Crossing the desert - Laayoune to Zebrabar
Breakfast in Laayoune was a bit more generous than I was used to and I even managed to pich up a few pieces which would do for lunch along the way. Heading off from Layoune I felt a bit flat. I was going over in my head meeting the Irish guys in the 4x4 the day before and how much I enjoyed their company and the comfort of tavelling with others across the desert. I went over in my mind, whether I should have stayed with them and not stoped at Laayoune. They had said they planned to drive almost to the Mauri border which was 600 or 700km further than Layonne I knew it would not have been wise to attempt to cover this distance, even with their support. However I still missed them and strangely felt more alone than before I had met them. Coming out of Layonne there were massive snandunes either side of the road which encroached onto the road in places and there were a couple of buldozers active clearing the sand back. The miles ticked by slowly. My destination was Dakhla and it seemed a long way away. The desert too seemed to streach out in front of me and of course there was still over 1000km to cover. I know this was a coast road but I had not expected to be so close to the sea. The road was much of the time no more than 100 meters from the sea and ocassionally the road would go over a bridge at an inlet.*
I stopped for lunch at a remote spot and walked over to the edge of the cliff with the sea below. The cliff was badly cracked so I approached with some caution. The cliff was quite jagged and looked to be suffering from sea erosion. Looking back at the bike sitting on it's own by the roadside I had that sense again of being alone. I assumed the Irish lads would be in Mauritania by now. Reaching the Dakhla turnoff I filled up for the last run to the border tomorrow. I planned to syphon off some of the fuel into one of my storage tanks which could not be filled at a petrol station, because the opening was too small. I rode towards the town and was *imeddiatly struck by the stunning expance of sand and sea and such a change from the desert view I had all day. Watching out for a campsite, I saw an entrance to a place that looked like it was a wind surfing center and carried on. Around the next corner I saw some campervans parked up in what looked like a campsite. I rode in and was appproached by a guy speaking good English. I explained that I did not want to put my tent up but wondered if he had an empty tent I could sleep in. He was a good Moroccan and said this would be possible and he could also cook a meal if I liked. I asked to see the tent but he said it would need to be cleaned. We a greed a price half what he asked for and I'm sure I still paid too much, but I had a place to sleep. Dinner was arranged for 7:30 so I decided to go into the town of Dakhla to have a look. I had thought of coming down here in the campervan in the winter, like many French do, and wanted to see what the town offered. In essence it did not offer too much, at least not to me, after a day riding in the desert. The area around it was wonderful, with terns diving into the sea and flamingos feeding in the shores of the river. When I returned to the "campsite" *the tent was still being cleated in fact being emptied. It was a basic tent similat to that I had seen as I crossed the desert. It was closed on 3 sides and on the other side, looking on to the river it was half open. It became clear that my host and his friend had been living in this tent and decamped for the night seing the chance of making some money. It was furnished just with a mattress and although I had misgivings I decide to go for it and moved in some of my stuff. I had a sleeping bag and layed it out on the mattress. I syphoned off some petrol to my spare tank and would replenish the auxiliar tank before driving to the border tomorrow. It was about this time I asked the guy about the toilet facilities and there was a hesitation and he then informed me that "nature" was the toilet and indicated some rocks I could go behind. This may be too much detail for some, but I just wish I had brought a spade.
They had left me a seat by the tent and I sat and read my kindle waiting for the meal. 7:30 went by and it got dark. One feature of reading the kindle here was *that some of the larger flys would land on the touch screen and turn the pages over automatically. I'm not sure if they read faster than me or were philistines, *but whatever, it did not add to my reading pleasure.*
Dinner eventually arrived at 9 PM and was on a plate 18ins (45cm) across with a simple salad, well mostly onions, but 3 good size pieces of fish, well cooked. My hunger had passed a little by then but I ate a fair bit of it by the light of a headtorch. The insects seemed as impressed with the torch, as they were with the kindle.
I turned in ready for the early start to the border tomorrow. As I went off to sleep I was aware of a shape at the opening and then remenbered there were dogs around, but I'm not aware they came into the tent. I slept reasonably well and during the night had a short walk on the beach and found lots of crabs had come out of their holes in the sand. Hopefully they were not going to visit me as I slept.
I awoke before dawn and began to get ready. Firstly I opened a few birthday cards and presents I had brought with me. It was a strange beginning to a birthday but it was my decision to travel at this time. I still suspected it would be a birthday to remember. No one else was awake around the tent. I cleared the tent and loaded the bike and headed off without seeing anyone. They had made sure I paid the night before. As I rode out of the camp in the hazy dawn, two men riding camels and leading others appeared out of the desert by the side of the road. I stopped and took a few discrete pictures and gave them a wave which was returned. I've never come across a couple of camel riders on a birthday before.
