Simon - Salter's travels

Iche

Not far out of Figuig we left the road and struck north along a piste that runs past a reservoir. This was another route from Chris Scott’s book. We liked that we could avoid driving along the same road that we had arrived on. We also like that we could avoid driving on a road at all. The track was mostly very easy, just a few places where it had been washed out. About an hour in there was a military checkpoint. We had acquired a hitchhiker by then. This is still a very common practise in Morocco. Our hitchhiker chatted with the officer. No idea what got discussed but it seemed to work and after a couple of minutes, we were waved on.

The track went around the dam and then back past the reservoir. Nothing much grows around here. It is all just harsh desert, rock and sand. Seemed a little incongruous to see a patch a blue water. Oddly, to me, nothing much was growing even where there was water.

Shortly after passing a small nomad camp, we reached a sealed road. Progress was good. We turned right towards the desert village of Iche and then arrived there while we were still pondering where we could camp. Immediately we were greeted by a man who introduced himself as Mohamed the guide. He invited us to park right at the entrance to the village. Iche, population 200, is right on the border with Algeria. Tourists are not allows to walk around unaccompanied. We were confined to our truck for the night.

Next morning Mohamed reappeared and talked about guiding us round the village. He proudly showed me a section of a German guidebook that mentioned his name. Seems to me that most men in Morocco get named Mohamed but I smiled and nodded anyhow. The tour took about three hours. We wandered through a small valley with palms and a variety of crops. We looked at the old village, the new village, a little museum and the Algerian observation posts. We got special permission to walk a short way out of the village to see some petroglyphs that Mohamed assured me were 4,000 years old. I was left with an overwhelming impression of what a strange place Iche was to live in. Being in a corner by the border makes travel in most directions impossible. Walk a hundred metres in the wrong way from your front door and a solder will be waving a gun at you. As far as the villagers are concerned, the whole world exists in a sector 45° either side of a line going west from the village centre. Everywhere else is out of bounds.

Looks like a rock but actually a plant unique to the area

The traditional languages in Morocco are Arabic and Berber. French rule in Morocco began in 1907 and lasted until independence in 1956. During this time, the French made many maps and renamed many places by means of transliteration. Transliteration is to do with how a word sounds, unlike translation which is to do with the meaning of a word. Places were given a name that sounded, in French, like the Arabic name. Because the sounds of the languages are so different, some places have acquired several alternate spellings. In the case of the little village of Iche the trailing ‘e’ is sometimes scratched off to make Ich.

Figuig

At the eastern end of the desert highway is the oasis town Figuig. This used to be an important crossing point into Algeria and a traditional stop over for pilgrims to Mecca. Morocco and Algeria fell out in 1994, since when the border has been closed. Figuig has many palms and a significant industry with dates but, along with several other border towns, the local economy has taken a beating.

From Ouarzazate we headed east to Rissani. Easy driving. Open desert. Mountains. The miles flowed by without effort. In the evenings, we could just drive a little way off the road to find peace and quiet. During the day, it was warm and sunny. Later, we could toast the sunset as the air cooled down and the bright desert stars came out. Nights in the desert

At Rissani we turned north on what is known as the “desert highway” following the fertile Ziz valley past Erfoud. We were back on the tourist trail here. Hotels, cafes and restaurants abound. We saw many motorhomes, campsites and Renault 4 cars. An awful lot of Renault 4 cars. Driving singly, in pairs, in groups of six or more. Parked by cafes, by the roadside, under trees, small clusters on tracks. Often brightly coloured. Some carrying spare wheels and some sporting banks of roof mounted lights. They were all liveried with rally numbers. We had stumbled into the path of the 4L Trophy, billed as an annual humanitarian rally across the Moroccan desert in aid of providing children with school supplies. It has been running since 1997 and is only open to students driving Renault 4 cars. Now I am sure there are enthusiastic fans of the Renault 4. It may well be a great car but to me they are ugly, ungainly and to be honest, make me laugh. This year there were 3,000 competitors (students) in 1,500 cars (Renault 4). Since they were heading the other way, we had to pass every single one of them. Took several hours of almost continuous Renault 4 cars. Most of which were rally prepared in a very student fashion and all off which brought a little smile to my face.

40 km or so north of Erfoud we turned east away from the tourists and further out into the desert. We passed many palmeries. Plantations of palms. They were all new. I do not think I saw a mature tree but we did see acres and acres of small, freshly planted palms. This area is dry, open desert. Not much will grow here naturally and certainly not palms. Each plant needs irrigation. This means that each palmery has a well, a pump, a big open holding tank and miles of irrigation pipes. Each plantation is a big investment in time, effort and money. We passed scores of these. Someone has put millions into setting all this lot up and it has all been done in just the last couple of years. In all the plantations we passed there could not have been one that was starting to earn money yet. I found this quite remarkable. My natural inclination would have been for a more organic approach. Start with a few palmeries and see how it goes. What we were seeing was all in, flat out, total commitment. I hope the world is ready for a lot more dates.

In Figuig they have a history of growing date palms. We stopped at the Hotel Figuig for coffee and a view over the valley full of big, mature palms. The hotel, like the town, is pleasant but has a bit of a run down, end of the world feel to it. In the distance was Algeria. Did not really look any different. It is all desert but there is a line and no one is allowed to cross it. We finished our coffees and then, because the border is closed, all we could do was turn around and head back west.

Demnate

East from Marrakech to Demnate and then south along a tiny road across the High Atlas to Ouarezazate. The road is about 120 km and would be terrific on a suitable motorbike, you could blast along here in a few hours. However, a bit more care is needed with a vehicle the size of Baloo. We are not in a rush, we are never in a rush, and so at our leisurely pace the trip took us two days.

The start was very easy. A big wide, open, brand new road from Demnate climbing up into the hills. Lovely glimpses of snowy peaks and rocky mountains. Sun starting to drop in the west. Calm and peaceful. Then, abruptly, the road stopped. There was a short section of dirt track and we were deposited onto the old road. A couple of easy corners over the shoulder of a hill and then we arrived at the sort of hairpin bend that keeps me awake at night. Very short, very steep, downhill. Full lock will only get us half way round. Ease up to the edge and put the parking brake on. We are across the apex of the corner. The windscreen looks directly out over an unprotected drop. The front wheels are close to the edge of the road so where we are sitting is hanging over the slope. The turn is steep and the truck is straddling the steepest part. We are tipped forward, leaning into our seatbelts looking straight down to the valley floor hundreds of metres below. Select reverse. Squeeze the accelerator, feel the engine bite and release the parking brake. Slowly back up on full opposite lock. Forward again. Wheel hard over. Lean out of the window to watch the outside front wheel. It is less than half a metre from the edge but that is enough to get round. Check the inside rear wheels. They can clear the rock at the apex so we are good to go. Remember to breathe again.

Next hairpin was also a bit steep and nasty but then the road began to ease up. Still very exposed and the lack of any sort of safety barrier makes it feel dangerous. There is tarmac but it is often missing and crumbling away. Slow and steady is the key to this. Stay away from the edge of the road and make sure you know where the back wheels are going all the time. Fortunately, there is very little traffic. We met one car coming the other way and I just stuck Baloo into the safe side of the road. Luckily, the other driver was quite understanding and went round the outside. The shadows were getting long when we parked up just in time to watch a fabulous display of red mountains.

The next day turned out to be a delight. The road continued to be steep, narrow and scenic but there was always just enough room to get through. We met a few conventional motorhomes going the other way. One of them was a six wheeled vehicle a lot like the one we used to own. It struck me as being quite bold to take this through the mountains. They only have drive to the front wheels and traction is terrible. The rear overhang is enormous and with very little clearance. Easy to ground on undulating roads. Going up a steep hairpin it is possible to loose drive completely. Happened to me once and the vehicle just slid backwards down the road. Scary stuff. I hope they made it ok.

We passed through several small villages where the children ran out to wave at us. This is normal. It seems friendly but they are just after handouts and shout “donnez moi at us. Sweets or money is mostly what they want. Sometime the small boys get annoyed when we only wave back at them and throw stones at the truck. I am sure the children do not need to beg. They are clearly well fed, well clothed and well cared for. It seems to be more of a cultural thing. Generally, it appears acceptable to ask for things, especially to ask from Europeans. Pretty much whenever we stop someone will come up to us to say hello. Eventually they get round to asking. Occasionally money, more often cigarettes or alcohol. We always say no and so far, everything has remained cordial. They wave and say goodbye.

Eventually we descended out of the mountains and across a wide and open plain towards Ouarzazate.

Oukainmeden

After the best part of two months trekking through the desert, we headed back to Marrakech for some R &R (repair and restocking). It only took a couple of days before we were bored of sitting around at which point we started thinking that a ski trip would make a nice change. Oukainmeden, Morocco’s ski resort nestles in the High Atlas at 2,00m just a couple of hours drive south from Marrakech.

The road out took us past numerous camel camps. Tourists are herded out from the hotels of Marrakech by minibus, sold a ride on a camel and then taken to the souvenir shop. Further along the road starts to climb quite steeply and we passed numerous little clay ovens by the roadside. The locals cook really nice flat breads. We bought one, still warm and ate it for lunch.

