West Africa 2006

The Paperback of the Blog

2007-02-10T14:02:00.000Z

I've just published the Book of the Blog in paperback format, which at about 6 quid is a fifth of the cost of the full colour hardback.

The pictures are all still in there but they're black and white.

The Truck's on eBay

2006-12-08T23:14:00.000Z

The eBay auction for the truck went live last night.

The Book of the Blog: Now Published in Hardback

2006-11-29T23:27:00.000Z

Due to the wonders of the Internet, I've been able to actually publish the Book of the Blog in glorious full-colour hardback. The 250-page book costs about £30.

The Truck is For Sale!

2006-08-15T18:16:00.000+01:00

I'm going to be selling the truck. It'll be put on eBay in due course, but if anybody wants to make me an offer I can't refuse before then, you're welcome to.

See here for details.

And finally... The Book of the Blog

2006-06-22T15:24:00.000+01:00

Please sign our guestbook - on the right!

As promised, we've put all the blog stuff, along with many photos and various other bits and pieces, into a book format. Mainly aimed at close friends and relatives, but anybody is welcome to download it.

Just click on this link to get the PDF document. Be aware, this is a 31MB file, so may take a long time to download. If it looks like it's not doing anything, be patient, it's probably trickling through.

By the way, our final mileage tally was just short of 14,000km.

Musings

2006-06-22T13:12:00.000+01:00

Things we should have brought but didn’t

Torque wrench
Engine & gearbox mounts
Shock absorber bushes
One Shot grease
Tin opener (the first one we bought broke, the second was left in Gambia accidentally)
Spare tea towels
Photos of home
Pepper
Drawing pins
Mosquito nets for all the windows & hatches
Supernoodles
Spatula (purchased in Spain)
Better thought-out selection of food
Spare bulbs for the spotlights
Toothpicks (essential in endemic mango regions)
Lots of squash, because it brightens up the water, and it’s really hard to buy in Africa
Matches (easier to avoid burning your hand when lighting stove)

Things we brought which were a total waste of time

4 different hats (David)
Gallons of moisturiser
Steering lock
GPS cable (didn’t work properly)
Laptop mounting bracket (moved around too much, too hard to hide from police, so sat laptop on engine cover instead)
240 PG Tips tea bags

Things we brought which turned out to be really useful

Baby wipes
Lots of bin bags
50% deet in non-aerosol spray
Hand Sanitiser (alcohol-based cleaner, needs no water)
Awning
Foldaway chairs
Gaffa tape (for waxing Nicki’s legs)
Carnet de Passage (useful in all countries south of Morocco)
Photo printer
Nicki’s piece of material: used to lie on at beach, used as a towel, used to block exhaust fumes from getting into cab, used to stop seatbelt burning her love handles
Spare set of engine gaskets
Spare clutch master & slave cylinders
Vacuum pump/gauge (for checking vacuum-operated diff and bleeding clutch)
Decent nozzle for fuel jerry cans which lets air back in as they empty

Places we particularly liked

The beach at Tujering, Gambia
Mali town, Guinea
Niokolo-Koba National Park, Senegal/Guinea border
Dakhla, Western Sahara
Nouadhibou, Mauritania, considering it’s basically a big ore terminal
The desert north-east of Smara, Western Sahara

Places we were particularly unimpressed by

Rosso border crossing, Mauritania/Senegal border
Barra ferry terminal / town, north bank of the Gambia river
Kaolack, Senegal (David didn’t mind so much but Nicki was not a big fan)
The campsites at Agadir

Recommended food to take (with hindsight)

Supernoodles
Squash in large quantities
Tinned puddings, eg sponge puddings
Custard powder
Salt & pepper
Small amounts of rice & pasta
Tinned fruit
Tins of mixed vegetables
Pasta in sauce
Packet sauces, eg cheese sauce
Sandwich fillers in jars
Tinned tuna
Baked Beans
Smash

Recommended food to buy there

Bread – baguettes everywhere, round flat baps in Morocco
UHT milk
Fresh fruit & veg
Bottled water
Rice
Mayonnaise
Crisps
Nuts (not as cheap as you’d think)
Biscuits (varied quality)
Ice creams

Things you have to remember when you get back

Don’t finger the bread to try to find a loaf that isn’t stale and doesn’t have ants in it.
Don’t toot your horn when the traffic lights go green.
If somebody is driving like an idiot, it’s not because they are used to a different method of driving, or that there’s a cultural difference, it’s because they’re an idiot.
Don’t talk about people out loud assuming they probably can’t understand you.
Drive on the left!

Nice things about being back

When you have a shower, you don’t have to worry about the water going cold or running out altogether.
There’s nice food in the fridge and it hasn’t gone off.
The cheese isn’t Laughing Cow.
You’re not likely to get malaria.
Mobile calls and texts are cheap again.
Nicki doesn’t wake up, look across and think “Oh no! I’ve pulled a man with a beard!”
The putty on the car windows isn’t melting.
All your stuff and your living space isn’t totally covered in red dust.
You don’t have to give out pens to the officials at the border.
Everything’s really green!

Things we learned

West Africa is not a dangerous, edgy place to travel. We even heard of somebody who’d been through Liberia and said it was fine. There may be occasional dodgy areas, like any part of the world, but I’d say on average it’s no less safe here than in Somerset.
However, malaria is a serious risk. Each year, British tourists to Gambia die of it. While we were in Morocco, a Polish traveller in Ghana died of malaria.
Bush camping is more comfortable than camping in a campsite, in every respect we can think of.
It’s quite hard to work out who is trying to rip you off and who is just being friendly. Unless they use a giveaway phrase like “It’s nice to be nice” (see below).
The Mandinka for “white man” is “toubab” – but we didn’t get the hang of the more complicated word for “black man”.
It’s useful to pick up French-speaking hitch hikers when crossing French-speaking borders.
The roads and pistes here really do pound the daylights out of your truck.
“Ciel” bottled water is made by Coca-Cola and is bottled tap water, somewhat like their Dasani fiasco in UK. It’s the only bottled water we actually disliked the taste of.
The little sturdy-looking brown & black goats fart something chronic.
You should write down your passport & vehicle details on a sheet of A4 and photocopy it, to give to police checkpoints as a “fiche”.
The Moroccans north of Tiznit are out to get your money. Possibly all of them, but certainly the vast majority.
If anybody says “it’s nice to be nice”, “it’s good to be good”, or even worse, “it’s nice to be important, but more important to be nice”, then you can guarantee they’re NOT going to be good or nice. Ideally run these people over straight away.
Dollars are useless in West Africa. Euros are a much better bet. Travellers’ Cheques are a pain to change because you have to use a bank in most places. Euro cash is king here. I wish I hadn’t brought any dollars at all, and had brought mostly cash and only a small amount of Travellers’ Cheques for emergencies.
You get much less hassle in the tourist-centred souqs if you go in the middle of a World Cup football match.

Useful information on countries

2006-06-22T13:08:00.000+01:00

Just a few notes on some things we could have done with knowing before we got there, but which weren’t in the guide books. I recommend reading Sahara Overland, by Chris Scott, and Africa Overland, by Bradt Travel Guides; the Michelin 741 map; and, by default, the Lonely Planet guide for West Africa.

Morocco & Western Sahara

Money

The currency is Dirhams, currently about 15 to the pound.

Travellers’ Cheques can be changed in banks, but take your original receipt with you. Cash can be exchanged at banks too. The Moroccan way to queue is to leave a document in the long line of documents on the counter to mark your place; be prepared for a long wait, although some banks have a separate counter for money changing so ask first.

Moroccan Dirhams are restricted currency, so don’t take any out of the country with you as you won’t be able to exchange it away from the borders.

Vehicle Insurance

I got a Green Card from my insurer (cis.co.uk) which covered me for Morocco. This cost £30 but also covers various countries in Europe.

Camping

There are plenty of campsites around, and you can buy a book in French which lists all of them, including GPS coordinates. This is available in some campsites and some Marjane hypermarkets. Bush camping is not legal but in Western Sahara it’s very straightforward, because you can pull off the road and disappear into the desert where nobody cares less.

Water

The easiest way to get water is in campsites. Some have a separate tap for drinking water.

Mauritania

Money

The currency is Ouguiya, currently about 500 to the pound.

Cash can easily be changed on the black market; you won’t have any problems finding somebody to change it for you. You get a better rate from the touts than the bank, but negotiate. Travellers’ Cheques can only be changed in banks, or in some exchange counters during bank opening hours only.

When you arrive at the northern border, you may have to declare “all” your cash (ie as much as you feel like declaring), and you will be expected to get receipts for any money you change, to show you’ve exchanged using the official channels. However, some of the black market exchangers will be able to get an official receipt for you anyway. We found when we left the country, we weren’t asked to turn in the receipts after all, and when we went north through Mauritania we weren’t given a form at all. So it doesn’t seem like it’s that important.

Don’t take money out of Mauritania as it’s totally useless anywhere else, and nobody will exchange it apart from touts at the border, who will give you lousy rates.

Vehicle Insurance

This is specific to Mauritania and must be bought from an insurance office, in all major towns including Nouadhibou and at the Rosso border compound. The insurance offices in towns are only open weekdays and generally close at lunchtime on Friday, so if you arrive at a weekend you’ll be immobile until you get insurance, which will probably be checked at the first police checkpoint. It costs around €20 for two or three weeks.

Camping

There are campsites in major towns. Like Western Sahara, it would be easy to bush camp, particularly in the north of the country where you’re unlikely to bump into anybody who cares.

Water

We got our water from campsites; for example Camping Sahara in Nouakchott has drinkable water from an outside tap.

Senegal

Money

The currency is West African Francs, CFA, currently about 1,000 to the pound.

Easy to change in banks and exchange outlets. If the banks are shut, various shops and other places will change cash for you, for reasonable (negotiable) rates; ask around or some local hassler will find one for you.

Vehicle Insurance

At the Diama border, a wise old lady will issue you official insurance which, if you wish, can cover the ECOWAS countries, ie all of the countries in West Africa south of Mauritania: Senegal, Mali, Gambia, Guinea, Guinea Bissau, Sierra Leone, Liberia, Ivory Coast, Mali, Burkina Faso, Ghana, Benin, Togo, Niger, Cape Verde and Nigeria. This saves worrying about insurance anywhere else. I presume Rosso has similar, but more aggressive, facilities.

Camping

There are campsites in some of the larger towns, but not always: for example, in Kaolack we had to shoehorn ourselves into the gateway of a third rate Auberge. Bush camping seems straightforward as long as you keep out of people’s way.

Water

We didn’t get water in Senegal so we have no idea.

Gambia

Money

The currency is Dalasi, currently about 50 to the pound.

Money can be exchanged in banks. Touts will offer to exchange money at the borders, but they’ll give you a lousy rate and it’s not necessary. Camping Sukuta will exchange money too.

You don’t need Dalasi for the Gambia River ferry crossing from Barra to Banjul, because you’ll be expected to pay in CFA if you are in a European vehicle.

Vehicle Insurance

Gambia is an ECOWAS country so can be covered by insurance bought in one of the other ECOWAS countries.

Camping

Camping Sukuta is the only campsite we saw in Gambia, although Tony is trying to change that. Bush camping is fine if you keep out of people’s way, or make friends with a local and park outside their compound.

Water

The villages have wells, which you can use to fill your jerry cans; some of the water is of drinkable quality and the metal hand-operated pumps apparently have built-in filters, but you can always throw some Puritabs in to make sure.

Guinea

Money

Guinea also uses West African Francs, CFA, at around 1,000 to the pound.

You can easily exchange cash on the black market. We exchanged $300 in the petrol station in Koundara. Be aware of what the current rates are, such as shown on www.xe.com/ucc. We didn’t try to exchange Travellers’ Cheques in Guinea.

Vehicle Insurance

Guinea is part of ECOWAS so insurance can be bought to cover it as well as the other ECOWAS countries before you get there.

Camping

The best bet is probably to find an Auberge with space for you to park up, or bush camping is very easy.

Water

In the mountains water is hard to come by, so take it with you if possible, rather than drain the already depleted wells. In the lowlands I expect it’s probably like Gambia, but we didn’t fill up there.

Video of 101 in desert

2006-06-22T11:09:00.000+01:00

Here's a bit of video of part of our desert route, Semara -> Assa.
The fact that this took 5 attempts was entirely down to the driver!

We're home!

2006-06-21T21:16:00.000+01:00

Just a quick note to say, we're safely back. The truck rolled into Bagshot at about 8pm this evening, the only last minute delay being a police check at Portsmouth which ironically took longer than any of the ones we had in Africa.

Over the next couple of days I'll be uploading all the information we talked about, so don't go away folks!

21st June - Bay of Biscay

2006-06-21T21:14:00.000+01:00

We're on the ferry on the way home. It's a pretty dismal place. Nicki described it rather accurately as like Butlin's, Saga and Fatfighters all rolled into one. We watched an enormous couple wobbling across the café with two cakes each. Causality eat your heart out.

Yesterday's highlight for me was dinner, for which we went to the buffet, but the ship was porpoising quite a bit in the swell, so Nicki lasted for precisely one bread roll before retiring to our cabin, rather whiter than when she went upstairs. The view from the restaurant was over the bows, so periodically everybody rushed to the window to look at dolphins leaping out of the water. Nicki was on deck when they announced a dead whale floating past, but we've not seen a live one.

I went to update the Book of the Blog with all our photos, but after a while, Microsoft Word crapped out and won't edit the file because it's got too big. I'm hoping it'll work on the trusty Mac at home, otherwise I'll have to start again, which would be most frustrating as it was really coming along. In the evening I watched the first half of the England match, then we listened to the rest on the in-cabin radio.

Last night our cabin was 30°, despite the heater setting being turned right down. They sent out a repair man who made it better for a while, but then it packed in again. I tried a shower but there was no cold water. A bit annoying bearing in mind the ferry's not exactly cheap. In the end they moved us to another cabin, regrettably not upgrading us in the process. We both slept better than we have for ages.

Right now we're just counting the hours until we arrive. According to the captain we're about to join the eastbound shipping lane to enter the Channel.

Country Rating

2006-06-19T21:59:00.000+01:00

Dave and Nicki have compiled a table rating different aspects of the countries they have visited.

See it here

Supplemental

2006-06-19T19:16:00.000+01:00

Abby emailed me about another traveller, a Polish lady, who started hitch-hiking across Africa in January, taking pretty much the same route we wanted to take, but who adventurously went on through Liberia and Ivory Coast.

The tragedy is that she died ten days ago in Ghana from malaria-related complications.

Her blog makes fascinating reading. http://www.kingafreespirit.pl/

19th June - Bilbao

2006-06-19T19:12:00.000+01:00

Nicki reporting her last blog!

I have to start with last night. After we posted the blog and had showers and baths, we headed off to the restaurant for dinner. Before we went in we consulted our guru behind reception (Anne) about where we should eat and she recommended we try a small restaurant around the corner because as it was Sunday the hotel restaurant would have a limited menu. So we went for a short walk to the place which seemed nice but lacked a little in atmosphere, so (glad of the walk) we returned to the hotel after all. We had a lovely meal as it turned out, we both had wild boar and enjoyed the bread and olive oil and sparkling water. I had a glass of red wine, which, on trying a sip, David then ordered a bottle of. Yes, I was sitting opposite the non-drinking vegetarian who was eating wild boar and drinking red wine!! We then finished off with delightful puddings and following this instructed our waitress on what a cheese board was, and she duly asked the chef who created one for us! Overall it was a lovely meal and was the first proper meal we had had for weeks. We retired to our clean sheeted beds and slept like logs.

I awoke this morning to David saying 'what time does breakfast finish because its ten to ten!'. So I legged it out of bed to catch breakfast before it finished, which again was lovely and huge but a bit expensive, so I think I will have to go without tomorrow! We lazed around most of the morning watching TV and using the internet before heading out for a bit of sightseeing. We navigated our way to the Guggenheim Museum to find it was shut on Mondays. Great!!! Typical! Oh well, we thought, we will go to another museum. No, they are all shut on Mondays except the bullfighting museum which neither of us wanted to see anyway! Why would everything be shut on Monday?! So we headed to the centre of town and found an H&M, so we went in and I advised David on some clothes which he bought.

We started to get bored of all the Spanish boutiques after a while so we headed back to the hotel and had lunch in their cafeteria. This was after David sprinted up to the room to change into his new clothes! Our afternoon consisted of lazing around in our lovely hotel room, watching TV, using the free internet and having baths and showers again. We are now waiting for the restaurant to open so we can repeat last nights lovely dinner! It is possibly one of the best birthday/Christmas presents I have ever had!

18th June - Bilbao

2006-06-18T18:54:00.000+01:00

Please sign our Guest Book – click on the link to the right. Thanks!

The El Greco campsite in Toledo generously laid on a live band last night. This being Spain, of course, they played until quite late in the night, and were pretty loud, so neither of us got to sleep at a reasonable time. So when the alarm went off this morning, it was promptly silenced. With one thing and another, we left at 10am, having filled up with fuel from some of our remaining jerry cans.

Another long day of driving isn't much to write about. It was hot, it took a long time, the scenery was quite nice. You do notice that the Spanish roads are still large and empty though. There was an element of irony when I emptied our last jerry can of fuel into the truck, then a couple of hours later nearly ran out of fuel because we couldn't find a petrol station. I'd have been a bit peeved if we'd run out of fuel, having carried 220L of spare fuel around for the last 15,000km!

We had decided to treat ourselves to a hotel in Bilbao. Partly because we've been living in a truck for three months, but also as a birthday present from me to Nicki, as she'll be in South America for her birthday and Christmas. We drove into Bilbao looking for something about 4*, with parking for the truck. Anybody who knows Bilbao will know that space is at a bit of a premium here, so parking is limited, and all the hotels have underground parking, which are totally useless for us because we can't fit. We stopped at a couple, and the second one suggested we go to a hotel near the stadium, because there's on-street parking there.

We ended up at the Hesperia Zubialde, which was exciting for a number of reasons. Firstly, they have a parking area outside which we fit in, and we can use because there are no matches on at the stadium. And it's free. Secondly, the room has a BATH! And a TV! And Air Conditioning! It might be hard for anybody who hasn't lived in a 20' truck for three months in African heat to realise just how exciting this could be for us. The clincher is the free wireless internet access.

So we're tuned into CNN and Nicki's in the shower while I'm writing the blog. Tomorrow we'll explore Bilbao. But let me tell you more about the exciting things you'll see on the blog over the next few days! Can you contain yourself?

I'm currently uploading a couple of videos to Google Video, of some of our truck antics in the desert. Once these are published by Google I'll post a link for your viewing pleasure.

We've compiled a list of useful stuff to know, the sort of stuff it might have been useful to know in advance, and also some random stuff we just felt like saying. This'll be posted in the next few days.

Next is our Country Rating Chart. We've rated the countries we've visited, totally subjectively, on 30 different attributes we could think of, from the quality of the bread to the loudness of the Muezzin. Adding up our scores gives a ranking for each country. Will Gambia take the crown? How will the rank outsider Western Sahara bare up? Find out soon!

And, saving the best until last, we've spent a while compiling a BOOK out of the blog entries, maps of where we went, lots of photos and other exclusive bits and pieces! We'll make this available as a free PDF download by next weekend. It's really aimed at family & close friends but anybody is welcome to download a copy.

Right, I'm off to have a bath, because I can.

17th June - Toledo

2006-06-17T17:15:00.000+01:00

Before I tell you about today, here's a quick commercial break.

We may be back in Europe, but this isn't the end of the blog! Over the next few days we have some good stuff to post, including a video of the 101 cresting a sand dune at the fifth attempt, and some info about the various countries we picked up on the way. It'll take a few days to get all this posted so please tune in for regular updates.

Secondly, Si has set up a guestbook. We've had messages from all sorts of weird and wonderful people, who we never thought would see our blog, so we thought it might be a nice idea to find out who you all are. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE take the time to click on the link on the right and sign our guestbook. Thanks!

So, today we drove up all the way from the Costa del Sol to Toledo, which is (a) about half way to Bilbao, (b) a nice town and (c) has a good campsite. Hours of motorway driving doesn't make for a fascinating blog, but the truck helped liven things up a bit. Shortly after stopping I noticed the voltage gauge on the dashboard was flicking up and down like an ECG. It's not supposed to do this, so I pulled over, before anything got fried, and got the multimeter out. This showed a nice steady 12.8v at the battery, but with the engine running, the voltmeter on the dash was still up and down like a yo-yo. The implication was that the battery had become disconnected from the alternator somehow, and sure enough, when I turned the engine off, the starter motor was dead, and our hazard lights went out.

