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(24) 30 March. Home and Goodbyes

Without doubt the last few weeks have been a fantastic experience and we have met some wonderful people and made some good friends. We have also taken two-wheel drive cars to places that they should surely never go.

We left Morocco yesterday after a last morning with the other groups – and promises to keep in touch - before we all went our separate ways (although most were on the same flight as us, for the first part at least).  It was a short run to the local airport and the trip to Casablanca and where we had our first twitch as the guys doing passport checks seemed to be confused and suspicious of our in-and-out in a day routine from yesterday. Still, it was resolved and we were allowed to get our bags, move 200 yards through the terminal, and then wait seven hours for the next plane. Of course there was still the question (for Sue at least) of whether the process that acknowledged her having ‘exported’ the Audi actually worked. Happily all went swimmingly and we arrived in Gatwick as planned without further problems.  

Trips like ours are made by the people so we would like to say a big public ‘thank you’ to the other groups we hung out with, helped us on our way and generally made the last two weeks as memorable as they have been. To John and Terry and Mark in the Peugeot who were unquestionably the best organised of us as far as any car emergencies were concerned; they managed to produce something to help all of us out of a crisis at some point when the rest of us had run out of ideas. To Hugo and Tom, the Irish guys in their Mercedes which seemed to stand in as a portable Morrisons; we all loved the moment at the border when the guard asked all the British to come to the front of the queue and you willingly counted yourselves in our number. And to Robin, Ian and Nigel in the other Mercedes (the one with head gasket problem); great ‘doers’ and ‘fixers’ and between them generous to a fault. It has been great trip guys.  Thank you.  

And finally a ‘thank you’ to those of you out there who have been supporting us in raising money for Great Ormond Street and sharing our adventure. We both hope that in some small way this blog has allowed us to share the fun, the frustrations and the thrills of the last two weeks.

Now with Added Photos!

We have now added a few pictures to the appropriate blog entries including a video of us driving on the beach. Or as the marketing people would have it: ‘we have added new media product to enhance your blog-reading experience.’

(23) 29 March. Car Selling Part 2 - Moroccan Madness.

Just before we left Morocco we were approached by a 'likely' looking man who said he would buy all our cars and could we meet him just past the main crowd of dealers. He would pay Euros and offered a good price. Of course once across the border and in discussions with Robin, our nominated negotiator, he and his colleagues had all sorts of reasons why a fraction of that price is all that would be offered. Despite spending ages in discussion Robin felt that we were not going to get a worthwhile price and so we drove back towards the main throng and dived in...

Firstly, let’s be clear about it, there is no genuine market here and you soon realise it. What you have is a bunch of people largely working together within a frenzy of activity that suggests you have a chance of getting a better price if you try someone else. They are continually trying to put you off balance in your discussions: you are surrounded by people and surrounded by shouting; they agree to pay in Euros but have only Moroccan dirham; and they happily offer great prices in Mauritanian ouguiya but these we knew are unchangeable outside that country. They also suggest great prices to others in the group to try and start multiple negotiations and hence cause further confusion amongst us sellers as to where you are with things. 

There never seem to be people in front of you bargaining for the same car yet there is always someone ‘over here’ who they want you to talk to as they try to distract you and to drag you away from stalling negotiations. The only time you have two people in negotiation with you is when one is after one car and the other is – funnily enough – after the other three. And in both cases they are full of ‘reasons’ why the cars they do not want are not very good. It seems that the people with whom you are talking are never the people who want the car – there is always a need ‘to check with the boss’. In fact, there seems to be only one or two genuine buyers and the rest are ‘rent-a-crowd’. No matter what you do or with whom you negotiate it seems you can not get the price above a certain level despite the madness of shouting and money thrust towards you and the arguing between the dealers. But above all, these guys know that the border will shut in two or three hours and that you do not want to face a night trapped in no man’s land. Take a step back and you realise that they are, in fact, all in it together and they know they have you over a barrel.

