play in Mopti, but for some reason the job had fallen through, and now he was penniless and walking to Bamako. It was about 45˚C and he'd covered over 40 miles from Mopti since the previous day. He promised to remember us when he is playing for Chelsea.

The group in the photo were near the Dogon village of Yenndouma, returning from market with a heavy sack.

Djenne and back to Pays Dogon

2007-03-23T13:18:00.000Z

Con arrived on Monday, which is market day in Djenne, so we decided it would be worth a detour to the famous town. We took a ferry across the Bani river, which is very low at this time of year, and drove along a causeway - in wet season the town is almost surrounded by water. We crawled through the busy streets to the main square and parked under the wall of the great mosque, the largest mud building in the world. The market is wonderfully chaotic, and ideal for short people, as the awnings are all tied about four feet from the ground. We bought potatoes, onions, lemons, bananas, ginger and tomatoes, and Con got a little carved Dogon granary door.

The dust was choking, and after exploring a little we retreated to the courtyard of Chez Baba, a hotel near the square, for a beer (the inferior Flag instead of Castel). The sun did not set, but faded into the dust haze, as trucks were packed with goods and people. When the crowd had dispersed we moved the car to the hotel, and slept on the roof, with a fine view of the mosque and only a few mosquitoes.

From Djenne we drove into Dogon country again, taking the same route though Sanga that Stefanie and I followed last week. We camped under the ancient rocks of the escarpment, so peaceful that I could hear the sound of bat wings in the night. In the morning we spent a couple of hours fixing stuff in the car, visited by a group of small boys. They almost fought over who would do the breakfast dish washing, and in the end one passed the dirty items, one washed, one dried and one stacked the clean items. They gave the stove a good cleaning too, and ate our left over pasta.

A few miles on, we explored one of the villages, invited by a resident. He led us up a boulder track to the old village, now mostly abandoned. It has water, but the effort of carrying goods up and down has resulted in most people moving to the new village below. Only his family remain, and his wife was at work pounding couscous in their courtyard. He was very proud of his little terraces of crops, including onions, tobacco, papaya and banana, irrigated from the spring by hand using calabashes.

Photos from the road, Mali

2007-03-19T12:41:00.000Z

I have picked Con up now, and we are off to Timbuktu. I expect we will not have internet access for a week or so, until we reach Niamey in Niger.

Hombori

2007-03-18T10:56:00.000Z

After a few days in Sanga, we moved on via a sandy track to the North. It runs below the escarpment, with plenty of scenic villages, acacias, mangoes and baobabs.

We came back to the tar at Doeuntza to find the town in great excitement. Le President de la Republic was in town, along with an entourage of at least 50 Toyota Land Cruisers. Many in the crowd were wearing political t-shirts. The Fula women have tattoos around their mouths, and many men were carrying homemade flint muskets, which did not seem a security risk to the mirror-sunglasses of the presidential guard.

After a night in Douentza, we continued East, passing eroded hills and mesas, and camping in view of one formation near Hombori. This area feels remote, there is almost no traffic and fewer villages. We stopped to give lifts to young men, who stood on the back bumper hanging onto the rack. And when returning we made space inside on the luggage for a young Dogon woman who was going to Bamako for work. She was setting off for the 24 hour journey with no belongings at all.

From Hombori we made the long journey back to Bamako via the tar road, overnighting in Sevare and Segou. I left Stefanie to get her flight home, and turned back for Sevare to pick up the next co-driver, Con, who is flying in there directly via Marseilles.

In the Pays Dogon

2007-03-18T10:45:00.000Z

If a set designer dreamed up an African village it would probably look like a Dogon village. They have a distinctive architecture that is bound to their culture and animist beliefs. Wall foundations are chunks of local sandstone, but the house and granary walls are a smooth blend of mud, straw and cow dung. The square, tall granaries are roofed in picturesque hats of straw, while the houses have flat roofs, useful for drying grains and tamarind, and for sleeping when the hot season comes (any day now).

Then there are the meeting houses, which are constructed from beautifully carved posts, and roofed with thick layers of reeds.
A new layer is added for each generation. The doors and windows are also beautifully carved, and they make ladders by notching tree trunks. Many of the villages are planted on boulders on steep cliffs under an escarpment. Add to all that some of the most beautiful baobabs and fig trees, and an interesting culture, and it is not surprising that the area is the prime tourist destination in Mali, although it is quiet now. Taking photos requires a negotiation each time, which is why I don't have many.

We based ourselves in the clifftop village of Sanga, and each day drove down a steep track to explore the villages. Market days change on a 5 day cycle, but we visited two of them, always entertaining. Perhaps not so much for the goats who end up in pieces on a big wood fired grill.
Life looks hard here. Despite the tourist revenue, pumps are out of action and there is endless well work and water carrying, which is probably easy compared to the millet and sorghum pounding in big wooden pestles.

The second photo shows telem houses, at least 1000 years old, built by a pygmy people in cliff overhangs. The Dogon use them for storage and burials.

