3rd June - Laayoune

We were in two minds as to whether to bother going back in to Dakhla last night after we ate.   In the end, we grudgingly trudged in, and were really glad we had.  The town had really come to life, and there were people out everywhere, children playing in the market square, and all the shops were open.   We went back to our newly opened internet café to post the blog, but by this time the nice chap who was running it was swamped by children all trying to take advantage of the "first hour free" offer.   From the glimpses we saw, the sex education of Dakhla's youth was coming on in leaps and bounds…

 

After stocking up on odds and ends (ie Milka chocolate and Bounty bars), we finally picked up our roving home and headed back out of town to our camping spot.   Only, we couldn't find it.  The GPS chose that exact moment to throw a bit of a funny, and couldn't work out where we were, and the spotlights which served us so well in Gambia suddenly packed in altogether.  Eventually the GPS came back to life and we found our way back to our little spot.  I checkout out the spotlights this morning, and strangely enough, both bulbs have blown.   They're a totally weird type of bulb which probably doesn't exist outside Brookwell's in Bovey Tracey, and naturally, they're the only bulb we don't carry a spare of.   Oh well, so much for night driving!

 

Another sprightly start saw us heading up the coast, half expecting to see Rosalyn still at the police checkpoint waiting for a lift north.   The journey was uneventful, bordering on dull, so we played silly word games and listened to music.  I-Spy is rather futile in the desert (Road, Sand, Sky, Greenery, Pylons), so we thought of vegetables beginning with all the letters of the alphabet, etc.   (If anybody can think of a fruit or vegetable beginning with Q, U or V, please let us know.  Aah!  Quince!)  

 

We hunted around for fuel, but many of the fuel stations either don't have petrol, or don't have any fuel at all, or don't even have pumps!   At one point I pulled into a forecourt where two dogs were sound asleep in the shade right next to the pump.  One didn't wake up until we were rolling gently forward about six feet away from him, and we frightened the living daylights out of the poor animal.   He leapt up, scrabbling for grip on the concrete, and tumbled away from us, before turning rather belatedly to bark at us.  But they didn't have petrol anyway, so it was rather academic.   Consequently, we used a jerry can from the roof to get us as far as Boujdour, which did actually have petrol for sale.

 

Today we saw several westerners heading both north and south, some of whom we exchanged waves with, and lots of Land Rovers, mostly Series IIIs, which proliferate round here.   We also saw a British Army Bedford truck, which was being used by the Moroccan military.  We overtook it, then shortly after decided to pull over, and the truck pulled to a halt alongside us, just to check if we were OK!   We've heard several people say that they've found Moroccans or Mauritanians slightly mercenary, but we've found it to be totally the contrary, touch wood:   they've all been friendly, helpful and very courteous.

 

Nine hours after departing Dakhla, we approached Laâyoune, our destination being the tourist information office, to try to locate camping for the night.   However, it being past six on a Saturday evening, they were of course shut.  We'd parked in the forecourt of the posh hotel opposite, with the blessing of the very hospitable security guard, so I asked him if he knew anywhere.   In immaculate French he told me he didn't know of a camping, but we'd be welcome to park up in front of the hotel and stay for the night!  So that's where we are, but we thought it'd be only polite to go in the hotel for a quick drink.   Nicki's knocking back the double vodkas as I write.

 

I had a call from my dad earlier, who suggested maybe getting the errant exhaust downpipe spot welded, to provide a temporary fix which would be un-doable back in the UK when I can get it seen to properly.  It's one of those things that was staring me in the face, but I hadn't thought of it, of course.  If I'd thought, we could have had it done in Zebrabar;   earlier, before he rang, we passed a garage who would have probably done it in 30 minutes, but tomorrow is Sunday so I think we'll probably have to wait until we get to Agadir to get it done.   (We know of a good mechanic there thanks to Jo and Roy.)  Tomorrow we are heading to Smara, to pick up a piste out of our Sahara Overland guidebook which should drop us north of the Moroccan border at Assa in a couple of days' time.

 

Evening update:  after finishing our drinks and availing ourselves of the hotel's toilets, we walked up the hill into the town.   It's the nearest thing to a western-style city we've seen for a long time.  Some of the buildings are several stories high!   It's interesting, lively and relaxed, with people sitting in pavement cafés and chatting among the evening bustle, sort of like a Mediterranean town, but if anything, more friendly.   People spoke to us in English, and a bit of Spanish and German, and we bought a few bits and pieces of food from friendly shopkeepers.  There's quite a lot of stuff on sale here which we've not seen elsewhere, for example refrigerated crème caramels.   (Or should that be crèmes caramel?)

 

When we returned to the truck, one of the security guards started talking to Nicki in German, so I talked to him instead.   He just wanted to say, if we needed anything, not to hesitate to ask for him and he'd get us whatever we want!  Rather generous, given that we've parked our oily great truck in their car park, we're using their toilets, and we're not paying anything for it!   But it does seem to reflect the hospitable nature of the Western Saharans.