We argued the merits of right hand drive cars, of diesel against petrol, and how maintainable the cars were (they would use any excuse to justify lower prices; one of them tried to argue that as one of the cars was a diesel turbo it would be more difficult to run than a petrol car despite us having got it to the border and diesel being widely available). We bartered in English and Spanish and French using mobile phones to pump in the prices being sought and offered. And we worked in groups and as individuals selling cars singly or as a job lot. Eventually we had to settle on a price and make the sale. We made £600 for the Audi, somewhat more than the paltry £300 originally offered but not quite the £1000 plus that we understood it might be worth. But it is all money in the charity pot and we at least now had a fighting chance of getting back across the border before it shut. So, with the main aim of the trip now complete and everybody feeling somewhat frazzled from the previous three hours, we sauntered back towards the border and the last couple of hurdles: getting back into and then, ultimately, out of Morocco.

As it turned out getting in was relatively straightforward. As we moved through the various check points questions were raised about us having not gone into Mauritania so we just played along and told them we had not been allowed in as we had no visa. It seemed silly really as it was clear what we had done – and what we had done was not illegal so why even bring it up? We can only assume they were testing us to see if they could intimidate us into handing over a ‘cadeaux’. They got none.  And neither did Mr Shady who was busy in his little office processing people leaving Morocco as we walked behind it on the way back in.  Despite knowing we were on the correct side of the law the few yards from the open back door to his office and the border marker seemed like an eternity and it was a relief to step onto the road beyond the border that we had arrived at nearly eight hours earlier.

Finally it was a cramped four hour taxi ride back to our hotel (five in a four seater – two on the front seat) followed by a night out together with the other groups to celebrate our adventure, new friends and a safe trip home. 

(22) 29 March. Car Selling Part 1 - Leaving Morocco

Today has most definitely been an experience. I expect there are few people who can say they have bartered hard with Arabic second hand car dealers in the middle of a desert minefield. We are now part of that lucky (?) few.

The day started as planned at 4.30am so that we could get to the border in time for opening and hopefully make an early crossing. There is little to say about this long and steady drive, the prelude to the excitement to follow. We arrived, joined an already well established queue and waited. There is little at this remote outpost other than a petrol station, a small and faded building masquerading as a hotel and beyond the gate a couple of small official buildings. Beyond these buildings the road stops and becomes a sand track through 7 miles of mined desert before you reach the Mauritanian border.

The gates opened (somewhat late) and slowly we inched ahead as they waved cars on, one by one, for processing. After over two hours it was our turn and after parking up we checked out the protracted process for leaving the country - who to go to for what and in which order. It was then into our first queue outside one of the buildings for passport checks. I thrust Sue’s and my passports through the narrow window and waited for them to be processed. And then the ‘problems’ and the banter to resolve: we had no Mauritanian visa - we did not need one as we were not entering that country; we were selling our cars? – yes, but this was perfectly legal; it would be difficult to process the passports without a visa – I was sure a man as competent as he would be able to resolve that issue. And with that a packet of cigarettes was palmed through the window and our passports were returned suitably stamped. 

It was then across the road to the office that would remove the record of Sue having imported a car (there was no way to leave the country and return home without this being done). Sue went inside, I sat outside in the dirt and the sun along with a couple of casual and cheerful border guards, extremely tattily dressed and with a rifle that was in such a state it was probably more useful as a club than a gun. We spoke falteringly about the weather - my French was up to little else - although I did manage to blag a glass of mint tea off them on the basis that ‘Je suis Anglais’ and ‘en Angleterre nous buvons beaucoup de thé’. So different to their shady colleague a matter of yards away. 