First thing on arrival at Oukainmeden was buying a parking ticket. Before we could even get into the village, we were stopped at a barrier and sold a ticket. Then we could drive a couple of kilometres past the village to the end of the road where the ski lifts are. There is one chair lift and a handful of drag lifts. Sadly, there was not really very much snow so none of them were running. A man with a donkey assured me that there was very good skiing higher up. He also offered to take me and my skis up there on the donkey. I declined. There were a few patches of snow left over from several weeks ago. This would not only make for bad skiing but possibly wreck my skis on stones as well. Hiking boots on, we set off up the valley.

The valley is a national park and closed to traffic. We saw a couple of goat herders and two tourists, with their skis, being brought down on donkeys. I asked if they had found any snow. A little bit apparently. They were obviously far from enthused by it and looked as dejected as their donkeys. Higher up we crossed some patches of snow and the wind became biting cold. This all made a refreshing change from the desert, as did the mountain scenery. Cent enjoyed chasing some snowballs.

Next day we headed back down and managed to find a different road. This started off being quite interesting. Then it got thinner and steeper and quite exciting. Then it led us through a village where we started to feel a bit big. First, we had to manually hold up an electricity cable to get under it. We have a special extendable pole for this. Next, we had to squeeze between two buildings leaving the best part of a centimetre on each side. The walls were mud and straw so I was worried that if we did lean on one that the whole thing might collapse. Round the next corner, we emerged onto the main road. I was quite happy about this.

Assa

The track to Assa via Labouirat is clear and easy to follow. Half of it is sealed. It is another old Paris-Dakar route and the next morning we met several 4×4 cars heading the other way. We politely stepped off the track and waved them past. They were part of the Budapest-Bamako, which advertises itself as the world’s largest amateur multi day off-road rally.

Some 45 km north of Chott Mezwat is a crossroads. We turned left. This took us onto a different, longer and more technical route via Msied. It also meant we would not need to spend the rest of the day dodging oncoming rally cars. The first section was straightforward. Wide open, a few oueds to cross, a few camels, quiet and peaceful.

A day later, just before Msied, literally within sight of tarmac, we turned east along an oued. This riverbed led us to a pass through the jebel (ridge of hills) and then up a winding valley. We had to cross the first of several berms. These are defensive sand walls with trenches and gun emplacements. A relic of the offensive with the Polisario in the 1980s.

Several hours of slow going got us several kilometres along a rocky track. We had to pick our way quite carefully. The crux turned out to be negotiating two boulders that had fallen onto the route. Some very careful manoeuvring and a bit of squeezing was needed. All the time being very cautious about the vulnerable tyre sidewalls. The route finally began to open up as evening fell so we could stop, relax and enjoy the view. Across the valley, some nomads were herding a few camels and goats. We waved at them and settled down to cook dinner.

In the morning, one of the nomads, a man, turned up with a dead snake on a stick. I was not quite sure what to make of this and wondered if he was trying to sell it to me or something. Lacking much by way of a common language made discussion difficult but I did manage to understand that his dog had killed the snake. It looked like a smaller version of the Egyptian Cobra I’d see a few days earlier in which case the dog had a lucky escape. We both looked at the snake for a while, like schoolboys with a dead mouse, and then he wandered off with it.

The route got easier but there were numerous oueds to cross. These were sometimes a bit time consuming. We were following the path of the Draa Valley along a meandering track along its northern edge. To our left was the Jebel Ouarkaziz, a 300km ridge of rock that made a natural barrier during the conflict with the Polisario. To our right was the wide shallow valley that occasionally confined water flowing west to the Atlantic. This area had been considered free of land mines for the last couple of decades until somebody discovered a few AVMs in 2017. We took precautions just to be on the safe side.

We had moved away from the scattered nomad camps and spent a very quiet night perched on a rocky outcrop. Here and there were small groups of camels. Many of them with their cute young calves. In the morning, a whole herd of camels came past driven by a nomad on a donkey and his friend on a moped. We pressed on and by mid-afternoon arrived at a pass going through the jebel to Assa. Here were the remains of a substantial military encampment complete with berm, derelict buildings, gun emplacements and a well. We bought a few supplies in Assa and refilled with diesel then headed back to the Oued Draa.

The Dakar rally typically follows the Draa down from Lake Iriqui. However, this route is quite close to the Algerian border so when we tried to follow it to the east we were soon being herded back to the main road by the military. As usual, they were very polite and took a long time to take all our details. Eventually we realised that we were not going to manage this route. Nomads can wander the area freely, there are no signs to indicate the area is closed, the soldiers only ever suggest a better way. Nevertheless, the overall result is impenetrable and we felt compelled to capitulate. We were happy though. 10 days and 1,000 km of desert with less than 15 km of tarmac felt like a good way to come back from Western Sahara.

Smara

In the future, we will carry two spare tyres. One spare is fine if, after a puncture, you get the tyre repaired or replaced almost immediately. For most drivers this is not a problem. Our problem, however, on a long trip, is that after a puncture we either we need to abandon the trip to get help or recklessly press on into the wilderness without a spare. For now we have a spare that will probably be fine so long as we did not use it.

We headed back into the desert. From Boujdour we already knew a route SE. We followed this as far as the Dakar mounds that we had used when travelling south but this time turned to the east to pick up the rally tracks. That was the plan. What actually happened was we headed out into some beautiful open desert where there was nothing and no one to be seen at all. No nomads, no tracks and in places no trees, bushes or any kind of vegetation. The emptiness was really quite remarkable and for the best part of a day we just drove on a compass bearing. We crossed the N5 to Galtat Zemmour, which surprised me by being sealed. Then we found the rally tracks again and set off confidently. Several military patrols passed us going the other way but just waved.

You might think that a hundred or so vehicles charging through the desert would leave a trail the size of a motorway. Occasionally this is true but elsewhere the ground is hard and unmarked or soft and drifted over. In some places, the military traffic makes for the most used tracks. This was the case a day later. Near the ‘corner’ of Mauritania, following a well-used track, we wandered a bit too close to the berm and were picked up by a military patrol. They were, as usual, very polite and almost apologetic. They escorted us back to the track north and gave us a bottle of water as a present. We set off north again following yet more Dakar mounds.

A day and a half later, we passed by Smara and attempted to reach Chott Mezwat using the rally route rather than the road. This worked well up to a point. We found the rally route, lost it and found it again. We also spotted a snake. I hopped out with the camera. The snake was about a metre long and sandy coloured. It was wriggling away as I walked up to it and then it stopped. Now, I know nothing about snakes really but I do have built in primal instincts so when the snake inflated its cobra hood I stopped as well. We contemplated each other for a moment. He fixed me with his beady eye. I grabbed a photo and then retreated a step. The snake, which I now think was an Egyptian Cobra, lowered his hood and slithered off on his anguine business. Also known to Cleopatra followers as an Asp, these kids should not be messed with.

We did not have the privileged access that the rally enjoys and the next day bumped into another patrol. They asked who we were, where were going and took a copy of our fiche d’identité. This was all quite normal. So was the ensuring half hour wait while they got in touch with someone who could decide what to do with us. This time they wished us “bon voyage” but the next patrol, about 20 minutes later, first took us to their base and then suggested we should go north to the road. We had almost reached the crossing point so as it worked out we only did a few kilometres on tarmac before turning off onto the chott.

Driving on the big, wide, flat, empty chott is always quite an experience. Chott is a North Africa term for a lakebed. Most of the time this is completely dry. Very, very occasionally after heavy rain and the spring thaw from the Atlas Mountains, there can be a few centimetres of water and this helps keep the surface totally flat and smooth. We saw some terrific mirages. For a while, it genuinely and rather disturbingly, looked like we were driving out along an estuary to the sea. There is no water for hundreds of kilometres and definitely no sea. It had not rained and spring is a while off. Even so, we found ourselves wondering if somehow the lake had found some water. As we drove the shimmering wet surface retreated elusively.

The climb off the chott to the plateau was steep and had given us pause for thought when we’d come down it six weeks earlier. It is fairly well travelled, rocky and fortunately reasonably wide and level. Narrow tracks on steep hillsides worry the hell out of me. This one was wide enough that the truck wheels did not have to hang out over the edge. This made me fairly comfortable. Baloo handled the slope like an old pro. Slow but steady and sure-footed. Powerful engine, all-wheel drive and good tyres make for a powerful combination. The lack of drama was almost a disappointment but any negative sensations were amply replaced by a feeling of satisfaction and a little bit of relief.

Boujdour

The plan, once we were back in Morocco, was to head NE across the desert to the north of Dakhlar following roughly the route of the Dakar rally to Smara. Then try to link this up with sections we had already done so that we could get to Assa or even as far as Mhamid. The problem was that we really needed to get the spare tyre fixed first. Usually, a hole in the sidewall is considered irreparable. I consulted with a couple of friends who know more about this sort of thing than me and they agreed. We needed a replacement and these are big tyres. In Europe, they cost nearly €1,000 fitted. In Morocco, it was probably going to cost a lot more. Unicat could get one sent out to us at the MAN service centre in Laayoune. However, import taxes, transport and other costs would easily quadruple the cost of the tyre and it would take a couple of weeks. Next option was to drive to Marrakech where we had heard of a specialised tyre shop. Would still cost two or three times as much as in Europe but we could be there in a few days.

