Toumani Diabate

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. Speaking to him after a concert 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. 

Great Hostels of Italy

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

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

1. Anti-septic spray. Lived on the dashboard and used every day for hand-cleaning, cuts, grazes, bites.
2. 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.
3. Water Tank. Great having 70 litres on board, enough for several days of camping and even an occasional shower.
4. 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.
5. Fridge. After a day of heat and dust, nothing better than a cold beer.
6. Swarfega heavy duty wipes. Perfect for cleaning up after car repairs, and saved on water.
7. 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.
8. Postcards of Irish Farm Animals. North Africans know how to appreciate a fat cow or shaggy sheep.
9. Side Awning. Used just about every day, very quick to pull out for instant shade.
10. Percolator. No excuse not to have a decent coffee.

And ten things I carried but could have done without.

1. Winch. Never used it. Always quicker to use hands or shovel and mats if stuck in sand.
2. 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.
3. 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.
4. Siphon tube. For transferring fuel, used once only.
5. Tent. The free standing tent was never used. We had the roof tent, or slept out on the ground, sometimes with mosquito net.
6. 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.
7. 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.
8. Solar shower. This is black bag that absorbs sun heat. Used once only, afterwards much happier to have a cooling shower.
9. 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.
10. 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

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

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 Tunisia, covering the remaining 600km to the border at Taleb Larbi in another long day.

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.

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 Mediterranean. 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) 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

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

The next day, we rounded the northern end of the Tefedest Mountains and approached the base of Jebel Djanoun (above). 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 Favourite 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. Giant camel spiders (solpugids) scuttled around. But even that camp was better in the calm of morning, and I’d rather be in the desert than any of the towns. For reasons unknown, it seems that Djafar set fire to the nearby oasis grass.

 

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.