Nouakchott, Mauritania

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. 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

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. 

Steffi's last evening in Morocco, on the beach at Agadir

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

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

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.

Jason has arrived to take over as co-driver

Sahara

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.

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Driving into the Atlas

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. 

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.