We pondered our options over the weekend while we took a slow drive up the coast. On the way, we found some lovely places to stop. Cliffs and beaches. Great views and sunsets. We got some washing done and paddled in the sea. This is the Atlantic and very cold. Swimming is quite out of the question. At the soft, sandy beach south of Boujdour I found and evil looking spider under the truck. Always look before you crawl under the truck. I am not very good with spiders so after a couple of photos I went to find a different job to do. Just as the sun was setting, we were asked to help rescue a VW Camper that was stuck in the sand. A satisfying end to the day.

Next day, passing through Boujdour, we spotted a tyre repair shop and thought we could at least ask what they thought about the hole in the sidewall. Not a problem. They enthusiastically set about it. Took a few hours. We went off to do some shopping. Eventually they presented me with the fixed tyre and assured me it was safe to drive on. Now, I would not dream of running this on a motorway but as a spare, for emergencies only, just maybe it would see us to safety. The desert was still calling. Tyre problem solved. We left Boujdour along a track we already knew heading out into Western Sahara.

Back to Morocco

Just south of Guelb er Richât is a massive area of sandy dunes. Sand as far as the eye can see. We wanted to experience this so we drove right out, deep into the sand and parked up. It was a bit like being on a giant beach. The sand was soft and golden. The sun was warm. I pottered around in bare feet for a while feeling the sand between my toes. Then I thought about scorpions and put my shoes back on. We had a very pleasant afternoon and evening just hanging out there and relaxing a bit after several days of continuous driving.

We are in the desert, the Sahara, largest and baddest of them all. You would expect it to be hot and dry. Indeed, during the day, it gets up to 32°C and some nights does not drop below 20°C. At times the relative humidity is in single figures. However, this is the middle of winter. This is as cold as it gets. We find it a bit too warm and dry but bearable. In the summer, the heat soars over 40°C every day, there is no air conditioning, little shade and water is hard to come by. To my mind, life must be close to intolerable for the Nomads and others that live out here.

Next day we passed through Ouadane. Approaching from a different angle, we managed to avoid the built up area and went straight to the checkpoint. Here we handed over another printout of our details. The same details we had given to the same officer three days earlier. He was happy though and waved us through to start down the long corrugated road to Atar.

On the way out to Ouadane a hand painted sign featuring a giraffe and an elephant had piqued our interest. When we passed this sign on the way back to Atar we decided to investigate. At the end of a track, was found a nomad’s tent, a man and a sign proclaiming the Cave Paintings of Agrour. For 100 UM (each), he removed the piece of string between two rocks and showed us to the edge of the cliff. From here, we had a great view of the valley and the old track down to the ruins of Fort Saganne. He gave us a terrific explanation of what we looking at but unfortunately, his Mauritanian French was completely beyond me. For another 100 UM (each), we were shown past another piece of string and taken to some rocks with water worn hollows in them. Here, at last, were the paintings of the giraffe and the elephant. I took a picture of the giraffe. It is there but you need to look very carefully. I wanted to imagine that ancient man made these paintings at a time when giraffes and elephants roamed these parts. In all honestly, I have no idea where they came from or how they were made. The man was very friendly and when, in my terrible French, I asked about parking up for the night, there was no problem at all. Just a modest 300 UM (for both of us). There were no facilities but it made for a quiet night because there was no way he was going to let any unpaid visitors past his piece of string. A pleasant view and some peace is all we really need for a perfect sleeping spot.

Next day we arrived back in Atar for some fuel and then set off on the long desert trek back to Morocco. Part way through the afternoon there was a hissing noise. We had left the road and were cutting NW back towards the train line. 500km of open desert, dunes and rocks lay in front of us and we had a puncture. We drive on Michelin XZL tyres. They are tough, ideally suited for the terrain and in 18 months of driving, we had never had a problem. But, a couple of months earlier, we had gouged a lump out of the sidewall of one of the tyres. The sidewall can be a bit vulnerable, especially when using deflated tyres off road. This one looked to have survived the damage up until now when, of all times, it finally let go. Find some level ground. Park up. Handbrake on (called a parking brake on a truck). Jack up the wheel (25t bottle jack). Changing a wheel on a truck is like doing one on a car except that everything is bigger, heavier and takes longer. Unicat had taken me through the procedure (thanks Valentin). All I needed to do was remember the instructions and not feel too intimidated about being so far out in the desert. It all went well. I even lifted the wheel onto the studs first time. Finally, just as the sun set, I tightened up the wheel nuts with the truly massive torque wrench. It is over a metre long. We were both tired, grubby, hot and sweaty but happy. By the time we had packed everything away darkness was falling so we cracked open a celebratory bottle of wine (technically illegal in Mauritania) and settled down for the evening.

Just after lunchtime the following day, we reached the railway line. It felt like an old friend here to show us the way home. Three or four trains a day rumbling past held out the possibility of rescue. I have no idea if it is really feasible but I imagined that if we got into trouble then somehow we could wave down a train and be saved. Because of this, the noise and vibration of the trains became a source of comfort, a friendly sound. We knew the way and what to expect. We waved at a few nomads and glimpsed some Polisario on the far side of the track. They beckoned to us but were clearly carrying rifles so we waved back but pressed on. Now that we had changed a wheel we no longer had a spare so it was vital we did not get another puncture. Careful, steady driving. Avoid the rubbish by the side of the rails especially the discarded suspension springs, bolts and the shards of steel that flake off the tracks.

The route steadily unwound before us. The Dunes of Azeffal were magnificent like before. We sneaked past the villages like locals and politely handed over our details at the checkpoints. Two days later, we were back on tarmac approaching Nouadibou and the Moroccan border. The crossing would be best tackled in the morning so we started looking for a parking spot. Just then, we bumped into Dwight and Lucy coming the other way in their Unicat. We knew they were in the region and it was great that our paths actually crossed. We stopped and chatted for an hour or so. They have a beautiful 4WD truck that they are driving to South Africa before shipping it to South America. An epic trip is ahead. We wish them a safe and enjoyable journey.

Next morning our Mauritanian fixer was on a mission. He literally ran between the various buildings to get our exit sorted. Half an hour later we picked our way through the ever-disconcerting no-man’s land to the Moroccan compound where we were directed to the scanner. A big x-ray machine designed to scan a whole truck. We queued. We drove into the shed and we were asked for papers that we did not have. So, the whole queue of trucks had to back up while they got us out and we set off in search of the correct papers. A couple of hours and much asking around later we were ready and back in scanner queue that was much longer now. Then entire border was closed for an hour while they had lunch but eventually, after about four hours, we were through and back into safe, friendly Morocco.

Guelb er Richât

The Guelb er Richât or Richat Structure is also known as the Eye of Africa. It is a circular geological structure some 40 km in diameter. Realistically it is only properly visible from space. However, it is still an interesting and remote desert location to visit. Also, because it is so obvious on a map, it makes a good place to point at when you want to talk about where you have travelled. Nominally, this was the purpose of the trip. Of course, like any trip, it is really about the journey and not the destination. From Atar the map showed a track to the village of Ouadane. From there we would need to find our own way.

The road between Atar and Ouadane is heavily corrugated. Little ridges across the road form on some types of unsurfaced track because of a particular combination of the type of sand or gravel and the way tyres and suspension work. Driving on a washboard surface can be a killer. We tried two strategies. The first, young man’s approach is to let a bit of air out of the tyres and then drive fast. The softer tyres provide a bit of cushioning and if you get the speed just right the vehicle will kind of float over the ridges. However, this is a high-risk approach. On occasions, you will hit a bump too fast and possibly launch into the air sending everything and everyone in the vehicle flying. Ultimately, you run the risk of damaging the vehicle or even losing control of it. The safer, old man’s technique that we adopted is to slow right down. Then you can let much more air out of the tyres to make them very soft. Soft tyres heat up quickly so you need to keep the speed down. Life is slower and less exciting but much more predictable. Top speed is maybe 30 kph so patience is required. The trip took us two days in each direction. We camped a few hundreds of metres off the side of the track in the open desert. There is very little traffic on this track. A handful of cars, mostly Toyota pickup trucks, during the day and nothing at night.

We left the village of Ouadane heading north. This is not the quickest way to the Guelb er Richât but we were pleased to be out of Ouadane. This was another village of tight packed buildings and low slung electricity cables. By the time we extricated ourselves we had attracted a crowd of about 20 people, mostly children. Fortunately, one man had the sense to show us a way out rather than just asking for gifts. We gave him a few ouguiya (the local currency) for his trouble and set off across the ubiquitous ‘just outside a town’ rubbish dump. The route north was very rocky. Nasty sharp stones that made me fear for our tyres. So, we were slow. Very slow and very careful. Eventually we reached the edge of the mesa and could see beyond the hills that form the outer edge of the Richat structure. A strong wind was making visibility poor. The wind picks up the sand and dust obscuring the distance like a misty day. We could only see a few kilometres and there was no sense of the structure at all. However, even on a clear day, it is not possibly to see the circular formation. From the plateau edge we could descend via a series of dunes into a sand filled valley. Then we were picking our way across more rocks and then we were out onto a wide-open, flat, smooth plain.