The Concert

2007-03-15T10:47:00.000Z

Niafounké is the type of town where a donkey can sleep standing up in the middle of the main street and run no danger of causing an accident. But on March 7 it had a bit of a buzz, with hundreds of people in town for the concert to mark the anniversary of the death of Ali Farka Toure, the famous blues musician, mayor and rancher. There is a very good atmosphere to the place, nobody is in a hurry, and elaborate greetings are exchanged on every sandy corner.

Stefanie and the other ladies bought cloth in the market, then left it with the tailors, who would have the garments sewed on their old Singer machines by the evening. The market was a bit disappointing, full of imported materials and Chinese tat. We had a beer on the roof of Ali's hotel, one of only two in town, and met one of his sons there, Vieux Farka Toure, also a musician.

A big stage and sound system has been trucked in, and set up in the main square. The Minister for Culture and other dignitaries sat in arm chairs in the front row, and the concert kicked off with a local band. It hardly paused for the next six hours, with each act introduced by a great praise singer who kept the whole evening moving. It was chilly by the end, when Ali's band played a few of his best pieces. The minister looked very cosy, squeezed into the armchair with Nick Gold, head of World Circuit, and a rather large Tourag woman singer who was one of the highlights of the evening (I don't have any of the names with me at the moment).

[PS: L'Alkibar, Niafunké; Abdoul Kadr Moubda, Senegal; Andreas Fulgosi, Switzerland; Trio Morika Konyate; Sayo Kone; Bassekou Kouyate, Mali; Kanote; Ali Baba Cisse; Marcus James; Vieux Farka Toure; Haïr Arby, Mali ]

We had about two hours on the mattress before the dawn call of the pinasse, and the return journey was just as relaxing as that downstream, with even the same groups of hippos yawning in the shallows.

Welcome to Niafounké!

2007-03-09T12:19:00.000Z

Bamako is the furthest South of the journey, and from here on it is Eastwards and Northwards, first following the Niger, then crossing the Sahara again. The city has two bridges over the Niger, both busy. But a much more interesting exit is over a low dam wall a little downstream. The longest day of driving, about 10 hours, took us on paved roads to Segou, Bla, San and on to Sévaré, near Mopti. We caught up with the Ali Farka Toure group at a hotel there, and had a dawn start for river trip to Niafounké.

Because it is dry season, the river is low, so we drove downstream an hour to Korro to meet the pinasse, a roofed pirogue. But it also means we saw lots of birds, and even the hippos had nowhere to hide, and we saw two groups in the water. Our group is very international - Malian, American, Portuguese, Spanish, German, French. We are the only tourists, the others having some connection with the AFT foundation, media or music industry. We are about a dozen and form more than half of the international contingent for the events in Niafounké.

We sat on the roof of the pinasse when the sun's heat had faded, and with darkness spotted the lights of Niafounké in the distance, the only town with electricity in the region. Nothing could prepare us for the welcome we received. A few 4x4s were lined up with their lights on the "beach", where a crowd had been waiting for us since midaftertoon. We were swamped with helpers and handshakes and packed into the cars. The best part was our 2-wheeler escort, dozens of motos with a boy in orange T and girl in black T, who drove in two lines each side. With hazard lights flashing and horns blaring, we set off through town, throwing up a cloud of dust. We felt terribly important.

We went straight to Ali Farka Toure's compound to pay respects to the family; then to the house of his best friend (and owner of the pinasse) where we were quartered and fed. Bed is a mattress on the floor under our mossie net, and the concert is to come.

Late nights in Bamako, Mali

2007-03-05T09:41:00.000Z

In Bamako we treated ourselves and the Land Rover - the latter to an oil change and plenty of grease, and us to a fine hotel on the river Niger, the Mande.

This week is the anniversary of the death of Ali Farka Toure, the Malian blues musician, and apparently there are various events to pay homage - but it is not easy to find out about them. The tourist office staff were nice but uninformed, and sent us to the national museum; they sent us to a 5 star hotel, where there was indeed a gala dinner, featuring music from Toumani Diabate, Oumou Sangare and others. Instead, we went to Toumani's club, Le Hogon, where we knew he'd play later.

It turned out to be much later, and when I left Jason there with his Castel beer at 2am, Toumani was just taking the stage. I took a taxi to the airport to meet Steffi, and by the time we got back to the club at 4am the concert was finished, but Toumani told us about a free concert the next evening.

Inevitably, the next evening we missed his group again; we took Jason to the airport at the critical moment. We met that rarity, an interesting and well informed taxi driver (highly recommended if you are interested in the local music scene - Ibrahim, 683 1143), and the next night he took us to another club, the Djembe. After a couple of weeks of getting up at dawn, I've got jet lag from the switch to nocturnal life. So apart from the music, did nothing in Bamako but laze by the pool.

On Monday morning, I tracked down the main organiser for the Ali Farka Toure events, his US manager, and she was on her way to Niafounké, his home town, for a concert there. We are welcome to join her entourage. So, a bit sooner than planned, we quickly packed, checked out, filled both tanks, and are off to Mopti, a few hundred kilometres downstream on the Niger, to catch a boat to Niafounké.

Camp Life

2007-03-05T09:20:00.000Z

Thanks to EU funding, there is now a beautiful road for most of the way from Kayes to Bamako. Only about 80km is piste, and that is being upgraded. Along the way the clock passed 5000 miles on the journey, and we saw our first monkeys, browsing in a baobab.

