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.
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