Following a combination of vehicle tracks on the ground and odd tracks marked on the map, we eventually picked up the main route into the centre of the structure. For mapping, we have a couple of paper maps and some digital maps. The paper maps are good for understanding the overall context of the route but nowhere near detailed enough to show tracks. The digital maps are all derived from the OSM (Open Street Map) project. These have proven to be remarkably detailed and accurate for Morocco and Mauritania. We use one set on the Garmin Dezl sat nav. This sits on the dashboard and is used for most day-to-day navigation in Baloo. Another set is used with the OsmAndMaps App that runs on an iPad. When Baloo was first delivered, the sat nav would barely work at all. This is because the windscreen has small heating wires embedded in it. Very useful for removing ice when we travel in the Arctic but, in combination with the sheet metal roof rack, very effective at blocking GPS signals. Unicat installed an external GPS receiver with a relay inside the cab. This is very effective and always gives us a good fix (low dilution of precision) on the sat nav and the iPad. It also ensures they tell a consistent story and never show different locations.

The route crossed several areas that, if seen from high enough, make the circular shape. We crossed the plain, climbed over some shallow hills and then drove out onto a small chott. Then some more hills and finally a winding track to the very centre of the Guelb er Richât. There were a couple of unused simple buildings there. We could not really see anything of the greater structure even when I clambered up a small hill. None the less, for one night, we were the mote in the Eye of Africa. It was very satisfying and made a great purpose to our trip.

Atar

People live and work by the railway track. Not very many and it appears a bit of a fraught existence. There are a few rail workers maintaining the track. There are also some scattered nomads pitched up near the track. From time to time we saw some groups of huts and fenced off areas. Old steel sleepers are commonly used for construction. Rubbish abounds and many, if not most, of the buildings we saw looked to be deserted.

Not far off the railway track, to the North, is Ben Amera. This is a monolith. A single lump of rock that is 633m high. It is the world’s second largest monolith after Uluru in Australia. Conventional wisdom has it that travellers should stay to the south side of the railway track to avoid the danger of landmines. I have read accounts to the contrary and certainly, the nomads and camels appear to wander freely. Some land mines are only intended to damage larger vehicles like tanks. These will not be set off by the weight of a camel but Baloo, which weighs in at nearly twenty tonnes, might well do the trick. I am not a fan of land mines at the best of times so we chose, without much discussion, to stay south of line and content ourselves with a few photos of Ben Amera in the distance.

The next day we reached the road that runs north from Atar. This is in pretty good condition. Some of it looks quite new. For the first time in many days, we could re-inflate the tyres to their full road pressure. The route follows a broad, flat, open valley with an imposing wall along the eastern side. East was where we wanted to go but the wall is an impassable barrier so instead we needed to go south first to Atar. From Atar a track runs east over the pass to Ouadane.

The run down to Atar was relatively quick and easy. There were three police checkpoints along the way. We were waved through the first one and at the second only needed to hand over a fiche. This is from the French “Fiche d’identité “. It is a sheet of paper with our passport details, visa details and vehicle details. Checkpoints in Morocco and Mauritania often require these so we keep a small stock of them in the dashboard. The third checkpoint required a “petit cadeau”, literally a little present. In Morocco, there is a distinct begging culture. Children in particular appear to expect travellers to dish out pens, sweets and money. In Mauritania, this culture rises to a completely higher level. Everyone we encountered expected a handout. Adults politely asked for petite cadeau, women showed us their babies and the gangs of children just shouted “donnez moi” (give me) at us. We did our best to resist this but; in this case, the officer wanted some headache tablets and seemed quite prepared to prevent us passing for as long as necessary.

Atar is a dusty, desert town where the sand drifts down the streets and goats wander around freely. Most of the town was very poor. We saw one hotel with a clean, smart front door. The building was tightly enclosed by a wall topped with razor wire. Everywhere else was decidedly run down, poorly maintained and faded in the desert heat. Atar boasts several petrol stations. We stopped at the largest looking one in the centre and were promptly accosted by moneychangers. Everyone wanted euros. Eventually the owner of the garage appeared and we did a deal of diesel for euros. It had taken over a tank full of diesel to drive from Guerguarate so we needed to spend a few hundred euros. This got us quite a good deal.

The market in Atar was a bit of an ordeal. The pestering level was high and we had a small posse of children following us. Lumps of raw chicken were stacked next to peppers and potatoes. Everything was buzzing with flies. It was hot and smelly and we felt uncomfortable. We picked a few mixed vegetables, some fruit and what turned out to be the hottest chillies I have ever encountered. Everything got thrown into a single bowl and we paid for the combined weight. Shopping done we slipped out of Atar and started on the final leg to Guelb er Richât.

Following the trainline

We were heading for Atar, Mauritania. Initially south from Dakhlar. Mostly sticking to the coast road but with a short excursion out to Cap Barbas. Here, on the beach, we found a little clutch of motorhomes. As best I could tell the occupants were generally retired French couples doing a little fishing, running into town on their quad bikes and generally overwintering in a cheap, warm and pleasant place.

Next day we arrived at Guerguarat and the border crossing to Mauritania. Getting out of Morocco was tedious but relatively painless. Crossing no-man’s land was a bit disturbing. Several kilometres of rubbish, abandoned and stripped cars, parked trucks and a surprisingly large number of people apparently living there. The road begins with tarmac but then becomes a rocky and very uneven track.

Arriving in the Mauritanian border compound the first thing that happened was that we were mobbed by fixers all vying to assist us. We chose the one that spoke the best English. He dragged us around various dingy, grubby offices where we had to queue with our passports and hand over money. €110 for a 30-day visa, €150 for a vehicle permit and insurance, €50 in fixer’s fees and a couple of bribes. The tedium level became elevated to a completely new height but fortunately, we avoided having Baloo searched. That really could have taken a long time.

Four hours after leaving Morocco, we were in Mauritania and driving along the road from Nouadhibou to Nouakchott. We only followed this a short way before turning off east to follow a track from the village of Bou Lanouar. Getting past the village was not straightforward. First and second attempts ended in narrow, sand filled streets. Possibly, just about wide enough for Baloo if the street had been flat and level. However, there was a metre of two of soft sand drifted unevenly between houses so we could easily have ended up bouncing off the mud walls or worse. Next attempt was stopped by a street that was wide enough but spanned by many electricity cables, which hung down to just a couple of metres off the ground. We have a pole we could have used to try to lift each cable up but this would have been very time consuming and we would have run the risk of damaging a cable or getting the truck entangled in a web of live power lines. Penultimate attempt, to the south of the village, found us in the rubbish dump. Most villages seem to do this. All the rubbish gets thrown in an area just away from the houses. Here it blows around and not only looks unsightly but also attracts flies. So far as driving is concerned the big danger is all the broken glass. Beyond the dump was some impassably uneven ground, the cab was filling with seriously irritating flies and some children had invented the very dangerous game of swinging off the motorcycle rack while we were trying to manoeuvre.

Eventually we found a narrow route between the village and the train line. The sand here was deep and we bogged down in it. I am getting to be a dab hand at changing the tyre pressures now. First, go round and remove the tyre pressure sensors that are also the valve caps and open the two little compartments between the back wheels. Then set the correct pressure on the gauges in the left hand compartment and take out the two air lines for the front wheels. The air lines for the rear wheels are already connected in the compartments so next I attach the front air lines to connectors near the front wheels and then go round connecting up the air lines to the tyres. Then I sit and wait. We exchanged waves with the driver of a passing train. If we are inflating the tyres the engine needs to be running. Either way, I just wait until the hissing stops and the tyres are inflated to whatever I set on the gauges initially. Pack all the lines away, replace the valve caps and we are good to go. With the tyres down to two bar, soft sand is just not a problem. Select low range on the transfer box, lock up most of the differentials, engage the off-road gearbox and we are off. Slow but steady.

The train is accompanied by a lot of dust

From here, we were going to follow the train line for about 400km. There is no road, just vague piste running parallel to the track. In places just a few metres away, elsewhere, several kilometres distant. The line links the iron-mining centre of Zouerate, deep in the desert, with the port of Nouadhibou. Trains on the railway are up to 2.5 km long, some of the longest and heaviest in the world. Three or four trains run each day. A few kilometres from Bou Lanouar there were no people, no signs of people and no flies. Just desert and the train line. Good place to stop for the night.

In the morning, we began our desert trek in earnest. The first day was a steady plod. Following the railway line means there are no great navigation problems. The ground was mostly hard packed sand and rocks with the occasional drift of soft sand. Usually the track was quite visible. Next day, we arrived at the dunes of Azeffal. Here the shifting sands rapidly obliterate vehicle tracks so we needed to pick our own path. Tyres deflated and drive to all wheels make Baloo good in soft sand. We still had to choose a route carefully to avoid falling off the steep side of a dune. It all made for interesting driving and fortunately did not prove to be too difficult. By the evening we arrived by some small rocky hills which provided a properly desert backdrop to a great campsite.

Dakhlar

Like many places in Morocco, Dakhlar looks like a big building site. Everywhere you look there is a building project starting. I get a sense of an expectation that Dakhlar is destined to be a major tourist area. On the approach road new restaurants, hotels and campsites are being built. Along the sea front are new roads, beachfronts and more restaurants. This all sounds great but nothing is finished and quite a few sites look to have been abandoned. In general, there seem to be far more projects started than ever get finished.