We camped 110km before Bamako. The savannah is thicker now, almost forest, and at each village there are stacks of firewood and sacks of charcoal for sale. The ground is dry and hard, and apart from birds and the occasional lizard, all is quiet.

This is our ninth camp in a row (in Nouakchott we parked at an auberge but slept in the tent). Generally the routine has us looking for a spot around 6pm, preferably several kilometers from the road. Once the engine stops, out come the chairs and cold beers. Or I should say chair, as the other one collapsed irreparably. We unfurl the side awning and put out the table, stove and food boxes. Then, shower off the dust using the tank water and hose with shower extension - the pump gives plenty of pressure.

The roof tent is up in one minute, but takes about 10 minutes to pack away. We have bought a local gas cylinder and have a two ring burner, and cook after sunset, which is at 7pm. For some reason I only brought one set of cutlery, but that was alright as one could use the fork and other the spoon. However we lost the set in the sand somewhere, so for several days we've been eating with the wooden spoon and ladle. The evenings are cool, and the tent has screens on four sides that allow the breeze through. We have a light on an extension for reading in the tent, and are usually asleep by nine.

We get up at sunrise, about 6.45am, a good time to take photos, have a run. We bought a tray of eggs in Agadir and still have supplies despite a few casualties on the bumpy pistes. After breakfast, it takes a full hour to pack up camp, and we are usually on the road by 8.30am.

On the river Senegal near Kayes

2007-03-03T16:30:00.000Z

With the dust washed off the car, we drove about 15km downriver from Kayes to the Chutes du Félou, a broad set of waterfalls, and found a good place to park for the night near a small hydro station. The rocks are worn smooth from the high water and at sunset bats emerged from crevices and hoovered up any insects - so far I have seen hardly a mosquito on this trip.

We had a visit from the local kids for half an hour, and after that it was very peaceful. We washed off our own dust in the river, then Jason teased the fish with a variety of lures for a while without success. A fisherman took pity and came with a cup of sand and worms, but the fish didn't go for that either. The locals fish with nets from pirogues.

More Car Stuff

2007-03-03T15:31:00.000Z

This post will probably be of limited interest so you may avert your eyes.

Generally the Land Rover has managed the rough sections very well for a vehicle with such a poor build reputation. I expect that most of the bad parts have already fallen off and been replaced. Plenty of stuff has been shaken loose; and a hard landing does something to the alarm system that activates the hazard lights, and we drove around with the lights flashing for a few hours before figuring out how to reset it.

The dust does funny things, causing window switches and doors to seize, and is probably responsible for the demise of the 12V inverter. We have spent a lot of time fiddling with tyre pressures, and initially found it difficult to deflate the tyres. Jason figured out that this is caused by the bead lockers, which may have been incorrectly fitted. We must deflate the bead lock valve a little first. We found that 32psi is pretty good for normal off road with some sand.

We may have lost some balance weight on a wheel in the heavy sand, as we were getting bad vibrations. We decided to change the culprit wheel, and we (well, Jason) found out just how heavy the vehicle is with full tanks of water and diesel. We managed to bend the hi-lift jack, and it needed the intervention of a hammer before we could lower the car. Since the jack is rated to 12 tonnes, he thinks the cause is the extension that goes into a slot in the rock slider; it gives a secure jacking point but puts too much leverage on the jack.

Kayes, Mali

2007-03-02T19:53:00.000Z

The drive to Kayes was fabulous, with forests of baobab trees, full of bird life. The bluejays were the most spectacular. We came upon a convoy of donkey carts carrying hay to town, each with a boy reclining in a hammock slung below in the shade of the load; but not much other traffic, and no cars at all. It had taken about ten hours of driving time to cover the 190 miles since the last tar, and I enjoyed it more than any other part of the journey so far.

We crossed the Senegal river into the town of Kayes, a dusty bustling place, the "hottest town in Africa" according to the guidebook. Our thermometer shows 42°C in the sun, but it is probably in the comfortable low 30s.

We reported to the main police station to show the passports. It is a dilapidated French colonial building of stone and brick. Inside, a prisoner lay face down behind a locked gate in a windowless and totally unfurnished cell. The officer was very pleasant and we had a conversation about horseracing while waiting for an insurance salesman to arrive.

This chap came in and sat in an office that had a desk, two chairs, an ancient typewriter, painted-out windows, and an adding machine: evidently the extortion office. After much rumination he came up with a figure for a month's insurance. Following my shocked reaction he asked how much I had expected to pay, and we settled for much less (about €40 for a month). There followed a discussion about what constituted a month, as he had given me 28 Feb-27 March. So, not much different to dealing with Irish insurance companies.

The market is a real African market, making the Arab souks look calm and orderly. Wonderful colour, I bought a woven mat and a red teapot. We accosted passing salesmen pushing their bikes to buy fans (see photo) and flip-flops.

Back Roads to Mali

2007-03-02T19:51:00.000Z

Somewhere in Mauritania it started getting hot, and now the car vents blow like hair dryers. The evenings and mornings are still very pleasant, and the sleeping bag is required at night.

