Category: Morocco

Our first night at the Terre d’Ocean campsite was great. Cool and fresh with a gentle breeze. We cooked outside and could hear the breaking waves in the distance. The next day it was a bit hotter but the following day it was already an alarming 36°C at 9am. The air was still and heavy. It was overcast and quite misty. We have a small air conditioning unit in the bedroom. Now seemed like a good time to start it up. Then a text message arrived from GNV, the ferry company, announcing our ferry was cancelled. It was not shaping up to be a good day.

The temperature crept over 40°C by lunchtime and maxed out at 47°C mid-afternoon. This is really, properly hot. Standing outside felt like standing too close to large furnace. Baloo was too hot to touch. The ground was too hot to walk on. Everything inside, the table, the door handles and the cutlery was all hot to touch. In the cab, the internet router shutdown spontaneously and the iPad was showing a warning message. The light from an overcast and dusty sky was diffuse and dull with an odd orange tinge. The air was still and shimmering with the heat. To me it felt quite intimidating and close to a vision of hell. We all hid in the bedroom for most of the day. Me, Diane and Cent. The temperature in the bedroom reached 38°C. Uncomfortably hot, but better than outside. Our other salvation was the small campsite swimming pool. We jumped straight in and lurked there in the water while flames passed overhead. At least, that is what it felt like. Unfortunately, Cent was not allowed to join us in the water.

By early evening, it began to cool down a little and small breeze started up. Here on the coast, the ocean is the big cooling influence. The first waft of air from the sea brought a blessed relief. We thought we were past the worst and crept out to make tea. It was still hot, in the high thirties, but was getting more bearable especially with the freshening air. Then suddenly, in the space of about ten minutes, it all changed. The wind swapped direction and the temperature shot up. At 11pm, it was 42°C. We crept back into the bedroom. It is noisy with the air conditioning running so we need earplugs to sleep. There is just enough space for the dog to curl up at the bottom of the bed.

Next day things started to get back to normal. I contacted the ferry company and they offered me a sailing two days after the cancelled one. We feel like fish out of water. This is the coolest part of Morocco but it is still too hot for us. So we took the ferry booking despite the additional €150. GNV really have us at their mercy. We cannot change our ticket and they will not give us a refund. If they decide to arbitrarily increase the price of the ticket there is little we can do. It is exploitation.

On our last day in the High Atlas, I forgot to lower the weather station mast on top of the cab. The predicable result was to smash the weather station into a tree. We collected the bits in a plastic bag. I messaged Gill Instruments in the UK, the manufacturer, to see if they could offer me any guidance in putting it back together. They came back, a few days later, with some brilliantly detailed instructions. I spent the afternoon successfully repairing the sensor head. Made me feel a lot better.

A few days later, we left on the start of our trip to catch the ferry. We hope. First stop, just a little way north, was at Imsouane, location of our long lock down. There are still a few of the people here that we spent so long with. It was nice to catch up with Jean Loup, Steve, Karen, Maggy and Len. They are all getting anxious and twitchy to leave now. Officially, the Moroccan border opens at midnight on the 14^th. Moroccans are free to come and go. Foreigners can leave. We have a ferry ticket for the 15^th to Genova. This morning we said our goodbyes and then drove to Essaouria. More particularly, we went to the big supermarket to stock up. Now we are camped in some quiet woods a way outside of town. Tomorrow we start the trek north.

Potentially we can now travel around much of Morocco. In practise, we are confining ourselves to the cooler areas. Summer in Morocco is just not a good time for pale Yorkshire people. To compound our overheating problems, there is a heatwave going on. So we are drifting west across the High Atlas towards the coast. We already know the road south from Demnate. It is a spectacular drive and while it can probably be done in a few hours, we managed to stretch it out over three days. Perched high on the hills there was usually a fresh breeze and at night clear skies helped keep us cool. Even so, the temperature was well over 30°C most days.

Eventually we had to drop down onto the high plains around Ouarzazate where the road took us past the world’s largest concentrated solar farm. Completed in 2018, the 3,000 ha site consists of hundreds of mirrors that focus the suns energy onto the top of a tower. The heat energy is stored using molten salt and released at night to generate electricity. The glow surrounding the tower is quite otherworldly.

Moving further west to get back to higher ground, we got lost and arrived at a dead end. Next day we turned back, found a better route and ended up on a delightful road just to the south of some big mountains. Eventually we got to the end of the High Atlas and started to descend towards the coast. The temperature began to creep up. A series of interlocked valleys took us down towards the Aoulouz dam. We squeezed through several small villages. One was having a market day and this made the streets a bit crowded. Then we were down and on the main road to Agadir. The outside temperature was just on 43°C. As we drove the last hundred miles to the coast, the air began to cool.

We picked a little campsite perched on some steep hills overlooking the sea. As we sat contemplating the sunset, over a gin and tonic, the cool gentle breeze was in the low twenties. It was bliss.

But we didn’t know what was coming.  

We were trying to find our way to a rock tower called La Cathérdrale. In the morning, we descended from our lofty overnight perch over a thousand metres down to the village of Anergui. There was a sign in the centre of the village directing us towards La Cathérdrale. It even had a picture of the rock tower on it. We set off confidently but were stopped a couple of hundred metres later by a police officer. There are roadworks he asserted. We attempted to discuss the situation but were stonewalled. No option other than to back track. Later we discovered that in fact the road is still under construction and, so far, nowhere near completion. The large tourist orientated signpost in Anergui is a future truth.

Back up the hill and then a big loop round to the north to join the R302 at Ouaouizaght. Fortunately, we did not have to ask directions because I have no idea how to even begin pronouncing Ouaouizaght. We crossed one end of a large reservoir and then started climbing. Just as we passed the base of the immense rock tower that is La Cathérdrale, the tarmac gave out. Delicately we nudged out way through overhanging trees and then resumed climbing on a rough track up a densely forested steep slope. The sun was getting low and the view spectacular. However, if you ever want to take good photographs of La Cathérdrale from here then come in the morning. We mostly had the sun in our eyes, which was very moody but hopeless for the camera. An hour or so later, at an altitude of 1,500m we regained the tarmac and stopped for the night. Despite being reasonably high, it was still a hot and not very comfortable night.