We went back to the other teams, who seemed to be stalled at the passport control hut along with a big pile of cigarette packets by the window hatch. I stuck my head through the window and asked my shady friend if we had a problem. It seems that more cars and more people doing the same as Sue and I was something we needed to talk about. With that he waved me round to the rear of the small building and through the back door into his office, locking me in with him and shutting the window blind as scenes from the film Midnight Express ran through my mind. We were there in the tatty office, walls lined with dirty, A4 dot-matrix printouts of head shots showing Interpol’s most wanted - looking more like Roswell aliens than human faces - and within 25 yards of signs in Arabic decrying bribes, and between us proceeded to perform a dance of words: 

‘Have I offended you, sir?’. ‘Why would you think that?’. ‘Because you have not invited me to sit down and I am in your office.’

‘I would like you to bring be back some Mauritanian coffee monsieur.’ ‘Why would you want Mauritanian coffee sir when you have a cup of fine Moroccan coffee on your desk?’ ‘I think monsieur you are not as stupid as you pretend.’

It was all smiles and friendliness and eye contact during fifteen minutes of verbal sparring as we both tried to score points off each other. And it was also strangely enjoyable while all the time we both pointedly avoided discussing the guard getting a token cut of our profits yet nevertheless moved forward to a point of agreement on the fact. 

After more words and smiles and comments from each of us on how decent the other was my partner in corruption let me out. We could all now finish the process of leaving Morocco: the others had their cars deregistered, then customs and finally another police check. Then we drove into the desert where the dealers awaited…

(21) 28 March. At Dakhla!

We awoke this morning with the moon sitting low and shining across the water. For the first time on this trip everything was a bit damp - from sea mist - but I suppose that is the price you pay for the pleasure of camping on sea cliffs.

Our plan for the next couple of days keeps changing slightly: we know the border does not open until 8.30 and we must cross it to sell car. But between the border and Dakhla there is little but 300 miles of desert. Our original plan had been to camp near the border and drive in early but we remembered the small detail of the land mines that litter this area from the conflict over Western Sahara and which have yet to be fully cleared: going 'off piste' is not a good plan here, especially as you get further south. So now it will be a drive into Dakhla and a very early run for the border. Today's drive then would be relatively short with more of the same rocky desert views on this isolated road. Of course, we would always have the joy of police checkpoints every now and again.

We made the journey in good time without any 'infractions' and hence no fines. In fact, apart from the inconvenience, these check points are generally fine and manned by the 'Greys' with whom you can share a laugh. We soon reached the turn off for Dakhla.

Dakhla itself lies at the end of a 24 mile long, narrow spit of land off the west Africa coast. It is quite isolated. Apart from one or two small resorts that specialise in kite surfing, making use of the beautiful white sandy bays and strong winds on the protected side of the spit, there is nothing until you reach the town. We tried to stay at one of these places (which would have saved us a bit of time in the morning driving out) but for various reasons ended up in the town itself. Nevertheless, we drove back there in the evening to make the most of high classbeach resort comfort, great views and to watch the sunset with cocktails! Here we met Freya, an expat who sometimes helps teams like us on this trip (although some of us had heard not quite so glowing reports on just how altruistic that help was). But she was not pushy and was a mine of information on local politics and the region in general, although with a somewhat strange angle on things it has to be said: apparently the police put all the check points in for our own protection so they can monitor our progress through the country and call out search teams if we fail to reach the next one...yeah…right…

Tomorrow we sell the car. None of us are quite sure what to expect but we hear it is madness. It seems to be a bit of an event too as, during our travels in the south,we have been approached by locals in towns asking us if we are heading to the border to sell our cars and pressing us to contact them. Whatever happens we expect the whole process will be weighted against us. Watch his space. 

I’m now off to my comfortable bed and hopefully a good sleep before our 4.30am start.

(20) 27 March. Southward Bound

As we were driving along the isolated coastal road in the dark last night, avoiding the Insha'Allah driving of those coming at us on the wrong side of the road around corners, we passed a neon lit hotel advertising 3-star luxury. It was too tempting, even if we had not reached Sidi Akhfennir. So this morning we are clean, rested and, as it turned out, on the edges of the town.