We parked up with some other campervans several kilometres out of the town. There is a pleasant beach here and the cove is popular with surfers, wind surfers, kite surfers and non-surfers. It was nice to stop driving for a couple of days. We gave Baloo a good cleaning inside. The bike also got a clean and a bit of a service. We restocked the food lockers. Chilled out on the beach for a while, watched the surfers, lazed around and waited for the race to arrive.

The Paris-Dakar rally began in 1978. Every year trucks, cars and motorbikes raced from France to Senegal. In 2008 the event was cancelled because of terrorist concerns and then moved to South America. Now called just the Dakar rally, this year it is in Saudi. Meanwhile, in 2011, the Africa Eco Race started up to reinvent the rally while also laying claim to “eco-responsible behaviour”. To this end, they are involved in local projects, tree planting and other ways to bring a benefit from the race to the countries it passes through.

As luck would have it, the rally camp was just a stone throw from where we were parked. This really was luck. When we picked the location, we had no idea where the rally would be. We wandered over the day the vehicles arrived. The local security were happy to let us into the compound. Probably because we look so obviously European. We watched some of the vehicle coming in and manage to spot Gaz, who we know from Manchester. He is riding for the Desert Rose team and is doing well. Next day was a rest day. We snuck into the compound again and enjoyed a few hours chatting to some of the people there and looking at the vehicles. The day after, they were gone. Up at 4am for the next leg to Mauritania. This was also our cue to get back on the road again.

Aoussard

Next day we arrived at Bir Anzarane. This is mostly a road junction with a filling station. We could fill up with diesel and water. This was very handy. We carry a lot of diesel and water but it is always reassuring when we can fill up again. It also meant we could wash a few clothes. That evening we parked up by a very, very spikey tree. With care, I set up a washing line and a new record was set. A full sized, heavy towel dried in 20 minutes.

We followed the road to Aoussard without incident. At the police checkpoint, we asked about going further and were told we could drive all the way to Tichla. However, 40km further on, at a military checkpoint, the situation was very different. In fact, they were somewhat incredulous about our presence there at all. Once again we were turned around and escorted. This time back to Aoussard.

Next stop was Dakhlar to catch up with the modern successor to the Paris-Dakar race. We arrived at the junction with the main coast road, about 250km from Aoussard, and were accosted by a young police officer. He was indignant that we had been on the road to Aoussard at all. “It is not a road for tourists!” We thought it best not to explain that we just back from a 10 day trip.

Gleibat El Foula

From Smara it was a steady run along some smaller roads to Laayoune. Quite a large and modern city with an impressive stadium and some lovely palm lined roads. Leaving the city westward the road passes through a section of sand dunes on its way to the coast. After a couple of false starts we found a track down to the sea and parked up close to a military base. There are outposts all along the coast so they are hard to avoid. We were duly inspected. Twice. We were politely asked for cigarettes. Finally, we were left alone for a peaceful night just a few feet from the edge of a small drop into the water.

We followed the coast road to Boujdour by which time we were pretty sure that we didn’t like the coast road. It actually followed a route several kilometres inland. It was boring and carried a lot of traffic. Just as we were leaving Boujdour we spotted a road heading inland. This proved to be our salvation and not long after that, we were on our own in lovely, quiet desert.

The road had become a track but even so, we had parked several hundreds of metres away from it. In the morning, a Land Cruiser turned up with some sort of national park logo on the door. The man asked what we were doing there so we explained we were tourists. This, apparently, was fine. He wished us well and left.

The graded track became a rough track. We passed a well with some trough around it. Possibly for watering camels. We followed another well-used track southwards and then we came across some Dakar mounds. These are a relic of the old Paris-Dakar rally. They are simply mounds of earth, typically in pairs, made with a bulldozer to mark the piste used by the race. This gave us a good route to follow.

Two days later, we arrived at Gliebat El Foula. Mostly the route had been flat, open desert. Almost feature less. Then we approached a range of hills and came across some nomads herding camels. At the edge of the range of hills, we could see tracks converging from many directions and funnelling down through a shallow pass. We followed the main track down which then turned east and about 10km further brought us to a military checkpoint. There is a mapped route from here, south, to Aoussard but were told we could not go that way. Instead, we must go west, almost to the coast and then south-west from there. A military pickup escorted us for an hour or so to ensure we went the right way.

Assa to Smara

400km of desert tracks to Western Sahara. The route for this came from Chris Scott’s ‘Morocco Overland’ book – highly recommended.

Day 1 was only half a day really. From Assa we crossed the Oeud Draa to the south and then stuck out west. The road became a track at the little village of Labouriate. This is only a handful of buildings and appeared to be completely deserted. Not long later, all signs of human influence had vanished. When night fell, we could not see a single artificial light in any direction. Oddly, we still had an internet connection. Such is modern technology.

Day 2 was a long, satisfying plod deep into the desert. West. We just drove west. Just before lunch, the sand started getting deeper so we let some air out of the tyres. The sun was shining. The air was warm and the sky was clear. There was nobody around. I mean, we really did not see anyone all day. In the evening, we made a little campfire, cooked in the tagine, drank some wine and watched the stars. This really felt like desert travelling at its best.

Day 3 started with a gorgeous sunrise. Took a while to prise Diane out of bed but we eventually got going. An hour later, we reached the plateau edge. Great views towards the Chott Mezwat. A chott is a usually dry salt lake. However, before that came a steep and rocky drop. I put Baloo into creeping mode (lo range, all diffs locked, 1^st gear) and we gently tip-toed down. The truck was magnificent. No drama at all. Made us both very happy. Next came the chott, is a great wide-open, flat saltpan. Good fun and a nice release from the tension of the descent.

A short while later we were on tarmac. Tyres back to full pressure. Sensible driving head back on. We stopped short of Smara and pulled well off the road to enjoy a quiet New Year’s Eve celebration. An hour after dark we heard Cent barking. The baby camels had come first footing. We shared a few scraps of food and toasted the arrival of 2020 with them.

Assa

Our thoughts were turning to heading south. We want to see some of the more remote areas of southern Morocco. Time to leave the painted mountains and set off for Western Sahara. First stage was to Assa, a small town just north of the Draa River. We took a meandering route along some smaller roads. The desert is much more intense here. We came across very little by way of cultivation and only saw a few sparse herds of goats. Mostly there were camels. It is calving season for camels so many cute, woolly and lightly coloured baby camels in the herds. Assa proved to be pleasant if unremarkable and the only ATM we could find did not work.

Petroglyphs

The sign said “Rock carvings 11km” with an arrow pointing down a track. Seemed like a good idea. The track led to an oued (dried up riverbed). We turned left following the larger track, which became a smaller track and then disappeared altogether. An hour later, back at the junction, we set off the other way. The route looked more promising and just after a sign in Arabic (that we could not understand) we spotted a desultory youth hanging around in the middle of the valley watching us closely. We angled towards him and he drifted towards us. Such is tourism in Morocco. He was our guide to the petroglyphs. Earlier we had seen a nomad’s tent so we suspect he lived there with his family who would have kept a few goats and sheep. Certainly, he was not a full time tour guide. One visitor a week could not make a profession. He had no English and, in common with many youths, did not seem inclined to talk at all. He did however show me the engravings that, if I am honest, were rubbish. Possibly some historic context would have helped me understand what I was looking at. I asked the disaffected youth, in my terrible French, if he had made the petroglyphs himself but he claimed not.

The track continued down the valley for another 25km to a road. We thought we could give this a go but first needed to park up for the night. A little further along we found a lovely little side valley and a perfect place for a peaceful night. Next day we set off along the broad open valley and soon discovered that route finding was not altogether straightforward. From time to time, the river must flow here and it washes away parts of the track. After many years of this, the situation now is a mess of little bits of route marked with rocks. Most of these do not go anywhere useful and end at a steep, water cut gullies. The valley floor was mostly loose rocks and pebbles. Altogether, it made for very slow going with a lot of time staring into the distance trying to spot the way. Progress was steady but by evening, we were nowhere near the end so we spent xmas eve parked by the valley side.

Tazalaght Copper Mine

From Tata we headed north up a fantastic winding valley rich in palms and olive trees. The road was narrow in places. Particularly in some villages, we found ourselves squeezing past houses while palm fronds were bouncing off the roof. The final climb out of the valley was a rather sphincter tightening set off hairpins where we were doing shunts without the reassurance of safety barriers. It all worked out fine. Baloo is actually very good at climbing hills. I am getting better at managing the gears and braking systems so that we have the fine control needed for steady progress. I am also getting better at turning on just the right line to minimise a corner so that we can get round with the minimum of shunts and drama.

Back to Igherm and then a different road south which soon became a track and, a day later, brought us high in the hills to the Tazalaght Copper Mine. From the mine, running south, is a track built for the ore trucks. It takes a fantastic line with terrific views and the massive bonus for us is that it is truck sized. We could relax and enjoy the scenery on a fabulous mountain track that felt like it had been built for us. Eventually, after a brilliant afternoon of driving, we arrived at the southern edge of the mountains and some broad, open vistas of rolling desert beyond. We turned right and once more looped back up into the mountains.