I grovelled around in the dirt for a while (that rollmat we bought at Camping Sukuta has been worth its weight in gold) and wiggled some wiring, which brought the hazards back into life; however, when I turned the key to start the engine, everything went out again. After more waggling, I found that the big spade terminal at the end of the thick cable from the battery to the starter motor is a bit loose, and I think all the dirt we've driven through, plus some soot deposits from where it's probably been jumping across the bad connection, meant the connection wasn't being made any more. It's not easy to get to to re-crimp, so I fiddled with it until I got a good connection which should last until the UK where I can sort it out properly.

The motorways in Spain are large, smooth and mostly empty, so when I get back to the M25 I'll have to remember to keep looking out the front window all the time, otherwise I'll probably pile into something I wasn't expecting to be there. We had a spot of rain, for the first time in goodness knows how long, and chased rain clouds for much of the day. Nicki dozed off in the back of the truck at one point, which is one of the benefits of lugging your home around with you.

Lunch today was a couple of totally underwhelming sandwiches from a motorway garage. Mine was an Omelette Sandwich, which was the most vegetarian I could find, but it had ham in it, which rather defeated the point. The bread was anaemic and soggy. Nicki's wasn't much better. Ah, the wonders of mass-produced, unimaginative food. Give us a stale shrapnel loaf and some Laughing Cow & marmite any day.

We're relaxing back in Camping El Greco for tonight and heading to Bilbao tomorrow to stay for 2 nights. We're about half way up the country, but have to negotiate Madrid in the morning; luckily it's Sunday so should be quiet.

16th June - Marbella

2006-06-16T19:08:00.000+01:00

We, or I (Nicki), had an interesting night's sleep last night, as David was busy snoring away, and because he was feeling ill from eating a dodgy batch of nougat I did not want to wake him. So I slept on the seat in the truck (about 1m in length) till about 3am when David stopped snoring.

The decision was made to drive to Ceuta today and cross over to Spain. So we headed off about half nine as it was 90km away, and that was predicted to take about 3 hours in the truck. We delayed ourselves royally by doing a full loop of the town before finding signs to Ceuta, which took us back to a road about two roads away from the campsite. Oops! The scenery was equally impressive as yesterday, although without the fields of hash, and only one person offered us a joint. An improvement on yesterday's few hundred…

We followed the windy road and reached our destination in fairly good time. We passed through the Moroccan border with little hassle (far less than when David went the other way through the same border three months ago), so finally we were in the Spanish town of Ceuta. You can tell you have entered a European area immediately, from the standard of cars and infrastructure and the non-existent hassle. There were large supermarkets and Spanish people walking around. We could have been in and Spanish town!

While at customs we had a visitor into the truck, a police sniffer dog. He was very cute and jumped in the truck on the word go, sniffed around carefully and then hoped back out again. The only thing he hesitated at was the goat-skin covered drum! He probably does not come across many of them.

David bought the ferry tickets and we only had to wait ten minutes to board the ferry. Apparently last time he was at the port heading south it was manic, but it was very orderly and hassle-free today! I dived in the back and made tuna sandwiches for lunch before we left the truck to sit upstairs on the ferry, and we watched Africa fade into the distance and Europe fast-approaching. It almost signals the end of the trip, which is quite sad.

We landed and realised, thanks to Dad, that we were now the owners of a restricted currency. For those of you that do not know, some countries place restrictions on their currency preventing you from leaving the country with more than a few pounds equivalent. We did not realise Morocco was one of those countries, until Dad texted us to confirm it was! Oops! More to the point we had about £100 in Dirhams which is obviously no use. Luckily David dived into the ferry terminal in Spain and managed to change it to Euros (albeit at a lousy rate). Phew! That could have been messy.

Now we are parked up in a campsite in Marbella. We had a brief stop at McDonalds (I could not resist) in Puerto Banus, and David got quite excited about having a milkshake, as he doesn't partake in any other McDonalds products. However when I ordered one the cashier said they did not have any, and they were not even on the menu. McDonalds have thus dropped even further in David's estimations which, as you might gather as he is a vegetarian, are not that high anyway. I was sitting outside with my book but the sun has gone in and the wind has picked up a bit, so I am back inside the truck.

Point of interest: we are now one hour ahead of you, instead of one hour behind! (Caused me some confusion at the ferry terminal when I was checking we were in the right queue).

15th June - Chefchaouen

2006-06-16T19:07:00.001+01:00

Our guided tour was rubbish. The guide turned up late, in a Fiat Punto driven by a mate, not exactly the "tourist car high up so you can see things" that we'd been expecting. He then drove us through the three towns which make up Fez, past the royal palace without stopping, past the public parks without stopping. We arrived at a viewpoint where we were allowed to get out and take some photos. On the bright side, the guide did at least tell us something about what we were looking at.

Then we drove straight to the Medina (walled city) and walked at a brisk pace through the various souqs. If we stopped to look at things, the guide carried on ahead until he missed us, then stood around talking on his mobile phone. We went to the Wood Museum, which was quite pricey to get in and contained, well, stuff made of wood, mostly from the 20^th Century. Then we rushed on through the market to a "traditional house" which was in fact a carpet showroom, but it did house the day's first interesting sight.

On the top floor, a family of women were weaving a carpet, in the traditional way, hand-tying all the knots. I've seen carpets being made before, but these people were actually doing it as a way of life, not just in a cack-handed fashion to show tourists. They beckoned us to sit down and showed us how to tie the knots, although I was pretty rubbish at it, particularly compared to the young girl sitting next to me who did it so quick you couldn't see her hands move. She had a huge callous across her left hand from the weaving. Nicki had a go too, and I took some photos, and we left them with a fairly generous tip as I'd run out of small change.

Then the hard sell began; the guy in charge offered me a tea, rushed through the history of the house, and started to unfurl carpets. I told him straight away that we appreciated his efforts, but we weren't going to buy a carpet. He then went on about how reasonable they were and how we could buy two, sell one in the UK and pay for the other one with the proceeds; of course, we still didn't want to buy a flaming carpet. He wasn't exactly aggressive, but he was certainly forceful, and liked to talk loudly bordering on shouting. It gets annoying when people won't take no for an answer though. My tea arrived at length so I drank up and we left. It was about this time that our guide, who was obviously on commission, just about gave up altogether.

On we rushed through the souqs, stopping to eye up bananas (too expensive), joss sticks (too expensive), dried apricots (too expensive but I bought a quid's worth anyway), and nougat, which was the only thing we looked at where the guy was charging a reasonable price and didn't try to rip us off. Exiting stage left, we waited for our official Tourist Punto to turn up, and off we hurried to visit the Pottery Workshop. (The guide wanted to take us to the tannery, but one tannery is enough; again, he was not happy about this, because he was focused on the commission he'd have got if we'd bought anything there.)

I found the pottery workshop the second interesting thing of the day. We were shown round the whole process, from making the clay, fashioning it into tiles, glazing it, firing it, through to the intricate process of marking the tiles and cutting them individually with a hammer into shapes to make mosaics. Elsewhere, we saw a guy expertly making a tagine on a potter's wheel, and we saw plates being hand-painted, the work being quite impressive. Here we didn't get such a hard sell; we were invited to look around the shop, and they did have a couple of nice bits and pieces, but it was actually quite pricey, so I didn't buy anything, but I tipped the guy who'd shown us around.

Our wonderful guide then announced that the tour was over. Apparently we'd seen all there was to see of Fez and that was the best he could do. When he'd turned up late in the morning, he'd said we could have an extra hour to make up for it, but that all went out the window, and when we protested he accused us of trying to find a reason to complain! We insisted on going back to see the outside of the Royal Palace again, so when we stopped there, we walked around the area in no hurry whatsoever, saw the palace, and bought some bread. When we returned to the taxi, the guide had left altogether (apparently his son was ill so he went home), and the driver took us back to the campsite.

Nicki wanted to pay less than we'd agreed, as we'd been given a whole lot less than we'd been led to believe, but in the end I thought it would be so much trouble to argue with the guy that we might as well just pay and leave. In hindsight we should have got him to spell out exactly what we were getting, written it down, and put times to it, but the tour we got in Marrakech was good, so we didn't expect to come such a cropper here. Interestingly, the other English couple also went on a tour, and they paid more than we did, but they were quite happy with theirs.

We had considered going on from Fez to Rabat, the capital, but quite honestly by this time we were getting pretty fed up of the Moroccans, whose sole aim in life is to rip off tourists. Sod em! In some ways things haven't changed so much since Mungo Park found the Moors so objectionable 200 years ago. (In defence of Morocco, I should say that until we got as far north as Agadir, and the tourist trail, we found the Moroccans effusively friendly and charming; Fez has been a particular nadir of the whole Moroccan experience.) So instead we decided to head towards Ceuta and the ferry back to Spain. As we left the campsite, they tried to charge us for an extra night, as we'd stayed past mid-day, but I think the murderous look in Nicki's eyes convinced them otherwise.

Our goal for the day was to reach Chefchouan, which entailed another mountain drive. We navigated across Fez with surprising success, and started ascending through the spectacular Rift Valley mountains. Here we found many people at the side of the road waved, or even clapped and cheered, and at one point about one oncoming car in three was flashing its lights and waving at us. As the journey progressed, however, we reached an area known more accurately as the Hash Valley. This is the centre of Morocco's successful marijuana industry, which accounts for about 85% of UK usage and is worth a staggering $2bn to the country. Although illegal to farm, the authorities overlook the industry to a ridiculous extent, as great areas of the valley are carpeted with fields of marijuana plants, and you can see the happy farmers harvesting their crops with gay abandon. The stuff's all down the side of the road.

At this point the friendly waves changed into strange gestures which meant "Buy some hash off me!" To start with it was quite funny, and Nicki even mimed back the Macarena dance to one guy who was making all sorts of odd gesticulations. However, pretty soon, literally every single man we passed, young, old or juvenile, whether standing by the side of the road or in another moving vehicle, was whistling, waving or shouting at us to try to sell us dope. The guide book explains that the locals just won't believe that any European passing through isn't trying to buy hash, and that hit the nail on the head. It got rather tiresome as the hours went by. I pulled over at one point to stretch my legs, and every single car passing us pulled over to try to sell us drugs. You can't get a moment's peace here. In the town of Ketama, it reached epidemic proportions; a couple of times people actually drove after us and tried to pull us over to sell us dope!

Ketama demonstrated to us another Moroccan national past-time, that of people wandering aimlessly down the middle of the road and getting in the way of the traffic. It's not that there aren't perfectly good footpaths, it's just that pedestrians seem to be oblivious to the fact that there might be vehicular traffic using one of the main cross-country freight routes. Our air horn generally gets people out the way, although it feels very un-English to be using it. Ideally it would be nice if the idiots didn't meander down the middle of the road in the first place, particularly when you're following something else and they all fill in behind it.

I was getting a bit irritated by this time, and was considering actually trying to run people over, when some guys in an ancient Renault pulled alongside us, greeted us in English, then pulled in front of us and started gesticulating and shouting. The gist of what they were trying to get across was that they wanted us to pull off at their farm and they'd most generously give us hash, show us photos, etc. This is the last thing we wanted to do, and would probably have ended up with us being robbed, if not set up with the police, who work in cahoots with the dealers. The guy drove right in front of us for several miles, going through all manner of song and dance, and of course we didn't have the speed to overtake. I started to wonder whether it might come to us having to diplomatically ram him if he tried to force us to follow him off the road, or block our route. Luckily, this didn't happen, and eventually he pulled over, hoping we would too, and we drove on past him. It sounds dramatic, but it was quite threatening at the time.

The mountains don't stop, but the scenery gets even more impressive on the way north. It was beginning to get dark, and driving on these windy mountain roads with Land Rover headlights at night wasn't a very appealing prospect; however, the English couple from Fez had tried rough-camping in this area and had been forced to drive on in the middle of the night, having been surrounded by rowdy, stone-throwing youths who were climbing on their van, so we didn't want to stop. On the bright side, we did get a spectacular mountain sunset, although when I stopped to photograph it, people materialised from nowhere and tried to sell us hash.

We made Chefchouan at about 9.30pm. The campsite is signposted right across the town, which is lucky as you'd never find it otherwise. The first vehicle I saw as we pulled up was an English-plated Land Rover, so I stopped for a chat. The couple have driven all the way from Namibia, and are now heading home. But, by an amazing coincidence, ours isn't the first 6x6 101 they've seen today! Apparently an English guy in Spain has just finished converting one, and they met him this morning. Rather astonishing that there are only two of these trucks in existence, and they should see both on the same day, in North Africa. I was disappointed not to have seen the other one as well, as it would have been great to have compared notes.

As Nicki checked us in at the campsite, a hullabaloo erupted outside. Apparently a rabid mountain dog had just walked into the campsite and was causing a few problems. This happens frequently, so they knew what to do: a small child went to capture it on a lead, whereupon the kafuffle increased as the dog started howling and all the other dogs on the campsite went off as well, so eventually the check-in man apologised to Nicki and went out to help. They loaded it into a van and drove it off somewhere. The van came back later empty.

14th June - Fez

2006-06-16T19:07:00.000+01:00

As we were dozing off to sleep last night in our lay-by, we heard a car pull up, doors banging, voices talking in Arabic, and a torch being shone around. However, then it all went quiet, and we heard the car pulling away again about 7am. It seems it was just somebody else looking for a place to bed down for the night like us.

Today was one of those fairly unexciting days which I've been looking forward to. We drove to Kenifra, which is apparently known for its prostitution, and stopped at a web café. The connection was dismally slow, and after half an hour, neither of us had so much as checked our email. Then there was a power cut, so rather than start again from square one, we gave up and went to the next place along. The connection there was fast and the machines new, and it was cheaper too, so all in all, a much better bet.

From Kenifra we continued towards Fez, driving through the mountains and plateaus. Here it's quite fertile, with plenty of corn being grown, so we had to vie for road space with all the combine harvesters and bailers being driven all over the place. The hills were green with trees, the valleys golden with corn, and the light was particularly good today, with an overcast, sullen sky ahead but sunlight lighting up the areas around us.

I took advantage of a comfort break to ring the RAC and upgrade my membership to European cover (all of Western Europe apart from Greece and Portugal, apparently) in case we come a cropper at the last minute. So all the truck has to do now is last until Spain . And I have actually recorded the part of the conversation where the guy confirmed that it does cover the vehicle even though it's over 3.5 tonnes!

Just as you think you're descending from the mountains, you climb up another one, and in this way we found ourselves in Ifrane, which came as quite a surprise, because instead of the red, brick-built, flat-roofed blocky houses you see everywhere in Morocco, we were surrounded by what appeared to be Swiss chalets with tall peaked tiled roofs. The roads were lined with trees, and if you took away all the Moroccans you could easily be in a Swiss Alpine town. It's a ski resort in the winter. For once we found the campsite with ease, and it was clean, green and friendly. However, by this time we were debating what to do over the next few days, and one of the options involved pushing on to Fez, not far away. So after being parked for 15 minutes in the campsite, we decided to leave it after all, much to the disappointment, possibly annoyance, of the guy who said he'd already written down our vehicle details on the check-in forms and everything. We apologised for leaving, and then, on the way through the gate, I very nearly accidentally ran over his cat, which would have made things much more uncomfortable.

Fez was only an hour's drive further. On our way into the city, we saw a signpost for Camping International, and just at that moment a motorcyclist pulled up alongside us and said "Are you coming to our camping? Follow me!" Just for a change it was nice not to have to hunt high and low for the campsite, so we did follow him. The campsite is a turnout for the books: it has a swimming pool with actual water in and everything, hot water in (some of) the showers, a bar, and a restaurant. Because of this it's one of the more expensive we've stayed in, but still only about £6 for the night.

Already in the campsite were an English couple who live in Spain, with whom we chatted for a while, and Nicki drank one of their beers whilst I threw a drool-covered tennis ball for their enthusiastic dog Jemma. We compared notes and exchanged tips, and they kindly lent us their Rough Guide for the evening. What a coincidence – they too had been intercepted by a motorcyclist and escorted to the camping!

We booked to eat at the restaurant, which was expensive (the bill ultimately came to about £13), but very nice. My "Seven Vegetable Couscous" was excellent, but had a surprise ingredient: half a chicken hidden in the middle. The only sour note was when we found we'd been overcharged, and had paid the service charge twice, so we contested the bill, and were told that we had to pay more because we'd eaten in the restaurant instead of round the pool! This is despite ordering off the "Restaurant" menu, with all the prices clearly laid out, and you could almost argue they could charge more for service except they had also added that on the bottom of the bill! What did I say about the Moroccans trying to get money out of you at every step? We put our collective foot down and got a refund of the difference.

By another strange coincidence, the chap who had escorted us to the campsite has a "brother" (who, oddly enough, is about twice his age and looks nothing like him) who has generously offered to act as our guide tomorrow. We negotiated on the itinerary and the method of transport, and he's meeting us in his car tomorrow and taking us around the sights of the city for £15, which seems worth it to save the hassle of all the taxis and to know what we're looking at.

Thanks once again for the various texts we get to the satellite phone. We had one particularly nice one today which was anonymous, so if anybody wants to own up to it, please text again!

13th June - God Knows Where

2006-06-14T14:17:00.000+01:00

The first job today was to change the clutch slave cylinder, which is an easy job, although you get covered in clutch fluid in the process. At least now I know where all the fluid had gone, as the old slave cylinder was leaking like a sieve. I had a quick root around the gearbox to try to find where low ratio had gone, but the main gearbox isn’t that easy to access, so I thought, sod it. I also found I’ve lost my brand new 11mm spanner, which I have a suspicion I left hanging off the underside of the truck after the pit-stop in Marrakech.

Note from Nicki: While David was doing the truck I headed off into the market to get some bits. It was quite a hive of activity, with the usual vegetable stands, Coca Cola signs everywhere and people begging for money. A sight I did not wish to see that early in the morning was a few dead goats hanging by their back legs, with their heads still attached… I personally don’t like to see the look on the face of the thing I am eating! I bought some bread and bananas and some popcorn to snack on during our drive later on.

Our campsite was within a short distance of the Cascades (waterfalls) of d’Ouzard fame. First we walked to the north side of the falls, where several little streams of water disappear down into a very large gorge. At the north edge, you can only stand at the top of the gorge, but the views are good. Then we walked round the top of the falls and down the side of the gorge. All down the path is blanketed with gift shops, restaurants and tea places, but all the gift shops sell exactly the same selection. I’ve been on the lookout for a psychedelic cretaceous ammonite since the very expensive ones we saw in Paradise Valley, but this wasn’t the place to find one. Thankfully, nobody here called me Ali Baba, unlike eleven different and unconnected men in the souqs of Marrakech, who evidently thought it was the height of sophisticated wit. Rather like all those irritating touts who say to you “lovely jubbly” and call their camels Michael Jackson. It’s very faintly amusing the first time, and then after you’ve heard it all day, it really gets on your nerves.

Half way down the side of the gorge we spotted a dog, which in itself wasn’t unusual, until I noticed something very odd about it. In the Wanderlust magazine we have with us, there’s a mention of the two-nosed Andean tiger hound, rediscovered last year after being believed extinct. I am not making this up – they have a photo of it in the magazine (April/May 2006, page 11). It’s basically a dog with two noses. And we found its twin on the side of a waterfall in the Atlas Mountains! Mindful that this might be one of the great scientific discoveries of the decade, I took some photos of it, but they didn’t come out that well (typical), and then the dog wandered off anyway. I’ll take a look at them on the laptop later and see if they’re any better close-up.

At the bottom of the gorge there were some nice views back up to the waterfall, and lots of tourists milling around (coach parties from Marrakech). After taking plenty more photos, we started back up the steps. Nicki counted all the way up, and got to 660 steps – that’s quite a few (although some of them are only small ones). Half way up we stopped for a drink, and Nicki didn’t have anything as they only had local-brand Coke, but I asked for “un tasse du thé” – notice the word “un”, not “deux”. So the man brought back two cups of Moroccan mint tea. Nicki stopped him before he’d poured hers out, but of course he still tried to charge me for two cups. I only paid him for one. Nice as they are, the Moroccans try to swindle you at every step, and it gets a bit tiresome after a while.

