2nd July - Dakhla

Today we went sightseeing in Dakhla. It’s a moderately large town, I think the second largest in Western Sahara after Lâayoune. Although there’s precious little in Western Sahara, the Moroccan government has invested quite a lot of money in regenerating the towns here, to validate their claim on the disputed territory. For this reason, driving through the desert, you come across moderate sized villages, newly built, with electricity, water etc, but nobody at all living there. They’re trying to attract people to settle here. We’re not entirely convinced it’s working. There might just be some politics going on.

Dakhla is also a large military post, although I’m not sure why the Moroccans have their military focus on the part of the territory which is furthest from the Polisario. Despite all this, it’s a really friendly and relaxed place, and we both rather like it. A lot of people also speak English, and one chap came over and chatted to us: he’d taught himself English from scratch, but had worked as a cook for an oil company, so had travelled around quite a lot, and had relatives in Highbury and Birmingham.

Our tasks today were to change money, buy wire, and visit an internet café. The first task was slightly stymied as we arrived at the bank at 11:55 (Nicki had a bit of a lie in J) only to find it closed at 11:15 for lunch. However, we did find a cashpoint which cheerfully accepted my Visa card and dolled out some Dirhams, so at least we had money for lunch and drinks. We also had money to buy some nice things from a patisserie, which seemed to rival anything you’d find in a French town, although the stuff isn’t quite as sweet here. The man was very friendly and even threw in two little cakes free of charge.

We then went on the hunt for wire, so I can wire up the exhaust. Surprisingly, although rope and electrical wire were for sale in abundance, it was hard to find plain wire. Eventually, one place sold me a roll of the stuff for 30p, although I really wanted something slightly thicker. Oh well, it should do the job.

Our hunt for wire took us to the mosque in the centre of town, and rather handily, there was an internet café right next door. We went in and asked how much it cost, and the guy said (in French) that it was free for the first hour! I wasn’t quite sure why but later he explained in English that it had only opened today. The computers were new and fast, the chairs still had the plastic covers on them, and we were the first people to use the computers. They were running Windows Longhorn, which I didn’t think had even been released yet. We did what we wanted to do in 59 minutes exactly, although I still couldn’t post the damn photos on the blog for some reason.

We then went back to the truck to have some lunch before going back to the bank. We ate in the same café Abby and I used last time. The food seemed good, although Nicki found the burger didn’t quite agree with her. Fortunately, the 4* Sahara Regency Hotel was only just round the corner, with its clean toilets. I went back to the bank, and queued for a few minutes only to find they didn’t change travellers’ cheques, so went on to the BMCE bank next to the hotel. I queued in the wrong queue for a while, then I queued for about ten minutes to find out which queue to queue in, then I queued for about an hour and a half to get served. In Morocco you put a personal document down on the counter (your passport or paying-in book, for example) and it gradually makes its way towards the cashier; that way everybody knows who’s next in the queue. Eventually I got my cheques processed, and had to go to another queue, this time only a very short one, to get paid. Such is the way of things here, but it’s very relaxed and friendly.

We then left the town to get petrol, and weren’t surprised to find there was a big queue. Unfortunately, the car about 4 in front of us seemed to have problems with the pump, and after about 20 minutes of not much happening at all, we decided to go off and camp, and will get petrol later on or tomorrow morning. At one point I spotted a truck we’d seen in Tiznit about six weeks or more ago. There are also some English people here in Spanish 4x4s who have come for the kite-surfing, although we’ve not had a chance to talk to them as we only saw them as they cruised past at the police checkpoint. (The policeman filled me in on their biographies.)
Nicki: I spoke to a lady who outside the patisserie who is French, although she has lived in southern Spain, Morocco, Mali and a few other places. She has travelled from Burkina Faso to here in 7 months, although she doesn’t have a 4x4 so said she is bored of the driving! She seemed nice and said ‘might see you on the road’ which we might, as we do have a tendency to bump into travellers we know!

David: The day’s last task was to use my newly purchased wire to try to wire up the exhaust downpipe joint, to lessen the chances of it snapping off, and to munge some more exhaust putty in there to try to stop it blowing exhaust fumes into the cab. This is a wonderful job to do parked in sand in high winds, as sand blows in your eyes, your roll mat blows away, your tools blow away and get lost in the sand, and you lie there cursing and muttering as exhaust putty drops in your eyes. ("Nicki! Can you get the Optrex out!") Protective goggles no good as then you can’t see what you’re doing. I don’t mind admitting, dear diary, that I voiced a few choice swear words, mostly ones Nicki had taught me earlier in the trip of course.

At the crucial moment, when my sense of humour was starting to wear a little thin, my damaged fingernail, which astute readers will remember was snapped in a bizarre rivet-gun incident in Bagshot, got caught up in the wire and broke off. I have an annoying suspicion that my efforts were in vain, and I think the exhaust will continue to bang around and blow fumes. Grrrr. If that blasted bolt hadn’t sheared, it would be fine. The joys of overlanding.