Stopping at the service station I had used the previous night, I noticed a few people around but when I asked, was told that the petrol pump attendand was still asleep and there would be no petrol till he awoke. I asked about other service stations going south and was assured there was one 21km away. Fine, I bought some water and took to the road. There was a sign on the road stating there were 3 fuel stations in the next 100km, but did not mention any beyond that. The 2nd fuel station was pretty dark and there were no numerals on the pumps, no fuel here either. *No problem, there were still two ahead. When the 3rd station was also closed I got a little concerned. I may have had enough fuel to take me to the border but I was not sure, not a good feeling when crossing *a desert. When the forth station looked quiet I was a little anxious, but a guy appeared and he had "essance". This was my best birthday present of the day. Having filled up was OK to get to the Mauritanian border and hoped there would be other stations further along the way. In fact it was 100 miles before the next fill-up so it was quite important to have found fuel. I filled up again and then syphoned off fuel to my extra Mauratinia reserve.*
Before leaving for the trip I was aware that there was a stretch of road in Mauratania *of 300miles, (500km) where there may not be an opportunity to get fuel. The extra reserve tanks I had on the bike should have coped with this. But with a fully loaded bike the fuel consupption had dropped to a point where this range was now marginal. I the UK this would be no problem, you would just buy a petrol can in a service station and carry extra fuel. However here there were no spare petrol cans so I tried to think of a suitable replacement. Back in Laayoune I had a soft drink with my chicken and the idea struck me. I had thought of filling a normal water bottle but they were quite flimsy and I was reluctant to put fuel in one of these. Then at the meal the "Fanta" solution came to mind. My drink was a Fanta and it came in a very sturdy plastic bottle, perfect for petrol. I bought 2 x 1L Fanta bottles in a shop and I had the 0.5L from the meal. The 2.5L extra would be enough to make me feel confident I could cover the 300 miles if necessary. So before going through the border I filled up again.
The Moroccan side of the border was pretty straight forward but very hot after the ride. I did have one guy spend a long time looking at my documents but had no issues. The last gendarme I saw in his office and he was quite friendly. In fact he offered me a sip of his tea after he had just drunk out of it. I was unsure it was a good idea but as I did not want to change the positive mood, so I had a sip and thanked him. He noticed my passport was from Ireland and mentioned he had seen a few Irish people pass through recently. I asked when and he said that morning. This was good news as I had caught up with them a bit, but expected they would be half way down Mauritania by now. The gendarmerie also mentioned the 5km strip of land leading to the Mauratania border and that I should be careful, and take it slowly. I had heard about this stretch and was not looking forward to it.*
Entering the no-mans-land, I immediatly saw burned out cars, piles of car tyres, discarded TVs and the worst bit of ground I have ever ridden. Having heard the storys of it being bad I had assumed they were exaggerated, but in fact it was worse than I expected. I was aware there were mines off the track but this was not an issue as there was either one or 2 clear tracks which could be used. The surface was either rough and uneven rocks or the smooth parts were soft sand. As I started there were 2 large trucks ahead of me making heavy weather of it. I opted to follow them to get the measure of the terrain. The approach I adoped was to first remove my top screen deflector to get a better view of the surface ahead, then stop and work out the best path to take and a suitable place to stop again. With the lorrys going so slow there was plenty of time to do this.*
I'll admit to not being a great offroad rider as I prefer tarmac and this was a far from a tarmac surface as I ever want to get. I bounced over the rocky parts and slithered through the sand and managed not to drop the bike. In the end I overtook the lorries who were slowing me up in this heat and the bike and I were getting hot. Someone watching my poor swimming once described my style as "not quite drowning" well a good offroad rider could well have described my progress through no-mans-land as not quite falling off. In the end I got to the other side and joined a queue with the lorries.*
The temperature was approaching 40C and when I stopped I realised I did not feel so good. I took my helmet and jacket off and stood in the shadow of a truck. The truck driver motioned me over and gave me a bottle of cool water to drink. The water was very welcome and restored some of my equilibrium. I then took a look at my surroundings and realised there was a steep slope of about a meter and a half to negotiate before getting to the actual border. *I decided to get this over and position myself where the border guards could see me and maybe call me forward. This is what happened and soon I was greeted by a fixer who took my passport and went into the guard's office. Once I realised he was a fixer I told him I would talk to the guard and not him. The procedure was fine, I had my visa from Rabat and was processed quite quickly. I then moved on to the customes area which was a bit more chaotic. There were a number of people milling around and it was difficult to work out who was a traveller or who was a fixer. I ignored everyone but those in uniform and handed my papers to the customs officer. I met again a couple I had seen at the Rabat embassy and in fact had helped them with filling out the application form.*
They remembered me and we chatted. In passing one customs officer asked me if I was going to Senegal and I said yes. This was commented on by a guy standing near, who I assumed to be another traveller. The guy from Rabat explained that my saying I was going to Senegal was not a smart move as they may insist I have a guide for the drive through Mauri and charge me a lot extra. The guy who made the comment offered to help and as I liked his approach I agreed to work with him. He then took me over to the main customs offices and in time introduced me to the chief and I explained *I was looking forward to visiting the tourist sites in Mauritania, particularly the bird reserves. I suspect he did not believe a word of it but he nodded and we left and went to a waiting room.*
On entering I heard familiar Irish tones and came upon the guys from the 4x4s. I was surprised as I thought they would have been through by then but here they were. We chatted and they also had a helper and also an informal helper who was getting a lift from them to the other side of Mauri. He was originally from this area, had lived in the USA, and it seemed many other places. Anyway he was working with the formal helper to oil the wheels for the Irish lads.