Back at the top we packed up and went to leave the campsite, although we had to wait ten minutes whilst the owner came back from the souk. He wanted to charge us for the salad we’d had last night – the one they brought me because they’d forgotten my tagine – but we said, we hadn’t asked for it, so in the end he just charged us for the one tagine and the night’s camping, which was a bit more reasonable. He didn’t seem unhappy with it so we don’t feel we ripped him off back.

Off we went through the mountains, although I think we were taking the end of the road the coach parties avoid, because we got lots of waves and even a couple of rounds of applause from children at the side of the road. The scenery was still fairly spectacular, although today was the first overcast day we can remember having, and nice and cool for it. The scenery is positively green in places, and once back on the flat plain we saw hordes of combine harvesters bringing in the harvest. They’re available for rent, complete with driver, helpers and bailing machine, but you wonder what the owners do for the rest of the year?

Our second stop of the day was at Beni Malal, described in our guide book as a small town with a significant market. It appears to have grown a lot since 1997, but we did get out to have a look around the kasbah, souq or whatever you want to call it. It sold mainly vegetables, particularly the whomping great melons we’ve seen a lot of in this area, but there were also some meat stalls selling whole goats, skinless but with or without head; or if you wanted you could just buy the heads separately. We stuck to green beans.

Because the truck hasn’t been entirely trouble-free during the trip, I thought I’d ring the RAC and get my breakdown coverage extended to Spain, just in case the worst happens on the way back. Normal breakdown cover only covers vehicles up to 3.5 tonnes (2.3 tonnes in the case of the AA, apparently) so I have a special “Arrival” policy, available from the RAC to Caravan & Camping Club members, which means they’ll still cover me on the basis that it’s a motorhome, up to something like 7.5 tonnes. So I rang the RAC, and spent 15 minutes on the phone, established it was an Arrival policy, got a quote (£36 for a few days of extra cover, which seemed reasonable), gave them all my details, and he said they’d send the paperwork out. Just before I hung up, I said I just wanted to be clear that I’d definitely be covered as I have a vehicle over 3.5 tonnes. No, he said, what he’d just sold me only covers normal cars… if I wanted European coverage for that weight I’d need a separate annual policy, for £80! What a waste of a 15 minute international phone call – did he think I had the special Arrival policy just for fun, or what? The whole point of the flaming policy, for which I pay through the nose, is that I DON’T have a normal car!

Further north we hit the town of Kasba-Tadla, partly by mistake as Nicki hadn’t noticed that the road we wanted peeled off just before we got there. So we backtracked, picked up the right road again and found El-Ksiba, where we planned to spend the night in a campsite. But, what do you know, the campsite is closed, although we couldn’t quite grasp why. There was an alternative spot where we could camp at the side of the road, which we were told some people use instead, but it was rather public, and also it’s technically forbidden to bush-camp here, so we carried on up into the mountain again, until we spotted a little lay-by hidden behind some trees, and that’s where we are now.

It’s actually quite a nice little spot, nestled in the tree-covered mountains, and a couple of hundred metres above us is the cloud line, so it has the air of a tropical mountain forest; Nicki said it felt like the Congo. I just saw a hummingbird outside, about the size of a bee, the first one I’ve ever seen.

12th June - Cascades d'Ouzard

2006-06-14T14:07:00.000+01:00

Nicki again. It was meant to be David, but we just had another eventful moment and he is too annoyed to write the blog! All will become clear…

We turned today into our relaxing Sunday as yesterday was such a busy day. So we had a long lie in, then slowly rose to several cups of tea and (eventually when the man decided to open the shop at nigh-on midday) some croissants.

The original plan was to go to a hotel for the day and sit by the pool and eat in their restaurant, but after a count up of our money we decided we had better not, and David was not too keen on the idea anyway. So instead I bought some bread and made lunch, wrapped up the rolls in cling film and put them in the fridge. We decided to head on a day earlier than scheduled, as we may want to stay longer in a place further on. So we packed up the truck, drove to reception, I jumped out and paid and….. then we realised then banks would be shut till at least 2pm. As it was now 12:30 we reversed and decided to wait for 1 ½ hours.

We read and ate our lunch and then set off for real just before 2pm. We found a bank just off the main road into Marrakech and changed some money, then headed off north-east towards Fes. The scenery was very lush, we passed some olive groves, rolling green hills and farms, plus several small villages. We took a detour to the town of Demnate which our guide book described as ‘a small village, painted all in white cut out of the hillside, with an unusual Kasbah surrounded by olive groves’. We discovered quite a large town with not a white building in sight! I suppose that what happens when you read a ten year old guide book…

We headed on to a cavern 6km further on, that reportedly had huge stalactites hanging from the ceiling. It did, and we took a wander down a small path to take some better photos. We could have clambered over rocks and boulders and gone all the way underneath it, but we didn’t really have time. We pushed on another 60km or so instead to our stopping place for the evening, Cascades d’Ouzard. Our only halt was for an ice cream. When we tried to restart the truck, it wouldn’t start. David quickly thought through it and thought the starter motor might be jammed, so rolled backwards a bit and it started fine, thank goodness.

On arrival in the town we were on the look out for camping spots so were rather pleased when we saw a ‘Camping France’ sign on the edge of the town. We entered the square to see another sign so we continued on. We saw a third sign that said 600m to go, so we continued. After travelling further than what we thought was 600m we spotted another sign with a telephone number on it, and a track leading off to the left. It was quite a narrow track with a drop on one side, but David assured me the truck would fit, which it did. But as we turned a sharp left into a sort of driveway by a house we realised this was definitely not the campsite. As I jumped out to ask two very bemused looking old ladies, David attempted to turn the truck around, on a gravely slope, with a sharp drop behind. I soon realised the ladies did not speak English so went back to jump in the truck, David said ‘quick, the clutch is playing up again’. Oh god. I leapt in, for him to inform me the truck was not going into low ratio gear (which would have allowed us to drive easily up the slope), as well as the clutch acting up, and the fact that with the handbrake fully on the truck was still rolling backwards unless David had his foot on the brake (he says all Land Rovers are like this). So began several attempts to accelerate up the small hill to get back on the road out (that had the huge drop on the side). We made slow progress as David revved the truck as hard as possible with the hope the clutch didn’t burn out, with intermittent slides backwards towards the drop behind. Another ‘tense’ moment in the truck. Eventually we did it, but needless to say we were both a bit worried and David was just slightly angry! We nearly ripped the misleading camping signs down on the way out but resisted, and returned to the small village we had originally passed through to another campsite we had seen. It is more just a car park really, but there. On the way we passed the camping 600m sign and noted a small arrow left in the corner, well they should make their arrows bigger!!

Conclusion: the truck and David are not on speaking terms. He has a spare clutch slave cylinder which he will fit tomorrow, and he’ll take the other gearbox apart to see why low ratio isn’t engaging. We are heading north through Morocco anyway so hopefully we can convince the truck to play ball for the rest of the journey.

Postscript by David: for dinner, we decided to order a couple of tagines from the campsite, as we were running a bit low on inspiration. Nicki’s conversation went something like: “Je veux une tagine avec legumes, et une tagine avec poulet. C’est deux tagines.” You’d have thought this was fairly unequivocal, but when her tagine turned up, I was left glowering at the truck without any dinner. Shortly afterwards, Nicki went back, and you’ve guessed it, they’d not made me any dinner. “But he doesn’t speak English!” the campsite owner said of the chef. “That’s why I ordered in French!” Nicki replied. So I settled down to pick some of the vegetables out of Nicki’s huge chicken tagine, which was actually really nice, and she whipped up a manky cup-a-soup as well. In the middle of dinner, the waiter materialised with a very nice bowl of salad as a consolation prize, so all was not lost after all.

11th June - Marrakech

2006-06-12T10:41:00.001+01:00

As there is nothing truck related to report I, Nicki, will tell you of our activities today!

We had an early start because we had booked a taxi to come and pick us up at 9:30 and take us on a tour of the city. This we thought was quite a good idea as Marrakech is a very extensive city with a lot to see, and he charged us 30 euros in total which worked out cheaper than all the taxis we would have had to get plus all the haggling each time…you get the picture!

Our first stop was the Jardin Majorelle, a small tropical garden laid out by a French artist, Louis Majorelle. The buildings were a vivid blur colour and the gardens contained many cacti, ferns, palm trees etc., with the idea that all five continents are represented. It was pretty and worth the brief visit we granted it.

Next we moved on to the El Bahia Palace which was built in the late 19^th century by a former slave, Bou Ahmed, who had considerable power in his time. However he was so hated that when he died in 1900 his palace was looted and his possessions were stolen by his slaves and servants. Each room has an intricately detailed mosaic ceiling with the odd stained glass window and fireplace. There was a central courtyard containing fruit trees which apparently the favourite wife had views on to. We wondered if he changed who his favourite wife was, based on performance maybe?!

Our driver took us on a small drive after this, past yet another palace and also the Koutoubia Mosque which is closed to non-Muslims. At one point he showed us a picture in a brochure showing the typical pink coloured walls around some important building, with snow capped mountains in the background and palm trees, all looking very lovely. He told us that just around the corner was the very view, which we could photograph, but when we arrived we saw a crumbling wall with a half-dead palm tree and no mountains! In fact the only view we had was of cranes and rubble behind this wall, oh well.

We were dropped off at the Medina Gardens which are free to walk around, so we walked down the central boulevard to a large man-made expanse of water. Various lighting effects we could see were rigged up and there was seating around the water, which suggested a light show probably happened at night, with fountains and the like. In the day however there was not much to see, so we wandered back to our taxi man.

Our last sightseeing stop was at the tannery. As we disembarked the taxi we were handed a handful of mint, which we thought a little odd. However as we progressed with our guide we realised why, the whole complex absolutely stank! There were lots of small houses, and some small houses on small houses, with various people working away in the dark inside them. We reached the centre which consisted of the big baths they wash the hides in. They were all filled with something different depending on what you wanted to do with your hide: lime, saffron, and even pigeon poo (don't ask me!). It seemed pretty unhygienic if you ask me, apart from the dubious looking pools in the baths there was rubbish on the floor and people were living and working in very cramped conditions. For this reason we did not mind tipping one man for taking a photo of him treading his hide in a murky bath!

Now about 12pm we were dropped next at a café. We think that possibly the taxi man is friends with the café owner as it did not look terribly busy and involved climbing up some back street stairs to a possible roof balcony. However we were not terribly hungry so we headed off down a street, looking in the little shops as we went. We spotted a cyber café so used that for a while, before heading off to decide where to eat. There was a small square with a café so we decided to eat there, their speciality being tagines (a clay conical dish filled with a meat casserole, the traditional Moroccan dish). However as we were not that hungry we opted for an omelette, which although nice was just a plain omelette. We compensated with an ice cream after though!

Next we were driven to the main square in the centre of the city, with the distinct feeling we had annoyed the driver a bit for not eating in the café we were presented at! The Djemaa el Fna is the focal point of Marrakech, a large open space with street entertainers, musicians and food sellers, located next to the Souqs. That is where we headed first and as the square was still quite quiet we found the entrance easily. The souq was a typical maze of small shops and stalls selling anything from jewellery, clothes, bags, shoes, woodwork, metal work, spices, food, carpets, leather goods, perfume and dyed wool. We spent a couple of hours wandering around, taking in the smells and the sights, haggling for various items. David spent quite a while in one shop haggling over a wooden bowl which balanced on a stand made of four interwoven camels (the stand had been carved cleverly from one piece of wood). After some persuasion he managed to get the price down from 1000 Dirhams to 450 Dirhams, which he was particularly pleased about! We decided it was very entertaining for both us and the shop keepers to go through this haggling malarkey, although David was very concerned about how you never actually know how much something is worth, so you could have just been ripped of royally! Despite telling him my view that you should decide how much you think something is worth and then haggle for that price, so you feel like you have bought something for a good price even if you have been ripped off! The other thing we realised was that David can not haggle well with children, see previous blog entry about the banana girl in Senegal!

After immersing ourselves in the souqs we found ourselves sort of out of the action and seemingly down the backstreets. We wandered a bit more trying to find our bearings, but to no avail. David said 'I think it is just down here on the right', I said 'let's just jump in a taxi and take it back to the main square'. 'No no', he said, 'I'm sure it is just down here!'. Typical man, I thought, won't admit he is lost! After another five minutes I put my foot down and we got in a taxi and took roughly a ten minute taxi ride back to the main square, totally in the opposite direction we had been walking! That was the best pound I ever spent…

Once we were back in the square we sat down and had a drink. It was fascinating people watching, from the local Moroccans to the stereotypical white-socks-and-sandals tourists. We sat there for quite a while, before giving in to temptation and having ANOTHER ice cream from a particularly nice ice cream shop next to the café. Ice creams in hand we wandered around the square properly, observing the Berber musicians/dancers, the snake charmers, the monkeys on chains (I was not too happy about seeing them) and all the other street entertainers. We also saw some other stalls and shops we had missed on our previous round, before heading to our meeting place with the taxi at 6:30. All in all a busy day, a day of rest and relaxation is planned for tomorrow!

10th June - Marrakech

2006-06-12T10:41:00.000+01:00

You know, there's never a dull moment. Sometimes it might actually be nice to have a boring day when nothing much happens. But no such luck.

Last night I took a while to get to sleep, and when I awoke very shortly afterwards, it was to the sound of a diesel engine, shortly followed by somebody walking around the truck, whistling to themselves. I was quite annoyed by the whole experience, as I didn't get back to sleep until about 01:30. When Nicki woke up I expressed my annoyance and described what I'd like to say to whatever idiot had woken me up. Nicki then commented that there was a truck parked behind us which was the same colour as Harry's. And guess who it was? There they were. And guess who had woken me up? Apparently Harry had seen our truck and had come to see if we were awake (we do tend to go to bed about 9pm if there is not much to do, so he probably hadn't come past that late). I wasn't quite so cross when I found out who it was! I was also slightly cheered to notice that his Mercedes truck was leaking oil, so it's not just us.

Harry shared Nicki's dislike of the campsite toilet (singular – there is one toilet in a campsite with space for well over a hundred vehicles, which is apparently sometimes full, and two of the three showers had rubble in the bottom). There is allegedly a nice new campsite about 5km north of Taghazout, but neither of us have tried it. Maybe they have decent facilities, who knows. I'd say if anybody's going to Agadir, it's got to be worth a try, as the other two campsites in the town are dismal.

From our campsite, rather than go back to Agadir and take the main road to Marrakech, there was a potential detour through the mountains. We decided to take this, just for the hell of it really. As it happened, it was a lovely drive, if somewhat mountainous, through an area called Paradise Valley, a huge gorge fringed with palm trees and greenery. The scenery was stunning, so it was a route worth taking. However, we were just a little concerned that maybe the road wouldn't lead to Marrakech after all, because the map and signs were a bit vague. Fortunately it did, otherwise we'd have had a major bit of backtracking to do through the Atlas Mountains.

Along the sides of the road were various little shops selling fossils and trinkets. After seeing several, I stopped to have a look at one. In fact, the stuff they had was really nice, and not tremendously expensive in most cases, so I beckoned Nicki out and we both had a look. They had literally piles of ammonites, which they dig straight out of the mountains and prepare by hand round the back of the shop, but they also had trilobites and belemnites. The local ammonites they had looked about Jurassic, and sure enough, the trilobites came from elsewhere, which made sense as they would have been extinct by the Jurassic.

What caught my eye as a one-time palaeontologist was some odd-shaped ammonites scattered around. During the Cretaceous, the period after the Jurassic at the end of which the dinosaurs died out, 65 million years ago, the previously conservative ammonites went off the rails a bit and started experimenting with new shapes. Rather than using a simple snail-esque coil, which had served them well throughout prehistory, they started to unwrap into question marks, seahorse shapes, straight lines and all sorts. All in all it wasn't a great success, as they died out shortly afterwards, but I thought it would be worth getting one of these trippy ammonite fossils as you don't generally see them. To my surprise, however, they were between 50 and 100 times as expensive as the "normal" Jurassic ammonites alongside them! They are brought in from another area, and presumably the fossil sellers know they're a bit of a novelty. Suffice it to say, I didn't spend hundreds of pounds on an ammonite, as nice as they were. Given the shops are aiming at the tourist market, I wonder how many tourists are prepared to pay through the nose for something which isn't as visually satisfying as the common or garden ammonite fossils?

We did buy a couple of bits, although the boy who was selling wasn't very keen to drop any of his prices, and at one point the prices actually went up! So we didn't get a real bargain, but we were happy with what we took away. Maybe elsewhere I'll be able to find a psychedelic ammonite closer to the source at a more reasonable price. Anybody know which bits of Morocco are Cretaceous?

A bit later on, still concerned with whether the road lead to Marrakech, we stopped to ask an old man with a stall at the side of the road for directions. He (toothlessly) told us we were going the right way and tried to explain exactly how far we had to go, and was generally being quite helpful. As we went to move off he gestured at his stall selling honey, so we thought maybe we should buy a pot to return the favour. Nicki jumped out the truck, to discover his pots of honey were 100 Dirhams, and with 15 Dirhams to the pound a small pot was over £6! She gestured she "only" had 50 Dirhams, expecting to be able to walk away, but unfortunately he presented her with a jar of peanut butter for exactly 50 Dirhams. So we trundled off having bought the most expensive jar of peanut butter ever, then realised neither of us even LIKE peanut butter. We have made a resolution to avoid all local traders, guides, helpers etc from now on, as it usually ends up being quite expensive!

Around lunchtime, we came out of the steep bits of the mountains and onto a large plain, where we picked up the main road to Marrakech. Nicki was feeling a bit iffy, so we stopped and bought some nice fresh bread, which we had with some delicious cheese we'd bought at some expense at the big Marjane supermarket in Agadir. You can buy cheese everywhere in West Africa, but lamentably it's always Laughing Cow ("La Vache Qui Rit"), so to have "proper" cheese was quite a treat. The road onwards was quite dull, until we started to get into Marrakech itself.

The first time I went through Morocco, a couple of months back, we had a Lonely Planet for the country, and a nice Michelin map, but Abby took them back home with her. When our plans changed, she posted them to Zebrabar, but they didn't arrive before we left. So we took a book from Zebrabar's library called the Footprints Morocco Handbook, on the basis that they could have our Lonely Planet when it turned up. The Footprints guide is actually quite a good one, especially as it tells you what to do and see on the journeys between places, rather than just in the major cities. It's also rather less scathing and opinionated than the Lonely Planet, although the jury is still out on whose maps are least useless. However, the edition we have is dated 1997, so some of what it talks about has changed, naturally. It showed a campsite on the outskirts of Marrakech, but when we drove down the road (which had annoyingly been renamed in the interim, just to throw us off the scent) we couldn't see anything but hotels.

We drove right into the Medina area, the walled city, and asked directions from several people, but the replies we got were typically vague. After doing a few circles and ending up back where we started, I started to lose the clutch in the truck… A couple of days ago, as we got into Agadir, I had a similar thing happen, but I topped the clutch reservoir up with fluid and it has been OK since then. This time, the fluid was too far gone, and air had got into the system, so very shortly afterwards I lost the clutch altogether. Two things were in our favour: we were in a fairly quiet area, by the side of the road, and I had a spare clutch master cylinder on board.

I tried to bleed the air out of the clutch, but it wasn't having any effect, pointing to the master cylinder as the most obvious culprit for the problem. So I took apart the clutch assembly in the cab, with help from Nicki, who is not exactly used to wielding a spanner but does a great job anyway. It wasn't a difficult job, but it still took an hour or so, in the 40°C heat, by the time I'd undone everything, drained the fluid, taken the master cylinder out, put the new one in, sorted out all the unions, etc. One union was a pig to get back in, but went in the end, luckily, as it's not easy driving without a clutch. Then we bled the system and hooray! We had a clutch again. Wouldn't it be nice if this were the last thing which went wrong? Hahahaha!

We were parked near-ish to a hotel, but not in front of it, on a main road, as once the clutch had failed, we couldn't move the truck. As I wiped the grease and clutch fluid off my arms, a uniformed attendant from the hotel came over, asked me how it was going, and then tried to get money off me from having parked on what he evidently regarded as his pitch! The Moroccans really don't miss a trick in the touristy areas. You break down, and they try to charge you for parking? I was quite polite to him, but in fact I now wish I'd told him exactly where to get off. A lot of people here see tourists as mobile cash machines, and it does start to get on one's nerves after a while, particularly when we think back to kind people like the Gambian government driver who went out of his way and drove off in front of us around Fajarah to show us the way to the Land Rover garage.