Taliouine

We made a couple of loops around the Anti Atlas Mountains following a variety of roads and tracks. The first loop took us from Agadir south about to Igherm and then through Taliouine to Tata via a couple of tracks. In some ways, these mountains are much more accessible than the High Atlas. They are a bit lower and less extreme. This means there are many more roads and tracks criss-crossing them which is good news if you are driving a truck. The area is only sparsely populated and much of the desert hills are completely devoid of plant life. They have a special beauty. I think of them as painted mountains because of the way the coloured layers of rock are folded into immense brushed swirls.

Along the way, it was my birthday. We dug out some Tequila hidden away for the occasion and made Margaritas with fresh lime juice. Then we moved onto Raclette and a bottle of Bordeaux. One of my favourite dishes is Raclette – a special cheese from the Haut Savoie served melted over pickles and potatoes. To this end, one of my luxuries in Baloo is a Raclette grill, which we lovingly get out on special occasions. So with the cheese, the wine, being way out in the middle of a desert and the most fantastic display of stars I was very happy.

Essaouira

We spent a couple of days in Marrakech sorting stuff out and re-stocking then headed for the coast. First north of west to Safi, a commercial port. Then south along the coast towards Agadir. The first part of the route, along the northern fringe of the Atlas, followed some very interesting roads. Small, tight and twisty tracks along the foothills. After that, it all got flat and boring. In fact, the only excitement we found before Safi was a eucalyptus plantation.

The coast road from Safi gave us some nice sea views. The weather was not so great – windy and raining. We passed by Essaouira. Very popular with tourist groups but almost deserted now. There are some nice and accessible beaches south of Essaouira. At times, I imagine these would be pleasant places to hang out but we arrived in a howling gale. The heavy rain throughout the night was incessant and noisy. As were the waves that, driven by the strong winds, were pounding the shore. It was a night for earplugs.

A couple of days later we found a deserted and scenic spot above the cliffs north of Agedir. The weather had improved and although it was not actually hot, it was warm enough to sit out for a while. Next day we skipped past Agadir and headed for the Anti Atlas mountains.

Taroudant

Vikings have a thing about axes. They have no choice. It is genetically encoded through thousands of years of evolution. To a Viking an axe is how you settle disputes, gain land, gain wealth, get a wife, chop wood and shave in the morning. In a culture with a long history of pillaging, an axe is at the heart of it. So, when we met up with Lars and Inge again to visit the souk in Taroudant, first thing Lars needed to do was buy an axe. Plundering, or the modern equivalent, shopping, would be unthinkable without a good axe.

We spent a day and an evening in the souk. First job was to negotiate for a suitable axe. Health and safety considerations meant we wrapped the head up with a plastic bag. Just after a tagine lunch with couscous, Diane found a snake charmer and man with a pigeon on his head. Later we bought some essential things. First up was an extra shovel in case we managed to get Baloo stuck, again. Also some saffron. Much of the world’s saffron is grown not too far from here. Unfortunately, the cheap sample I found was not a good example. I did however get some excellent desert slippers with tough soles that would be proof against all the spikey things on the sandy floor. Lars and I both bough djellabas – traditional North African woollen garments. Very warm and ideal for the desert at night. Finally, to round off an enjoyable and successful shopping trip, Lars bought a second, smaller axe.

We headed to the hills. In the evening, we found a delightful spot by a reservoir with views of the snowy High Atlas Mountains. Next morning the goats arrived. We fed them with left overs and vegetable peelings. We crossed north along some smaller roads and encountered some of the first snow of the year. A score miles south of Marrakesh, we finally said goodbye to Lars and Inge for the last time. They needed to head back to Denmark and we want to go further south. We were quite sad to see them go and really hope we can travel with them again somewhere further down the road.

Cape Draa

Lars, Inge and the nimble Land Rover left to explore the beach tracks while we headed inland following a river. After meeting some nice camels, we followed another river and ended up back on the beach. This is a desert area or at least semi-desert so it does not rain much. However, today it was lashing down. We wandered out onto the beach. Nice golden sand. Looked firm. Several vehicle tracks. We sank into the soft, wet sand. Fortunately, this was not too much of a problem. We were above the high tide mark so not in any danger although the rain was a bit unpleasant. Once the tyres were deflated, Baloo just popped straight out. We headed for higher ground and parked up for the night.

Next day we forded a river and attempted to head back inland but once again ended up close to the beach. We were on a boggy looking area between the beach and the cliffs following the only track we could see. It seemed reasonably firm but was going in the wrong direction. Just as I spotted a possible place to turn, the right hand side of Baloo sank. The whole track looked muddy and wet in the rain. We’d found the bit that was soft as well.

Getting out of this was much more of a problem and deflating the tyres was not enough. We also spent a couple of hours digging. Making a space in front of the wheels for the truck to move into. All our spare firewood then went in front of the wheels so they would have something to grip. While this was going on two locals arrived. They watched us and smoked cigarettes. They explained how what we were doing was not going to work and then offered to fetch a gang of people to dig us out. We declined and they wandered off.

With all five diffs locked Baloo hauled itself out of the mud. We were very relieved. We were also wet and very muddy so we only moved a short way, onto some firmer ground and parked up. Later we met a passing military officer who was patrolling the area. We discovered that if we had gone with the local’s offer that it would probably cost us around €500. Next day we headed directly back to the tarmac road. I resolved, for the umpteenth time in my life, to never, never go driving on beaches.

Ksar

When we are travelling, it is easy to start treating every day a little the same. However, we like the notion of weekends being a bit different, a bit special. Often this means doing a bit more work in the kitchen, cocktails at sunset or possibly a bottle of chilled wine. Some mornings, such as this one, merit a full cooked breakfast. I baked a loaf of sourdough and fried up a mixed vegetable omelette. Fruit juice, coffee, sunshine and the big table outside completed the setting.

Setting off late, we visited the Ksar campsite and hotel. A remarkable looking and quite isolated place plonked in the desert north of Tan Tan. I imagine the place is quite popular with tourists during the season. You can lie on sunbeds looking out across a sandy desert scene, swim in the pool and probably get chilled drinks brought to you. Today we were the only visitors. The coffee was pleasant but strong enough to make me jumpy for hours afterwards.

We headed out to the coast past a few tents of camel herders. Their animals just seemed to wandering freely. The nomads waved at us cheerfully. Late afternoon we arrived at the Atlantic shoreline. Steep cliffs overlooking a thin, tidal beach. A few widely scattered and very basic looking huts belonging to the fishermen. Mostly they are collecting shellfish. They clamber down the cliffs at low tide then sit around in small groups at high tide shelling their catch.

That evening we camped on top of the cliffs. There was a particularly good sunset. So good that, weekend notwithstanding, we felt compelled to mark the event with gin and orange sundowners.

Tan Tan

We found Lars & Inge outside a surprisingly large supermarket near Guelmim. Obviously, we all went shopping after which, fully restocked, we set off into the desert again. We were aiming for the town of Tan Tan on the coast. We could have taken the main road but we didn’t and before long were bouncing along tracks again.

Along the way, we discovered some prickly pear farms. Prickly pears we introduced to Morocco from Mexico in 1770 and are now widespread. They are truly evil plants being covered in tiny sharp prickles that break off in your skin and irritate for days. A line of prickly pear plants makes a very effective fence and deterrent. Nevertheless, prickly pears are also a super food. They taste great and they are very good for you. Extreme care and thick gloves are needed for preparation. You need to carefully shave all the spikes off. Then they are good to eat.

From a farming perspective, their real value is in the seeds. The prickly pear is used to create pharmaceutical products and remedies. The oil derived from its seeds helps with high blood pressure, type 2 diabetes and cancer. It is antiviral, antibacterial, antioxidant, eases ulcers and reduces cholesterol and obesity. One tonne of pears are required to make just one litre of oil. So it is pretty expensive stuff.

Our arrival at Tan Tan was marked by two immense camels on a roundabout. Shortly after that, we arrived at the beach where the Vikings got very excited. They ran into the sea and then ran out again even faster having discovered how cold the water was. Despite being a long way south and at the edge of the desert the Atlantic Ocean is still really cold here.

Timkit again

First job the next morning was a reconnaissance. Lars and I took the Land Rover further up the valley. The track got narrower and more precipitous. We came across an overhanging tree that would need felling to get Baloo past. Then we turned right into a very rough track, a streambed really, threading its way through some close packed buildings before it went steeply up the hillside above. Passable by donkey and, with care, a Land Rover. No good for a 20t 6×6 at all. We returned to the others and set about reversing all the tricky bits that we had brought Baloo up the day before.

It all went quite well. For a start, we knew that it was possible. Secondly, our road building efforts were still in place. Lars was in charge. I was driver and had to do exactly what I was told. Inge and Diane were navvies and also looked after the cameras. The morning was not without some delicate moments. Watching the rear wheels through the mirrors, I occasionally saw rocks falling out of the side of the track. The last but one squeeze, past a concrete wall on a narrow track, seemed to have become smaller. Took a couple of shunts and some very delicate manoeuvring.

At last, we could relax. We got back to the main track just in time for a late lunch. Nothing damaged, nothing broken, no big dramas. We all felt pleased with ourselves. Lars and Inge were keen to find out just where the track went and decided to go back in the Land Rover. We waved them goodbye and set off for the wide, open and mostly empty desert hills to the south of Tata.