This morning, after strong coffee from the cafe one side of the hotel and freshly baked bread from the bakery on the other, we set off. Today promised to be a long day with the aim simply to reduce the miles between us and the border. We would be driving hundreds of miles along a long straight road that cut its way through the edge of the desert within a stone's throw of the Atlantic: mile after mile of featureless rocky, shrubby desert with occasional views of the Atlantic rolling onto huge wide beaches and no civilisation save the occasional nomadic tent. It could have been very tedious if it had not been for the police.

Since being in Western Sahara we have seen so many checkpoints; they seem to largely crop up every time you enter and then leave a town. I reckon we passed through eight today. Generally they were friendly and we had a laugh and a joke and they took off us only our pre-prepared paperwork giving the usual details about passport number, name etc: nothing to raise concerns. But there are so many different types of police and sometimes checkpoints are within yards of each other and the only difference between them being the uniforms of those manning them.

You can tell how you are going to be treated by the colour of the uniform: grey and white (friendly and liked a joke); green ( friendly but dull); black (came across as steely but appreciated friendly approaches); dark blue (officious and looking to find a problem); and the big daddy of them all, white coats (they got us yesterday). With the last two it was as if the guys have nothing better to do than to find fault and try and get you for any minor infraction in your driving. We seemed to be working our way south breaking every petty rule out. We stopped at the side of the road to check plans ('Monsieur, Il est un infraction'). We did a U turn on a perfectly clear road to head back into town ('Monsieur, Il est un infraction'). We supposedly passed another stop sign at a check point and the Irish guys also got pulled over for speeding (they seem to have the world's supply of hand held radar guns here). There is no reasoning with these guys, trying to persuade them that you are a visitor, it was not dangerous or it was only 5 kph over the limit and anyway, where were the signs? They just get their officious head on and look to fine you. The way to deal with them is to hope they don't speak English and pretend you do not know French, just as the Irish guys did: 'Excess vitesse, Monsieur'. 'You want my exit visa? But I have not left the country yet'. 'Non, non Monsieur, vitesse, vitesse'. 'No, sorry, officer I really don't understand how you can expect me to have an exit visa when I am not planning to leave yet'. You will have to keep it up for five or ten minutes but eventually they get bored and send you on. As a group we managed to get away with only one £10 fine today although we did get lots of harsh words.

We are now camped up off road on a small, sandy cliff top overlooking the Atlantic. We can hear the waves crashing down below and the cicadas chirping all around. The moon is just about to poke her head above the hill behind us and as ever the sky is clear and full of stars. There are only a couple of days to go though before we have to return home to the strictures of our regular lives and to the snow.

(19) 26 March. Beach-ed

We have had an interesting day.

We got up, suffered the dawn raid of mossies and as a result decided to set off as quickly as possible and have breakfast on the beach. So we retraced our steps to the coast where our first challenge was not getting down the steep sandy slope onto the beach - gloriously wide and with Atlantic breakers rolling in - but deciding whether we were going to risk not getting back up it later in the day. What the hell, you don't come on a trip like this without being ready to take a chance now and again so we unanimously agreed we would go for it (and unanimously we were thinking to ourselves 'I'm sure the others know what they are doing.'). Our sand driving expert, Robin, set off in his team's Mercedes and proved that as long as we revved our engines to the point where our cars sounded like space shuttles taking off then anything was possible. So off down the slope we all went, four cars in all as yesterday we had picked up another group, and played around on the harder sand near the sea. Ok, it was not as hard as we had thought and we had to dig a couple of cars out but generally we coped. 

We parked up on the sand, went for a swim, had a cooked breakfast and then agreed that we would head off down the beach-line for a few miles, keeping close to the wet sand near the receding tide, the sand being firmer there. Seven miles down the beach at speeds of up to 70 mph. It was great fun. Then we turned round for the return trip. 

Things that tell you that your morning is not quite going to plan: firstly, four out of four cars get stuck in the supposedly harder sand turning round; and secondly, whilst digging one of the cars out you notice the water is lapping round the tyres of one of the others... who said the tide was going out…?