We still didn't know where the campsite was; several people gave us directions which tied in with the guide book, but finally we learned what we'd suspected all along, which is that the Marrakech municipal campsite has been bulldozed in favour of a big hotel. The man who told us this also told us that there was another campsite about 15km north of the city on the road to Casablanca. So off we trotted, with the clutch now playing ball again, and after our hot, unproductive day were quite chuffed to find the campsite. They have clean toilets and showers (hot water during the day only, because it's solar) but alas, the pool is drained, as per the other ten places we have visited who have supposedly had a pool. It's as if they watch for our truck and pull the plug as we drive in! We have an electric hookup so the air conditioning is on; at 7pm with the sun setting it's still 34°C inside.

9th June - Taghazout

2006-06-12T10:40:00.000+01:00

Our appointment with the garage this morning was at a heady 8am, so we packed up everything apart from the doormat and the ladder last night. When we arrived, we gave the mechanic a lift along a very circuitous route to the back of the workshop. The truck was too big to fit into the workshop compound itself, so we parked it out the back and they worked on it in front of a café next to a huge taxi rank.

We left the mechanic to it and went for a wander. We had a tea and croissant in a café, visited an internet café, and walked down to the main beach and back along it. The beach was pretty busy, largely with overweight Europeans. The beach was clean and looked as if it was raked by tractors frequently. We saw jet-skis for hire, and somebody had parascending gear; you could also hire sailing boats a bit further south. We left the beach right in the most touristy area, where touts tried to sell us jewellery, and we even saw a news stand with English newspapers from yesterday (£3 for a Daily Mail or Independent, so we didn't buy one). We picked our route back past McDonalds and Pizza Hut (the first we have seen in all of Africa) and back to the garage.

The mechanic had removed the exhaust manifold, and was busy getting the sheared bolt out. However, he'd also found that the manifold had a crack in, which he was welding up. With the exhaust manifold removed, I could see that the right hand engine mount, which was OK but a bit saggy last time I checked it out, had come apart just like the gearbox mount! Fortunately I had bought an extra spare in Gambia, so asked the mechanic if he'd fit that too. This is a job I wouldn't have relished on my own, and if anything it was more important than the blowing exhaust.

The garage shut between twelve and two, so we sat in the truck, ate lunch and read, with the door open. At one point, a hand came round the door, and deposited, on our carpet, a Moroccan flag. How random! We debated whether (a) it contained a snake, and somebody wanted to flush us out of the truck and rob us; (b) it was being planted on us and the police would catch us for some dastardly crime of being in possession of a Moroccan flag; or (c) maybe it was lying around on the floor and somebody thought it was ours. The last option seemed most likely, especially after I inspected it and found no snakes.

After lunch we went back off again, back to have another cup of tea in the same café, and sat in a different internet café for a while, chatting to friends on MSN. Back to the garage, and the exhaust was finished, but three mechanics were wrestling to get the engine mount in. I'm so glad I didn't have to do it myself! Off we trotted again, and a local man, seeing we were tourists, pointed in the direction of the souk. It sounded a reasonable idea to visit it, so we followed him, and started talking to him. He was a Berber, who was visiting his father's stand in the souk. His father sold spices. He talked about a number of things, including that he spoke Berber at home, Arabic in school (several years back – he was 34), and learned French at school, then English. His English was pretty reasonable, bearing in mind it was his fourth language.

The afternoon was quite hot, so Nicki trailed behind a bit in her flip-flops, and I tried to slow the Berber man down a bit so she could keep up. He kept saying "it's only a minute away", although of course it was more like fifteen. We followed him into the souk, and round past the furniture stalls, the tool stalls, the electrical goods stalls, and finally to his father's spice stall. I was convinced by this time that he was just genuinely being friendly, and that he wasn't going to try to fleece us, but it turned out I'd underestimated the Berber spirit of entrepreneurship. He made us a cup of Berber tea (quite mild and not heavily sweetened like other African teas, so Nicki much preferred it), while his father showed us what all the different spices were: spices for weight loss, herbs for constipation, perfumed bars for deodorant, and of course stuff to put in your food to make it taste nice. And then, he asked what we wanted. We thought, we might as well take some tea, but we declined the weight loss and constipation remedy. So, he got together a bag of the 4 different herbs they make the tea from, and wrote down a price. TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY DIRHAMS? I nearly fell off my chair. This is nearly twenty quid! I was quite taken aback that he was actually trying to fleece us for such an unearthly amount, and thought rather than try to negotiate, it would be better just to decline the tea altogether. So he came down a bit, and a bit more, and asked us to write down what we wanted to pay… In the end, we paid him about 50 Dirhams (£3) for a big bag of tea. Probably ten times the going rate, but at least it was nice tea. Fair enough, you do expect to start the bargaining somewhere over the going rate, but his first bid was just up in the stratosphere somewhere. I think he was aiming for the American market really (pay first, calculate exchange rate later). The son wants us to send him a postcard; I'm not sure I'll bother now! Or maybe I'll send him a bill for fifty quid for the stamp. I was a bit annoyed, as normally I'm not a bad haggler, but he caught me right on the back foot.

As we left the market, Nicki pointed out that there have only really been two places in Africa where we have genuinely got something just for the sake of hospitality: Gambia (primarily Fansu's, where we got to see the baby naming ceremony, the Wolof Zimba dance, and were invited into people's homes, although other people were unconditionally kind too); and Mali town in Guinea, where Moussa took us to his village and spent the day showing us round, just because he was such a nice bloke.

Back at the garage, all the work was done, so price negotiations started. We had the choice of paying 1,800 Dirhams (£120) for the 8 hours' work including tax, with a receipt, or 1,200 Dirhams (£80) if we paid cash in hand. We went for the second option, which I thought wasn't too bad, at a rate of about a tenner an hour, to have the work done to a good standard at a High Street type garage, as opposed to a back-street workshop (where it would have been cheaper, but I was a bit concerned about quality control; apparently the mechanics do a good job, providing you stand over them and tell them exactly what you want at every step). It would have cost around four times this amount per hour to have the same work done in the UK, as I would have needed to have done, although to be fair they might have taken a bit less time on it at home.

By this time we were nearing 6pm, so rather than drive all the way to Marrakech, half in the dark, we decided to camp at another campsite we'd been recommended at Taghazout, about 15km north of Agadir. Nicki's comment was "it can't be any worse than the last place!" Well, she changed her mind after she'd been to use the toilets, which, going by the look on her face, are not a facility I'll be using myself ("If mum was here, she'd be on the plane home by now!") Given Agadir is well and truly on the tourist trail, it's a shame they can't sort out a decent campsite. You'd have thought we'd have been far from the most discerning tourists they'd have, given some of the places we've been. In our estimation a good toilet is one where the cockroaches have the decency to hide when you turn the light on, and the hole in the ground ideally doesn't actually give off visible scent waves. At least this campsite is cheaper than the last one.

There's a bit of a breeze but the evening is surprisingly warm. The truck-o-meter shows 32°C.

8th June - Agadir

2006-06-09T10:57:00.000+01:00

Today was a car maintenance day, as far as I was concerned. Our persistent oil leak seemed to be getting worse, so I thought that while we were parked in a sheltered, gravely campsite, in a town with a Land Rover dealer, I’d look at replacing the valley gasket. This is one of the things we got done in Spain, but it carried on leaking regardless.

To get to the gasket, you have to dismantle the top part of the engine: the carburettors, all the vacuum hoses, part of the cooling system. This in itself isn’t that complicated, but it does take a while to get through everything. Eventually I lifted out my prize: the inlet manifold, along with the carburettors, and plonked it on the floor outside the truck. The valley gasket then lifts straight out, and you throw it away and put another one in, helpfully brought out by Nicki when she joined in Dakar. I cleaned up the surfaces, which by this time were all covered in crud, using baby wipes and cotton buds.

Before putting the new gasket in I smeared all the mating surfaces with a liquid sealing compound, as per the military manual. I think this is the first mistake that the garage in Spain made: there was no sign that they’d used any sealing compound at all. The second issue was that they’d used the old type of rubber oil seal at the end of the gasket, whereas Brookwells had supplied me a newer type. Hopefully this means that my new repair will solve the problem: time will tell. I replaced the inlet manifolds and bolted everything down, using the torque wrench Nicki brought out in her hand luggage, and laboriously put everything back together again. In the process, I snapped the end off the throttle cable, but was able to modify the mount slightly so it doesn’t make a difference.

The signs are that all is OK, but it’s too early to tell: it could turn out to be something else, and we’ll probably find out after the long drive to Marrakech. Whilst I was working on the truck, Nicki had a wander around the town, went to the Internet café and changed some money. She also bought some bread and some croissants. After I’d put the truck back together, I had a shower at the campsite showers. Given this is supposed to be the flagship campsite in a big touristy city, it’s a bit crap really. The showers are cold only, smelly, and all your stuff gets wet when the floor floods. The loos are smelly and in a state of disrepair. The pool’s empty, and the café’s being rebuilt. You can tell I’m a fan of the place. I actually prefer it when we camp rough in the middle of nowhere: the facilities are better, the views are nicer, and we don’t have to pay!

As I wandered back across the campsite in my towel I stopped to talk to an Englishman we’ve been talking to. He’s an artist, in his 50s I estimate, and he has three children here, and others scattered around in Canada and UK. He’s living here in a tent with his youngest son, who’s about 15 months old, and the other two are living with their mother in the city, who he sees daily. He makes his living by painting, and from what he’s said I think he stays in an area for a while, and if the fancy takes him, he goes off somewhere else. I think he quite enjoys having other English people around to talk to. He takes his little son around with him on the back of his bike, held on by an old leather belt! It looks like an accident waiting to happen… but that seems to be the culture round here.

With the truck back in action, we drove off into town to look for the Land Rover garage. Nicki stopped to ask for directions at another garage, and was told it was out of town on the road to Marrakech. She had the presence of mind to ask next door, who said it was just along the road on the left. Luckily, the second people were right. The garage had a look at our exhaust downpipes, and I described what was wrong in a mixture of English, French and gesticulations (they’re both blowing, and one of the bolts has snapped off on one of them), and they said to bring it back in the morning at 8am and they’ll sort it out. Good-oh.

Our last job was to go to the huge French supermarket, where we managed to spend forty quid, but on the bright side we shouldn’t need to buy anything other than bread for the rest of the trip. Nicki found some Stellas which she was very excited about, she is enjoying one currently. Back at the campsite, we found the kitesurfers breaking camp. One of their two Nissan pickups was in the garage today to have the clutch replaced, and with it due back imminently they were preparing to head on to Marrakech. It was interesting to see all the things they had to pack away: tents, sleeping bags, roll mats, table, chairs, cooking stuff, awning (which took about 20 minutes, compared to ours which you can get out or put away in a few seconds), clothes, personal bags… They’re still packing their trucks as I write, and they started well over an hour ago. This is a stark contrast to living in the truck, where at most it takes us 10 minutes to put away our chairs, put the stuff inside somewhere it won’t fall over, close the windows, and drive off. It’s one of the strengths of the truck, that you live in it, as opposed to living out of it.

We spotted a McDonalds in the centre of town, so Georgia, all is not lost in Africa after all!

Dinner consisted of sausages, fried potatoes and baked beans, with an éclair to follow. Delightful! I went even further, pie that I am, and had a bounty as well. (Haha, I (Nicki) put that in!).

7th June - Agadir

2006-06-09T10:53:00.000+01:00

Our stay in Tiznit was short this time. This morning we used the campsite’s water to fill up our tanks and wash out the rear locker, which was inch-deep in sand, slightly to the annoyance of the campsite people, but there you are. Then we drove through the Anti-Atlas Mountains to a little town called Tafraoute at about 1400m. Legend has it that if the Anti-Atlas Mountains and the Atlas Mountains ever collide, they’ll annihilate each other in a puff of energy, but I can’t vouch for that.

The drive was quite a good one, if a little taxing to the truck’s engine. On the plus side, despite working hard in the heat for hours on end, it’s never overheated yet. The scenery was endlessly interesting, from barren rock mountains to oases with palm trees, to forests of evergreens and huge boulder hills. I was surprised to find Nicki taking her top off as we drove up the mountain. I wondered if she had decided to go naturist for the rest of the trip, but in fact she was looking for a thorn in the back of her t-shirt. Luckily the road was quiet otherwise oncoming lorries would have probably disappeared off the cliff. Tafraoute itself was pleasant enough, but it only took fifteen minutes or so to walk around the souk, which to our surprise was full of European tourists: we’re on the tourist trail now!

We decided to have lunch in a little café which served good Moroccan food. As I was about to tuck into my tagine, a European woman walked right up to me, stared at me, smiled, and jiggled up and down a bit. I was totally taken aback, and didn’t know what to do. Was she trying to get money? Was she mad? I sort of half ignored her, but this was hard, as she was right in my face. Then she said: “Surely? It can’t be?” The penny dropped! It was Susannah, the wife of Harry, who had the big Mercedes truck I liked so much in Zebrabar! Isn’t it funny, to drive half way across a continent, and then to bump into people you know. But it wasn’t the last time it happened today.

We caught up on their news and agreed to go for a coffee at their truck at a nearby campsite, which we did. This was a great opportunity for Nicki to get to know the truck I’ve been banging on about ever since I saw it. Interestingly, Harry knows of another one just like it in Germany which may be for sale, even though it’s a really rare model… hmmmmmmm. Their coffee included frothy milk, and was truly excellent. We passed on news to them of Tony, in Gambia, who they also knew from travelling (he was in Zebrabar shortly after us), and I was interested to hear that they had met Raphael, the Spanish guy I stupidly gave our return Spain-Morocco ferry ticket to at the Pink Lake. They didn’t have his contact details, but have promised if they bump into him again, they’ll give him my number and ask him to call me to return our ticket!

Just as we left Tafraoute I noticed one of our rubber shock absorber bushes has disintegrated, which gives us another banging noise I could do without. Of course, it’s a 101-specific part, so I have no chance of getting another one out here. Memo to self: next time, bring a couple of spare shock absorber mounts! It’s not the end of the world, but it would be nice to have a spare set. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

The drive down the mountains was quite lengthy, and wasn’t helped by conflicting road signs which didn’t actually signpost anything useful anyway. We saw a big fortress at the top of a hill, and I was delighted to see some tree-climbing goats! I stopped to photograph them, and the goat herder walked up in due course and gestured that he wanted money. I refused; why should I pay him for a photo of his damn goats? Do I have “mug” written across my face? Again, it’s part of the tourist trail… We made it through the mountains in the end, and hit the outer rim of Agadir, which is quite a big town. Against all odds, we found the campsite near the centre of town, and when we pulled in, we saw the kitesurfing people we’d passed in Dakhla. Second coincidence of the day! One of them lives in Tarifa, where Karen lives, so I’ll have to see if she knows him. We chatted to them for a while, watching the various dogs on the campsite chasing the numerous cats up trees, and who should walk over, but the French guy with the Range Rover we met in El Jadida. It sure is a small world. He’s had problems with his caravan tow-hitch snapping off (twice) so never did make it to Guinea Bissau.

I’d say, based on our experience, it’s pretty likely that on a trip like this you would get to know every other overland traveller on the route, with no more than one degree of separation: that is to say, either you’ve met them, or you’ve met somebody else who has met them. This adds up to an odd virtual community of travellers scattered across the continent at any one time, and is a great bush telegraph to get information about what’s going on in different regions, where’s good, where’s dangerous, which pistes are hard going, and so on. You can even pass on news to people about other people they know, as we did of Tony to Harry and Susannah.

Nicki wants her mum and Georgia to know that there is a dog on the campsite with funny teeth like the dog in the airport. Whatever that means.

And finally; things we forgot to put in the blog from earlier in the week. 1) I found a thorn about 2cm long in my shoe, which has been there at least a fortnight, and has been irritating me but I couldn’t work out where it was. 2) Yesterday we saw a whirlwind, the largest one we’ve seen yet, which crossed the road in front of us; today a little one came through my window, but it was too small to do anything but blow a bit of dust over me.

6th June - Tiznit

2006-06-06T20:45:00.000+01:00

Nicki reporting!

Today I awoke to the sound of what sounded like rats on the roof! After a while I established the noise was actually birds, they were hopping around and hitting the metal with their beaks, being rather inquisitive. We set off at around 9:30 after David had topped up the oil. We began by back-tracking down the road for 2 miles so we could make the most of the Western Sahara fuel prices before we crossed the border about 1km further on from where we camped!

We reached Tan-Tan at lunchtime and used the internet. We bought our bread for lunch here, which David (who had the nice bit of bread) enjoyed and I (who had the rock-like piece of bread) did not. The afternoons drive took us from the flat, open plains to the Middle Atlas mountains, which provided stunning views for our drive. There were several stalls selling huge watermelons and also cacti dotted around.

In one town we got stopped for speeding (tut tut David!) His speed gun showed us doing 67kph in a 60kph zone, but luckily he didn't fine us. Apparently it would have been a problem if we had been doing 70kph, phew. We also stopped to give two boys our two 5l water bottles, which they took after looking at us rather blankly, I think our days of handing out old water bottles while being mugged in the process are over! We think they generally have running water here so don't really need them.

Just before we arrived at Tiznit we drove through a storm of bugs which splattered nicely all over our windscreen! Apart from that we arrived uneventfully at the campsite, the same one David and Abby stayed in last time. David and I have just taken a walk into town to buy vegetables for tonight's leftover-from-yesterday curry and the temperature is very pleasant. We found some wonderful things for sale, like fresh peaches, cherries, red and green apples, plums, apricots, peppers, parsnips…along with fresh chicken (hanging next to the live version cooped up in cages, a bit like eating a McDonalds next to a field of cows). It is a well equipped town, the first we have seen for weeks, which signals our return north. And no desert in sight.

5th June - Western Sahara / Morocco border

2006-06-06T13:00:00.000+01:00

Nicki: My version is at the end!

David: Today didn’t go quite as planned. We had a few issues, shall we say, but nothing totally disastrous.

Firstly, our Bluetooth GPS decided not to work. It’s done this once before, in the comfort of Heywood Drive, Bagshot. You can sometimes reset it by dismantling it and jumping a paper clip across two capacitors on the circuit board, but it didn’t work this time. I’ll leave it turned on with the battery disconnected overnight, and hopefully it’ll reset itself. It picked a great moment to pack in.

Then I connected our other GPS up to the laptop. And although the GPS was working, and the laptop was working, the two wouldn’t talk to each other. I think it’s partly an issue with some software, which I had to painstakingly uninstall, and partly down to the USB interface which I bought before we left. After an hour and a half, I got the two talking for a couple of minutes, but after that the connection drops out. Plan B was to get the route data transferred to the GPS, so we could navigate using the GPS on its own, and forget about the laptop. This I managed to do in the end. Good, at least we’d know where to go.

So we departed at half past ten. We continued to drive across the lake bed, but I was dismayed to see a sizeable lake between us and the hills. We debated whether to drive east or west of it, but both of us didn’t quite think it rang true. As we drove towards the lake, it turned out to be a mirage! It’s odd: the slate around the “lake” had looked like green shrubbery, so the combined effect was fairly convincing. I think the mind fills in the gaps so you see what you expect to see.

We began to climb some foothills, following a clear piste, but the going was fairly hard as the piste was quite sandy, with some sizeable rocks thrown in. One section involved going up a steep right hand bend with a left-hand camber and a gulley to the outside. We cleared this with some scrabbling of tyres and continued upwards. Towards the top, we did start to lose traction in the loose sand, so I stopped to engage six wheel drive. Oddly, this didn’t seem to have the desired effect: we weren’t able to climb any further, and in fact we were slipping backwards.

I stopped to check if 6wd was properly engaged, because normally the truck is fine as soon as you engage all the wheels. It wasn’t, and wouldn’t. Hmmm. I asked Nicki to take the controls whilst I checked underneath to find out exactly what wasn’t working. This in itself was quite hard, because the steepness of the slope meant gravity was working quite hard to dislodge the truck from the top of it. I could see that the prop shaft leading to the rear gearbox, which drives the rear wheels, was turning, but the prop shaft going to the back axle wasn’t. Oh dear.

Time to take the gearbox apart. There are two inspection covers on top, which fortunately for me are accessible from inside the camper body, by lifting up a panel in the floor. The front one checked out fine, but by the time I’d cleaned the inspection plate off and re-sealed it with silicone, it still took a while to do. I then checked the second one, with Nicki running the engine so I could see what was turning, and to my surprise, all the little gears were engaging properly and turning cheerfully. So it had to be something between here and the output shaft. Time to read the manuals.