We have completed a Sahara crossing by the easiest route, and are firmly in the Sahel. At Kiffa, we decided to take one of the lesser used routes into Mali, and turned South onto a sand road. The Russian 1:500,000 maps and GPS became very useful. We could find villages on the route and set the waypoints and steer for them. The main problem was tracks that branched off to villages, and several times we found ourselves off route. It was well populated and we could get directions. We learned that the women and old men always gave the correct track, young men generally tried to set us wrong.

I set the border waypoint and by late afternoon we reached it. Some kids waved us onto the correct track through a rocky riverbed, and on the other side we stopped to check with some women drawing water at a well - a cheerful welcome, yes, this was Mali. No border posts of any kind, so a pretty stress-free change of country.

An hour later we set camp under an old Baobab - Jason is enjoying snacking on the fruits.

East on the Route D'Espoir

2007-03-02T13:16:00.000Z

Nouakchott is in full election mode, and here "big tent politics" is literal, with Bedouin style tents pitched on every approach, blaring presidential propaganda. I hope at least one candidate is promising to clean the place up, as it is without doubt the dirtiest city I have ever seen. Any rubbish not left to fester in the streets is taken to the outskirts, where there are miles of truckload sized piles of waste.

Nonetheless, the tap water is drinkable, and we filled our tank at the Auberge du Sahara, and picked up our Mali visas on the way out of town. We have now left the Atlantic coast; and are heading due East. The wind is up, not quite a sandstorm, but enough to put the headlights on. There is an incredible amount of domestic animals to avoid, including many fine African donkeys with a black stripe down their backs, another across the shoulders.

The police checkpoints continue, and they generally follow the same routine: Shake hands. "Where are you going?". "Your nationality?" "And yours?" (with a quizzical look at Jason, who they cannot place; at least they don't insist on speaking Arabic to him, as in Morocco). "Purpose of your journey?". Then, with a scan of the dashboard, "have you got a present for me?". Hand over bic biro. "Merci, bonne route". Drive on, take another bic from supply and put on dash. To be fair, many of the police are not such big children, and just wish us well, or inquire if the weather is to our liking.

On the left are red dunes, some colonised by plants. To the right, it looks more like savannah. We are driving along the line of the Sahara and the Sahel. By evening we pull off right, and go around into the lee of a small rocky hill to camp, a thorny savannah to the horizon.

Nouakchott, Mauritania

2007-02-25T20:58:00.000Z

We have reached the capital of Mauritania, and civilisation of a sort, after four wonderful days of desert driving. Western Sahara became emptier, the checkpoints fewer until we reached the border, the place all bad officials are sent for punishment. It took an hour for them to stamp the passports, then a customs check, then Officer with Big Hat check, then final check from Man in Uniform Under Tree.

First Camp

There followed about 5km of appalling wasteland, the track unmaintained due to bad relations between Morocco and Mauritania. The surface is rock and sand, and for added interest, runs through a minefield. Naturally this is where Land Rover chose to get bogged (I will not say who was driving but it wasn't me). We risked being highly embarrassed by the french convoy of 2WD vehicles we knew was following, so we were very fast with shovel and sand ladders.

[ P.S. When we reached Nouakchott we heard the news that another Discovery, driven by two French men, hit a land mine less than a week previously, and the passenger died; apparently due to a navigation error in the border zone].

On the Mauritanian side, the routine was repeated, the officers friendly, barefoot in huts full of flies. First hut asked for a present; second sold visas; third sold customs clearance (and a free rundown on all the Irish football players they knew). Insurance would wait - we were free, and wasted no time getting to the coast and a nice spot on the beach to camp.

There is a well paved road to the South now, but the next day we left it find a camping spot behind a dune 6km from the road - the best spot yet, with shelter and a line of dunes for Jason to run in the morning. We continued off-road the next day, knowing that if we turned East we could pick up the paved road. We made about 65kms, occasionally getting stuck, but nothing too bad. Sometimes there were tyres or other markers of an old piste, but with the new road, it is not in use much.

It was worth the diversion for a meeting with a desert traveller, dressed in sky blue on a fine camel. He jumped down to shake hands. We had no language in common, but he accepted an apple, then went to his camel and took a metal bowl and rinsed it, then half filled it with camel milk. It was quite nice, a bit sweet and tangy. I took some Polaroids of his camel, and he insisted on one of himself without the beast and was delighted with the result.

Later we ran into serious dunes and had to back track, using the GPS. In the end, when we got to the tarred road we were only 40km from our morning camp, but had a great Sahara day.

Now we will stay overnight to get our Mali visas in the morning, and turn East.

Spanish Sahara

2007-02-21T12:51:00.000Z

Agadir is Morocco's Costa del Sol, in other words the fifth circle of hell. The best that can be said is that we enjoyed our first beer since arrival in Africa, and the sunset.

After Monday night at a hotel on the tourist strip, Jason and I dropped Steffi to the airport, and then visited a big Cash & Carry to stock up. It rained during the night, and the earth is an even richer red than usual. We made good miles South on a narrow but well surfaced road, and overnighted at Tan Tan beach. We'd intended to camp, but the wind was too strong for the roof tent, and rather than seek shelter it was easier to take a room at a fairly basic camp site, Sable d'Or.