Next day we climbed even higher through some small villages and then took a left up a dirt track to arrive at a col at 1,700m. Morocco is having a bit of a heatwave at the moment. So, given that Morocco in the summer is already too hot for us, a heatwave is a bit of a problem. The best we can do is try to stay high in the mountains or on the coast. There were some petroglyphs by the road and a nice parking area so we stayed a couple of nights. In the evening a gentle breeze was a fresh and cool. Next day we walked up a track onto the shoulder some 300m higher up and discovered some old mine workings. Iron ore was my best guess. Did not look to have been very successful though and there were only a few shallow diggings. I found a nice looking lump of very heavy rock that I think may be iron ore and brought it back.

While we were hiding from the heat, Coronavirus politics have been unfolding. In particular, the EU is about to open its borders and has voted a list of safe countries which includes Morocco. This means, I think, that we can travel from Morocco into Europe without quarantine or other restrictions. At the same time, Morocco is talking about opening its borders on the 10^th July. Do not forget that both sides of a border need to agree that it is open for it genuinely to be passable. We have a ferry to Genova booked for the 13^th of July so it is possible, just possible, that this time it may actually run.

Filled with renewed optimism we descended through the beautifully named Aït Bouguemez or Valley of the Happy People. Apparently the name was given by foreign visitors impressed by the hospitality of the locals. It is a very pretty area although some of the smaller villages took a bit of care to squeeze Baloo though. Eventually we arrived at the large town of Demnate and the chance for fuel, food and water. In the evening we headed south, back towards the mountains, and found a nice spot just high enough to cool off in the evening.

In Midelt everyone seemed pleased to see us. Especially the shopkeepers. We restocked on food, fuel and phone cards before setting off for the Cirque de Jaffa. The Cirque is a rocky amphitheatre in the mountains with a thin track passing below it. We were not sure if we could get through this in Baloo but the approach seemed promising. The track wound along some precipitous mountainsides but it was wide and had been recently graded. Quite safe with a bit of care. Then it stopped. Just as if the gang improving the road had got so far and then, in the middle of nowhere, got bored and gone home. Onwards the track was thin and rough. This in itself was not enough to stop us but it was also off-camber and on the side of a long slope. The wider axles of a truck means that sometimes we have to straddle the track. If the route is already on a side slope then putting one wheel off the side of the track exaggerates the lean of the vehicle. At a certain point, this gets a bit scary. I am not sure how much sideways lean Baloo can safely maintain but I know where my terror limit is and this slope slightly exceeded it.

We parked at the end of the improved track and enjoyed a night in the mountains. In the evening, some local children came to ask us for sweets. We also chatted with a shepherd bringing his sheep and goats back down into the valley for the night. In the morning we back-tracked a little and then found our way round some tracks to the north. Then it was west following the line of the Atlas range along wide rich and fertile valleys. We also drove around a reservoir that did not exist, well, not according to any of my maps. Eventually we arrived at the town of Imilchil. Just north of there is a delightful lake and camping area. At 2,300m it is beautifully cool at night. 

We met Mark, again. His ferry arrangements had gone completely awry. After several days of running around and pulling in a few favours, he had eventually managed to book a ship but in a few days’ time. So he had come back to the mountains to hang out. This being much more pleasant than the stinky hot and fraught atmosphere around Tangier. We also met Chris and Melisa. They had spent the lock down in Merzouga in just the sort of conditions that we had worked so hard to avoid. Merzouga is on the edge of the desert. Temperatures were regularly over 40°C and at night, it was still above 30°C. To compound their misery there was nowhere to buy alcohol. Fortunately, they are very resourceful and started brewing their own ‘desert wine’ using sugar, yeast and tomato paste. We tried some with lemon, ice and tonic water. It was really quite acceptable. Diane and I were incredibly impressed. Proper survival skills.

A couple of days drifted by while we enjoyed the lake views, watched the locals taking running dives off a makeshift pier and had some pleasant walks. On the second afternoon, the sky turned black and there was thunder. A storm seemed imminent. The first drops of rain fell. Then a magnificent rainbow appeared and shortly after the sky cleared. At night, the stars were terrific. Altitude, a new moon and an almost complete absence of light pollution made for some great stargazing.

Mark left, again, to get his ferry. This time he actually made it and several days later got back to the UK where he promptly started to regret leaving Morocco. Chris and Melisa left to go and see a waterfall. We left to search out a rock tower called La Cathédrale. Our route wound up some skinny mountain roads and we squeezed through a couple of small villages. Eventually we pulled off the road on the high shoulder of hill. A shepherd taking his flock down came to ask politely for cigarettes. We could not help him. Sometimes I think we should maybe buy a few for just such occasions. I am sure it would really cheer up some of the nomads and shepherds we meet. Later, just as it was getting dark, a solitary pickup truck drove past. The guys sat in the back gave us a friendly wave. After that, we had the place to ourselves until morning.

Next day we left the sanctuary of the Carrefour carpark and headed for the hills. Literally. We drove up into the rolling, cedar-covered hills of the mid-Atlas. The air was cool and fresh. Flowers were in bloom. The fields were lush and many of them ready for harvesting. Mark had a few places he wanted to visit. We followed him to a lake where we fed the donkeys. Then to a deep fold in a steep valley where a multitude of cold, clear fresh water springs erupted from the ground. A series of little shelters were built next to them so that you could sip mint tea while dangling your feet in the icy torrent. More lakes. More rivers. Then a tight squeeze up a track through immense cedar trees and we emerged by an enormous lake in the centre of a nature reserve.