Our rear gearbox is a cut-down version of the front one. This means it contains a differential, which would normally be used to split drive between two output shafts. Because our rear gearbox only drives one output shaft, the diff has been welded up. It therefore seemed likely that the diff was the problem. I rang Kevin Winn, who built the truck, on the satellite phone, and he concurred: the diff in the gearbox had probably come apart under the pressure of all the rough terrain we’ve been pounding through. If I had a welder with me, it would be remotely feasible to dismantle the diff and re-weld it, but it would still be a fairly big job. It’s not the sort of thing you’d relish doing on a steep sandy slope in the middle of a desert with a 5 tonne truck about to slide down on top of you.

After I’d put the gearbox back together, we discussed our plan of action. We could either try to get to the top of the hill, or reverse back down again and turn around. With the use of low tyre pressures (which I’ve been trying to avoid, as we don’t have a spare now) and our sand ladders, plus a lot of digging, we might have made it up without 6wd. But what would we do then? To proceed into unknown territory with only 4wd and no spare tyres, where we might encounter the same conditions again and again, seemed foolhardy. Even crossing moderate sand would be difficult without 6wd. The clincher was our guide book, the well-respected Sahara Overland, which says: “If in doubt – turn back!” Wise words. It’s worth considering that we were at least 140km from the nearest town, in the Sahara Desert, in the summer, on a piste which might not see other traffic for weeks or months. We have enough water and food to survive some time in an emergency, but it’s not a situation you really want to be in. Of course there was some disappointment at not completing the route, but it wasn’t top of our list of priorities.

This left the second option: reversing down the hill. Not as easy as it sounds! Nicki spotted me backwards, and did a very good job of it. However, even in low ratio reverse gear, I couldn’t let the truck roll down without using the brakes, as it would have been too fast and uncontrolled. So I had to use the brakes, with the result that the steering became very ineffective in the steep sand. When I got to the cambered bend, half way round it became clear we were pointing in the wrong direction and wouldn’t make it round without falling into the gulley. I tried going forwards but we couldn’t go up either.

After discussion, we decided to drive backwards out of the bend and actually across the gulley, which meant filling the gulley with rocks as best we could to make the manoeuvre easier. I checked out the side slopes this would entail, but I didn’t think it would be bad enough to tip the truck over. We made it across the gulley first try, which is where our huge tyres and immense ground clearance came in handy.

The next step of the manoeuvre was to reverse the rest of the way down the hill, ignoring the piste altogether. At the bottom there was a narrow gulley before the next uphill, so it was important to swing the truck around 90 degrees as I got to the bottom, so I could drive down the gulley and away. The truck doesn’t have a great turning circle, so the back of the truck hit the opposite bank of the gulley just as the front dropped off the other bank! It looked like we might be wedged, which would have put us in a very fiddly situation indeed, but fortunately, I had enough traction to edge forward up the lip of the gulley and inch backwards again. After a couple of shuffles, I was able to drive down the rocky gulley and back out onto the flat. Relief! Again, the ground clearance and traction of the truck rather saved the day, even though it was the loss of 6wd that got us into the predicament in the first place.

All in all, we did a pretty good job of extricating ourselves painstakingly from a difficult situation. Kudos particularly to Nicki, who was doing all this for the first time. It helps that after all this driving I know the truck’s handling pretty well, and could feel exactly what was going on from the limited perspective of the cab. Taking our time over it, thinking through the steps and listening carefully to each other were also factors in our success. It would have been scarily easy to have screwed up here, in which case we could have been facing a real disaster, with a rolled truck at the bottom of a gulley. From starting driving up the hill to getting back to the bottom took about two and a half hours.

Retracing our steps was somewhat more straightforward after all this. We crossed the huge lake bed again, while the truck filled up with dust, and picked up the piste we came in on. We decided to give the Piste d’Oeuf a miss this time round, and stuck with the old Spanish road right until we got near the main road several hours later, when we annoyingly lost the piste and had to ad-lib a little to get onto the tarmac. As we came out only 10km north of Smara, we decided to go back and fill up with fuel again at Western Saharan prices before taking the new tarmac road towards Tantan.

After completing this and the various police checkpoint formalities, with the ever-cheerful but bored policemen, we left the town. We drove for an hour or two before the sun started to set, so we pulled off the road and out over the desert for a mile or so to be out of harm’s way. After parking, we spotted a goat herder about a mile to the west, so maybe we’re not as remote as we thought! It’s been a hot day, so we took it in turns to use our little shower, which was unbelievably arctic in the evening breeze without the benefit of the sun having warmed the water up first. Still, it’s nice to be clean, and it’s quite nice to be cool, too. We’re camped just a few miles south of the border between Western Sahara and Morocco, so we’ll cross the notional border first thing tomorrow.

After some thought, I think I’ll wait until we get back to the UK to get the rear gearbox sorted out. I know I can get a good job done there and if it takes a few goes to get right it doesn’t matter. It’s annoying not having 6wd but as all our planned routes from now onwards are on tarmac, it shouldn’t actually matter, and we still have various strategies for recovery on the off-chance we do get stuck. So, Paul from Challenger 4x4, if you’re reading this, keep me a slot free in July mate, and while you’re at it, can you do the exhaust!

Nicki: Well David recorded a very tame version of events, let me tell you what REALLY happened…

Yes we did sit for an hour and a half this morning while David fiddled with the GPS. Eventually we set off, although I was little use as I was now unable to navigate as the laptop had been banished to the back of the truck! So I read out what the landscape should be doing from the book and admired the scenery. All was well for the first ten minutes, until we hit a hill. Now I don’t like heights so shrieked a bit on the ascent, but we made it up to my relief. Until we rounded the next bend, when THE hill came into view. We followed a sandy path to its base, which is dodgy anyway in the truck, but luckily there was no sinking. Then we started to ascend, while wobbling as we hurdled boulders in the path. Then we lurched some more as we overcame huge crevices in the track. Then we hit the part of the track which had a sandy base and loose rocks on the top. To the right of the truck (my side) was a big drop, which was all I could see while we swayed from side to side, as David struggled to get the tyres to grip on the surface. We spun to a halt, so reversed for a second go. Same again. So we tried again, with David giving it as much welly as possible which only seemed to produce horrendous noises from the underside of the cab! I was seriously concerned at this point, I saw no way forward and only a long rocky drop down. I think I was beyond shrieking on this hill.

I waited for another 2 hours while David tried his best to find the problem with the 6 wheel drive. We were stuck up a vertical track, being plagued by irritating flies, slam in the middle of the midday Saharan sun. We had no rear gear box, no spare tyres and a temperamental GPS system. On top of this I was reluctant to move for fear of dislodging the truck (slightly over the top but you had to be there!!) I was also in charge of doing things with the pedals and turning on the ignition periodically, terrifying. After the phone call which highlighted the fact we weren’t really going to mend the gear box while stuck in this precarious position in the middle of the desert, we changed our plans to reversing back down the vertical ascent, avoiding said huge crevices and rocky boulders and sand and cliff face at base of hill.

We spent a good ten minutes filling the first huge crevice with rocks (with no regard to the scorpions we later thought may have been nestling there!) I then had to try and direct David down in the truck, which began with the most terrifying part of the day… as the truck part descended into the gulley all three wheels on David’s side LEFT THE GROUND leaving the truck in a moment of one-sided suspension! I swore loudly, as I had visions of pulling David out of an overturned truck, before continuing with the ‘hard left, straighten up’ instructions. The crunch point (literally) came when David and I had high hopes of the truck managing to reverse around a corner, which it just didn’t, leaving a huge rock face at the rear of the truck and the bottom of the steep hill in front. Swearing again as I saw the front tyre digging a hole in the sand with every moment, I saw with relief that David was managing to shuffle the truck out of the possible stuck position. Images of camping out with rationed water and little food for days left me!

I have never been so relieved as to see the truck driving off in front of me on a horizontal surface! This was short-lived however, for as I happily and joyfully jogged to catch up with David I stood on something that stung my foot. Well thanks very much! We are now happily bush camped, just off a real TARMAC road, and David has just succeeded in making custard out of Gambian custard powder which we enjoyed with peaches! I am relieved to think we will be sticking to tarmac roads from now on…

David’s last comment: huge drops are just a matter of perspective. It’s not so bad if you’re not afraid of heights :)

4th June - Somewhere in the Desert

2006-06-06T12:58:00.000+01:00

Last night’s campsite was certainly convenient and cost-effective, but it wasn’t very quiet. I think this proved more of a problem to Nicki than me. I slept OK, until about 4am, when Nicki woke me up to tell me it was time to get up. I replied “No, it’s dark!” and she went back to sleep. She often talks in her sleep…

As we left Laâyoune we saw a lot of people around and part of the main street had been cordoned off. It appeared to be a big fun-run or something, as some side roads were also blocked off, but luckily not the ones we wanted to drive down. From Laâyoune we took the road south-east towards Es-Semara, or Smara – the town seems to have a different spelling on each successive road sign.

Part way we passed the huge conveyor belt which runs hundreds of kilometres across the desert and ends near the road just south of Laâyoune, where there is a big bulk ship handling facility. It conveys phosphates from the mines inland to the coast. You’ve never seen such a long conveyor belt. It just stretches off into the distance, over dunes and around oueds (dry river beds). We also saw some camels by the road and as we didn’t have many camel photos in our collection, we stopped to take some photos.

Arriving in Smara just after noon, we went through a couple of friendly police checkpoints, then stopped at a garage to fill up everything we have with petrol and to fill our two empty jerry cans with water. From there we went into the town, another pleasant place, which had a good internet café. We had a drink at a café and bought some bits and pieces from a general store, including a big bag of nuts which cost a fortune.

We then set off on our desert trip. It’s a 350km route which is detailed in our Sahara Overland book (route M13 if anybody has it). I’d already input the GPS coordinates in the book into our laptop, so it was easy to see where to go. We picked up the first piste on the road just north of Smara, on the Tantan corner of a big empty campsite there. This bit of the route is sort of tarmaced, in that it has some Spanish tarmac dating from antiquity, which was built to last but in some places peters out altogether and in some places is a bit iffy. So for a few miles we drove across dunes & reg (basically sand with gravel on top – it’s quite a firm surface in most places). Some of the dunes required 6wd. I find we run out of traction fairly quickly in 4wd, but as soon as you click into 6wd the truck goes through most things (so far). Elsewhere, where the Spanish tarmac was giving up the ghost, the tyre marks follow alongside it for a while.

After a while the route in the book struck out noticeably north of the trodden path. We decided to follow it, for the hell of it, and shortly came across a sand ridge which we needed to drive over. It took me five attempts – not because of the truck, only because of the driver! I kept getting to the top, and easing off the gas, only for the heavy back end of the truck to tip me back and roll me back to the bottom again. Nicki videoed it, and the middle of the ridge brushes the bottom of the truck between the front and middle wheels, whilst the rear wheels are several feet up in the air for quite a while.

According to our guidebook, we were looking for a piste, but at this point we couldn’t find one at all, so we made our own. We were driving mostly through reg and scrubby sand, which was fine, but the occasional oued (dried up river bed) presented more of a challenge as the bottoms are soft sand and need low-ratio 6wd. The ground clearance of the truck was remarkable through ruts and over hummocks. In places, slate ridges protruded through the sand, and I was a little worried about the tyres, but ironically (see later) this wasn’t a problem. Some of the slate-clad hummocks were too slippery to drive up, although a bit of attention would have sorted this out, but we chose to drive round most of them. Nicki wasn’t keen on some of the descents as she doesn’t like heights.

I decided to call our piste the Egg Piste, or Piste d’Oeuf in French. At length we made our next waypoint, but still couldn’t see a proper piste as per the guidebook. Nicki was navigating from the laptop, and kept telling me to go towards the left, but for some reason, left to our own devices, the truck and I tend to roll around to the right. So it was only after some kilometres that we headed north far enough to stumble across the piste, which was an old Paris-Dakar route. It was clearly marked by large cairns which had been bulldozed either side of it. I’m not sure how old it was, but apparently it was there in 2003 when the route was mapped out for the guide book.

Some of the piste was pretty fast, but you had to be careful, because there were ditches and washouts in places which could catch you unawares. Most of it was pebbles and sand though. The scenery was pretty amazing: just desert, sand and low hills in every direction. On a particularly fast, flat, non-problematic section, we were listening to Abba when all of a sudden – “BOOM!” A sound we’d heard before. The rear tyre had blown out again. Oddly enough, the same one as last time and just like last time, the tyre is shredded and unrepairable. I had a look around to see if it could be rubbing on the leaf spring or something, but there is no obvious reason for this to happen. This means that despite having over a hundred quid’s worth of tyre repair gear here, we now don’t have a spare tyre, so we were a little Piste d’Oeuf about it. Nicki got to drive the truck a little way so I could run alongside to see if I could spot anything out of the ordinary, but all I achieved was a face full of dust and a near cardiac arrest! We are now driving very gingerly.

The piste dropped us back to the remains of the Spanish road, which took us past some wild camels, and then to what appeared to be the ruins of some buildings, but which were actually inhabited. We could then see an old Spanish hamlet on a hill on the horizon, which is now marked by a big radio repeater mast. We by-passed the hamlet and its military checkpoint, although we saw some of the citizens sitting at the bottom of the hill, who waved cheerfully. The northern edge of the settlement is marked by many very neatly built dry stone pillars. It’s odd that somebody would go to so much effort just to mark a boundary, but I couldn’t see any other reason for them.

Pushing westward we passed some tanks parked up in a little military point, although we didn’t see any soldiers there with them. We’re now not far from the Berm, the wall built of sand by the Moroccans which marks the boundary between the Moroccan-controlled Western Sahara and the bit which is under the jurisdiction of the Polisario, the separatist organisation which represents the people native to the country before Spain gave it over to Morocco and Mauritania back in the 1970s. I don’t think the Polisario cause any hassles, as there appears to have been a cease-fire in place for some time now, but there’s still some gesticulating going on by the Moroccans. I have no idea what it’s like the other side of the Berm, because you can’t generally cross it, although a Paris-Dakar Rally did a few years ago, unannounced, which really annoyed the Polisario, and Michael Palin accessed it through Algeria for his Sahara series on TV.

As the sun started to set, we were driving alongside a plain, to the southern edge of which was quite a green area, with stunted trees and everything – an oasis, if you will. We turned north and dropped down from the hills onto a huge flat plain, where we departed the road and followed the GPS north. The plain is an enormous dried lake bed, covered in fragmented dried mud like a huge jigsaw puzzle. It’s about 20km or so across, and mostly perfectly flat, notwithstanding some tyre marks and a few small water channels. This meant we could chunter along it at some considerable speed, in truck terms. As the sun went down, we picked our campsite by putting the truck in neutral and letting it drift to a halt. All we can see in any direction is the dried lake bed, until it runs into the hills towards the horizon. I don’t think we’ll have too much noise and distraction, as there’s probably not a soul between us and the horizon.

It’s amazing how appetizing a plate of Smash and Baked Beans can be when you’re out in the middle of the desert on your own. I even have a cake to look forward to and Nicki the rest of her Milka chocolate from yesterday.

3rd June - Laayoune

2006-06-04T14:09:00.000+01:00

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.

2nd July - Dakhla

2006-06-02T22:37:00.000+01:00

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.

Photos....

2006-06-02T19:33:00.000+01:00

Here are the photos Dave was having trouble posting, complete with his captions... As always, click on the images for larger versions.

The beautiful couple at the mosque in Touba, Senegal.

Bush camping in Senegal.

In the middle of the Sahara, Mauritania.

The ship's graveyard at Nouadhibou.

Our campsite at Dakhla, Western Sahara. Strangely, we're both in this photo, if you can spot us.

Photos

2006-06-02T14:48:00.000+01:00

I've been trying to post some photos for a few days now but for some reason I can't. Hence I've now sent Si a batch in the hope he will be abe to from UK. Watch this space.

1st June - Dakhla

2006-06-02T14:12:00.000+01:00

After yesterday’s hedonistic start we set the alarm for 8am. While I filled the truck up with fuel, Nicki went and bought some fresh bread, which she then made into tuna & mayonnaise sandwiches, wrapped in clingfilm and put in the fridge. Forward thinking eh?

From Nouadibhou we set off north to the Western Sahara border, about an hour away. At the first post we came to, Customs, the officers asked if we would take a passenger: a French woman who was hitch-hiking north to Casablanca. I wasn’t sure at first, but started talking to her and agreed to take her. As it happens, this was a good plan, as Rosalyn was great at charming all the police and customs people – she had them eating out of her hand in no time. So leaving Mauritania was totally hassle-free, not that it’s a particularly bad border, and entering Western Sahara was equally jovial. The normally businesslike officials were laughing and joking with us like old friends. Somehow we nearly missed the police stamp-your-passport office when we entered Western Sahara (I think they were on tea break when we first passed it) so nearly left without getting our passports stamped, but it all worked out fine in the end.

As you will have guessed by now, we drove across No Man’s Land without hitting any mines, although again we saw the two little communities of refugees stuck out there. Strangely, although they have no water, no food and nowhere to live, they do seem to have quite nice cars. Driving up the Atlantic road towards Dakhla was quite frustrating, as again, we had a strong headwind, which pretty much capped our top speed at 40mph. As you can imagine, driving several hundred miles through monotonous desert at 40mph does get on your nerves after a while. At least it was relatively cool today, with the wind blowing in off the Atlantic, rather than off the desert. I watched the fuel gauge plummeting with gloom.

Our pre-prepared lunch was delicious, although we somewhat ruefully shared it with Rosalyn. Nicki commented, why couldn’t we have had a passenger on one of the days when we were eating stale bread with dry tuna?!

In the afternoon, it started to get a bit fumey in the cab, and I suspected the exhaust downpipe joint was blowing, which turned out to be correct upon inspection. I’ll slap some more exhaust putty in it, and try to wire it up (I’ll need to buy some wire first) to limit how much it moves around. We’ve picked up various squeaks and rattles en route, including my side of the windscreen developing a tendency to creak as if it’s about to break. I think all that’s happened is that the putty has turned to liquid and leaked away.

The road splits where the Dakhla peninsular branches off to the left and the main road north follows right. We dropped off our passenger here, and each got 4 kisses on two cheeks, so the farewell took quite a while, especially when Rosalyn ran after her empty plastic bag which had blown away, and trotted most of the way back to Mauritania before she caught up with it.
Tony from Gambia had given us the GPS waypoint of a bush camp just outside Dakhla, which we found without any great difficulty. (If anybody wants to find it, it’s at N23° 50’ 6" W15° 51’ 58".) The sandy plain drops off to the sea at the side of the road, and at one point there’s a little cove which is full of green sea-grasses. It’s sheltered from the wind, and has a nice little beach, so it’s a nice place to call home for a night or two. Just back up the road we saw a whole squadron of kite-surfers, which is quite a surprise for the depths of Western Sahara.

As our food has tended to revolve around tuna, baked beans and fried potato for several days now, we have cracked into our Wayfarer rations, resulting in pleasant vegetable curry for dinner, which will shortly be followed by a steamed chocolate sponge pudding.

31st May - Nouadhibou

2006-05-31T21:22:00.000+01:00

Well as I am sitting here in the truck amidst gale force winds, I am watching David walking across a potential landmine site to photograph some shipwrecks. We are pretty sure there aren’t any landmines this side of the railway but who can be 100% sure?! I am praying I do not hear a loud bang as I am not sure what I would do, as we are (as usual) in a fairly remote place…

We were on the hunt for Cap Blanc, the best beach in the area. It has monk seals as well, the last wild colony left in the world. It is, supposedly, in the words of the Lonely Planet, ‘a 20-minute taxi ride to the South’. Well I can assure you we have trailed round all four side roads off the one main road and the closest we have come is a sandy piste, definitely on the wrong side of the road for landmines, which in gale force winds is too sandy to follow very accurately. A local labourer told us that it was one of two pistes which lead to Cap Blanc, but indicated it would be hard to follow because of the sand blowing everywhere. On the basis we were entering the Western Sahara as well, which is renowned for its landmines as a result of the war, and all the factors listed above, we eventually gave up. Thank you Lonely Planet once again!