Today there are less villages, less goats, and more camels. Drifts of sand come across the road and there are multiple police checkpoints as we enter the Moroccan occupied territory of Western Sahara, formally Spanish Sahara. Diesel is much cheaper here (about 40c per litre). We are now in Layoune, but will make a few hundred more km today, and camp on the beach I hope. Internet access will probably become less easy as we approach Mauritania.

Tight Squeezes in Marrakesh

2007-02-19T22:33:00.000Z

The Riad Caed Rassou is the fanciest place we have stayed in Morocco, costing about as much as all the other lodging together. It has rose petals on the bed, and a standoffish black scottie in the courtyard. From the roof we had the wonderful sight of forty storks wheeling above.

Marrakesh does not have the charms of Fez, but it used to have a wildness that made it fascinating. Unfortunately some of that is gone, with the main square, Jemaa El Fnaa, tarted up beyond recognition. It still has Berber bands, child boxers and the like, but is now paved and the food stalls are organised and brightly lit. They are strictly segregated by menu and price - tourists sticking to the kebabs and tajines, and avoiding the goats' head.

On the way there we got stuck in a human traffic impasse in one of the narrow streets. A cyclist lifted his bike over his head to push through, while those with mopeds just pushed. Just when it was at its worst, a carriage and two horses joined the crush.

Leaving Marrakesh for Agadir, we have three in the car for the first time. With no back seats, Steffi arranged herself on baggage and pillows and decided it was far more comfortable than sitting in the front.

To Marrakesh

2007-02-18T11:11:00.000Z

We filled our tank with water from a tap outside the desert lodge. It is pumped up from under the sand and is probably far superior to the bottled stuff. The car drives better with the 70litres, which sits mid-car, good for balance and stability.

Every so often shepherds wave at us and signal that they want water. Since they've been in the business for thousands of years without depending on passing tourists, I suspect the real reason is boredom alleviation. On the other hand, we found one young chap with a bicycle in the middle of nowhere who was clearly parched and very grateful.

There has been good rain recently, and the desert looks most un-desertlike, as this photo shows.

We dug out the GPS for the first time to follow a 60km piste that links two tarred roads. It was reassuring to have it pointing ahead at waypoints taken from the guidebook, although in this case, following the line of the valleys, we could not go badly wrong.

By late afternoon we were following a river valley that runs north/south on the eastern side of the Atlas. It is incredibly fertile, with palms and paddies and orchards where every tree is in bloom. It also has a great collection of kasbahs or fortified homes, and most are picturesquely ruined. We stayed in a restored one near the town of Skoura, which was really fabulous. Our room was high in one of the towers, our bathroom the room beneath; about the only occasion I remember where the bathroom is bigger than the bedroom. The high ceiling is made of rough beams and woven reed. Less than €30 for dinner, bed and breakfast and incredibly peaceful, without even a nearby mosque to disturb the night.

View from the roof of the Kasbah hotel in Skoura

On Saturday, we continued our journey to Marrakesh, stopping only for a quick visit to the village of Ait Benhaddou, used as a location for various movies, but now a B-grade tourist trap, where most of the inhabitants look (and act) like the mother from The Life of Brian. Still, nice from a distance.

After an extremely torturous journey - four hours for 120km - over the mountains, we arrived at Marrakesh with a couple of hours to spare before Jason flew in. It was enough time to get installed at a fine riad in the old city. It just has a few rooms, run by a French couple. The streets outside are clogged with people, scooters, fruit stalls, stray cats and piles of rubbish so it is wonderful to duck in through the heavy wooden door to find a serene blue-tiled courtyard with a fountain and four orange trees.

Sahara

2007-02-18T11:10:00.000Z

East of the Atlas mountains, the sheep and goats have less green stuff. There is hardly a tree to be seen, and the hills show sedimentary folds. They are full of fossils, judging by the number of roadside stalls selling them. Near the town of Erfoud we turned off the tarred road onto sandy piste, and headed for a mobile phone mast. Beyond we could see white hills, the first big dunes of the Sahara. As we got closer they became red and filled the horizon - this was Erg Chebbi. It was a fine introduction to the desert, if diminished a little by the presence of half a dozen French camper vans. We stayed at Auberge du Sud, being rebuilt after destruction by floods last year.

By sunset, a couple of obliging camels had delivered us to the highest dune, where we stayed until the evening star appeared.

Comments

2007-02-18T10:56:00.000Z

Thank you to everyone who has left a comment here, we appreciate the good wishes!

Driving into the Atlas

2007-02-17T18:40:00.000Z

On Wednesday we set off due South from Fes, into the middle Atlas Mountains. We passed some time discussing what we had eaten differently (as I was ill and Stefanie not) and there were pleasant scenes of Cyprus forests as we turned off onto smaller roads.

We also passed a good hour discussing Steffi's gear selection strategy. It is not that she minds having a gear change suggested, but she is very particular about how the information is communicated. Not for her the universally accepted "change up" or "change down". She prefers Up to mean move the gear forward and Down means back. This method has the advantage of giving her several possible gears to select, including reverse, and she uses some form of female logic to determine which actual gear to select, but as far as I can determine, it is random.