In the morning, Mark left to head north for his ferry and we wandered a short way down the road. A little track took us into a clearing between towering cedars. It was so nice there that we stayed until the next day. The smell of the trees was intoxicating and a myriad of small birds fluttered in the branches. We used the shadow of one of the trees to estimate how high it was. A little trigonometry revealed it to be 34m. A properly tall tree. Most of the trees were a similar height.

We were killing time. Our ferry was cancelled. We had nowhere in particular to go. Lock down restrictions in Morocco were being eased but how much this meant we could travel was unknown. I have booked another ferry on the 13^th of July but experience proves that we have no certainty whether this will actually happen. The best plan we have now is to head roughly southwest staying up in the cool mountains. Morocco can be fiercely hot in the summer and just now, there is a little heatwave going on. The High Atlas and the thin coastal strip are pretty much the limit of where we want to be.

A series of delightful winding tracks led us south through the hills and onto the main road to Midelt. We found another lake and stayed there for a couple of nights. During the day, flocks of sheep were brought down from the surrounding hills to drink. We also saw ponies heavily laden with firewood. Further down the road we came across the Hotel Meteorites. The very friendly owner was happy for us to camp there and refill our water tanks. I spent the afternoon doing a bit of maintenance on Baloo. Later, after I had walked the dog, we went into the hotel bar and had a beer. First beer in a bar for months. It was delightful.

Time was dragging on in Imsouane. I had started making scones. And the marmalade to go with them. We ran out of poppadums so I fabricated some from gram flour. Then we ran out of gram flour so I spent an hour or more grinding chickpeas. Eventually I took to arranging fruit in a bowl and photographing it. Time to go.

We had a ferry booked. Many had been cancelled but this one looked promising. Enough post-corona virus normality, the new world order, was arising to make us optimistic about getting out of Morocco. Quite a few special ferries had already sailed. These were mostly arranged with the embassies of Italy, Spain or France. They focused on their nationals and were charging quite outrageous rates. They also assumed that you could be on standby to get to the port in a day. For us, Tanger Med is more like four days. We did not want to move up closer because that would take us into the areas most badly affected by Covid-19. So our strategy was to bide our time until things had settled down enough that we could make a steady, planned drive to the port. This appeared to becoming around.

First job was to get a permit. We already have one travel permit but for this job, we needed a different, more powerful permit. It is over an hours drive down the coast to the government offices. We did this trip four times. Each time involved at least an hour standing around in crowded waiting rooms full of strangers. How this helps the corona virus campaign is beyond me. Eventually, on the day we had to leave, we got our permit. Lockdown restrictions were being lifted. Agadir was coming back to life. “No virus in Agadir”, the petrol pump attendant assured me. It was getting late by the time preparations were complete so we did a few hours up the motorway and stopped at a service station near Marrakech.

Morocco is now divided into two types of zone. Zone 1 areas have very few cases of Covid-19 and an Ro less than one. In these places, which is most of Morocco, life is slowly returning to normal. Zone 2 areas are still in lockdown. These are primarily the coastal areas from El-Jadida north to Tanger. Obviously, the authorities want to prevent traffic between the two types of zone.

Next day we took a wide detour around Marrakech, which I think is Zone 2. We also wanted to avoid the coastal route so we intended to go inland then north through Meknes. Mark caught us up near Kasba-Tadla and we found a great place by a lake to camp. His ferry had just been cancelled but he was going to the port anyhow, hoping to get another one. We had heard stories of people just turning up at the port and managing to get a ticket. The lake had turtles swimming around in it. They were very shy and usually all you could see were their heads.

Next morning notification arrived that our ferry was cancelled. Just two days before we were due to board. I talked to GNV, the ferry company, and booked the next available vessel on July 13^th. Now what? The plan had been to head to Chefchaouen where there is a reasonable campsite a couple of hours from the port. On our new schedule, we did not want to be stuck there for a month. Mark had a couple of days before he wanted to move north so we thought we would explore the locality a little. Enough to get our heads straight again. We like Morocco but we have been here nearly eight months now and a long list of European luxuries is calling. Baloo needs some maintenance and servicing. So do we. The postponement was a disappointment but the counter point is that Europe will be a few weeks closer to normality. What to do for another month?  

We are at the western end of the Atlas Mountains. The terrain is up to 2,000m altitude and this helps keep it cooler. The mountains also attract rain, giving rise to a rich and fertile area. This is very different from the arid desert areas we have spent so much time exploring. Just now, early summer, there is a cacophony of wild flowers and fields full of ripe wheat. There are streams, Aloe Vera plants and forests of towering Cedar trees. We pottered for the day, then drove up a quiet dead end lane and parked up for the night. A man on a moped appeared, scowled at us and spent the next hour sitting across the road from us messing with his phone. Eventually the police arrived and they were not in a good mood. After quite a lot of unintelligible mixed language shouting, we were escorted some 25 km to the town of Khenifra. We arrived just after sunset and a different type of police officer took our details.

Twenty minutes later, he returned, welcomed us in a very warm and friendly fashion to Khenifra and said we could camp anywhere we wanted. In retrospect, we think that we had wandered into the private hunting area of someone wealthy and well connected. Whatever the cause, we found ourselves in the Carrefour supermarket car park. The night guard said we could not stay there so we explained that the police said we could. This was nearly true. We paid him a few Dirhams and he went away happy. Between the ferry and near arrest, this had turned out to be a bad day but there was an unexpected benefit. In the morning, we could shop at the supermarket and round the back was a small but adequate wine shop.  

There are many ways to measure time. For me, this lock down is now three haircuts long. Diane is my hair stylist. Number four all over. Very straightforward, cost effective, practical and more than smart enough given my natural absence of sartorial elegance. I hope that by the next haircut we will be back in Germany. We have booked on a ferry to Genova. This is not the obvious place to head during the pandemic especially since our route from there is due north, straight through Lombardy. The worst affected part of Italy. We will keep the windows closed and not slow down. With luck, we can pass straight through Switzerland and arrive at the Unicat workshop near Karlsruhe within a couple of days. Once there we can camp on the big field. Might have to do a couple of weeks isolation but then we can start working on Baloo for the next trip. In addition, we can enjoy the trapping of European live such as Amazon and shopping in proper supermarkets.