We got one car going and it headed off into the distance safely down the beach to the point where we had started 7 miles along. Some of us were now having visions of the remaining cars being lost to the sea as we dug sand and rammed sand boards and planks under tyres and pushed but only succeeded in getting the cars a few feet on before they got stuck again. So we opted for safety and slowly got each car up the beach out of harm's way where we expected to have to wait for a while before the tide actually did go out.

At this point the gods decided to smile upon us: along the high water mark were tracks made by four wheel drive cars and although the surrounding sand was soft we found the tracks were quite impacted. So we unloaded the cars of as much weight as possible and one by one got them going and along these tracks in the hope they might make some distance greater than a few feet. It worked and all three cars got back to the start in one go leaving six of us to walk back along the beach carrying the unloaded contents. Yes, Sue pulled rank and drove back.

And our worry about getting back up the slope and off the beach? Well that was the easy bit with only one car needing a little help to do the last few feet and which was thankfully given a tow by a passing four wheel drive; it saved us from digging and pushing again.

As a result of today our cars are ingrained with sand, our clothes are ingrained with sand and our bodies are ingrained with sand. And we are tired from the day's exertions. But I am writing this as we now head down the Moroccan coast road making our push for the border to sell the cars. We now have two days to cover over 700 miles so the off road is over and it is now miles of tarmac, desert and dramatic Atlantic coastline. Tonight's stop is Sidi Akhfennir where we understand there is a place that does very good fresh fish.

Post Script. We probably will not be having that nice dinner now as we have been pulled over and fined £60 for not stopping at a 'Stop' sign (in Arabic it has to be said).

(18) 25 March. To the Beach!

Over the last few days we have enjoyed the sights and challenges of driving off road across mountain plains, over and through mountains, desert and wadi. Today we head further west to add driving along a beach to that list, or at least positioning ourselves to do so.

 Before leaving we climbed the hills around the camp site to take the obligatory sunrise photos and in doing so found some prehistoric rock carvings, groups of simple concentric circles but clearly man made; it seems this area is known for them. It was then time for the off. 

Today promised to be quite straightforward. After regaining the dirt road we headed towards Akka and tarmac. It was then a drive west towards the Atlantic coast. It has been a pretty uneventful day. At one stage we needed fuel for one of the cars, something which highlighted the foibles of the Moroccan world. Fuel stations are few and far between on our 180 mile route and the first one we came to was shut. However, someone there agreed to ring the owner and get him to open up so we waited. And waited. We passed the time high-fiving and laughing with the local kids who had gathered around the cars and then we heard the call to prayer at which point we thought we would never see the owner but we were assured he was on his way and indeed he was.

However, when he arrived he sadly reported he had no petrol so it was back on the road to the next garage with a plan to tow the Mercedes should it run out of fuel on the way. This next garage too was shut. We asked a passing soldier if there was another garage nearby and I know our French is not that good but I am pretty sure he asked us if we wanted some contraband fuel to which we guessed the correct answer was 'Non, merci.'. A lady in the shop next door rang the owner at home to get him out. Through miming she suggested he was sleeping off a large lunch. He eventually turned up and opened up, then promptly ran out of petrol after filling one car with 30 litres. Still, we now had enough to be going on with.

We arrived at the town of Guelmim near the coast where we stocked up on meat and vegetables from the local market then headed off again towards the coast proper. Our plan had been to camp on the beach but we have now ended up somewhat further inland on the empty coastal plain. It is overcast and certainly lacks the magic of last night; it is fairly featureless and we have swarms of mosquitoes to contend with. But of course there is the ten mile drive along the beach tomorrow to look forward to, once the tide has gone out...

 

(17) 24 March. Deserted Desert

After yesterday's trial separation Sue agreed to take me back today as long as I behaved myself and bought her chocolate every day...