Speaking of driving adventures, Steffi got ticked off by a policeman for not coming to a complete halt at a stop sign, which I admit I did not see either. And in the very next town she got pulled over for apparently doing 72kph in a 60 zone. This was very unfair, as we had just been passed out by every other vehicle on the road, including a bus, and had been driving very slowly all day. Anyway after some discussion the proposed €40 fine was negotiated to €10, and the police directed us to a castellated hotel, where we were the only guests. Behind are orchards, then snow capped mountains and Berber country.

Shopping in Fes

2007-02-15T09:52:00.000Z

The only bad thing about Fes was the attentions of "guides", which became quite tiresome. The first thing to do after parking is to identify the genuine guardian and not the imposters: These will greet you in French, Italian, Spanish etc. You would think that if you are planning a career in annoying tourists one of the basics would be the ability to identify the nationality of a licence plate.

We spent a long time in a perfume shop; Stefanie sampling various oil; I chatting with a young man who wore the clothes and beard of an observant Muslim. He was critical of the political situation in Morocco and the rich/poor divide, but blamed it on the West, and the US in particular. Like many he believes that the US wants to wage war on Islam, for oil. The terrorist attacks in the US and Madrid and London are the work of those governments, as an excuse to invade Muslim countries. I tried to argue that western countries have a free press and independent courts that keep governments from behaving like that, but he just asked how do I really know.

Mint tea was consumed of course. Whenever we say "sans sucre" there are slightly incredulous looks; and the tea will arrive with four sugar lumps on the side in case we change our mind.

Fes, Morocco

2007-02-13T10:43:00.000Z

Very leisurely drive to Fes, with plenty of excuses to stop - oranges, pomegranates and olives, all direct from the orchard.

It was Steffi's turn to drive and she soon adjusted to driving a right hand drive car - at least it is 'her' side of the road. The high suspension and roof weight takes getting used to.

Amongst the olive trees, the ground is carpeted with fragrant red/ orange/ white flowers, and teeming with butterflies and birds.

We are staying in the middle of the old part of Fes, no driving today.

Chefchaoen, Morocco

2007-02-12T11:18:00.000Z

We overnighted at the Queen's Hotel in Gibralter and I'd say it saw its prime at the time of her coronation; we were happy to leave. The crossing to Ceuta, a Spanish enclave in Africa, was smooth, the town Sunday quiet.

The same cannot be said of the border, which seemed to be under the management of the Marx brothers. One hour and many forms later we were on the road South and could start to enjoy the day. The Rif mountains rear over green fields with sleeping shepherds, almond trees in blossom, cattle ploughing in pairs. It is quite a change from France and Spain, where the countryside is deserted, with even the animals indoors.

We were flagged down by a family who were out for their Sunday picnic and managed to get their little Renault van wedged in a ravine. I was looking forward to using the winch for the first time, but it was not possible as the nose of the car was a bit buried. In the end it was easy enough to just bounce the car into a better position and drive it out.

We turned off the road to this little mountain town, which is like a white and blue painted anthill. We parked right outside the medina, the warren of stepped streets in the centre, and found a pension with a bright room on the roof terrace; €10. The owner claims to recognise Con, who's passport copy is on the same page as mine. It's possible.

The place is completely relaxing, only 10% touristy, the rest full of little workshops and hole-in-the-wall shops. Lovely cafés, no beer, but mint tea and fresh orange juice. This is the view from our room, and the main square.

Unplanned Pause in Guadalajara Garage

2007-02-10T13:11:00.000Z

The first indication that something was wrong was the dropping fuel guage. I seemed to be using a lot of fuel, even allowing for a strong wind and less than ideal aerodynamics. Then I noticed a suspicous cloud in the rear view mirror.

I pulled in at a petrol station, and found diesel literally pouring from under the car. A fuel line had sheared, and I must have left one third of a tank on the rather nice road that runs south from Soria towards Madrid. It turned out to be the line that returns excess fuel to the tank from the injectors, which is why I had been able to keep running, obliviously.

The station owner was very helpful. No running repairs were possible, and an hour later there was the sad sight of the car up on a transporter for the short run into the Land Rover dealer at Guadalajara. Like yesteray, I arrived just in time for the two hour lunch break, so there was plenty of time to explore town. Slightly down-at-heel, graffitti, chill air, smokey cafes, it felt like Ecuador.

By 5pm a new fuel line had been found and installed and I was on the way. There was no particular reason for it to break, just nine years of vibration at a bend in the metal. I´m happy it happened now and not somewhere remote.

So I was a bit later than planned on the A4 south of Madrid, driving in darkness, which was horrible. For a motorway it has some terrible bends and surfaces, and the combination with speeding cars is not good. I saw several accidents, and one spectacular one must have happened sixty seconds before I arrived- a fuel tanker had jack-knifed in the opposite lanes, come through the barrier, and the cab was lying across the fast lane on my side.

This morning I took back roads through fabulous olive plantations, and have reached Granada, on track to meet Steffi at Malaga airport in a few hours. Tomorrow, Morocco.

Car Stuff

2007-02-08T23:00:00.000Z

Five countries on one tank. The fill in Naas got me to Spain, just. The low fuel light had been on for about 80 miles when I crossed the bridge to Irun yesterday. There was no sign of a border, but the diesel was suddenly 20c/litre cheaper than France. Managed to get 156 litres into the 150 litre tank, so I think it was pretty empty (surely the pump could not be wrong?). That´s 8.2km/litre, or something less than 20mpg, over the first 1000km.