This morning we got up at the horrendous hour of 11am. We did deserve it really though, because of our early morning start for Rosso and our long drive yesterday. We went out to the office restaurant for lunch (the same one David and Abby visited for dinner when they were here), where David enjoyed a herb omelette and chips and I spaghetti Bolognese. We finished off the meal with Danish pastries, wow!! Interestingly a man was there who we had seen crossing the border at Rosso a few days back, it is funny how you bump into people out here that you see along the way.

We then headed to the internet café which had a fast internet connection, although David was unable to post the photos he was hoping to. I then did a quick tour of the truck with the video, although I felt the need to put on a stupid voice which I am sure you will all enjoy when you see it ( :s ). And that has concluded our day’s adventures thus far! Only I still can’t see David…..

David writes: I still have both my legs, thankfully. I wandered across the dunes to the ship’s graveyard, which was eerie and good to photograph. There were a few huts on the beach made of flotsam & jetsam; I think a handful of people subsist here by scavenging what they can from the rusting hulks beached offshore. The wind was whipping up the sand to sting my hands and face, but it was a cooling wind, so probably better than the alternative.

After I’d found my way back to the truck, we gave up on Cap Blanc and went back to our campsite.

30th May - Nouadibhou

2006-05-31T14:42:00.000+01:00

Whilst we were driving yesterday, Nicki felt something come through the window and hit her hair, quite large. She wondered if it was a small bird, and looked around for where it had gone. As she looked across to me, I pointed out she had a very large bug tangled up in her hair. The reaction was quite interesting; she jumped up and down a lot, waved her hands around and shrieked a bit. She knocked it onto the floor, and then borrowed my shoe (I’d pulled over by then) to bat it to death. It took several stamps to dispatch it. Then she kicked it out the door.

At 5pm last night we learned that the banks all close at 5pm, and you can’t change Travellers’ Cheques unless the banks are open. So we had to change some of our dwindling cash instead. I then managed to guide a taxi across the city to the internet café we used last time, which was quite gratifying – it’s nice when you feel you know your way around a place like that!

This morning we were geared up to leave for Atar, having discussed it in great detail; we were going to go to Atar, then on to Chinguetti, and Ouadane, an area of old Saharan caravans (the type with camels, not big white sheds on wheels) and ruined desert towns. It sounded nice, and Tony’s photos of it looked great. However, we thought about it again this morning, whilst waiting outside the bank to change our travellers’ cheques, and sussed out that it was going to be at least a 1500km detour, would take several days of driving through the desert, and would cost us at least £250 in fuel, only to end up back in Nouakchott and still have to drive back across the desert to Nouadibhou. Was it worth going? Well, actually, we decided that it probably wasn’t.

So instead we hit the road to Nouadibhou, and ultimately the Moroccan border. The road is a real desert drive, albeit now tarmaced, and you see all the various different types of sand-related terrain. It’s pretty remote out there and after a while you see nothing living, not even camels or goats. Bits of it, however, have scrubby bushes clinging on to life. Given that this is only the very end bit of an absolutely huge desert, it does give an insight into what a place the Sahara actually is. I can understand why it’s not good to be lost in the middle of it, and given the heat, I can also understand why people die pretty quickly if they have to walk across it without the right preparation.

The wind was hot, so much so that we couldn’t decide whether to have it blowing through the cab, or whether it was better to shut the windows and take our chances with the heat off the engine. The cab-o-meter showed a maximum temperature of 48° inside, the highest yet, but as it was dry heat, it still didn’t feel as bad as Bassé. We both make quite amusing sweat patterns in our clothing though; it’s my back which gets hottest, whereas Nicki tends to ruin her trousers first.

Nicki didn’t have a great day. She started by spilling bissap juice all down her t-shirt and trousers, dying them a mixture of blue and red. Then she put a water bottle down and it leaked over some travellers’ cheques. Then we drove off with Nicki in the back and her cab door not shut…

I also wondered whether the truck was having a bad day. It wasn’t really going much over 45kph, which is about 10kph down on its usual top speed. I spent most of the day wondering what mechanical issue would impact the engine performance like that. But at the end of the day, we swung back south to head back down the peninsular to Nouadibhou and immediately the performance was back to its old self! Amazingly, the strong desert headwind had not only knocked 10kph off our top speed, but it bit an alarming 30% off our fuel economy too! This meant that we used nearly two tanks of fuel to go 460km, which is dismal. I hope we don’t have to contend with this wind all the way up the desert, or we’ll have to sell the truck to pay for the fuel.

Somewhere in the middle we got a bit bored of the road and drove off into the desert for a while. The sand was flat and hard so it was easy going. But within a hundred yards or so of the road, we lost sight of it, and could have been miles from anywhere. It made an interesting change, but I’m not kidding myself I’m a card-carrying desert driver yet. The desert is definitely quite visually appealing, or it is if you’re from Bucks.

In the middle of nowhere we saw a nomad ahead of us trotting across the road on a camel and disappearing off again into the middle of the desert. You have to wonder where they are coming from, and where they are going. There was also a lonely goat herder way out of civilisation. Where does he get his water? As we met the train track near the Western Sahara border, we saw once more the world’s longest train, which was quite exciting for Nicki. We also saw a lot of camels, which I suppose is to be expected.

In Nouadibhou we pulled into the Camping Baie du Lévrier, which isn’t the place we stayed last time, but seems quite pleasant and was recommended in the guide book. We went for a walk, bought an ice cream each, and tracked down some cold drinks. However, now we’re back in the desert, and not far from the sea, about an hour before the sun goes down the wind goes from very hot to quite cool, so the evening’s pretty pleasant, all things considered. We enjoyed a dinner of sautéed potatoes (from the French supermarket in Nouakchott, heaven only knows where they get spuds in the desert), tinned sausages and baked beans.

Nicki says: “To those enquiring people – you know who you are – I have now gone a lot more brown than in the photos we posted a few days ago!”

Missing blog posted

2006-05-29T18:50:00.000+01:00

I've posted the blog for 24th May below, the one I forgot. Thank you for your understanding :)

29th May - back to Nouakchott

2006-05-29T18:47:00.000+01:00

Today we had our earliest start yet. David's phone woke us up at the crack of 5:30am as we were eager to get to Rosso (the worst border crossing in Africa reputedly) as early as possible. We stopped and used up all our CFAs on petrol on the way and also had our first bad encounter with the police… we were fined for not wearing a seatbelt! Despite this not being illegal in Senegal as far as we know, and despite having gone through probably 1000 other Senegalese police stops where they did not find a problem, and despite the fact that none of the locals even know what a seatbelt is, and despite David arguing valiantly, we still parted with £12, much to our disgust. The policeman wanted us to return to the police station, but we managed to negotiate to pay on the spot. Given that other people have been given highly optimistic fines of €120, it could have been worse.

We reached Rosso at around 9am and so began the worst border crossing to date. David went in to have our passports stamped and was asked for payment of £2 for this, but after a while a rush of people ended this debate and we got away with not paying. He then got the Carnet de Passage stamped, which was the easiest part of the process. Then we moved on to the ferry queue where we had to pay to get into the ferry compound. Just as we were nearing the head of the ferry queue with the ferry in sight they tried to demand ten euros off us for 'not having our car documents registered' even though we had been following their instructions all the way along. Eventually we turned around and went to the back of the queue where after a lot of hassle David managed to register our details with a now very stroppy police official after handing over ten euros anyway. A financial incentive to a guy in a white t-shirt who was helping us eventually got us on the ferry, and we departed Senegal.

Our relief was short lived when a police officer demanded every single one of our documents and then walked off the ferry with them. We were unable to follow for some time as we were stuck at the back of the ferry, but eventually we did. We drove over to immigration where we managed to get all our documents back eventually from the various places they'd been scattered after having to pay to get them back!! David said 'But why? What are we paying for?! It's MY driving license!' Then came the long and drawn out issue of getting me a visa, which eventually didn't cost too much (€20) but took about an hour to materialise. The officer in charge of that area then wanted payment for having got the stamps, which we managed to avoid in the end. Then we had to pay for the ferry ticket, a whopping twenty euros for a ten minute trip, and then the car insurance, another €20. So all in all goodness knows how much we spent and David said thank heavens I don't have a first-born child because they would want that as well! The officials were unfriendly and aggressive, just as we'd heard they would be. They are well practised in parting people from their money and know every trick in the book. The police are also in cahoots with the local "guides" and money changers, so you'd struggle to beat them at their own game. If you had all day and spoke perfect French, you might save a bit of money, but it's a really crappy border crossing. (Unfortunately the nice Diama border post nearby can't issue Mauritanian visas, and we were short of one.)

So we hit the road to Nouakchott, which is a very dull, long, samey road for about 3 hours. All you see for miles is sand, a few trees, some abandoned buildings and also camels, as well as the usual goats, cows and donkeys. We saw a camel's skull by the road, which isn't an encouraging sign! We went through a few police checks and then I saw a guy with a shop selling cold coke, so we pulled over and I shot in the shop to get one. He charged me £1 for a can, but I was beyond arguing so paid up and left. A minute later the police officer, who had followed us in, came back to us waving the equivalent of 40p, he had obviously rumbled the guy who was trying to overcharge us! So nice police officers do exist!!

Eventually we reached Auberge Sahara, the place where David and Abby stayed before. It is pleasant with hot showers and toilets, a kitchen at our disposal, cold drinks and an electricity hook up that we are currently running the air-con off of. It is working a bit, the truck is getting a little cooler I think! Shortly we are heading to the supermarket (expensive I believe as it is all Western imported items), the internet café and the bank to change some money. We have just totalled the money and have realised we spent way over budget last month. This is mainly because petrol is working out far more expensive, as the prices we had obtained before we arrived are basically totally out of date now.

28th May - Zebrabar last day

2006-05-29T18:46:00.001+01:00

Today I (Nicki) have little to report as I lay around reading a trashy novel for most of the day! This was after breakfast, where I sampled the homemade brown bread, the first brown bread I have had since England. David couldn't resist having a bit off the end!

OK then, it's my turn (David). I'd been contemplating the knocking exhaust downpipe and thought I'd have a look at it. Armed with some exhaust putty, I undid the bolts. The first was fine, but the second one sheared off… With no way of getting it out, I had to smear the exhaust putty around everywhere and do the other bolt back up. Not really ideal and I hope the other bolt doesn't now shear off. Stupid truck!

Like Nicki, I had a fairly undemanding day, but Ursula from Zebrabar asked if I could help her sort out a couple of things on her laptop. I was quite pleased and surprised to find that I could, which earned us both a free drink, but more importantly meant I was one of the privileged few to see inside their lovely house. It's a bit of Swiss design stuck in the middle of Senegal. I sort of enjoyed my free drink, but I've been put off bottled Sprite ever since finding what appeared to be a decaying slug floating around in a bottle a couple of days ago, when I put it to my mouth.

Towards the end of the afternoon we dug out the 2-man canoe from the boatstore (not the leaky one we used last time, the other one) and paddled across the river to the immensely long, thin spit of land that separates it from the Atlantic. It was only a few hundred yards, but it got a bit choppy in the middle, and we were paddling against the tide, so it was more arduous than it looked. Once landed, we walked across the spit (about 300m wide, half sand and half conifers in sand) to the Atlantic beach. It was nearly deserted, although I did see somebody a long way away who had come over on a pirogue. I went for a swim, although I didn't go deeper than waist deep, because there was a wicked current running along the beach.

The beach was covered in flotsam and general rubbish at the high tide mark. There were also a lot of dead fish, I think derived from fishing activity, as there were also some nets in the little lagoon before the beach shelved away. We wandered through the dead fish for a while, and headed back. The paddle back home was easier than the outgoing trip, although the kayak kept veering upstream for reasons we couldn't fathom.

Dinner was worth the wait. Martin barbecued a big lump of beef fillet over the coals, and it was served up with potatoes, salad, pumpkin fritters, fried aubergine and all manner of other bits and pieces. I was slightly concerned lest we ran out of meat, but even though Nicki and I stuffed ourselves silly, we still had some left over at the end, probably to the delight of the largest Zebrabar dog, Nico. It's the best meal we've had in Africa and left us both feeling very satisfied. We paid before bed, planning an early start in the morning.

27th May - Zebrabar still

2006-05-29T18:46:00.000+01:00

One thing to point out before I begin today's blog. David wanted me to mention the rather strange sight we saw at the side of the road the other day, a kid dragging a rope behind him attached to a toilet seat… the strangest toy we have ever seen!

Well we were woken in the middle of the night last night by rain!!!!!! Yes RAIN!! Unfortunately it woke me up because it was raining on me through the ceiling hatch, so I had to unhook the net and slide out of bed to shut it, which I couldn't quite as there is a large piece of tree in it currently! I have instructed David to remove it ASAP.

We headed down to breakfast which was just as good as yesterday and lazed around most of the morning. A particularly funny incident: whilst David was lying in a hammock I spent a good ten minutes consistently tickling him with a stick until David, seemingly being driven to total distraction by the flies, realised it was me! Two guys walking past also found it particularly amusing.

At about midday we took a taxi into St Louis as we had some errands to run and I had not seen it. Our first stop was the internet where we posted the blog (even putting some photos up as you all know by now, David was rather excited!) and checked emails. We found a little supermarket and bought ice creams and went for a wander round the town.

St Louis is full of character but I wouldn't go so far as to say it was charming, which is the word David used! It has very pungent smells wafting around and most of the buildings are in a state of disrepair. The beaches were busy although mostly covered in rubbish (they are the same beaches the children use as a toilet and in fact so do the adults) and they must see quite a few tourists because we were hassled insistently a few times, especially by begging children. The area seems quite poor compared to a lot of other places we have seen, or maybe everything was condensed into a smaller space making it appear that way. I wasn't too impressed with it, I can think of other places I would rather be (!) but I think David liked it a bit better than me.

We concluded our wander at the supermarket again where we bought 10 litres of water and then hopped in a taxi back home. Halfway back we stopped and somehow fitted three women and all their bowls of salt and buckets and things in with us, I am guessing we were in a 'shared taxi'! They babbled on quite pleasantly while David and I looked at each other in disbelief about how we were all squashed in with so much luggage as well! However we made it back to Zebrabar in one piece.

Lunch consisted in a packet of paprika crisps and some mini muffins with chocolate centres (just as healthy as all the white baguettes we usually consume for lunch I am sure!!). I had 2 muffins, David has had 6…

The rest of the day was spent reading and relaxing. We learnt that Marco, the son of the couple who own Zebrabar who is about 3, had that morning gone on the new swing (detailed in the last blog) so much he had ended up being sick! This proves the point about how successful the new toy is I think. Dinner was lovely as usual, the usual salad followed by a seafood curry with rice, with apple in something like crème fraiche for desert. We have requested a BBQ for tomorrow!

David taking over for a final comment: on the 100 yard walk from the building to the truck last night, we got lost! I had to use my compass watch to find the way back and we struck out again. How embarrassing. Now I know why Nicki doesn't like walking back to the truck on her own.

More photos

2006-05-27T14:38:00.000+01:00

Photo Deluge

2006-05-27T14:28:00.000+01:00

26th May - Zebrabar

2006-05-27T14:02:00.000+01:00

David blogging today. A delightful lie-in this morning before it started to get hot, triggering me to get up. As soon as you step out of the door here, you're plagued by hordes of flies. They are put off a little by the insect repellent we use, but they're as persistent as we've seen so far. After a while they're just a little irritating.

Nicki went and had a breakfast which she said was the best £1.50 she's ever spent: bread and mango jam with real butter, a boiled egg and a mug of tea made her a very happy camper. I stayed around and contemplated what needed doing to the truck.

The first task was to try to find this annoying rattle we've had when hitting bumps since we left Guinea. I took the front right wheel off, but it wasn't the shock absorber or the anti-roll bar. I noticed that one of the joints in the exhaust downpipe was loose: this seems to be the culprit for the noise. It's probably worked loose since one of the rubber exhaust hangers perished earlier in the trip (now tied up with wire). I don't think it's really fixable here, as the nuts are already tight, so it'll have to be like that until we get back. It shouldn't do any harm, but it will continue to annoy me. I have some exhaust putty, but I think it will crack off as the joint flexes, and I don't really want to snap the studs off by undoing the nuts.

Then I tightened up the snail cams on all the drum brakes, tightened up all the bolts I could reach underneath, and checked our oil levels. On the bright side, the gearboxes aren't leaking any oil to speak of any more, and the leaky hubs are also sorted. The engine continues to leak oil, but only at a slowish rate, and it seems sensible just to keep whacking some oil in it every so often, rather than to change the valley gasket and risk making it worse. The axles haven't leaked any oil at all. It'd be nice to change the axle and gearbox oils, but oil is surprisingly expensive here, and I haven't seen EP90 at all, so I'd rather preserve what we have on-board in case we need it in an emergency.

I finished off by changing the engine oil, and whilst it was draining I took up a section of the cab floor so I could slow down the idling speed on the carburettors. It was lucky I did, because one of the LPG pipes had come adrift, which would have sprayed gas everywhere as soon as we switched to LPG back in the UK. The part that it mated with had disappeared into the air intake system, so I had to dismantle all the air hoses to find it. That done, I refilled the engine oil, reset the idling speed and tidied everything back up again. As I had sweat dripping off me, I had a shower – warm water, wahey! I kept being invaded by wasps, who were angry that I was using their normal supply of water for something frivolous like a shower.

It now being lunchtime, we headed up to the main building for a well-earned sandwich. We were a trifle disappointed that the sandwich of the day is tuna, having eaten tuna in large quantities over the last few days, but it was a nice sandwich. Then we went for a walk down the beach, heading south along the spit of land Zebrabar marks the northern tip of. The land round here is a series of peninsulas, shallow rivers and small deltas, all interwoven, and we never did find the southern tip of our spit, but we did get a good couple of hours walking done, and we also entertained ourselves endlessly by playing megalomaniac mind-games with the crabs that litter the beach. Mwahahahahaha.

Back at the camp, Martin, the owner, was rigging up a new swing for his two children. He's already built some really interesting playground toys, including a big swing, a climbing frame, a Senegalese Wendy-house, and a funny platform on springs which wobbles everywhere. All the stuff is made on-site by their expert welder. Today's project consisted of a metal ring, about 1.8m diameter, with canvas stretched across it like an un-springy trampoline, suspended by ropes from a protruding pole. We roped the ring to the pole, which was already welded in place (actually, a piece of railway track, so it should be quite strong), and the children helped lace up the canvas. When it was done, they sat and laid in it, and we pushed, so it swung side-to-side and span round, to the children's delight. Martin then had a go, and so did I, and it was actually really great – you lose all sense of direction as you swing and spin round, but at the same time, the pendulum effect means you feel totally safe and can't fall out! I was laughing like a drain by the time I got off.

In the process of doing this, I ripped the trousers I got in Mauritania, so had to sew them back up again. It's now, surprisingly, overcast, but not exactly chilly, so it's quite pleasant to sit out in.

25th May - Zebrabar, 2nd time round

2006-05-27T14:00:00.000+01:00

For David that is. It is my first time obviously, but more of that later!

We departed from our camp spot early in case people started to notice us, so off we went with me nibbling on some cereal for breakfast (David doesn't eat breakfast often). The drive passed uneventfully until we reached the town of Touba.

Touba is the sacred focus of the Mouride Islamic brotherhood and Amadou Bamba, their founder, is buried in the giant Mosque here. We decided to stop and have a look round and the minute we slowed down we were accosted by locals wanting to be our guide. We stood our ground and demanded one who spoke English and eventually an English speaker arrived. We changed to trousers and long sleeves and jumped out the truck, to be told by our guide we had to move the truck to just around the corner. So we unlocked all the doors again and moved it, much to our unamusement! We then negotiated our price and headed towards the mosque. We passed via the guide's car where he gave me a head scarf to wear and wrapped round my sarong like piece of material OVER my trousers (what with these two items and my trousers and my t shirt and my fleece I was starting to feel a bit like a mummy!!). Finally we headed into the mosque which, it has to be said, was pretty stunning. It is probably the most interesting piece of architecture in Senegal after the various government buildings and consisted of huge pillars and detailed glasswork, which altogether gave the feeling of vastness. It was being methodically cleaned by many women in preparation for tomorrow (Friday) as this is their holiest day of the week. I understand it gets rather busy on a Friday so lucky we visited on a Thursday! The town itself is a very holy town, with no alcohol or cigarettes. Apparently even a hotel is seen as a den of iniquity!