The ferry to Genova takes 50 hours. That is the easy bit. We have booked a pet friendly cabin so Cent can stay with us. Not sure if the ship will be open for eating and drinking so we may need to take two days’ worth of picnic with us. To board the ship we need to drive to Tanger Med. This might be the tricky part. For us it will be a three-day drive. The difficulty is that Morocco is still in lock down. The lock down just got extended to June 10^th but our ferry leaves on June 1^st.  We already have an ‘exceptional travel permit’. This is needed to travel to the nearest supermarket. To drive north we will need a more specialised type of transit permit. At the moment, I am not too sure how to get hold of one of these but, with the help of Mark, I am working on it. We have tried engaging with the British Embassy using assorted social media but the messages coming from there are irregular and mostly confusing.

Meanwhile the quest to find useful and interesting things to do continues. Quite high on the list is cooking. I have always enjoyed cooking and just now, it seems like an excellent way of investing a few hours. Managed to fix the oven a couple of days ago. It stopped working a month back because it was stuck in a cleaning cycle. Fortunately, the manufacturer eventually came up with the magic key code to access a service menu where I could reset the cleaning process. There was great celebrating when the oven burst back into life and we promptly made pizza and several types of bread. I was relieved to discover that my sourdough culture had survived four weeks of suspended animation in the fridge.

We try to have a walk each day although this is becoming more difficult. Days are getting even warmer and we have long since run out of new places to walk. Occasionally a new bird or animal will add interest. The other day I saw a hare. Thoroughly surprised me. I never even knew they were in Morocco. Cent is usually game for chasing hares but this one he just looked at. Far too hot for running up hills. The waves are sometimes a bit stronger and it can be fun watching water spraying over the rocks.

Between the campsite and the village is a sort of rubbish dump area. As I have mentioned before, pretty much anywhere around a village tends to be a rubbish dump area. This particular area is commonly used for waste food and peelings so it is a major source of flys. In the evening, the local shepherd brings his goats and sheep down. They clear up just about everything. A herd of woolly hoovers.

Today’s big event was to move Baloo. Temperatures continue to sneak up so we are more actively seeking out shade. To this end, we have moved next to a wall with a few small trees. We have also angled Baloo round to shade the table better in the morning. Having decided on the new position, I then spent a good hour getting the truck absolutely and perfectly level. Normally, we are happy enough if the truck is roughly level. Since we are going to be here for at least a couple more weeks, it seemed worth the extra effort. And it is not as if we had anything much better to do.

Paneer is a soft, fresh cheese common in India. I like to use it in curries and often make my own. Milk is curdled using lemon juice and the curd is pressed to make the cheese.

First step is to boil some milk. Three litres typically makes enough cheese for four portions of curry. The exact yield can be quite variable depending on the milk. Best is fresh, full fat milk. Here in Imsouane, there is just one type of fresh milk, which comes in half litre plastic bags.  

Use a big pan. Just as the milk comes to the boil, add some lemon juice. I used the juice from two small lemons. You need to add enough acid to curdle the milk. This takes less than a minute. Keep on the heat for a couple of minutes and then filter off the whey. I use a colander lined with cheesecloth (muslin). This is probably the key piece of equipment for making paneer.

Once drained, knot the corners of the cloth and press for a couple of hours. I used to have a lovely wooden cheese press for doing this but unfortunately it was to too bulky to take travelling. Two cutting boards can do the job. Arrange the bottom board so that the liquid can drain. I position the board so that it slopes into the sink. Saucepan on the top applies the pressure. Five litres of water (5kg) is about right.   

That’s it. Carefully unwrap and refrigerate. This cheese does not keep well. A couple of days at most. Best to make it when you actually need it.

When using it in a curry, I prefer to fry it first. Needs quiet a hot frying pan and plenty of oil. Adding a little turmeric gives a nice splash of yellow.

Blessed are the cheese makers.

The weather is mostly nice. Occasionally the wind gets strong enough to pick up the dust. This can sandblast unprotected legs and gets in your eyes. In the motorhome, we get a deposit of dust throughout the vehicle. If we shut the windows, the interior gets intolerably hot and stuffy. On very windy evenings, we need to vacuum out the bed before we turn in. So far, it has not been too hot. The cool sea moderates the temperature. There is usually a pleasant sea breeze. At night, it cools off to 17°C or so. Meanwhile some of the other places we have been are getting hot. Zagora is 37°C today and Atar, in Mauritania, is 43°C.  

I have been trying to photograph some of the animals around the campsite. As well as dogs and birds, there are snakes, lizards, scorpions and many beetles. Not seen any snakes here yet but found a lovely scorpion this morning.

There are many dogs on the campsite. A few belong to campers but most of them are strays that run around scrounging food. Most of the people here are quite tolerant of the vagrant canines. The dogs are petted, fed and allowed to sleep by the campervans. Cent is less keen and will warn them off when they wander too close. I am happy for him to do this because, much as I like dogs, these particular dogs are a bit of a problem. Some of them have ear tags indicating they have been vaccinated. This helps prevent the spread of rabies but the disease continues to be endemic in Morocco. Rabies is a virus transmitted in the saliva of dogs. It is viscous. Symptoms may take months or even years to develop at which stage you are assured an extraordinarily painful and unpleasant death. The stray dogs defecate all over the campsite. Dog poos may a wide range of zoonoses, pathogens and parasites that transmit diseases to humans. The list of nasties is long and disturbing. It includes gastroenteritis, MRSA, salmonella, toxocariasis and scabies. Children, of which there are several on the campsite, are especially susceptible to being nipped by dogs and ingesting faecal material.