I continued with my man who seemed to be making progress, passing me every now and then with a thumbs up as he passed from office to office, including giving me a very welcome cold Fanta as he passed. The Irish lads seemed to be getting to the end too but it was already late afternoon/evening. My plan was to go to a campsite in the nearist town Nouadhibou but they intended to start driving south maybe stopping at a garage half way. I was keen not to seperate from them again so said I would tag along if OK with them, and was welcome of their company driving through Mauri.*
I completed all the paperwork and got the bike outside the compound. I settled up with the fixer and gave him a modest tip, half what he wanted, but he accepted. I explained I was an Irish arab and happy to do a bargain. He laughed and we parted on good terms. I went back to check with the Irish guys and they said they would be leaving soon and we agreed I'd go ahead at a modest pace and they would catch up or see me at the petrol station half way. So off I went at between 80 - 90kpm knowing the 4x4s would be following at 100kpm and would probably catch me up before too long. Time went by and no sign of the 4x4s. There were a few checkpoints along the road and I was reassured about the security of this notorious road. I was making reasonable progress but time was going by and the sun was getting low in the sky. One rule if bike riding in Africa is not to ride at night, and this was not the best road for breaking this rule. In the end it got dark and still no sign of the cars. I'd been told that the garage was just after a particular village and I had ridden past this village some kms ago but still no garage. I wondered what I was doing riding on my own in the dark in Mauri wothout knowing exactly where this service station was. I then wondered if the GPS may know of this famous garage was, the one with a reputation for having diesel but not always petrol. Bingo, the GPS had the garage marked and it was only 6km ahead. This was a relief as the carriageway was getting hard to differentiate from the surrounding desert.*
I pulled in to a busy forecourt with lots of minibuses offloading passengers, mostly in robes. Other buses tooting their horns to call the passengers back so the bus could leave. The people were fine with me, I ordered a coffee and had some bread and an egg I had snaffeled from breakfast in the Laayoune hotel. After about 20 mins the 4x4s turned up. Some of them were also struggling with seeing the road properly and did not want to drive much further. The service station was too noisy as a place to sleep so their informal helper, Sammy, said there was a place down the road where we could park up and sleep. The land was owned by a local arab and he greeted us warmly and put on a Mauritanian tea ceremony for us. He offered that we sleep in a tent, on the mat being used for the tea ceremony. Most of us could have slept standing up, so 3 of us slept in the open sided tent with the Arabs goats wandering around. If was the perfect way to end by birthday and as expected it had proved memorable.
