Monday 12 November 2012

African Adventure Part 4: Tiznit to Nouadhibou

Ahoy Mudpuddlers! As regular as a well tended bowel I am back to gve you the next installment of my adventures in Africa. Excitingly enough, we will cross the border today from Moroccan controlled Western Sahara into Mauritania, but let's not rush ahead of ourselves....

So, I was at the tree camp in Tiznit, where one could not hide oneself when relief was required! SO let's move on swiftly to the last day of travel through Morocco proper. This was the second occasion we took leave of the Vespas for a day. Not for anything hideous the trip to Ksar Tafnidilt would hold but because the following day was a raw driving day through the disputed territory of Western Sahara, and the Vespas would not be able to cover the distances required in one day, so they were going on ahead of us to leave a shorter day two.

The main excitement for this day was a dramatic drive along the beach in a race against the incoming tide, but we had a good sample of the sea beforehand when we stopped for a drink at a beachside cafe. Despite the service being strictly on African terms (as and when, no hurry lads), I had a rather pleasant and decidedly right on mint tea and a good stroll down to the sea to watch the waves crash in. And crash they certainly did on many parts of the journey. We had left the mountains behind and the focus was now totally on the Atlantic coast, there were really strong waves crashing in all along the drive. very beautiful and in a way quite foreboding. We were to meet at a marine base at lunchtime so that the effort of racing the tide could be slightly better organised than the wacky races. Without being daft, it would have been all too easy to get the timings all wrong and end up either abandoning the car to a salty fate, or worse, being stuck in it as the tide swept over.

Unfortuantely, there was simply nowehere to buy anything to eat or get a drink at the marine base (it was just that, no other habitaiton for miles around). What followed was an excellent example of the team spirit that quickly grew up between all the cars and bikes, as everyone pretty much pooled the fag ends of bread, odd tins of tuna and packets of biscuits we had between us into a communal lunch, which in the end was as satusfying as any of the other lunches on the voyage.

Once that had been done, we had the beach drive to contend with, and the first part of that was getting the cars and bikes across an inlet of sea water that was between us and the beach. no problem for the dirt duck, but unfortunately one or two of the other cars (including poor Laura) get wetter than intended and joined the temporary ranks of  'buggered'. There was, however, time to get them all running and still beat the tide. The race along the beach was amazing! Flat out on hard sand with the sea trying to lap at the passenger side of the car (for left hand drives, anyway). It was extremely exhilirating, and concluded with ajust as exciting a ride through a canyon back to the roads which itself featured several patches of soft sand to get stuck in, water to soak you through the open window and generally harsh conditions for the now filthy 2CVs.

The stop for the night was as Ksar Tafnidilt, a pleasant camping site run by a French couple. They had rooms for rent as well and I took one as I fancied a night of luxury as opposed to another crick in the neck from terry the tent. Erik was keen to fuel up ready for the morning and he, Kell and Mal wanted to sort out some things in the nearest town of Tan Tan, so I rode the last several km to the campsite on an off road track with Fitz and Stan. Of course the 2CVs only hold two people, so in taking a ride, it meant standing on the rear reinforced bumper and climging on to a couple of hand holds on the roof. Not nearly as scary as it sounds and a lot of fun. Particularaly the feet leaving the bumper upwardly and landing squarely on it again (which was nice). You haven't really had a 2CV adventure until you have ridden one bareback, so this was my initiation.

The next day was one we were all fairly dreading. The long haul through Western Sahara starting at 5am. Just to explain, Western Sahara is a disputed territory. Morocco controls it but there is a UN presence there (we saw a couple of UN vehicles) and there are separatists that dispute control and the like. It is also a huge area with just 800,000 people or so living in it. There were perhaps 4 towns/villages along the road and thats it. And the road, I should point out, was 840km today. It was also the day that our 'fiches' first came into play. There are numerous police stops along the road, and they will always want to know where you are going, and plenty of details from your passport. Hence we had 40 or more copies of all pertinent info each on a handy handover sheet. Saves about 20 mins at every stop, and most police are more than happy to take the sheet rather than scrawl down details over and over again. Win win. I took my share of the driving today, and I will say this about it. I now know what a give way sign looks like in Morocco having blundered striaght through one and irked a cabbie no end, and I also know the precise clearance on the passenger side of a 2CV having apparantly passed a parked lorry with a millimetre to spare. I was tired, give me a break!

Highlight of the long long days driving was lunch. We stopped at the main town about halfway and found a cafe that most of the military (LOTS of them in Western Sahara!) seemed to frequent. They knocked us up a super quarter chicken, fries, carrots and olives each which was extremely tasty. The end of the day was also extremely agreeable as we stayed overnight at the beach at Dakhla, which is a camp known as Oyster camp. The reason for that is some local oyster fishers came along and sold us oysters fresh from the sea (and being thoroughly decent sorts shucked them for us as well). I enjoy a good oyster, and these were very good, and very fresh. I wolfed ten down before deciding I was oystered to the maximum. Not very fibrous oysters if the morning was anything to go by. Petrol, by the way, is ridiculously cheap in Western Sahara, about 75% the cost in Morocco proper. Shame there really is almost nothing to see or do there, just mile upon mile of striking, but empty, land.

The next morning was also an early start as we had to cross the first official border into Mauritania. Mauritania is a little visited country by westerners, and they are keen to promote tourism as it is also a very poor country and sources of income few and far between (there may be some oil fields they can exploit off the coast, but thats about it). Given that, you'd think they would make the border crossing as easy and swift as possible.....

Not a bit of it. Gert, the organiser, had prepared extensive spreadsheets of info to use at the border beforehand, but this wasn't enough for the Mauritanians! Oh, but before we get there, we had to exit Morocco, which involves driving 3km through a minefield between them and Mauritania (there were hostilities when the Spanish pulled out of Western Sahara)! You have to be very careful to follow the marked track. Blown up vehicles that tried to take a short cut are left in place as a warning to the rest. All a bit bottom nippy really.
 
Anyway, we made it through the minefield to be met with a logisitcal and beaurocratic minefield of delicious Mauritanian pointlessness. First of all it was there being no car serial numbers on the spreadsheets handed over, then it was drivers and co drivers not being ready and waiting by their cars and the threat of total car search if you weren't ready and waiting when the little man with a clipboard came round. There's also the whole pulava of having to pay the relevant amount for blind eyes to be turned to things and so on and so forth. Mauritania is a very strict Muslim country, but where there's a will there's a way. It was bakingly hot on this day as well and we were crossing at the heat of the day. In all it took 6 hours for us to clear the border and set off for the campsite. Tourism? Sort your border fiasco out first!! And there I shall leave it with further adventures in a new country to write about later in the week. We camped at a disappointing site with the ridiculous name of Camp Abba in the second largest city in Mauritania, Nouadhibou, whivh has about 74,000 inhabitants Nouadhibou is a shit hole. There is little more to be said on the matter.





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