The local stray dogs howl at night. Not sure why they do this. Usually starts with one of the packs barking at another. The dogs in the village like to be part of this nocturnal woofing. Then an individual dog will start howling and they all join in like many little wolves. This is somewhat amusing but when they kick off at 2am, it is also annoying. I have discovered that if I shine my torch on them they stop. Almost like an off switch. I flash the light out of our bedroom window and suddenly there is complete eerie silence. If I look out the window, I can see many pairs of little doggy eyes catching the torchlight.

We have just arrived at week five of our lock down in Morocco. Baloo is parked in the corner of a small, rather basic campsite at Imsouane, a surfing village to the North of Agadir. Without the usual holidaymakers, the village has a small population of just a few hundred. There are a handful of shops mostly selling groceries. We can buy basics without much problem. Fresh fruit and vegetables, rice, pasta and toilet rolls.

Life here is quiet. We can walk down onto the beach when the tide is out. There are some hills behind the campsite where we can take the dog. I have been fixing a few problems with the truck and amusing myself taking photographs. Diane has been working on her tan.

There is a lot of cooking going on. We have made salt and chilli flakes. I had an attempt at Branston Pickle but used beetroot so it came out purple. Tastes great though. So does the homemade mayonnaise. Baked beans are a significant improvement on the tinned variety. We have also been making hummus, guacamole and many curries. I find cooking a great way to pass the time and Diane likes the results. For the last couple of weeks I have needed to apply my imagination to food a bit more than usual because the oven is unusable. It has developed a fault whereby it is locked into a cleaning cycle that it will not break out off. I cannot work out any way to reset it. This is frustrating – my oven has suffered a software crash. In the meantime, I am making bread in the frying pan with some quite reasonable results.

Ironically, we are meeting and talking to far more people than we ever did out in the desert. We try to keep our distance from others and to keep to the Moroccan guidelines. This includes wearing a facemask whenever we go out. I have heard a lot of discussion about facemasks on the radio lately, mostly concerned with how effective they are. The fact appears to be, that as a physical barrier to infection they are very limited. However, if everyone in town is wearing them, then it gives a serious visual clue that these are unusual times and we should all be behaving a little differently. It kind of shows that you are taking the situation seriously even if, as I have seen several times, people pull down the mask to talk to someone else.

We are locked down. We are at a small campsite in Imsouane, a tiny village on the Moroccan coast north of Agadir. Life here is very quiet and isolated. There are some other Brits on the campsite and indeed the campsite owner is British. This means we have a few people to talk to, albeit loudly and at a distance. The campsite is basic but sufficient. Water comes from a well and is saline. We can use it for washing but it leaves your hair feeling a bit icky. I worry that it will leave deposits inside the water heater. The campsite has WiFi that works as well as any Moroccan campsite WiFi and is fine so long as you don’t try and live stream anything. Power comes from our solar panels. The roof of Baloo is covered in them. In the blazing Moroccan sun, they have really come into their own and easily provide all the energy we need for heating, lighting and cooking. On the whole, life is quiet, safe and comfortable.

We can walk down onto the beach and the other day, at low tide, an irresistible opportunity presented itself. We were just about out of table salt so I thought I would have a go at making some myself. The process I recalled from the very first chemistry lesson I had at secondary school. This was a while ago but it clearly left an impression on me.

First, we collected salty slurry from rock pools. These hollows in the rock had filled with seawater at high tide but now, some eight hours later, they had mostly dried out in the hot sun leaving a mix of sea salt, water, mud and generally unsavoury things from the sea.

Next step was to purify the slurry. We dissolved it in a little water heated to boiling point and then filtered the solution through kitchen paper. Boiling will have killed off any germs and filtration removed anything insoluble. This left a saturated salt solution. Pure salt in water.

Final step is to evaporate off all the water. Gentle heating in a pan for an hour or so. Eventually I was left with was a pan filled with white, soft, pure salt. Once this has cooled, I packed it into a sealed bag leaving just a little out to refill the saltshaker for the table. My work as a Salter was done.

For four weeks, we have been in lock down. But, five weeks ago we were camped near the river Ziz before driving north again into the High Atlas. This area has many gorges and rocky mountains. Todra is possibly the most famous gorge certainly the most visited by tourists. However, there are many others. Perhaps not quite as steep and dramatic as Todra but still very steep, dramatic. Also more remote, quieter and less commercialised. We took the road north from Goulmima up a fascinating gorge. Next day we emerged high up in the mountains where we could spot that we were close to a village by the amount of rubbish laying around.

Companies that sell bottled water do not make water; their business is mostly about manufacturing plastic bottles. 480 billion plastic bottles were made in 2016. Less than half will ever be recycled and many of them will end up littering the countryside and waterways. It takes 450 years for each of them to decompose. Baloo has a filter system to produce drinking water. This works very well. We rarely buy bottled water and this helps reduce the amount of rubbish we create. We also save our vegetable peelings to feed the goat and take our own bags when we go shopping. Getting rid of rubbish can be a problem. Very often in the towns and cities, we can leave our rubbish in a bin. Unfortunately, this is not necessarily a great solution. Outside every settlement are rubbish dumps. Typically, these are simply an area, by the road, where rubbish is dumped. These places are smelly and attract flies. Often there are dead domestic animals left to rot down. Usually there will be piles of smouldering plastic emitting choking fumes. Camping, or even stopping, anywhere near these garbage heaps is a really, really bad idea. Morocco banned single use plastic bags in 2016. A move that was not as successful as you might hope. None the less, it has helped. Disposable nappies are a major issue. Great piles of stinking and fly infested diapers right next to the road. A single heap of festering disposables convert any pleasant lunch stop into somewhere best avoided. I imagine part of the problem is a general lack of waste collection and disposal facilities. There is also a bit of a cultural issue in that it appears to be quite acceptable to leave rubbish anywhere. The popular and scenic beaches are littered with broken glass, empty tins and yet more nappies. Even the remote camps far out in the desert still have their fair share of rubbish.