The next morning after breakfast, where I was offered tea and Wheetabix by the lads, we headed off to Nouakchott to Auberge Sahara, which Sammy knew, and where his car happened to be. His car that had not started for 3 - 4 months. It was great riding with the lads in their 4x4s they were going a bit faster than I would ideally ride but it was fine and great to have their company and support. I did think at one point, "Eat your heart out Ewen and Charley, you only had one backup vehicle but I had five 4x4s for support during my crossing of Mauritania".*
Along the way we came across a broken down Jeep owned by a french guy, travelling with a tourist guide. The lads stopped and spend some time trying to diagnose the problem. The Jeep had already been repaired in Mauri and the conclusion was it was an ECU issue which a dealer would need to fix. The french guy had a mechanic coming and was happy to wait for him to arrive. We moved on and then came acress a wide load taking up all if the road. There was room for a motorbike to overtake to the side but I was not allowed by the police escort. I pushed it to let me pass and it was made clear to me to back off or there would be trouble. The 4x4s headed off across a desert road but with a lot of soft sand it was not an option for me. Eventually the load had to stop and the police let me pass. The Irish lads were long gone but I only drove a few kms before sighting the welocme sight of the 5 vehicles. *
We parked up in the yard of the auberge and were shown around. It was not the Hilton, *not even an Ibis but it had beds and was cheap and we could have a meal and wifi, and a half rest day as we arrived early afternoon. Sammy started to try and sort his car, but was hampered with a battery, so flat it would not open the central locking. The Irish lads had a go at opening the car it but were defeated. Sammy called a mechanic and he opened it easity as he knew these cars well, in fact he seemed to be a good mechanic and was quickly looking at small issues on the 4x4s. It soon became clear the lads would be visiting the garage in the morning to have the cars fixed and would not leave for the border till the following day. I was not keen to hang around Nouakchott for a further day and reluctantly decided to leave for the border in the morning.*
I left the Auberge Sahara early before most of the lads were up but I heard since that they heard my departure. The traffic in the city was in full swing and I needed my wits about me. I had two priorities, find the way out of the city and 2nd get petrol. The city was a cauldron of activity. Markets were already in full swing and the roads busy with traffic, carts and people. Not your typical capital city scene, more the activity of a collection of small towns. Some of the streets were very wide, with 30 meters either side of the road before the shops, but this 30 meters was sand. Sometimes hard packed but often very soft, and I hate riding in sand, but am getting in some practice on this trip. So I followed the GPS route and stopped at the first garage, diesel but no "essance". Further on and the story at the next garage was the same. I lost count of the number if garages I visited, each time slithering across the sand only to be told they only had diesel. Then I came to another one which also had no petrol but they said the next garage had. So at the next garage I filled up with some relief.
Eventuelly clearing the town I joined the road south, initially a dual carriageway but quickly became a single carriageway. *The surface near the city was ok but further on the potholes appeared. There were a number of checkpoints where I handed out fisches, with passport and bike details. The fisches I was using were the Moroccan ones, which I had the Moroccan police ref number on and details of when I arrived in Morocco. These were never queried and I continued to hand them out at each checkpoint. The landscape included a lot of trees and bery different from the earlier desert. Between the trees however it was still sand and not soil. The potholes increased and at times the tar concisted if a narriw strip in the middle and needed to be negotiated carefuly. Dodging around the potholes was sometimes complicated by an approaching vehicle doing the same thing. I was doing well with the potholes till my escape routewas blocked by an oncoming car and I had no option but to go over it. The front wheel hit a sharp edge hard and I wondered if it had damaged the tube. I rode gingerly for a mile or so hoping not to have a puncture. It stayed up.
As I was approaching the border I started asking the police at the checkpoints if the Diama crossing was open, and was told it was. One Gendarme even called a friend and handed the phone to me and the guy at the other end spoke in english and reassured me Diama was open. With all the stories about Rosso I would have preferred to use Diama, but I was still not convinced it was open, despite these reassurances. I put Diama as my GPS destination and continued until the GPS indicatedi should turn. However there was no road just a vauge sandy track through the trees and there would have been 50+ kms of it. I pressed on, still having the option of the shorter road to Diama from Rosso. At a checkpoint about 30km from Rosso a car was parked near the checkpoint and a guy got out and offered to help me through the border. He was an off-duty customs officer visiting his family in the local village. I did not believe the story of course but he said I should follow his car. I rode quite slowly hoping he would go away, but this was not to happen. He stayed head of me but kept me in sight. As I drove into Rosso I could see the chaos beginning and my friend from the car was there. I decided I would take the dirt road to Diama, hoping it was open, in an attempt to avoid Rosso. I started along the dirt road and while it was manageable with some difficuly I concluded I did not have the reserves of energy to ride offroad for 50km, and maybe find Diama closed and have to ride back. I knew Rosso was a bad option but I had no choice, and maybe it would not be so bad. At this point my friend from the car had tudned up, he and his friend had followed me along the 3km of dirt road I had covered so far. I had to turn around hoping to loose him when I got to the border. Of course when I got to the border he was there and I could not shake him.*
