Into the Sahara: Agadir to Nouakchott: 06-Nov - 11-Nov

After the Anti-Atlas Mountains, Morocco begins to change. The people become friendlier, blacker and more colourfully dressed. Jalabas start to disappear to be replaced by desert clothes – brighter colours and much more head covering. The landscape changes too. Now it becomes flatter, broken and stony, even desolate in places. Yesterday we covered hours of bare, sandy scrubland with just a thin ribbon of blue, blue sea on our right and the occasional little fishing hut made out of whatever assortment of wood, metal, nets and bags that could be found.

The presence of security forces on the roads is becoming much more obvious. Checkpoints are more frequent and often come in threes – first the police, followed a few kilometres further on by Customs and finally the army. Most stops are blessedly short; a few questions, show the passports and then be waved on. Others are a little more tense and intimidating.

Our first sight of the desert proper was stunning. Nothing (not even Michael Palin) prepares you for the light, the colour, the sheer, crushing space and size of it. Hundreds and hundreds of miles of wind shaped terrain in every direction. And empty. You leave the vehicle and walk for a few yards into the sand and you could be the first person in a thousand years to stand on that spot. This is a harsh, unforgiving landscape that takes no prisoners, and the first sandstorm that we experience confirms all those impressions.

At this point I need to add that there are some brave and slightly eccentric people travelling through the Sahara. We first meet Brian a South African cycling on the road after Dakhla, red headed with a mass of blond hair cycling on his own to Cape Town from the UK. We met him continuously from then on at various stops. There was also a man in a go cart called Jose. A convoy of French Medics with some gorgeous biscuits. Also a group of young social workers taking 3 children with special social needs to Burkina Faso.

It’s now Friday and we arrive at Dakhla in the early evening. Aubrey goes to sort out visas for Mauritania while John, Tom and Kerry start to convert the truck into a campervan, which may be an important issue at the border. Despite the beautiful views and idyllic beach at this site there is a lot of work to be done and the group work late into the night. The following day we continue our journey. By this time, the empty oil tank on the truck has been filled with extra diesel to get us through Mauritania. The extra weight begins to pose a problem and possibly leads to the first blowout of the day on the trailer. By the end of the day there were two others and we finally camped in the desert with the evening meal taken on top of the truck waiting for Tom and Kerry to arrive with the new tyre. The rest of the truck conversion next day takes place in a sandstorm. An exfoliating experience that some people would pay a fortune for. Everything, including KoJo the dog, is covered in a coarse, dusting of sand. Distribution of the weight, the diesel, tyre pressures, and vehicle maintenance become priorities and we carefully continue on through the most amazing rock formations, like sleeping dinosaurs, arriving at the Morocco/Mauritania border by late evening and park up.

Going through the border was an ordeal for all of us and took over six hours of patient queuing, smiling and negotiating. It helps to be efficient and constantly vigilant, quick and polite and, perhaps above all, French speaking. These things may apply in any number of border situations, but add in tension, heat and corruption and things can be a bit difficult. The Law is there, but the situation appears lawless. The Moroccan guards relieve us of a few tennis balls while the Mauritanian security forces help themselves to phones, diesel, money, sunglasses, and the rest. It could be worse, and there is a great feeling of relief as we finally pass through, get moving and get out of there. An unasked for piece of advice from the Moroccan side of the border was to keep driving and stop for nothing when in Mauretania. We take the advice and drive through the night to the wonderful (hot showers!) Auberge Sahara on the outskirts of Nouakchott.