We left mid morning to continue our journey and two events worth noting occurred on the drive from Touba to our next stop. Firstly, one of our main missions each day is to distribute the empty plastic water bottles to nice looking children. Today I have to say I excelled myself, as I managed to pass a bottle out the window of the moving truck to a little boy who was standing up on a cart and single-handedly driving a donkey! We laughed after as we thought the kid was probably sitting there thinking 'well now what am I going to do, I have a useless piece of plastic and I also now have my hands full so can't drive the donkey'!! I am sure he was grateful for the bottle really.

The other event involved a herd of cows crossing the road ahead of us. There was one dopey cow standing right in the middle of our lane. All the other cows moved off to either side of the road, and as we got closer David started to brake…and brake… and slammed the brakes on hard as the cow did not move! Alas we may have bumped the cow from behind a tad, as it turned around just before the shunt, but it indignantly shot off the road and we think it has learnt its lesson! The problem was we couldn't go round it as we did not know which way it would run.

A hundred or so kilometres on we reached the turnoff for Zebrabar so we eagerly took the piste that would take us closer to the sea and away from the heat. My first impressions of Zebrabar included the peaceful atmosphere that accompanies the fact it is at the end of a spit in the middle of nowhere. It is in a national park which you can read about in previous blog entries I am sure, and there are a lot of birds around to prove this. We headed straight for the newly fitted bar and helped ourselves to a drink, as it is an honesty bar. There were a group of westerners sitting close by so we said hello to them, establishing that all bar one were gap-year teachers from St Louis. The 'one' was a medic also doing some work in an extremely basic hospital in the town, by all accounts.

Hunger arrived about 3pm so I made tuna mayo rolls as a mid afternoon snack and had a nose around the camp. There is a watch tower you can climb for amazing views of the area, a small beach with boats and canoes for use, hammocks, and did I mention the bar??! Sorry for those who know about Zebrabar already, this is for the benefit of those who started reading when I came out.

We spent the afternoon lazing about until the evening. Dinner was a fantastic meal of salad, gnocchi and beef in a creamy sauce followed by mango ice cream. Ironically we haven't had mangoes for quite some time so we did enjoy the desert! We enjoyed the company of the owners Ursula and Martin and two of their friends, so David chatted away in German while I picked up bits here and there.

24th May - South of Diourbel

2006-05-27T13:59:00.000+01:00

Last night’s dinner was butterfish & one of the groupers I caught, for me, and a prawn for Nicki. One prawn sounds a bit stingy, but the thing was about the size of a lobster, so was a meal in itself. The teachers were at the camp for dinner, so we all sat around the fire and drummed into the night.

Today we said a fond farewell to Fansu and the crew. Having packed and breakfasted, and found a storage place for our two drums (I mentioned it would be nice to have another, more bass-y, one, so Fansu got us one), we drove off down the beach for the last time. We stopped for one last fill-up of water at the well; happy memories! Onwards to the north we went, dropping by once more at the Land Rover dealer in Fajarah, who didn’t have quite the exhaust mount I was looking for.

This time we made it to the ferry queue without the palaver round the one-way system we had last time, and Nicki went to buy the tickets whilst I was hassled by all the local people. When I say hassled, they’re just a bit persistent; notwithstanding the moron we met in Barra, nobody is pushy or physical, they just try hard to get us to part with money, and they’re usually unsuccessful, apart from a woman selling bananas. When Nicki was back we waited quite a while for the ferry, considering the queue was short. A man stopped to talk to us, and was remarkable for two reasons: firstly he was a Christian, the first African Christian we’ve met, and secondly he had leprosy, which meant his feet were not a pretty sight. He said the local Catholic mission cared for him, although he still had to buy his own bandages. As leprosy’s not a whole barrel of laughs, we gave him what we had left of our Gambian small change.

Shortly before we boarded, Nicki noticed a girl selling cashew nuts, so I did the local attention-grabbing thing and hissed at her through my teeth. It’s a bit annoying when people do it to us, which they do frequently, as it sounds rude to our Western ears, but it had the desired effect and she was over like a shot, to Nicki’s amusement. The nuts were nice, but pricey by local standards.

We made it onto the ferry at length, having watched it actually depart empty and come straight back at one point, for reasons unknown. We stopped in Barra for fuel, and spent all our remaining money apart from a 50 Dalasi buffer (about £1). When I went to restart the engine, the battery was flat! Nicki had turned the fridge on this morning, but because we’d been hooked up to the solar panels yesterday, the second battery on the truck wasn’t set to charge up. So the fridge had flattened the battery, and for some reason I can’t quite fathom, the main battery had flattened too. It may be the battery is caput, or it may be that the main battery discharges into the fridge when the ignition’s turned on, I’m not sure which. I’ll do some investigations to find out at Zebrabar. The garage had a spare battery, so we jump-started ourselves off it, and forfeited our last 50 Dalasi for the privilege!

The drive to the border was straightforward, and the border crossing itself was quite busy but not problematic. Immediately back in Senegal we noticed the roads improved, which is the case right up as far as Kaolack, where you then go through a few miles of big potholes where most of the traffic diverts off into the far smoother lake bed next door. We entered Kaolack through the least picturesque route, and drove through the centre of town to find a bank to change some money.

We stopped at the bank, but it was shut. A local man latched on to us and offered to take me to a nearby exchange office. They wouldn’t take travellers’ cheques, so on we went, to three different places through the town. None of them would take them either. So, we walked back to the truck, and I got some dollars in cash, we walked back across town… I finally got them exchanged with a Lebanese shopkeeper, but I don’t think the rate was as good as it could have been, even though I negotiated quite successfully. On the bright side, I did find a shop selling ice creams, so took one back to Nicki.

Meanwhile, Nicki had been sitting in the truck attracting all sorts of attention from people either interested in what we were up to, or who had something to sell. Again, they weren’t physical or anything, just persistent, and it does get quite wearing after a while! “Where are you from? What is your name? Will you give me your car? You are welcome in Senegal!” I think we’re getting better at distinguishing who is just interested and who has an ulterior motive. But Kaolack was hot, and after paying off my guide, who then tried desperately to sell us some necklaces, we departed north towards St Louis.

By this time it was early evening, so we pulled off the road as the sun set, just a couple of kilometres south of Diourbel, and drove a few hundred metres across the savannah out of the way of the road. We’re close enough to hear some of the sounds from the town, but hopefully we won’t attract much attention now it’s dark. Dinner was carefully formulated based around a surfeit of tuna and baked beans, and was: tuna in baked beans. With curry powder to liven it up a bit. Disastrously, we have left our brand new and most excellent tin opener at Fansu’s; we’re obviously destined to finish the trip without a tin opener, as the one we bought at Camping Sukuta broke.

Observation of the day: two policeman so far have mistaken us for somebody else. In a huge multi-coloured truck! I think it’s quite unlikely that there is somebody else driving round in a truck like ours, so I think it’s just that a big multi-coloured vehicle like ours is quite unremarkable out here, where bright primary colours are the order of the day.

23rd May - Last day at Fansu's

2006-05-27T13:57:00.000+01:00

Today's blog will be in two parts as David and I partook in different activities for the most part! Me first, me first J

I once again arose at the crack of noon, I could get used to this! I had some bread and honey for breakfast and watched David, Tony and Fansu depart on their sea fishing trip. I had no regrets about not going, I was very happy to laze on the beach all day!

I decided to go for a dip in the sea before I started my sunbathing. So off I went, bypassing four men playing football, two of whom worked in the restaurant. Those two decided to swim as well, well in fact they splashed rather than swam as not many Africans can swim seemingly. Then one of them said "I have a present for you" and presented me with a necklace. I said "Thank you, that is very kind of you." He instructed me to shut my eyes while he put it on. After a bit I opened my eyes (as a couple of large waves had wiped me out because obviously with my eyes shut I couldn't see them coming) and I found the guy leaning in to kiss me! I shrieked and ducked out the way, and he said "You are welcome, you are welcome!" (which they say a lot here, normally said in a nice way but on this occasion I was thinking I don't think I want to be welcomed!!). As soon as I could I made a hasty exit out the sea and shot into the truck were I stayed for most of the morning! I was very alarmed as this has not happened in Africa as yet, teach me to drop my guard!

So I ventured outside a bit later and plugged myself into my iPod and took my book out. As soon as I appeared so did the two guys, but I made a point of looking busy and eventually they gave up. The hassle continued intermittently all afternoon however, with things said such as "He will be a good husband for you" and "You have to write to him", despite my retorts of "I have a boyfriend in England" and "No I already have a boyfriend!". Now you can see why I pretend to be married to David most of the time!

My other event of the day was finding an ingenious use for gaffer tape – for waxing my legs!! So I spent a busy few hours with the tape and my tweezers and they are looking a lot better than before! I wasn't really bothered till I started meeting other English people, but seeing as we have another whole roll I went for it. Good travelling tip there!

Lunch passed uneventfully and a while later the fishing crew returned. Apparently it was quite rough and Fansu was sea sick, so I was definitely pleased I didn't go! They were out for 3 ½ hours as well, a bit of a long time in the midday sun for me I think. Soon after this I washed my hair using Tony's shower. It is a great invention, involving a container of water that heats up in the sun attached to a hose with a little motor and shower head on the other end. It was pretty powerful and was fresh water, so my hair is feeling a lot cleaner although looking a little fluffy thanks to the sea breeze.

Tonight the teachers have come to wish us goodbye and we are having another campfire. I have ordered prawns for dinner, I say prawns but I really mean prawn as there is only one and it is HUGE! The size of a small lobster, which is the reason David is sticking to fish tonight I think. Our last night will be a late one I think, it will be sad to leave Fansu's tomorrow but I am looking forward to escaping the recent advances!!

My turn now (David that is). Just a quick report on the fishing trip. We hired a pirogue, one of the local all-purpose boats, this one with an engine (but some of the smaller ones only have sails). They're made of long, shaped planks, I think the length of the whole boat, stuck together with pins and caulked. They're long and thin, ours was about 25' long and about 4' wide, and have a very deep-v profile. This means they cut through the waves nicely, but it also means they lean all over the place, and have a tendency to broach with a following sea. The fishermen are used to this, and were happy to stand up with the boat veering around with water slopping over the gunwales, but it didn't come so naturally to us. (Tony says the pirogue we had today is much more stable than the last one they went in. Glad I wasn't in that one!)

The pirogues also have a tendency to leak quite generously. You could easily see the water slopping in between the planks on ours, although it had been patched with fibre glass and matting in places. This doesn't perturb the fisherman, who have a sturdy bucket for bailing it out.

We headed out to about a couple of miles offshore, where it was still only about three or four metres deep. On the way we had to avoid some shoals and reefs, where you could see the surf breaking. Some other boats were already out there, so we were in company in case the boat sank. (The crew and Fansu were wearing lifejackets – as Nicki observed, most Africans can't swim – but Tony and I would have to take our chances!) We anchored and cast out our lines, using some European-style rods and reels which Tony brought from Spain. The local fishermen seem to use heavier lines, which they reel in and out on small wooden frames.

We used squid for bait, and to start with had plenty of nibbles, but not so many bites. I caught the first fish, a grouper of a few pounds in weight, and then the second one. I also caught a little catfish, which are not so good to eat, but can be dried and eaten. Occasionally one of us snagged a rock, and the fishermen, who are used to recovering as much of their kit as possible, would manoeuvre the boat around and pull the line until it freed up.

At one point we pulled up next to a much smaller pirogue with two fishermen in, and they had some whomper fish, including some gurnards and something which looked like a sea bream, all at least three feet long. I'm not sure what they were doing that we weren't, but they had been out all day, which probably helped. Their tiny boat had a sail instead of an engine, and given the instability of pirogues, I think it would have been a bit hairy with the sail up.

We were out for three and a half hours, and the final tally was:

Tony: 1 fish, 4 rocks, wasn't sick

Fansu: 1 fish, no rocks, was sick 4 times

David: 3 fish, 2 rocks, wasn't sick

I consider this a good result. At the end of the afternoon we motored back to shore through the reefs, broaching like crazy, and at the last minute surfed in onto the beach, which seemed a bit touch-and-go to me, but of course the fishermen are totally used to it.

22nd May - Fansu's still

2006-05-27T13:54:00.000+01:00

Nicki again reporting, David wants a day off today!

We got up at the crack of noon today. What a treat! We didn't have any particular reason to get up so we just… didn't. However finally it got a bit hot in the truck so we begrudgingly got up. David went for breakfast and I nibbled at some cereal in the truck. Then ensued a day of relaxation where we didn't really do that much!

Main activities included reading, playing the drums, sitting in the sun and messing about with photos. We had an exciting moment where by using a cable we attached the truck to the electricity in the camp, which is generated by solar power. David sat on the laptop exclaiming "I can't believe we are running the laptop off the sun!". It was actually pretty handy, as the truck batteries keep going a bit flat so we were able to fully charge everything in this way.

Lunch occurred at about 3pm as usual, so we all gathered round the big bowl of rice and fish in a sauce and munched away. After this we lazed in hammocks (David successfully put his up so now there are three!). We were meant to go sea fishing but the boy ran over about 4pm and said the boat didn't have any petrol, so I think we will go tomorrow. Anyone who knows me and remembers the sea fishing experience that occurred in Newquay will understand a little part of me was relieved about this!!

We decided to be productive and head off to the internet café. After a few hairy close encounters with the sea and some big dunes of sand we made it off the beach and into Tujering. However the café wasn't open, very frustratingly, I wish he would keep regular hours!! So we trudged back to the beach after buying some more water. We nearly got stuck in the sand until David realised the truck wasn't quite in six wheel drive, but then we nearly got stuck even though we were in six wheel drive! The last bit of sand when we turn up the beach to park is becoming a bit rutted from all our driving so it took 5 attempts, our last one starting actually in the sea, to get to our little parking spot!! Close call.

Dinner consisted of battered butterfish, a favourite of ours, followed by some of our tinned pears and custard (which we introduced Fansu to – he liked it!). We said goodbye to Nora who was heading back to Germany for a bit and lazed around playing the drums as usual. So ended our unproductive day!

21st May - Fansu's Beach

2006-05-27T13:53:00.000+01:00

On 19^th Nicki awoke feeling a bit grim. She felt hot and cold, and a bit sick, and very tired, so stayed in bed for most of the day. We did briefly wonder if it could be malaria, as Nicki always gets bitten (luckily for me, as it means I get overlooked by the mosquitoes), but the symptoms didn't seem to match.

The ball joints on the steering drag link of the truck were a little worn, so I decided to replace them. Annoyingly, I brought one right hand threaded ball joint and one left hand threaded one, and for this job I needed two right hand threaded ones, so I could only replace one of them. As they're not disastrous, it didn't matter too much, and in an emergency I could nick one of the ones of the anti-roll bar anyway. This is a 30 minute job. At least, it is if you can get the damn ball joint off the end of the drag link.

With help from Tony, as well as Khalifa, who happened to be around, I got the drag link off, and tried to remove the ball joint. The nut wouldn't budge. So we all had a go. No joy. Then we got the vice out to hold the ball joint more securely. Nothing. Then we decided the vice needed to be mounted more firmly on the truck. So we drilled some holes in the truck. Nada. I used the blow torch to heat up the joint. Nichts. In the end we got the ball joint in the vice, with the vice bolted to the truck, and all three of us tried to turn the nut with a spanner. At this point, I noticed we were turning the nut the wrong way… It wasn't a captive nut, it was a lock nut. Doh!

Once we started turning the nut the right way, it was pretty easy. However, the half hour job took something over 2 hours.

The rear transfer box seems to have moved up on its mount, and the prop shaft driving it has been rubbing on the cross member, meaning if we use 6wd, the prop shaft makes an unpleasant noise as it rubs. The only reason this should happen is if the chassis bends (unlikely, but not impossible on the Guinean roads we used), or if the main gearbox drops down. Tony and I had a look underneath and noticed one of the two rubber mounts for the gearbox was mashed up. Blast, that means a new rubber mount, and it's not a great idea to use the truck before the job is done.

Nicki had slept through all our hammering, banging and drilling, against all odds, but by the evening was feeling a bit more perky and partook of a little dinner. After dinner, Tony, Nicki and I sat around chatting for quite a while.

We awoke tired the next morning, but we had an appointment: we were going to pick the teachers up and go to the Abuko nature reserve near Serekunda. We breakfasted before we left; coffee, baguettes and honey, plus the marmite we brought with us. It's all very pleasant and relaxed, as long as the little red ants haven't got to the baguettes. We're used to Boos, the cat, being all over us at breakfast, but Tony and I have been rubbing kerosene into her ears and around her eyes to get rid of the little flies that latch on very firmly all round her face, so she tends to avoid us a bit now.

I rang the garage at Fajarah to see if they had a gearbox mount; they did. So after we'd picked up the teachers, we went along to get a couple. I also bought some more one-shot grease (1 pack); the whole lot came to €50, which seems a bit steep, but I suppose I'm paying for shipping from the UK in with the price.

The nature reserve was well set up; a guide talked us through the uses and traditions around various trees and plants as we walked through the forest, then we went to a couple of hides near water holes to watch the animals and birds. They get some pretty hefty pythons here, but you have to arrive early in the morning to see the snakes. We did see a monitor lizard, a goshawk, some deer and plenty of monkeys of different types, including a type of rare colobus. Then we went to an enclosure where we saw hyenas, which are pretty nasty pieces of work, and were surrounded by a huge flock of vultures. We also saw some monkeys which are being rehabilitated, having been kept in captivity or been orphaned. They used to have a lion, but it died.

We got back mid-afternoon, having driven through a very lively Serekunda and stopped to buy some crates of drink for the restaurant. (We also found some goodies such as crisps and sweets so stocked up a bit.) I decided to have a look at fitting the gearbox mount, and Tony gallantly helped.

According to the manual, you just jack up the gearbox a bit, pop the old mount out, and put the new one in. Well, you can guess what happened: firstly we couldn't get one of the nuts off the old mount, then we couldn't get the mount out. We had to remove a bracket which was very firmly bolted to the side of the gearbox to get at it in the end. The old mount had sheared totally in half, which explains why the gearbox wasn't quite sitting right. By the time we got the new mount in, and bolted everything back together, it took about 3 hours, which is about par for the course! Ideally you should change both mounts at once, but we really couldn't be doing with that, so at least now I have a spare if another one fails. I also noticed the wire I used to wire up the exhaust in Niokolo-Koba had given up, so another job to do!

Dinner was butterfish, which was absolutely delicious, probably the best yet. The teachers were around as well, but they left before we'd started up a fire to toast the marshmallows we'd bought earlier. Nicki and I made rice pudding for everybody, using some lovely milk Fansu had bought fresh from the cow, but by the time we'd finished, there were only about 5 of us left. Well, we enjoyed it, anyway.

This morning, Nicki went with Tony to Serekunda, Tony to stock up on things for the restaurant, Nicki to buy some new flip-flops, although they also got me a rather fetching shirt. I stayed to mess around with the truck. I tied up the exhaust again using some more wire, then got the jack out to look for a clonking noise which has been around for a couple of weeks. When I put the jack away, the locker hinge gave way. They're mild steel hinges, so rust very easily, which is why I bought plenty of spare hinge. They're easy enough to replace (you just drill out the rivets, cut a new length of hinge, and rivet it all back together again), but I managed to break two drill bits in the process, which was annoying.

Then Khalifa and I went up to Senegambia, the touristy bit of Gambia up the coast from here, so I could change some more money, and fill up with fuel at the same time. We saw quite a few westerners there, of course, so I couldn't resist calling "Toubab!" out the window to them! On the way back, Khalifa took me to his family compound and to see his house. He also showed me various photos, plus his high-school certificates and endorsements. We got back to the beach at the same time as Nicki and Tony.

This afternoon's exciting idea was to pick up all the kids from Fansu's family compound and bring them down to the beach for a few hours. Even though they only live a mile or so away from the beach, they don't generally come down here for some reason, so we thought it would be a nice excursion for them. Nicki bought some beach buckets and a football in preparation. Tony and I picked up 13 kids in his Land Cruiser, all related to Fansu (as far as we know, although we might have ended up with some extras), and brought them back to the beach. The little boy from the compound next door was most disappointed to be turned away.

One of the youngest children, little Yousuffa, had never seen the sea before, so was wide-eyed when he got out of the truck! All the children were wearing their best clothes, but that wasn't a problem as they quickly stripped off down to their pants and joined us in the sea. The teachers were here as well, so between us we could just about cope with all the children, although I kept doing head counts to make sure we'd not lost any! The children had a whale of a time; they kept wanting to be carried into the sea, and if you've ever spent a day carrying around a couple of children around, one on each hip, you'll know it's quite exhausting! The kids were not used to the sea at all, so clung to us like limpets. We made sand castles and sand animals, played a bit of football, and all in all I think the kids had a really good time. None of them had ever made a sand castle before, but they cottoned on pretty quickly.