There is also a feeling at Rosso that the fixers are in charge not the uniformed officials, or at least the fixers and officials are working the process together to extract as much money from the traveller. *My fixer told me where to park the bike, told me what documents to take, all done at great speed with shouted instructions. *First to the police, then to the customs, then to the ticket office and at times it seems you are in an efficient process, but at each stage you have to hand over money and documents. Insurance has to be bought, back outside the customs compound. At one point we left a customs officer with my passport while I got a ticket. And the next time I saw the passport was in the hands of a guy near the ferry who wanted more money to let me on the boat and to give me my passport back. I refused as I was convinced this was a scam. I went back to the customs building with this guy and my fixer and could find no official. The fixer and the guy with the passport made it clear to me in quite an intimidating way I would not be leaving on the ferry unless I paid. I could see no way out and paid up. Once I did pay, everyting again happened so fast. I was fold to get the bike going to fit on the back of the ferry. There was a 60 -70cm depth of water to negotiate to get up the ferry ramp. The passpost was handed to another guy who got on the ferry with me and became my fixer for the other side. I was a bit shell shocked after the Mauratinia side of the process, having been rushed around in 40C heat.*
When I arrived on the Senegal side it was initially more calm. I spoke to the main customs officer and said I believed I did not need a visa as I was Irish. *The Irish guys I had met, believed this to be so, so I thought I try and see. The customes guy was very clear, a visa was required for residents of all European countries. Luckly I had completed the on version of the visa and produced this and we moved to the biometric part of the process. This was painless, free, and in an airconditioned room, where photos and fingerprints were scanned. The customes part was also OK. I did not have any Senegal money (SFA) but my minder loaned me the money. *The problems happened when the minder introduced me with the guy who controlled the exit gate. He wanted a further chunk of money and believing he was getting it, he let me and the bike out. I wanted to know what this money was for and rubbish things like city tax, parking etc were mentioned. Another scam. I refused to pay and they told me the bike had to go back inside and this was what I did, continuing to refuse to pay. This was when they got a bit heavy and pointed at cars in the carpark where chains were through their wheels, preventing them moving.*
The gate guy threatened that the same would happen to my bike if I did not pay. I continued to argue but it was useless. In the end I took the most of the remaining euros in my wallet and paid the minder his money back and the wedge to the gate so he would give me my Pass Avant(permission to take the bike into the country). I mounted the bike a heading after the guy with the Pass Avant. I was out but still did not have the document. At this point the gate guy got on the back of a motorbike holding the Pass and told me to follow. I followed but wonered what I should do if he turned off this main road into a secluded side street. I wanted to follow him to get the document but what if it was a further heist.*
While I was debating this, he continued down the road about 2km, and stopped at a customs checkpoint. He went inside and came out and eventually gave me the Pass and said I could go. He then had the cheek to ask for a "cadeaux". I told him he must be joking and rode off with my document. Further down the road I stopped and caught my breath, had a drink of coffee from a flask and composed myself. Somewhat refreshed I continued and was pleased to have a breeze through my clothes and applied myself to the road.*
The first impression of Senegal is if a greener country. There were small villages to the side with rush or bamboo huts. I was taking too much of a look around in one village and when I turned back to the road, a guy in a donkey cary had turned right acros my path. The bike was aiming at the donkey as I braked hard, so hard the front tyre screeched. This was heavy braking, but I kept control of the bike, stopped in time and focussed more on the road for a while. My destination was Zebrabar, a famous travellers haunt and it was about 25km south of St Louis. I stopped in St Louis to get some cash and found that the cashpoints are not visible from the road as they are in a seperate room, but the card worked and I got some SFA. The streets in St Louis were busy with carts, minibuses and people. One noticible difference to the earlier countries, of Morocco and Maudatania, were the number of women on the streets all dressed in bright colours. I stopped for petrol and soft drinks and was impressed with the helpfulness and smiles of the people in the service station. Maybe Senegal wil be all right in the end.*
I continued south following the waypoint in the GPS and passed a number of inlets and lakes all with interesting birds. I was not stopping any more till I got to Zebrabar.
The dirt track into the campsite needed a bit of care so it was a great relief to get to the campsite and park the bike.*
I was tempted to have a beer but as I was tired and had not eaten much I opted for a cold soft drink. After the days of travelling and and the joys of the border I opted for a chalet and a bit of comfort.*It was quiet at and campsite but I met a Dutch couple who had come through Rosso just a few days before me. Ther experience was similar to mine and they were still reeling. They also had a worse time at the WS/Mauri border, having to use a guide and drive through the night.
At Zebrabar dinner is served with all the guests and I met some charity workers from Belgium. Their charity supports a dispensery for pregnant mothers, a school and a scout group. They had planned a boat trip up the river the next day and I tagged along. More text and photos in a few days...
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