(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?

(14) 21 March. Off Road Towards......Algeria

Coming in through the window of my hotel room along with the warm night air is the sound of scooters and buses and the lilting tones of Arabic- the general hustle and bustle of Er Rachidia, the southern town in which we are spending the night. We arrived here early this evening hot and very,very dusty after a day driving around on a high plain of the Atlas Mountains. Oh, and the car is causing problems.

What can we say about the day's adventure, eight hours crossing the Plaine de Snab in the region of the High Atlas without a piece of tarmac in sight? There were the wadi crossings where the sound of screaming engines and the smell of burning clutch accompanied our efforts to climb out of dry grey river beds. There were the long, stony and bone jarring tracks over the wide and stony desert landscape with not a tree in sight and only the toughest and hardiest of shrubs growing. And there were the open skies and sense of total isolation save the occasional local who might laugh with us or point us on our way. And with all this a group of like minded people - who only days ago had never met - in knackered old cars getting to know each other and work with each other in order to get those cars through it all. It was a good day.

Our day had started as the sun rose above the mountains warming off the chill in the campsite. We set off after breakfast for the small town of Beni Tajite across the plain, our five two-wheel-drive cars and two four-wheel-drive cars that had joined us later last night and kindly agreed to travel with us and help if needed. Yes, yes, but what of our trusty Audi I hear you say? Well, apart from various scrapings on the ruts and bumps of our route and the occasional scraping of the front grill and exhaust going into and out of steep slopes she has stood up well. But towards the end of the day - and within our destination in sight across the fields - she started playing up. An intermediate loss of power was diagnosed by one of our fellow travellers, Ian - an ex Audi mechanic (just how lucky is that?) - as the engine only firing on three cylinders. Not fatal but much reduced performance, especially in the low gears we needed. We would need to investigate further.

Car problems notwithstanding, our day finished with a quick refuel stop at Beni Tajite. It is not that far from the Algerian border so it was deemed sensible to not hang around, especially as some of the locals seemed to be paying undue interest in our group. We then largely retraced our steps from yesterday evening to get to Er Rachidia where we found a hotel with the help of Zacharia, strangely enough one of the owners. We were glad to wash the dirt of the day off our bodies and head out for a quiet dinner before hitting our beds ready for tomorrow's drive west and a night in the desert.

(13) 20 March. The First Day

As I reflect on our first day off road I am sitting in the middle of nowhere on a rock in a dry wadi watching the sun set behind mountains in front of me as the stars are coming out in a clear and darkening sky above. It is idyllic.

So how went the day? We had decided that our plan would be to stay in the town until 11am by which time the team with the head gasket problem would know where they stood and we could then make a group plan accordingly. So the morning for most was taken with exploring Midelt. It's a small town in the middle of nowhere; standing on the higher ground near the hotel and looking across the roof tops brought home that isolation with the edge of the town being clearly visible and nothing beyond save the brown, flat plain and mountains on the horizon in the far distance.

We met as planned and found out from the Mercedes team that their problem was not terminal and could be sorted (in a fashion) by lunchtime. It was decided that one of the cars would stay behind and travel with them later in the day while the others (including another group that had joined us that morning after catching a different ferry to the rest of us) would head straight off on the route into the mountains and to the south. We chose a rendezvous for us all to meet at later and headed off.

The first part of the trip was uphill, into the mountains and along tarmac roads but in very isolated valleys. Before long though we headed off down a single track road and were in the Morocco of mud buildings, small holdings and working donkeys. A short drive and then we turned off onto a stony track that headed into the jaws of a small but wide valley. This was not actually one of the suggested routes but we thought we would give it a try as it paralleled the tarmac track in the next valley that took us to our destination and we felt confident. It soon became clear however why there were GPS coordinates on the suggested routes; when on a track it is hard to tell which one to take should you reach a junction as they are not signed and there is not really such a thing as a 'major' or 'minor' track. But we knew from our map that our destination required us to reach the head of this valley, the edges of which were obvious to either side, so we had a good - but not perfect - indication of where to head when required. We were also aided by one of the groups who had a trial's bike on the back of their car and went off ahead to route find if needed. We progressed in this way for a while, off road and crawling along, avoiding the ruts and occasionally scraping our undersides. With care though it was within the capability of our cars. Slowly we headed up the valley under a clear blue sky, crossed a dried riverbed, passed locals on donkeys and working the fields and generally felt that now we were truly off the beaten track. And then we came undone.