The coast road to Bilbao twists through the pyrennean foothills, and it worked the suspension hard, resulting in some new and interesting sounds. So today I looked out for a Land Rover garage to have a look at the underside. I found one in Vitoria, and after a couple of hours waiting (a long lunch), they put the car up on the lift. When the mechanic called two others in for a look I suspected the worst, but it turned out they were just admiring the heavy duty engineering, and annouced that it was built like "an armoured car", and the sounds were just the effects of a lot of weight on the back - the sooner I get a good fat passenger up front for balance the better!

Tonight in Soria with Ana and Oscar (and Naas the dog) who send a big ¡hola! to anyone reading who knows them.

Some snaps

2007-02-07T18:37:00.000Z

Dawn Arrival in St Malo

On the beach near Guernica

The fleet at Bermeo, near Bilbao

2007-02-06T20:38:00.000Z

Driving in France - at this time of year anyway - is a real pleasure. Today I covered about 600 miles from Brittany to the Basque country, and am less stressed than by a typical trip from Naas to Dublin. It would be nice to linger in some of the towns I could see beyond the vineyards, but I'm even more keen to get to Africa.

Tonight Biarritz feels very off season, but the Youth Hostel (I'm minding the budget!) is livened up by a school group singing I Will Survive at full volume. Tomorrow looking forward to the coast road to San Sebastian and Bilbao.

If this is Tuesday it must be France

2007-02-06T17:59:00.000Z

Irish Ferries have redeemed themselves. Although the original ticket to France was 100 euro, because of the cancellation they 1. put me on the ferry to Pembroke in Wales (€127); 2. Gave me €100 for fuel; 3. have agreed to refund for my ferry from Portsmouth to St Malo (£175).

So I had a peaceful night in a cabin on the very impressive MV Pont Avon from Brittany Ferries. It was so calm it felt like we were docked all night.

P.S. My passport arrived from the Algerian embassy a few hours after I left home. So it has been couriered to Stefanie to bring to Malaga. It will come in handy.

Ups and Downs

2007-02-04T18:00:00.000Z

Cracking win by Ireland over Wales, but sadly Irish Ferries are off their game. The ferry is quite unwell and will not go before Wednesday at the earliest. They offer a "landbridge" alternative which involves a horrible drive from Plymouth to Dover, but it seems the only alternative to stand a chance to get to Malaga by next weekend.

So instead of a leisurely lunchtime departure, it'll be at a dark and icey 5am tomorrow.

"Technical Difficulties"

2007-02-03T19:10:00.000Z

No passports arrived in the post yesterday, and so I tried visiting the mail centre this morning and the staff had a look, but nothing there either. So it looked like I'd be leaving without the passport and hoping it would catch up.

But, just now Irish Ferries have sent a text message - "due to technical difficulties, tomorrow's 1700 sailing is postponed to Monday...", so there will be a good chance of having the passport after all. And it also means getting to watch the Ireland-Wales rugby match in peace tomorrow.

Luckily I have some flexibility in the schedule, with the first deadline a rendezvous with Stefanie in Malaga next Saturday. But I hope that the MV Normandy is not suffering anything serious after its winter break. Perhaps it's a flat battery or someone has mislaid the keys.

Itinerary

2007-02-03T13:55:00.000Z

This has been updated after the trip.