We camped a good way from the village and next day took the bike down Todra gorge. I was not too sure how Baloo would fair in the gorge so the bike seemed the safer, quicker and most fun option. As it turned out the gorge is easily passable by trucks much larger than Baloo. The pandemic was properly starting to kick in by now and all but a handful of tourists had long gone. We pretty much had the place to ourselves. This was a bit weird because I know that more usually the place is a heaving mass of tourists, guides, vehicles, sellers, makeshift stalls and bogus parking attendants. We did enjoy the peace and quiet.

Back to the truck and then we started making our way north. We had no idea what was going to happen over the next few weeks so we figured our next move would be to head to Fez to stock up at the big supermarket there.

Like many other people, we are locked down. However, a few weeks ago, before Morocco imposed a lock down, we were still wandering around the desert north of Boudenib.

After our last big off-road trip, I was becoming concerned about the state of our tyres. The spare has a repaired sidewall puncture and is mostly of use as a psychological comfort. The other tyres are looking very battered. They are covered in small cuts and have several chunks missing. The main tread is nearly worn down to the first shoulder. Still safe and legal but really starting to look like they have done several thousand kilometres of rough tracks. The tricky bit is that we will need to get back to Europe before we can replace them. Ideally, we need to get back to Germany. Potentially they have another 10,000 km to do. We decided we should to stay on the tarmac. Well mostly. Finding some nice parking places required a little bit of wandering but other than that we tried to make life a little easier on the tyres. They have done great service and although they deserve a rest, we still need them to hold on a little bit longer.

The roads were empty. All the tourists had gone home. The motorhome tourers had mostly gone home. There were never very many locals. We just about had the place to ourselves. The map showed a scenic road leading south to the main N10. The valley was indeed quite pretty. A river with water in it is actually quite unusual in these parts. There were palms and grazing goats, mountain views and pleasant vistas.  The road was scenic but it was also wide, rough and dusty. As if many trucks had driven along it recently. The reason presented itself when we rounded a corner and spotted the dam in the final stages of construction. The scenic valley is about to become a scenic reservoir. Before travelling, we lived by a reservoir and still consider ourselves reservoir people. We appreciate a good dam and this one is going to be particularly good. Very steep and high. Reminiscent of some of the alpine dams. Going to trap a lot of water as well. Taking a rough sight line around the valley, I reckoned the reservoir could easily be 10km long.

Emerging onto the N10 we drove towards Boudenib but were lured off the road just short of the town. There is a sort of shortcut down to Erfoud from here. It is not really a shortcut because although the route may be a shorter distance than the road, it takes a lot longer. We needed somewhere to camp so thought we might drive down it a short way. Before long, we were out in the open desert. Found a lovely place to camp and in the morning carried on. We promised the tyres that this was definitely going to be the last bit of off-roading.

Next day we found a souvenir shop. Sort of. There was a table carefully laid out with souvenirs for tourists. Fossils, carvings, bracelets and other trinkets. A sign indicated the price of each item and there was a purse to leave money in. That was it. No building, no people, nothing more at all. We were in the middle of nowhere. We had driven along deserted tracks for hours. There really was nobody for miles around. Just this little shop on a table. It was actually quite nice to be able to browse without the usual sales person hovering around. I bought a trilobite. Later, using Google, I discovered they were selling on eBay for slightly more than I paid for it. I got a bargain. After leaving, we drove on for several more hours before seeing a shepherd tending his animals. He waved at us cheerfully. Maybe it was his shop. I have no idea.

In the late afternoon, we found a well but it was far too deep to draw water from. The submersible pump has about 30m of rope. This well was much, much deeper. It was deep enough to be quite scary. I spent quite a time peering into the darkness and dangling sticks on ropes. Meanwhile, Diane was already committed to doing the washing so we stayed put and I set up a clothesline.

The following lunchtime we eventually made to the end of the shortcut. We had successfully turned a two-hour drive into a two-night trip. This was in part because we stopped for ten minutes to watch a herd of camels. The camel man offered us some camel milk. This held no appeal to us at so we politely declined. In the evening, we arrived at a place called Meski. Here we found a very scenic place to camp overlooking palmeries at the river Ziz.

At the moment we are locked down on a campsite near the Moroccan coast. However, a few weeks ago, we were still free to wander the country. We had just left the Tazzeka National Park after an exciting encounter with a tortoise and were heading south.

In the hills to the east of Azrou we stumbled across a delightful valley. We took our time here so it was two days before we got to Boulemane. Along the way, we found water to fill our tanks. There are many public water taps along the road. This particular one was in a quiet place and had enough room for us to park next to it. Almost ideal except for the lack of water pressure. As usual, we were not in a hurry although the two hours that passed while we took on board 800 litres of water did start to drag a little. Baloo has enormous water tanks. This is a great advantage. We hardly ever need to worry about finding water. There are four tanks. Each is about 250 litres. Typically, we use around 40 litres per day. This includes showers, cooking, drinking and everything else. If we run the washing machine that takes another 40 litres. Each tank lasts about a week and as soon as a tank is empty, we start keeping an eye out for opportunities to refill it. Much of the time we drive around with at least two full tanks.

From Boulemane we headed back out into the desert towards Missour and then south. This is a beautiful area to drive in and very quiet. The Corona virus epidemic was just starting to kick in so most of the usual holidaymakers had cancelled their trips. Many of the motorhomes that we had been seeing earlier were now on their way back across Europe. We never really considering running home in a panic. For a start, we did not really have anywhere to go. Morocco seemed like a calm and quiet place to sit out the problems. Like most people, we did not really know how things were going to pan out. In the meantime we had some peaceful desert to ourselves.