Our downfall was another crossing of a dry river bed although in this one a very narrow strip of water, about an inch or two deep, ran along one edge. Along the track and down into the river bed went the first car, over the water, onto the dried bed and up the other side. Safely across. Then the second car, down the track to the river bed and...stop. Right in the water. The more they tried to get out the more the wheels span and dug the front of the car deeper into the wet gravel until they were well and truly grounded. There then followed an hour and a half of digging, towing forwards (using the car that had successfully crossed), towing backwards (using our car still waiting to cross), pushing, laying of planks under tyres and generally anything else we could think of to try and move the car but all to no avail. The Peugeot team in our number turned out to be the saviour, producing an 'air jack' that when placed under the car and linked to the exhaust inflated and raised the car enough to get planks under the front tyres allowing them to drive forward to solid ground. But having got the second car across we got a report from the bike rider that the route further up looked impassable for two wheel drive cars and so decided that the most sensible option would be to head back and onto the 'correct' route.

So we retraced our route and headed off on the better track down the next valley along - wide, flat and reddy brown with formations similar to those you might see in Arizona. We met up with the other two cars 20 miles further on. They had found the 'wild camp' site in the wadi where we are all now parked up. Tomorrow we head off east - off road again - but for tonight it is dinner under the stars and more time getting to know our fellow travellers.

(12) 19 March. To Africa!

The day started with an early drive in the dark to the port only some ten minutes from the hotel. As we parked up a young couple headed our way questioning us on our ferry details, trying to 'be useful' by pointing us towards the queues (which we could easily see) and generally not taking 'no' for answer when they tried to take our paperwork to 'help' us. We had found some 'fixers' (or rather they had found us) and we had an early taste of what we might expect in Morocco. We shook them off and then bided our time until embarkation.

Loading the ferry was an interesting experience. There was little control over the four queues converging into one for loading and the occasional lorry disembarking from another boat would cut across the free-for-all that was developing. Many - if not most - of the local vehicles (mostly vans) that were Tangier bound were so full you could hardly see out of them and had their roofs loaded with household items often half as high as the vehicle itself. They were weighed down so much that they sat on their axles, often quite lopsidedly. On parking our cars on board we also noticed that not all vehicles seemed to be facing the same direction on the car deck (how?). So while the crossing itself proved uneventful (save queuing to sort out immigration while on route), there was yet more confusion on disembarking as people either reversed off the boat or tried to execute three point turns amidst the other disembarking vehicles. I normally pay good money in fairgrounds to be part of that sort of thing.

Getting through Tangier itself proved a positive breeze compared with the horror stories of being inundated with fixers, four hour plus waits for unhelpful customs staff and then even more waiting to try and sort insurance and to change money. It proved modern, friendly and fairly slick with the biggest problem being that our French was not that good. Within an hour all cars were through customs with admin done: we were in Africa and on our way.

We stuck to the motorway to make good time to Azrou to the south from where it would be a short push the following day to the beginning of our off road adventure at Midelt. However, by mid afternoon we had decided that Midelt was reachable that day and so we pressed on through the torrential showers and strong winds that had dogged us from about two hours after our arrival in sunny Tangier. The last sixty miles took us through some rugged landscape reminiscent of Scottish moors and then as we rounded a corner to descend into the plain that led to Midelt, twenty five miles distant we saw the Atlas Mountains rising as if from nowhere, sunlit against blue sky, very high and covered in snow. We would hopefully be picking our way across parts of these in the next two days.

We arrived at Midelt in the dark and found a great little hotel with all our rooms off one Moroccan style 'lounge'. I am now thinking that hot water may not have been in the price we negotiated (a crippling £8 per person…) but what the hell. A local we chatted to recommended a couple of restaurants and took us round to the one we chose. A dark, front room of a place, it seemed to open especially for us. We reckon it belonged to some relation and that, whichever of the two recommendations we chose, we would have ended up there. But we were served up with a true feast: plates of superb fresh vegetables, salads and meats and they even managed to find us some beers. And the price? Another £8.

We are now hoping that £8 is a standard price for everything here in Morocco and that the team who nursed their Mercedes here with the blown head gasket will manage to get that fixed tomorrow (a mechanic was lined up this evening) for only another £8.