Day	Date	Where		Co-Driver
1	6/2/07	Irl/UK	Ferry to France
2	7/2/07	France	Biarritz
3	8/2/07	Spain	Bilbao
4	9/2/07	Spain	Soria
5	10/2/07	Spain	Gibralter	Steffi
6	11/2/07	Morocco	Chefchouen	Steffi
7	12/2/07	Morocco	Fes	Steffi
8	13/2/07	Morocco	Fes	Steffi
9	14/2/07	Morocco	Midelt	Steffi
10	15/2/07	Morocco	Erg Chebi	Steffi
11	16/2/07	Morocco	Skoura	Steffi
12	17/2/07	Morocco	Marrakesh	Steffi
13	18/2/07	Morocco	Marrakesh	Steffi/Jason
14	19/2/07	Morocco	Agadir	Steffi/Jason
15	20/2/07	Morocco	Tan Tan Beach	Jason
16	21/2/07	Western Sahara	Camp	Jason
17	22/2/07	Mauritania	Camp	Jason
18	23/2/07	Mauritania	Camp	Jason
19	24/2/07	Mauritania	Camp	Jason
20	25/2/07	Mauritania	Camp/Nouakchott	Jason
21	26/2/07	Mauritania	Camp	Jason
22	27/2/07	Mali	Camp	Jason
23	28/2/07	Mali	Camp	Jason
24	1/3/07	Mali	Camp	Jason
25	2/3/07	Mali	Bamako	Jason
26	3/3/07	Mali	Bamako	Jason
27	4/3/07	Mali	Bamako	Steffi
28	5/3/07	Mali	Sévaré	Steffi
29	6/3/07	Mali	Niafunké	Steffi
30	7/3/07	Mali	Niafunké	Steffi
31	8/3/07	Mali	Sévaré	Steffi
32	9/3/07	Mali	Sanga	Steffi
33	10/3/07	Mali	Sanga	Steffi
34	11/3/07	Mali	Sanga	Steffi
35	12/3/07	Mali	Douentza	Steffi
36	13/3/07	Mali	Camp	Steffi
37	14/3/07	Mali	Sévaré	Steffi
38	15/3/07	Mali	Sévaré	Steffi
39	16/3/07	Mali	Segou	Steffi
40	17/3/07	Mali	Bamako	Steffi
41	18/3/07	Mali	San
42	19/3/07	Mali	Djenne	Con
43	20/3/07	Mali	Camp	Con
44	21/3/07	Mali	Camp	Con
45	22/3/07	Mali	Timbuktu	Con
46	23/3/07	Mali	Timbuktu	Con
47	24/3/07	Mali	Timbuktu	Con
48	25/3/07	Mali	Camp	Con
49	26/3/07	Mali	Camp	Con
50	27/3/07	Mali	Camp	Con
51	28/3/07	Niger	Niamey	Con
52	29/3/07	Niger	Camp	Con
53	30/3/07	Niger	Tahoua	Con
54	31/3/07	Niger	Agadez	Con
55	1/4/07	Niger	Agadez	Con
56	2/4/07	Niger	Agadez	Con
57	3/4/07	Niger	Agadez	Con
58	4/4/07	Niger	Agadez	Con
59	5/4/07	Niger	Camp/Arlit	Con
60	6/4/07	Algeria	Camp/An-Guezzam	Con
61	7/4/07	Algeria	Tamanrasset	Con
62	8/4/07	Algeria	Tamanrasset	Con
63	9/4/07	Algeria	Camp	Con
64	10/4/07	Algeria	Camp	Con
65	11/4/07	Algeria	Djanet	Con
66	12/4/07	Algeria	Djanet	Con
67	13/4/07	Algeria	Djanet	Con
68	14/4/07	Algeria	Camp	Con
69	15/4/07	Algeria	Camp	Con
70	16/4/07	Algeria	Camp	Con
71	17/4/07	Algeria	Camp	Con
72	18/4/07	Algeria	Camp	Con
73	19/4/07	Algeria	In Salah	Con
74	20/4/07	Algeria	Ghardaia	Con
75	21/4/07	Algeria	Ghardaia	Con
76	22/4/07	Tunisia	Tozeur	Con
77	23/4/07	Tunisia	Kairouan	Con
78	24/4/07	Tunisia	Hammamet	Con
79	25/4/07	Tunisia	Hammamet	Con
80	26/4/07	Tunisia	Hammamet	Con
81	27/4/07	Tunisia	Ferry to Sicily	Con
82	28/4/07	Italy	Cinisi, Sicily	Steffi
83	29/4/07	Italy	Giardine Naxos	Steffi
84	30/4/07	Italy	Taormina	Steffi
85	1/5/07	Italy	Palermo	Steffi
86	2/5/07	Italy	Cosenza
87	3/5/07	Italy	Agerola
88	4/5/07	Italy	Amelia
89	5/5/07	Italy	Scofiano
90	6/5/07	Switzerland	Lugano
91	7/5/07	Germany	Black Forest
92	8/5/07	Germany	Rhede
93	9/5/07	Germany	Rhede
94	10/5/07	Germany	Rhede
95	11/5/07	Germany	Rhede
96	12/5/07	Germany	Rhede
97	13/5/07	Neth/Belg/France	Ferry to Ireland
98	14/5/07	Ireland	Home

All packed

2007-02-02T18:41:00.000Z

3 days to go

2007-02-01T23:36:00.000Z

Everything is ready - almost. The car registration papers and insurance papers arrived, and the tyre I destroyed on the mountain test run is replaced.

The only thing missing is my passport, which the Algerian embassy in London has had for over three weeks. After a lot of calls, they said they could not find the agency invitation fax, and to resend it. They sent the passports on Wednesday, there is some chance they will arrive Friday...

First Fully Loaded Test Run

2007-01-21T10:34:00.000Z

And first puncture.

With an audience.

Vehicle

2007-01-16T12:52:00.000Z

Land Rover Discovery 300tdi (1998)

The previous owner had taken the vehicle for a Saharan trip, so it already had the following modifications.

Hannibal roof rack, roof tent and side awning
Steering & differential guards
Front winch bumper with 2 swivel recovery eyes and X9000 Superwinch
Extra fuel tank - 120l and 30l
Scorpion Racing 2" suspension lift
Snorkel air intake, K&N filter
Alisport intercooler
Split charge dual battery system with internal power points
Jackable rock sliders
Dark tint rear windows, and light tint reinforced front windows
Safe
Immobiliser
CB radio
Internal 70l water tank
Coolmatic Fridge
Water pump and filter system
On board air compressor
BFG AT tyres with Staun beadlockers
Four 20l jerry cans with roof holders
Fog lights
Two GRP sand boards
Built-in storage

Additional work since purchase:

New tyres
Change alternator
New drive belt
Reconditioned radiator
Full service of fluids, filters, grease etc
New hi-lift jack
New ladder for roof tent
New radio with USB connection