What a great day it has been. Tata itself is amazing and everything you could imagine a Moroccan town to be. Being far enough south it avoids the tourist trappings and western influence of some of the more northern towns: it is all very traditional with men in jellaba and headscarf, women fully veiled, nobody rushing madly about. And as ever the people are so friendly. I went off this morning to get some fish (more later on why) with Josef, a local whose restaurant the guys had eaten in last night. As we walked along narrow lanes and doorways and through small markets it seemed that everybody knew Josef and he knew everyone. There is a charm and friendliness here that would have me stay longer but sadly we had to leave today.

Our route thus far has taken us to the south of the Anti Atlas Mountains but as a group we would all like to see them - they are meant to be spectacular - so we found a circular route that takes us from Tata north to Igherm and then back again to the nearby town of Akka from where we could head into the desert. The route is billed as 'mostly sealed' and there were various ideas on what this may mean but we reckoned it should be less bone jarring than yesterday.

Before we left there was one thing we had to do: prepare the fish for the ovens. Take a dozen fresh sardines and split into two piles. Sprinkle each with a little olive oil and juice of half a lemon then wrap in silver foil and wire to the engine block of a couple of handy old bangers. Cook at Gas Mark 8 or equivalent (110 miles at 40 mph). Yes, we thought we would try a different style of cooking and the results were delicious. There has to be a tv programme in there somewhere surely... (The downside to this method is that it does seem to leave a rather fishy smell trailing behind the vehicles but as one car pointed out that would remove any need for radios or mobiles to find out where you were: just follow the fish).

The route turned out to be tarmac most of the way and, yes, we know we are meant to be off road but if you saw the views today you too would think it were a reasonable sacrifice. We drove through valleys of rust-red rock with the strata showing clearly and wrapped and eroded into amazing patterns. Neither of us had seen anything quite like it; it was the sort of swirl you see pouring milk into molten chocolate. The mountain views were big enough to impress while still being small enough to allow you to take them all in. And the weather was perfect.

After heading north we looped back and then took a gravel road south towards Akka. As we followed this for a few miles it took us over a pass and then down below we saw two wide rocky ridges pushing out across desert: somewhere down there lay our camp site. We followed the track down and then struck off across the desert for half a mile to find an isolated campsite behind the ridge line. We parked up, dug a fire pit and in went the lamb we had bought two days ago. Two hours later we enjoyed baked lamb, salad and bread around the fire under the stars. Magic. The night passed with a few drinks, plenty of bon homie and each car singing a song for entertainment (Green Fields of France was ours in case you were wondering) then before long it was time to retire.

As I write this I am lying in the absolute stillness of the desert in my sleeping bag under the stars. The moon is lighting up the whole valley and if it were not for the fact I feel sleep beckoning I would go and spend a little more time enjoying the peace and solitude of this magical setting by moonlight before tomorrow's departure.

(16) 23 March. Desert Deserters

Today we carried on our descent from the mountains that we aborted last night. As we are getting on so well as groups we also mixed the cars up a bit; one of the Irish guys went with Sue and I travelled with the other in their car so we could work on some songs for the entertainment around that night's camp fire. 

We reckoned we still had some 9 miles to go to Knob but at least the s-bend descent had finished and we were more or less level. Sue actually achieved 50 mph over a wide, flat, moonscape-like plateau towards the end of the descent.

From Knob we headed on good road to Zagora where we would then head west into the desert 20 miles north of Algeria and along a track that we understood to be solid, if not tarmaced. At some point between Zagora and the next town some 80 miles distant (Foum Zguid) we would drive off into the sand and set our camp. But first we made a garage stop. Our car needed an exhaust repair after a hit in the previous hour or so; one of the Mercedes needed its sump plate re-welding and the other needed a couple of bolts replacing. After sorting this and making the obligatory diversion to local carpet stores (always at the insistence of the locals) it was a visit to the souk where we bought food including half a lamb and various spices for a desert BBQ. Unfortunately we were to be disappointed again in our aim for the day.