A day later, we came across a well. It was actually marked on my map so we figured there was a good chance of clean water. We have a small electric pump that we can lower down wells. The water was five or six metres down. Getting the pump into position takes a bit of care. It hangs on a rope but also has a hosepipe and power cable attached. Need to make sure the rope takes all the weight and also that we do not lower the pump too far and risk disturbing the mud or whatever is right at the bottom of the well. Once everything is in place and the rope securely tied off I can plug the pump in. There is quite a good flow rate. We can fill a tank in less than ten minutes. The hose connects to a large particle filter. This is mostly just to stop fish or frogs that might be having a swim. One day I hope to add a filter to purify the water but for now, we just have to hope that it is clean enough.

We did not camp by the well but went off down a track for a few hundred metres. There is virtually no traffic on the road but we still prefer to get well away from it. While I had been messing with the well and the pump, Diane had been getting on with the washing. By which I mean she had been running the washing machine. I rigged up a line and twenty minutes after we hung them out, the sheets were dry.

Timkit

We did eventually make it to Tata albeit along the road rather than a track. Tata is a modest sized town. We filled up Baloo with diesel and water. Took a while to get the water. The hose was only slow and we had to repair it first. Nobody seemed very rushed and the fact that we were parked on the station forecourt for the best part of half an hour was fine. Then we wandered off into town for some tea and shopping. Tea was Moroccan style mint tea with a lump of sugar the size of a small brick. Shopping was picking out the best vegetables while trying to ignore some poor chickens in a small and very smelly cage.

We camped a little way out of town and the next day set off for Timkit following a route that Lars had found lying around somewhere on the Internet. The start of this seemed very promising. Fantastic valley with dramatic anticlines (folds of rock). Palms, a few houses, some water and a bit of agriculture. Problems began in the village of Timkit. We had to squeeze Baloo along the narrow track between a house and steep drop to the river. A local appeared to tell us that we should not take the truck any further so Lars and I did a short recon trip in the Land Rover. It all looked fine. A couple of tricky sections and then the track appeared to be opening up. Off we went.

The tricky sections were actually properly tricky. The track was too narrow in places and we had to drive up the riverbed. Further on, we needed to rebuild a bit of track. We squeezed round a couple of tight corners and balanced on some rocks. By later afternoon, we had only covered a few kilometres so we made camp. The valley was cool, high and deserted. We sat round a fire, cooked on our tagines, gazed at the bright stars and hoped that tomorrow would go a little easier.

Mhamid to Tata Part 2

We never made it to Tata. After several days of travelling quite close to the Algerian border and numerous checkpoints we were stopped by two soldiers. They drove a 4×4 pickup with no roof, windscreen, door tops or seatbelts. The perfect desert vehicle.

Up to that point, we had been in the desert several days. We’d found some more sand to play on and managed to get Baloo stuck on a small dune for about 20 minutes. In Lars’ version of this story, he heroically pulls the 20t truck out with his 3t Land Rover. Possibly, it was also a bit of digging that helped.

There were camels. Many camels. Often wandering around in scattered herds. Some were hobbled but many just seemed free to roam. A small herd appeared by our campsite one morning. There was a man looking after them but he stayed well away from us. The herd included several calves so perhaps he was being a bit protective of them. Still happy to give us a big wave when we left. Most of the people we have passed on the road all through Morocco smile and wave at us. It is very endearing.

We also crossed several lakebeds. Dried up lakebeds that were flat and smooth and fast to drive on. Great fun but also kicked up an awful lot of dust. The dust gets everywhere. There is a constant little crunch in your mouth from the dust between your teeth. Every surface has a fine coating and even the bed got a layer of dust on the sheets.

Half a day short of Tata we were escorted north onto the track to Taimzour. There was a military exercise going on. This was explained to us in mime – which I really enjoyed but needed to concentrate to keep a straight face. After a very graphic depiction of guns and shooting, we were pointed at a tall angular peak in the far distance. More happy waving and the soldiers left us to find our own way. We drove north along an interesting track, over some small hills and eventually, the next day, to the road right next to the angular peak.

Mhamid to Tata Part 1

Liz and Andy left to return the UK for a general election, brexit, bad weather and xmas. With Lars and Inge in their Landrover, we set off out into the desert again. This time for a slightly longer and more involved trip.

Mhamid used to be a bit of a tricky place to visit because of its proximity (24km) to the Algerian border. These days, things are a bit more relaxed although the border is still closed and there is a strong military presence. The town has always been a starting point for traveling nomads and caravans. Today it is tourist camel treks and 4×4 excursions. We had already stocked up at Tagounite, a very nice town further up the road. Along with fruit and vegetables, we also invested in a tagine and some charcoal. A tagine is a traditional Moroccan cooking pot made of terracotta. We breezed straight through Mhamid and headed for the dunes of Erg Chigaga.

For the first few hours, we saw quite a few vehicles carrying tourists from Mhamid. Also herds of camels grazing on some fertile areas of what looked like wild rocket (arugula). By evening, we had moved beyond the range of the day-trippers. We settled down for a peaceful night of vegetable stew on the tagine. Next day we arrived at the dunes of Erg Chigaga. This is the largest of the Saharan ergs in Morocco and relatively untouched. The northern edge is fringed with tourist camps. The southern part is, for the most part, deserted. Time for some full fat, no nonsense desert driving.

First job was to deflate the tyres. The spreads the weight out so the wheels do not sink in so far. Baloo has a neat tyres inflation system that allows us to change the pressure of all six tyres at the same time. At sand pressure the tyres bulge at the bottom and almost look flat. We also needed the full off-road capability of Baloo. Diff-locks to prevent the wheels spinning. Transfer box engage to gear down the engine and give us plenty of power.

It all worked beautifully. Route finding was the biggest problem. We needed to ensure we did not drop off the steep side of a dune or end up leaning dangerously sideways. Lars was a great help scouting ahead in the Landrover. There was also a lot of walking, looking and thinking. Progress was slow but we managed to keep it safe and steady. As evening fell, we emerged from the dunes happy and triumphant. We settled in a cosy spot between two dunes, basked in the evening sun and fired up the tagines. Now, in all honestly, we could have driven round and it would have only taken an hour or so. That was not the point. As Lars said, repeatedly, “Why did we do it? Because we can”.

Rissani to Zagora

This was our first trip out into the desert proper with the cars. Real desert is not like the sand dunes of film sets. It is much more desolate. Rocks, dust, sand, barren hills. Technically, we are not quite in the Sahara desert but an area of semi-arid Pre-Saharan Steppes. However, any local will definitively assert that this is genuinely the Sahara and they can sell you a very modestly priced souvenir to prove it.

Our route followed some well-travelled pistes. Dotted along the way were several “auberge”, desert hotels where you can sleep and eat. We mostly passed these by, but late afternoon were waved down at one and told some horror stories of bad roads ahead. Next to impassable by all accounts but fortunately there was a guide on hand. For a modest fee, he could show us the way round. We chose to go look for ourselves. An hour or so later were looking at a steep climb out of a river bed. Fortunately, we had the right vehicles for the job so this turned out to be a bit of fun rather than a serious challenge.

Next day we crossed a vast dusty plain and camped right in the middle of nowhere. I mean really nowhere. No lights, houses, fields, piles of rocks, nothing. Just some very spikey bushes. In the evening a woman and child appeared and watched us quietly for a while. She left a set of tracks up a small dune and vanished. In the morning, we checked to see where she had gone. There was no village or settlement of any kind in the direction of her tracks.

Last day to Zagora took us over a small mountain range with some interesting tracks and down into a very empty valley. Here we delighted in finding a well and pumping water out of it. Lars and Inge (directly descended from Vikings) both had a shower in the cold well water. A small boy turned up on a bike. We had no idea where he had come from either.

Finally, we arrived at Zagora and checked into a nice campsite. Nestled in the lush palms of the Draa Valley, Zagora is traditionally a gateway to the Sahara. An important stopping place for the great camel trains plying their trade. A sign at the edge of town declares that it is 52 days (by camel) to Timbouctou. My father used to threaten to send me to Timbouctou when I was naughty. These days the way is blocked by closed borders, minefield, bandits and terrorists. Does this make it a more or less effective as a deterrent for small children?

Erg Chebbi

Merzouga is a busy centre for travellers seeking the desert experience in Erg Chebbi. This is one of several ergs in Morocco – large seas of dunes formed by wind-blown sand. From their nice hotel, tourists are herded, possibly on a camel, across the sand dunes west to a permanent campsite in the desert. Camps are carefully placed to be out of site of the hotels while maintaining such basics as hot water and wifi. After a night of glamping and good food, the desert hardened adventurers are brought back to their hotel for a much needed shower and glass of chilled chardonnay. It is the grown up equivalent of camping in the garden.

We headed east of the dunes in an attempt to sneak round the back of tourist land and see some proper desert. Diane and I arrived well ahead of the others and set up camp. The cars didn’t turn up until nightfall. Evening takes about half an hour here. Just after you first notice the sun is going down, it sets and goes dark. We had a few problems with cars getting stuck in the sand. The trick is to deflate the tyres. Also, Liz announced the onset of Ammophobia – a fear of sand. This is a tricky and potentially serious medical condition to manage in the middle of an erg. We did the best we could mostly by patting her on the head.