A couple of weeks ago, when the world was a far saner place than it is now, we were driving in the Tazzeka National Park and came across a tortoise crossing the road. Our first wild tortoise. I was very excited and jumped out for a closer look. He promptly disappeared into his shell. Right there in the middle of the road. Tortoises are an ancient and venerable species. They wandered the planet millions of years before humans when dinosaurs ruled the world. They can live long lives. Often over a hundred years and occasionally twice that. This one however, might not last much longer if he stayed retracted and immobile in the road. I carried him to the forest edge and waited. Slowly, slowly, for tortoises are not hasty creatures; he came out of his shell and plodded off into the woods.

Back on the main road to Fez, we passed many storks on poles. Big stork nests, some well over a metre across, balanced on top of telegraph poles. One section of road, easily over a kilometre, had a nest on every single telegraph pole. Here and there, we spotted a young stork peeking out over the edge. We drove past the Barrage Idriss, a massive reservoir full of bright blue, fresh looking water. The occasional palm along the bank lent an exotic air to the scene. Fruit and veg in Morocco is very seasonal and the season of the moment is squashes. Giant squashes. Lots and lots of squashes. Fortunately, we could also still buy a good assortment of other veg.

Short of Fez, we turned south into the mountains. We wanted to find the other end of a road we had spotted in Tazzeka that made a big loop through the hills. Approaching Jebel Boulblane from the north, we first dropped into a wide, open and remarkably fertile valley. Ground crops nestled in between fruit trees. Fields of carrots, potatoes, beans peas, herbs and onions. Every square inch green and vibrant. Climbing out the far side, we passed rows of olive trees and smaller palms. The road kicked up steeply bringing us to a great parking space overlooking the valley.

Next day was a bike day. Small mountain road. Sunshine. Snow on the peaks. Fantastic views. What better way to spend a day? The road became thinner as we climbed. We passed a hole where a large chunk had slid away down the steep hillside. No problem on a bike but we were very happy we were not trying to negotiate it in a heavy truck. The road became a track. The vegetation thinned and the air became colder. We reached 2,500m and the snow line. Then, much to my surprise, we came across a ski resort. Well maybe it was once. Now it was some dilapidated building and a draglift. The lift may have been serviceable but there was no snow. Even if there were snow, it would be a long, hard drive just for a single lift and, at most, two ski runs.

Snow or not it was still quite cold. We enjoyed heading back down and feeling the air grow warmer. Alongside the track, we spotted half a dozen trees with strange cobweb like constructions in them. They reminded me of a bush we had once seen in the Yorkshire Dales that had been completely draped in a heavy cobweb type covering from caterpillars. However, this was different in that each tree contained several funnel shaped constructions each up to half a metre across. They looked a bit sinister so there was no way I was going to try and climb up a tree to poke one. Anybody any ideas what they are?

Important events are happening faster than I can write about them. So, I am going to skip past a couple of weeks to bring this blog right up to date with our current situation.

Our plan was to stay in remote desert areas until the pandemic had passed. We can easily carry three weeks of water and food. Visits to villages would be infrequent. In retrospect this was a bit naïve however, in my defence, I have little experience of global viral pandemics. On Friday, Morocco went into lock down. Everyone was ordered to stay at home. We did not hear about this until Monday. Not a good start. Then I met some other travellers who told me campsites were not letting anyone leave. It dawned on me, eventually, that we might have a small window of opportunity in which to choose a campsite before we had one imposed on us. The government ordered everybody to stay in so there was no way that they were going let a bunch of foreign itinerants wander around freely. Especially since there is a small groundswell of opinion here that Corona was brought into the country by Europeans.

Next task was to pick a campsite. The area we were in, the Ziz Valley, is lovely. A ribbon of green palmeries in hilly, desert landscape. Nevertheless, if we were holed up here for a couple of months then it would be getting excessively hot for our pale northern bodies. Officially, the lock down runs until April 20^th but it seems plausible that this might be extended. Further west, a cold ocean current runs down the Atlantic coast of Morocco from the north. This has the effect of stabilising and moderating the temperature. A much better fit to our sense of a tolerable, even pleasant, climate. A campsite to the north of Agadir had been mentioned on Facebook as a small, friendly place with a few Brits riding out the emergency. On Monday night, I contacted them to see if we would be welcomed. This was not guaranteed. Many places have already shut their doors to prevent the risk of infection. We were in luck. We have been pottering around in the desert for months now with only the smallest of contact with other people. Nothing is certain but it seems very unlikely that we might have picked up anything. The outstanding problem was getting there.

Tuesday morning we were up before dawn and rolling as the sun came up. I had no idea how tightly the country was shut down and we had a long way to go. The first checkpoint, just a few kilometres down the road, proved to be painless. We were waved through. Our route had been devised with some expert help from Mark at Amazigh Overland (https://amazighoverland.com/). Thanks Mark. It was pretty direct but also avoided towns and major roads until we got close to Agadir where this would be unavoidable. We hoped, the closer we got to the campsite, the more likely it was that the authorities would let us through.

Baloo proved to be magnificent. It has a good engine and pulls well. The roads were almost deserted. From the cab, 3m above the ground, you can get a good view down the road. We hammered it. Nothing dangerous but as they say in advanced motoring circles, we made good progress. Every town or village had a checkpoint. At each one, we held our breath and every time we got waved through. Eleven hours and three very short stops later we arrived at the outskirts of Agadir. This was the crux of the problem. Not only would there be many checkpoints but we also knew that the authorities would be locking camper vans in at the municipal campsite. We stayed here for one night several months ago. It may suit some people but we really, really did not want to be stuck there for weeks. Leaving Agadir, we were asked if we had a travel authority document. I explained we were going a short way north to a campsite to park up for the duration of the lockdown. This was sufficient. Several more checkpoints along the coast and finally we arrived at a small and rather run down campsite by the little village of Imsouane.

For us, the campsite is perfect. We have a sea view. Space to walk the dog. Some friendly neighbours, mostly surfers. A small village in walking distance and Agadir an hour’s drive away in case of more serious supply needs. We also have luxuries that we have not seen since we left Germany such as water on tap and WiFi. Meanwhile, in the far north of Morocco, many hundreds of motorhomes are trying to get back to Spain. The border is closed. The ferries are not running. Conditions are dire. In the last couple of days, the Moroccan authorities have been bringing in supplies to ease the problems. Of course, if the motor homes did manage to get across to Spain that would hardly be the end of their problems as Spain’s suffering is currently second only to Italy.