Here are the things that we failed to appreciate: there would be a horrendous wind blowing sand wildly across the road in the first part of the journey (so camping was out); after only a few miles the sand would end and become jagged rock (so camping was out); and in a number of places the rough hardcore road would disappear, having been swept away by water at some time in the past, and we would have to follow tortuous diversions to rejoin it. We had also not reckoned on getting two punctures on one of the Mercedes, which slowed us further. We decided that, assuming we did not find ourselves trapped out for the night, we would have to press on all the way to Foum Zquid. Our progress was slow and it was now getting late but ten miles from the town things took a more positive turn: instead of rough hard core, requiring slow and careful driving, the road became smooth tarmac which we could really belt along. So the plan changed again. In general we needed to get west as fast as we could in order to get to Dakhla to sell the car while at the same time balancing this with the need to make the best of the off road routes in this part of Morocco. We decided to press on along what what was now good road to the town of Tata, a good launch point for other routes, and hopefully somewhere we could get a shower to wash off the sand that the day's events had blasted into our bodies.

So we rounded off the day with a good fast night run to Tata some 90 miles away getting there at 9.30pm and finding a half decent hotel (except for a few water problems). Everyone headed for dinner in a local restaurant other than me, who stayed in having caught some lurgy. Then it was bed and the hope of reaching the desert tomorrow.

(15) 22 March. And then there were three...

Yesterday on the way back from Beni Tajite our rather oversized group of seven cars split into two. There is no plan for this trip and different groups have different aspirations: some want desert and some want mountains; we have different end destinations; and the four wheel and two wheel drives have very different capabilities and want to do very different routes. So we are now with two other cars who like us are aiming to get to Dakhla and sell their cars. Two Mercedes and an Audi will today be heading west and then south towards the desert. 

Last night we changed the spark plugs on the car in the hope that it might resolve our problem. It did not seem to do much then (which is what we might have expected) yet this morning our trusty steed was once again behaving herself. We do not understand but we are not complaining. Although we are beginning to get a dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree as different warning lights appear and fail to go out. We have also come up with a new game to play while driving instead of 'Eye Spy' (so limiting: sky, road, mountain). This game is 'What's that noise the car is making?' It has so much more scope...

We set off from El Rachidia after a trip to the souk for food supplies (we wanted to stock up for our planned night in the desert) and a trip to a cafe to hijack their wifi and update blogs and emails. Our route took us out of town onto a main road through the now familiar landscape of dry, flat valley bounded by deep red rock. We then headed south on a potholed road, up over a high pass, down into an obviously more fertile area of green, gently rolling landscape and then it was off road proper.

We took the turning off to head south to the delightful sounding village of Knob. It was a road that was like a farmer's track and compared with yesterday it was easy going and made us realise just how challenging yesterday had been for both cars and drivers. And unlike yesterday we also had an ever changing landscape as we threaded our way into the mountains through grassy valleys and craggy rock. You might think we were in a hot and sunny Snowdonia.

After two hours we reached the summit pass and looked south onto a stunning but vastly different landscape than that we had just driven through. To this southern side from horizon to horizon lay a stark, grey mountainous landscape and 7200 feet below and some ten miles off were two huge wide valleys, our route to the desert.

However, the route down was slow going. The road seemed more rutted, was very narrow and - unlike coming up - we scraped our sump guard continuously, although we are now of a view that this also had something to do with facing down the slope. You also got a great view over some rather precipitous edges. Between all these things it made for very slow progress, as did the very winding road, and it became clear that what looked like a ten mile journey on the map to the desert was going to be considerably further: we would not be there by sunset. The route would certainly not be safe to drive in the dark so we would need to camp before then. 

So we are once again spending a night under the stars by a wadi surrounded by mountains and in total isolation. A dinner cooked on an open fire and an impromptu sing song led by our Irish contingent has rounded off another day to remember. Maybe the desert tomorrow?