Next morning the group consensus was that we should leave the dunes and head further south. This was achieved with only a modicum of getting stuck. By lunchtime we were on the tarmac road to Rissani.

Gara Medour

Gara Medour is another film location but a much more natural one. Also called as Jebel Mudawwar (round mountain), it is a horseshoe-shaped geological formation technically known as an erosion cirque. It looks like some sort of volcanic caldera but is actually a water worn formation. Although looking at it sticking up in the middle of a desert it is not at all obvious to me how this can have happened. Naturally it is pretty much a complete fortress and in the 11th century the structure was completed with the addition of a 12m wall. From here the city of Sijilmasa (gold coins) could be protected along with various trade routes.

We had to drive way off the tarmac road to find it. This was considerably more satisfying than finding some of the previous classic tourist traps. There were a couple of people trying to sell trinkets but for the most part, we had the place to ourselves.

In the evening we drove a bit further out into the desert to a couple of palms and a dried up well. Made for a lovely campsite where we met up with Liz, Andy, Lars and Inge again.

Dades

South of Ouarzazate is the Finnt Oasis. The route took us through what looked like it was going to be a large industrial estate. The roads are laid. Street lamps are in place along with services and electricity. But that is all. There are no actual buildings. The site is massive. Several kilometres square. All prepared for building but looking now as if it had been deserted. We have seen several sites like this in Morocco and they are a bit of a mystery.

Leaving the wide roads of partially built estate, we took to a dirt track across a barren rocky area before descending into a narrow valley. Here we found the oasis. Very green and wet and generally picture book oasis like. The dog played in the water and we all had a picnic on a rock.

A couple of days later we were at the Dades Gorge. This is one of two dramatic clefts on the southern side of the High Atlas. The road is thin but passable and spectacular. Eventually, a few kilometres past the little village of Tilmi, we reached the start of a steep mountain section. This was too narrow for Baloo to manage safely. Evening was falling so we camped in a random field and later two men and a donkey wandered past in the darkness. Next day the two cars went over the mountains leaving us to back track our way down the gorge.

Ksar Aït Benhaddou

Getting around Marrakech in a truck is problematic. Every road seems to have a ‘no trucks’ sign on it. We tried several routes and eventually just took a direct path. Fortunately, the local police did not seem too concerned and just waved at us. However, these diversions separated us from our travelling companions. Liz and Andy had flown out from the UK and hired a Land Cruiser. Lars and Inge had driven fast and hard all the way from Denmark in their Land Rover. Eventually, several days out of Marrakech, we caught up with them and headed for Aït Benhaddou.

Ksar Aït Benhaddou is an ighrem (fortified village) on the former caravan route between the Sahara and Marrakech. It is built using an earthen clay architecture and has been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1987. Inside the walls of the ksar are several kasbahs (merchants’ houses). The location has been used for dozens of films including Game of Thrones.

Frankly, it is all a bit too commercialised for my tastes. There are many flocks of visitors being herded around, a persistent background noise of intrusive sales people and the constant demands of children pestering for money and sweets. Despite this, it was quite interesting and I found that Cent, our beautiful German Shepherd, was very a very effective child repellent.

Diane re-enacts some famous scene from some famous movie

High Atlas

Getting out of the Rif Mountains did feel like a bit of an escape so we were happy to haul up at a very pleasant campsite just south of Marrakesh. We spent a couple of days here waiting for some friends to join us and stocking up at the big supermarkets and shopping malls of a modern city.
Then we set off south and over the High Atlas Mountains. We moved into a much more rural Morocco with a completely different rhythm of life. Agriculture where irrigation was possible and donkeys rather than trucks. The mountains were spectacular although there is no snow yet. Descending the far side, we started to see hints of desert and a whole other way of life.

Rif Mountains

We arrived in Morocco with very little trouble. Customs formalities were minimal and the officials were very polite. We headed straight out of the city and to the Mediterranean coast. Mid-afternoon we found a lovely little bay with a bit of coarse beach and grey pebbles. Sadly, as dusk fell and we were settling in, the police arrived and very nicely explained that we could not spend the night there because of immigrants. I did not really understand this but obviously, we moved and ended up in a car park overlooking the same beach.
Next day we drove straight into the middle of a town on market day. That was quite exciting and also marked the start of our trip over the Rif mountains. This area produces much of the world’s hashish. Cannabis is illegal in Morocco but in some weird way that seems to only apply to foreigners. Every third car flashed its lights and stopped in front of us to try to sell drugs. Every sixth person by the roadside waved us down with similar offers. This got very wearing and time consuming. We had no interest at all in buying drugs but if you every want a few kilos of finest Moroccan black then this appears to be the place to visit. Eventually we drove until it got dark and then tried to find a quiet layby. Half a dozen visits later, we were finally left alone to get some sleep.
Early start in the morning to try to get away before the dealers arrived again. A few minutes down the road, we came across a truck with its front wheel dangling off the road. The driver later explained that he had dozed off. This is not a good thing to do on mountain roads. Baloo makes a good pulling truck and it was not too difficult to get him back to safety. The driver was quite relieved and kissed me a lot. I found this a bit awkward.
The next day we arrived at a car park with monkeys. They did not like Cent, the dog, and threw sticks at him. Diane accepted the offer of a pony ride and we all had a pleasant walk around the cedar forest. For an extra 20 Dirhams we were allowed to park there overnight.

Algeciras

Leaving the coast we looped inland to skirt the southern edge of the Spanish Sierra Nevada mountains and then down to Algeciras for the ferry to Morocco.

First glimpse of Africa

Spain

We crossed into Spain and pretty much made a straight line for the beach at Mazarron on the Mediterranean coast. The route was mostly about olive trees. Lots and lots of olive trees. Eventually we ran out of olive trees and arrived at the seaside.
The coast of Spain here is a bit of an odd place. It has something of a micro-climate that keeps it warm and sunny even when a little further inland the weather is less clement. It is also strangely attractive to Brits. They are everywhere. Some parts really feel substantially more English than Spanish – albeit in a ‘Brits on holiday’ sense. At this time of year, much of the place is shut down so it is quiet although the weather, especially by UK standards, is great. The cost of living is pretty reasonable too so I can see the attraction. We, however, still have many places to go and next on the list is Morocco.
The reason we were in Mazarron was to meet up with Unicat owners Davide and Franca. A lovely couple that travel with their three pit bulls. We know them of old. They are Morocco veterans so we wanted to sit at their feet for a while to learn some wisdom. And indeed they were a font of useful knowledge. We also ate some great food (thank you Franca) and visited some interesting places.

Roger Dean inspired erosion
Cent is happy to pull me along
Unicats on the beach

Portugal

For a handful of days we ran south through Portugal roughly following the Douro river on the border with Spain. The river valley is a vast wine producing area where grapes are grown to make the famous Port wine. Almonds are cultivated here and every hill appears covered in olive trees. We were quite captivated by the pretty rolling hills and winding roads, which we enjoyed, despite the persistent rain. Here and there, we saw trees stripped of bark. Evergreen Cork Oaks. A protected species in Portugal harvested in-situ to make corks for wine bottles.

Olive trees everywhere
Cork Oaks

We crossed a new reservoir. So new that it was not on any of my maps. We also found some particularly good hairpin bends. One of the down sides of travelling in a truck is that getting it around corners is, on some occasions, problematical. It is usually possible but can require several shunts. Fortunately for this corner there was no traffic trying to push past and no horrendous steep drops to worry about.

Picos de Europa

East from the Pyrenees are the Picos de Europa mountains. A small but spectacular range comprising several magnificent peaks (up to 2,650m) and some of the world’s deepest caves (down to 1,589m). We didn’t see anything much of this because of rubbish weather and many of the roads being closed for maintenance. We did camp in a massive and empty car park where, on other days, it is possible to travel up to a very pretty lake. We also visited several ‘road closed’ signs and did a lot of backtracking. Eventually we gave up and exited to the south. Spent our last night on top of a pass at 1500m. Just after we had settled down for dinner and some wine, the local police arrived. Three of them in a very smart police car. Looked like we might be in trouble. Maybe get moved on. Possibly worse. We heard the footsteps coming round to the door side. Then two of them took out phones to snap a few pictures and they left. This vehicle attracts a bit too much attention at times.

Man at work
When we get diesel we can often get water as well
Promising weather just before we get to the mountains
Playa de Franca beach
Windy
Empty car park
Ready for inspection

East Pyrenees

At the far left hand end of the Pyrenees we found a wonderful little spot perched high on a ridge. The road up was thin and precipitous so a pause at the top for a few deep breaths was called for. A small restaurant and tourist shop straddles the border between France and Spain but presents itself as being totally Basque. Here you can buy bells for cows (big ones), hats, knives (also big), preserved meats and other paraphernalia purporting to be regional. We climbed a hill. Watched vultures slope soaring. Drank a beer and admired the sunset. As darkness fell, everyone went home and we were left alone. We camped there for the night and watched a properly spectacular sunrise in the morning (best time for them). The road down the other side proved to be equally exciting and took a couple of hours so we were pleased that we had opted to take a break.