For now, we are safe and settled. We have everything we need to wait out the crisis. Best way to contact us is email simon@salter.email or diane@salter.email. Stay safe, don’t panic and take care of each other.

Back on the tarmac road, we headed north and arrived at the edge of the Plateau du Rekkam. The road descends steeply and the view is tremendous. Sadly, the air was hazy with dust and not very clear.

Over a couple of days, we made our way to the Mediterranean coast at Sadia. This is the very top rightmost corner of Morocco. Coming into Sadia, the road runs along a small valley right on the border to Algeria. A hundred metres from the road, in the centre of the valley, is a big security fence topped with vicious razor wire. A hundred yards beyond that is the Algerian road to the coast at Marsa-Bin-Mehidi. We wondered about the wisdom of trying to photograph this. In general waving cameras around near national boundaries is not a good idea. Then we passed a small layby where young Moroccans were taking selfies with the Algerian traffic in the background.

Sadia is where rich Moroccans take their holidays. At this time of year, it is completely deserted and closed down. Although the weather here is warm and sunny to an extent that Skegness would only every dream of, it is still way too cold for the locals. We drove past endless estates of closed up holiday flats and golf courses. Eventually, half way to Nador, we paid a man 30 Dh to park under a tree next to his café. Later we walked along the beach, which was pleasant enough but covered in rubbish.

For the most part, I am not so keen on travelling along the coast. Real estate is typically at a premium and that can make finding parking places very difficult. Stretches of scenic coastline and beaches are often jealously guarded. Access is restricted. The possibilities for getting into awkward situations with a truck are legion. Diane really enjoys driving along coast roads so we have to compromise a little. The road from Nador to Imzouren is very pretty and it was lovely to be looking out over the sea after so much desert. In the whole 100km stretch, we could not find anywhere particularly nice to park so when we arrived at the east side of the Rif Mountains we turned south and headed inland.

Next day we found a great place to park in the mountains. A reasonably sized levelled area off the side of the road. Probably left over from when the road was widened. Great views and miles from the nearest settlement. Shortly after we arrived a man in a car turned up and told us we could not sleep there. The language barrier stopped me understanding what his objection was but he was clearly not an official of any sort so we decided to stay put. He stayed as well and about an hour later, just before sunset, a policeman arrived. As ever, he was very polite and friendly. He was concerned for our safety and suggested we would be better off parking in the middle of the next village. We knew that if we did, we would be pestered to death so we were not so keen. I pointed out we had a very secure truck and a big dog. The police officer called his chief and then agreed that we could stay where we were. He then had a long chat with the bloke that caused the problem in the first place and then they both waved us goodbye in a very cheerful fashion as they left.

North of Taza we found a great viewpoint and parking place with views over the valley and the town in the distance. It was only early so we went for a walk that turned out to be a complete delight. We climbed a hill, discovered a cave, wandered through some rich farmland and found some enormous Aloe Vera plants. We also met a lovely donkey that, unlike most of the donkeys we have seen, did not look too miserable.  

As we were leaving Iche, Mohamid came to say goodbye and asked if we were going to Tendrara via the road or the piste. So obviously, once we knew there was a track, that was the way we wanted to go.

50 km of backtracking from Iche. It is a narrow and winding road. Really very nice to drive as it finds its way through the range of hills. Then we turned north off the tarmac onto a wide, easy track heading towards a jebel.

The maps and sat nav were no use at all with this route. We knew we needed to cross the ridge without straying into Algeria so we simply followed the most likely looking tracks. Before long we were heading west, the wrong way, and ended up at a nomad camp. We turned around, waved at the nomads and tried another direction. This time we ended up at a well but we were slightly closer to the ridge. We crossed a couple of dried up oueds, found some more tracks and picked one heading towards a saddle. This was clearly a road less travelled. Disused, washed out in a couple of place and narrow but eventually it crested the ridge and led us down the other side.

Briefly, we thought we had cracked the route. A nice, well-used track took us in the right direction and we made good progress. Then it just sorted of petered out and we were left looking over the edge of a plateau. The cliffs spread out in a long east west line that we were going to have to cross to get further north. More backtracking and a long diversion to the east. Then we spotted a track heading straight for the plateau edge. We arrived at the descent not long before sunset. It looked promising as a way forward and also looked like a great place to camp. We parked up right on the edge. Cent and I did a reconnaissance of the way down while Diane prepared gin & tonic for sun-downers. Such is expedition life. The view was spectacular and the sunset terrific.   

Getting down next morning proved to be straightforward. Care was needed but there was nothing too steep or dangerous. The dog and I had already worked out the route so we could tackle it confidently. Picking our way north because easier now. The tracks began to coalesce into a single route. We passed a few homesteads. The buildings were a bit more substantial than the nomad camps although there were typically some tents around them. Usually a few stone built walls and huts of different types. Also some agriculture going on. Not a lot but definitely a few growing crops.

Then suddenly, we rounded a hill and popped out onto an enormous road. No tarmac but clearly built to carry substantial traffic. This took us past Chott Tigri and then a small patch of sand dunes. Finally, we were out onto a wide-open flat plain and made very good time for the last 20 km or so to Tendrara. Just before the town, we came across a rather eerily deserted settlement by a disused train track. First railway track we have seen in Morocco.

Food and fuel in Tendrara and then we pushed on. North east from Tendrara is a big blank area on my map. Turns out this is a flat and, for the most part, featureless plain. We found a small hill to park up on. Gave us a view of sorts. Next day was simply driving across a flat plain on a myriad of small tracks. Eventually we found a reservoir that made a good spot for the night. Next day we re-joined the road having made the half day drive from Iche into a three day desert trek.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.