Two other teenage girls from the compound wandered along later and joined in the fun as well, but they got a bit boisterous, and some of the little ones were in a bit of danger of being trampled at one point! Nicki and Tony had a late lunch, and had a bit left over, but the children made short work of polishing off the left-overs. It was nice to see how well they all played together; one girl was given a chip at the kitchen, so brought it back, carefully split it into three pieces, and shared it with her two cousins.

We took a group photo, and before they went, I printed a copy out so each of the children could have one. Trying to get them all to look at the camera at the same time was almost impossible, and then the camera battery gave out at the crucial moment, so I had to print 3 different photos to try to give each child one where they could be seen. By the end of the afternoon, the children were knackered, and so were we. We dropped them back at the compound, and on the way back Tony and I filled up all the restaurant's jerry cans with water at the well.

Nicki worked out that we really need to be leaving Gambia around Wednesday. It'll be really sad to leave, because after being here for a couple of weeks, it sort of feels like home! We know lots of people here, we know our way around, we're used to the daily life like pumping water at the well and buying bread from the little shop, and we've been so welcomed here that it's like having a home from home. We both hope we'll be able to come back in the future. I can understand why several people we met on the way down were so fascinated with Gambia ; it's hard to explain, but the country is so hospitable and welcoming that you quickly feel like you're among good friends.

Quick update

2006-05-20T21:34:00.000+01:00

We've not had a chance to write the blog for the last couple of days, but, news in brief:

Nicki was ill yesterday but feels fine now.
Yesterday afternoon we (Tony & me & some helpers) changed a ball joint on the steering drag link, which took ages, partly because we were turning a nut the wrong way.
This morning we went to see another nature reserve.
This afternoon we changed a gearbox mount which had sheared clean in half. It was a half hour job, so predictably, it took three hours.

Full reports to follow...

18th May - Fansu's Beach

2006-05-20T21:22:00.000+01:00

We ended up having a bit of a session last night, with Tony, Fansu, a couple of Fansu's other friends, and Nora, the German woman who came here on holiday and married a Gambian. We sat round the fire and played drums right into the night. So this morning wasn't one of our early starts.

Nora's solar electricity was playing up, so we all went round in Tony's Toyota to take a look at it. She has a huge compound, nicely set up with trees and bushes she's planted. She is in the middle of building a new house there, which she's designed herself and looks as if it will be lovely, if it's ever completed. She's used African architectural ideas, such as having the roof not attached to the tops of the walls, to let the air through. At the same time, some rooms are sealed and mouse-proofed to protect her valuables.

Tony and I looked at the solar electric setup and realised part of the circuitry had been damaged. We took it apart and I soldered up the connections using Tony's soldering iron, and we were pleased to see it all worked fine. Then we turned our attentions to Nora's little wind generator, at the top of a pole. It's not worked properly for years. The pole was about 30' high, so the challenge was, how to get to it. The ladder we had wasn't long enough, so we came up with the idea that Tony would drive his Toyota through the compound, and we'd put the ladder on the roof.

Unfortunately, in the process of inching around the plants and other hazards in the compound, Tony ran over the plastic pipe from Nora's well to her water tank and split it! Disaster! Water poured everywhere, and Nora, who sometimes finds things hard going anyway, was distraught. Oopsy.

Nora's partner drove me down to the beach to collect my special plumbing tape, and we taped up the joint and put a jubilee clip round it. Alas, when we turned the pump on later, it didn't hold, so it'll need a local plumber to come and fix it, which will be easy, but he'll probably need to order the right parts in, so it could take some time.

Meanwhile we backed Tony's truck up to the generator pole, put the ladder on top of the truck, and I went up the ladder to look at the generator. We were going to remove it, but one of the bolts sheared as I undid it whilst perched precariously on the bendy bamboo ladder on the roof of the truck leaning against a thin metal pole some height above the ground, so we decided to leave it be, so as not to do any more damage, to me or the fan. Nora's going to try to get hold of a diode, so the turbine acts as a generator and not a fan, and I'll wire it in to her solar power system at some future point and see if it works at all.

So we left Nora with solar power at last, but unfortunately with no water. We returned to the beach, where lunch was ready; Fansu's entourage cook a big bowl of rice, fish and vegetables every day, and Nicki and I are now regarded as part of the furniture, so we're invited along as well, even though I don't think they're charging us anything for lunch. We all sit around the bowl with a spoon each and help ourselves. It's very communal and friendly. Afterwards we sat around, read and drummed a bit; several people have been teaching me little bits of drumming, which is really great, although I'm damned if I can remember the rhythms afterwards, sadly.

Tony, Nicki and I headed off to the Web Café, then returned to dinner, which was fish in foil – marinated with vegetables and a really tasty sauce – along with Fansu's legendary garlic bread, which the teachers maintain is the best part of visiting Gambia. Later on, Fansu left to spend the evening with his wife, and the three of us remaining cooked up a tin of rice pudding and ate it with some delicious honey that a local person had sold me earlier. Then we sat around the fire and chatted.

Whilst we were away, we missed Fansu's wedding, but I was surprised to learn that Fansu did too. He was working at the beach, and sent an emissary to the mosque who communicated with the Imam, and took back to Fansu the Imam's comments and prayers. It seems odd to not be at your own wedding, but it's nothing out of the ordinary. Tony told us about the wedding proposal: Fansu sent a representative (a friend or brother, I'm not sure which) to Fatu, his bride-to-be, with a bag full of cola beans. She signified her approval by taking one bean and returning the rest of the bag. He then sent the bag of beans to her father, who did the same, and on round the rest of the family, each of whom took one bean and sent the rest back. This signifies that the whole family is in approval of the wedding. You have to be fairly well off to be married here, to bear the cost of the wedding, the upkeep of the family and the compound. Fansu's little restaurant on the beach is very successful, and he's very highly regarded locally.

Tony taught me to make Gambian tea whilst we sat around the fire. I used bissap, a sweet flower which tastes a bit like Ribena, but they generally use green tea. You fire up some coals, clean two shot glasses and the teapot, clean some bissap, and put the bissap in the pot on the coals with some water. When it's boiling, you tip out some of the liquid into a shot glass half full of sugar, and mix it back into the pot a few times. Then you pour a glass of tea, and pour it into the other glass from a great height, then back into the first glass, on and on. (In the process, I spilled tea everywhere, of course – it's harder than it looks.) After a while, you return the tea to the pot, add some mint (which you also wash first), then put the pot back on the coals. When it's boiled again, you go through the same ritual of pouring it into one cup, then to the other, and backwards and forwards again for some time. Then you return the tea to the pot, rinse the outside of the glasses whilst being careful not to destroy the foam that is inside them, pour two small measures of tea into the glasses and serve.

Once all that's done, the pot goes on the coals again, and you go through the whole process two more times, doing six lots of mixing in total and producing three pairs of glasses of tea! The whole thing takes upwards of an hour, and the idea is that whilst all this is going on, you have plenty of time to pass the time of day with whoever you're making the tea for. I have to say, as nice as the tea is, I'm not sure I could really be bothered with doing this habitually. You end up covered in tea, you burn your hands on the pot and the glasses, and at the end of the lengthy ceremony you hardly get much tea anyway!

17th May - Fansu's Beach

2006-05-18T19:20:00.000+01:00

The “daily” blog has rather gone to pot this time, but there’s a reason for that which will become clear.

We broke camp early, with a view to getting as far as possible on 15th, ideally into Gambia. Our drive through the lush Guinean mountains continued, and finally we reached the plain to the north of the country and Koundara. We spent most of our remaining Guinean Francs on petrol, but had about a pound left over, so set out to go wild at the market.

The market is a vital part of Guinean life, where most of the population make what little they can to get by. People will grow a handful of gourds or squashes, some chillis or peanuts, and walk with them for many miles to the local market, where they’ll sell for a pittance. This meant it was actually quite hard to spend our pound. We bought some of the little fried donut things they call gateaux, which aren’t as sweet as they sound but are quite pleasant, and you see them everywhere. We bought some bananas, and Nicki looked at some new flip-flops, but they didn’t go up to her size. Finally we saw a woman selling peanuts, so I asked to buy three tin-fulls of them, which is quite a lot. You’re expected to provide your own container, but somebody magicked up a plastic bag for us. Next to the peanut woman was an old crone with no teeth and, judging by her appearance, quite a few communicable diseases. I shook hands with her and said hello, and just at that moment our nuts became ready. The old lady chose that exact moment to sneeze vigorously into our peanuts!

We walked back to the truck and gave the pox-ridden peanuts to some children who were nearby (hopefully their immune systems are better equipped to cope with them than ours). A man started talking to me in English and explained he was a Liberian refugee who had tried to cross the Mediterranean, and the boat had sunk, and he’d survived, but not all of them had. They’d been picked up by Moroccans, who had then deported them, so he was going back to Liberia. He was finding it hard in Guinea, because he didn’t speak French, and transport is expensive there. He asked for some money and I gave him all the rest of our Guinean currency. I’m not sure whether his story was true, but it could well have been.

From Koundara we drove north to the border. Exiting Guinea was not problematic, but it still takes time to have your papers stamped, passport examined, get the carnet de passage sorted, and so on. When we entered Senegal, I decided to ask the customs officer if he would sort out our carnet de passage, as it had been wrongly stamped twice in Senegal previously (once because customs forgot to stamp it, and once because we’d left Senegal through the national park, without clearing customs at all). I explained to him what had happened, taxing my French, and told him what I wanted to do to sort it out. I had to run through it two or three times, but he seemed inclined to give me the couple of extra stamps I needed to sort it out. But just as he had his stamp in his hand, another customs officer came through, and we had to go through it all again! In total it probably took 40 minutes, but he kindly stamped what I wanted him to stamp, which meant our carnet was once more legitimate and valid.

So, back in Senegal, we headed straight back to the Gambia border. The roads in Senegal were much better than in Guinea, even when unpaved, so we sped up considerably. Overtaking lorries was a bit tricky, because they throw up huge clouds of dust, stretching miles back, so you can’t easily see past them. I had to wait for the wind to gust the dust out of the way before I could put my foot down and get past, with some tooting of the horn to avoid being run off the road at the crucial moment.

At the Gambia border we had to go through all the border formalities once more, and by this time it was getting a little tiring, although we know the routine well by now. At the borders Nicki kept getting plagued with local children, who would stand by the door and say “Give me a pen! Give me your phone!” They haven’t all learned to ask nicely yet, although that said, some of the Guinean children had thanked us profusely for some empty water bottles we’d given them.

Into Gambia again and we drove to Bassé Sante Su to change some money, get our visa stamped, buy petrol and get an ice cream. The visa was put on hold, because the chap at the immigration office with the key to the safe with the stamp in was asleep, and they didn’t want to wake him up. We parked outside the bank, but the guard moved us on, so we found parking elsewhere and I went back to the bank opposite and changed some travellers’ cheques. Then we filled up with petrol, but disaster! The ice cream machine wasn’t yet switched on. Nicki pleaded with the man to turn it on, and we’d have bought enough ice cream to probably pay for the machine for a week, but to no avail. We went and got our stamp (the immigration boss had finally woken up) and left Bassé without ice cream.

It was getting towards sundown, so we decided to carry on driving until the sun set. When it set, we decided to carry on driving as the road was good. Then when the road deteriorated, we decided to carry on driving anyway, and stop when we felt like it. The road on the south of the Gambia River is notoriously bad, but compared to any of the Guinean roads it wasn’t too bad. You’d have problems without a 4wd though. The main problem is potholes, which are a foot or more deep and anything up to a couple of metres across. Some of them would make a nice ornamental pond. You can’t drive round all of them, because there are just too many, so you have to try to pick the best route and take it very gently through the deepest ones. Often it’s best to drive off the tarmac and onto the dusty verge for a while.

As the night progressed, we passed through various police, customs, immigration and army checkpoints, and we had to stop at all of them. The officials varied from very friendly people glad to have somebody to talk to, to dedicated crimestoppers who took their jobs very seriously. One chap did a very thorough check of the truck, including meticulously checking inside an old crisp packet which I’d chucked in the bin, with his torch. On the bright side, he turned up a bag of peanuts which went missing a while ago. Some of the army guys were clearly bored out of their minds, stuck at a remote checkpoint in the middle of nowhere all night. Several of the officials asked if we’d give them the truck (“No, it’s our house!”) and many asked for our contact details, so I gave them my email address. It’s difficult to know what they actually want us to do; some want to have a friend in England to write to, and I think others somehow think we will be valuable contacts and will be able to pull strings for them. (Out of interest, we’ve had at least a dozen serious enquiries about buying the truck by now.) Nobody was concerned about us driving at night, which was encouraging.

As the night went on, we carried on driving, as it was quite nice to drive in the cool. We saw orange lights glimmering in the trees; we wondered what they were, until one bounded across the road in front of us – monkeys’ eyes. Cats’ eyes were generally green or orange, donkeys green, goats green, dogs yellow. Quite a few of the animals had bedded down for the night in the middle of the road, and although the dogs and goats usually moved, the donkeys were staying put.

As the night wore on, a clonking noise from somewhere under Nicki gradually got louder. I suspected the anti-roll bar had crept again, so I parked up at about 2am; sure enough, it was rubbing against the bump stop again. It took about 20 minutes to sort out, and I used jubilee clips which will hopefully discourage it from going again, but I’m not that optimistic. Better roads will probably make more of a difference. However, the knocking continued, and on further inspection it’s the steering arm ball joints. I have spares, fortunately, so will take a look at them tomorrow.

We saw a couple of other 4x4s and the occasional truck, but the roads here are quiet overnight. In one village at about 3am there were a lot of people milling around in the road; we then passed a compound with lights and music, presumably it was a wedding ceremony or other party. From about 4:30am, we started to see people up and about, hitching up their donkey carts or waiting for the earliest bush taxis to take them to the market. We also hit a bat, which glanced off the windscreen and hit again right in front of Nicki’s face. She reports it was large, brown and somewhat surprised. I think it survived, although it must have been a bit dazed.

The road from Bassé back to Fansu’s beach at Tujering was something around 300km long, but although we left Bassé around half six in the evening, because of the state of the road we didn’t arrive at the beach until 12 hours later, when it was starting to get light. By this time we’d been on the move for 24 hours, which was a bit of a marathon, but at the time it made sense to press on as we weren’t feeling too bad and didn’t really want to stop. Peanuts, bananas, crisps and biscuits kept things ticking over.

We felt quite elated to be driving along the beach to the little restaurant again. We also felt pretty filthy, so we stripped off and ran into the warm dawn sea to clean up a bit before going to bed. We slept until mid-afternoon, when we decided it was high time to clean up the truck! The dust was getting ridiculous, with absolutely everything, everywhere being caked in it. The method we used was Nicki sat inside, took stuff out of cupboards and passed it to me; I brushed, wiped or wet-wiped it clean and piled it up, while she cleaned the dust out of the cupboard; then it all went back in and we moved onto the next item. It took 3 hours of yesterday, plus 5 hours of today, to finish the whole truck, and during this time every last single item was removed from the truck and cleaned. A Dyson would have made life easier, but Nicki’s done a pretty fantastic job and it’s a much nicer place to live in now! From here on, the roads shouldn’t be too bad, so we should be able to keep it in much better condition.

Last night, after a dinner of fish & chips, and garlic bread that blew your head off, we sat around a fire at the beach with the teachers, Tony and some of Fansu’s friends. The conversation at one point got onto local beliefs, and took a turn I didn’t really feel very comfortable about. When we were last here, we were woken one morning by a shrieking and clapping sound, which both Nicki and I thought was a particularly irritating bird. We later found out it was a Concuron (also known as a Corcoran I think?) This is a man who comes down to the beach to ceremonially clean it before the boys who have been circumcised come to the beach to clean their wounds in the sea (ouch!) He’s dressed up in traditional costume and runs up and down the beach making a strange shrieking noise, and clapping something wooden together to make a sharp sound. This all happens first thing in the morning, so it’s not done for the benefit of an audience, it’s part of the traditional belief system. One of Fansu’s friends was talking about another Concuron from a different town who can fly from place to place, and can also give you something to eat which will give you the ability to fly too. (Obvious parallels here with the shamans of Amazonian and Pacific cultures.) One of the teachers thought this was a joke, so was laughing and making derogatory references about Father Christmas, which I thought was a little insensitive; after it became clear that this was a local tradition and belief shared by all the Africans here, she kept quiet.

Today we spent most of the day cleaning, after which we went to post the latest round of blogs at the web café – frustrating as the connection kept dropping out at crucial moments. On the way back to the beach we stopped at the village well to fill up our jerry cans. Here they have a hand-pumped well which also filters the water as it pumps. As we drove back along the beach in the setting sun, Nicki said “Oooh! There’s a crab!” But not for long, because we drove over it. Luckily there are lots of other crabs.

Nicki’s elbow continues to cause grief, partly because she bangs it on something about 8 times a day. It’s swollen up compared to the other one, but I’m not sure there’s much we can do about it here unless it gets worse.

We’ve just had a lovely dinner of calamari, hand-cooked by Fansu over the fire as usual, and we’re about to decamp back to the fire in the sand.

14th May - Somewhere South of Koundara

2006-05-17T19:49:00.000+01:00

We packed the truck in the morning and made to set off, but Lamé, the Rastafarian looking after the campsite, was nowhere to be seen, after heading out last night for a night on the town. His brother Moussa arrived after a while, and searched high and low for him, and eventually he turned up sound asleep in one of the rooms in the Auberge. We paid, FG 40,000 (just over £5) for 2 nights, and left. Moussa had been so friendly and welcoming that we left him a small present as a thank-you. Incidentally, Lamé is a mean drummer, the best I've seen yet, and he showed me what he could do on our drum; he was delighted when I could pick out some of the basic rhythms he showed me.

The road south to Labé was actually pretty good by Guinean standards. However, it still took us 4 hours to cover the 120km. Near Mali-ville, we saw a lot of people walking up the road towards the town with various wares perched on their heads, as it's the town's big market today. Further away, people were heading towards other towns and villages. People walk many kilometres – maybe 25km or more each way – to take their small basket of goods to the market. One guy even had a plough on his head.

Our main task in Labé was to buy fuel, which we happily accomplished, and then to look for the internet café to post the blogs for the last week or so. The Lonely Planet map was absolutely crap, as usual, so we had to ask many people for directions, around the busy, narrow streets. Alas, the internet café was closed, as is everything else on Sunday apart from the market stalls! Labé was a crowded and dusty town, so we unanimously decided to push onwards, in the hope of reaching Koundara by the end of the day. We were told this was easily possible, but by now we've learned to take Africans' estimates of travel times with a good deal of salt. Labé marked the southernmost point of our trip before turning back north, so I texted Si the GPS coordinates from the satellite phone.

Joy of joys, the road north started out marvellous! Still gravel, but smooth and untarnished, I managed to sustain fourth gear for considerable distances. The road surface was obviously brand new, because after a while it deteriorated again to the usual mix of washboarding, potholes, ditches and the sharp little concrete bridges that took out our tyre so effectively the other day.

We stopped to buy some bread for lunch, and cracked open our tin of salmon pate. We'd hoped to have avocado with it, but one was putrid, and the others are still unripe. The bread here has to be eaten fresh, because it gets hard quite quickly, so we should have bought our loaf in Labé, rather than paying more and getting less fresh bread down the road.

Nicki is getting good at spotting any potholes or ditches I've missed, and calling out a warning, so the number of orbital launches we're hitting is diminishing. Nicki has a knack of being hit by water bottles as they fall down from the cubby holes, even the ones that fall from my side of the truck. I did swerve at one point as a leaf I was about to drive over turned out to be a chameleon. The road wended its way through the mountains, which are covered in cheerful green forest. We saw grass in one area – the first since Spain, I think, apart from some around a hotel sprinkler in Gambia! Given this is the main road joining two of Guinea's major provinces, there is very little traffic on it; we probably see a truck every couple of hours, and every half-hour or so a Peugeot 505 taxi with a heavily laden roofrack, sometimes several times the height of the vehicle, containing goods, sacks, often many people, and on one occasion, goats. How do you tie goats to your roof rack?

I was taken aback to see a sign indicating a car falling into a river in one town, but sure enough, a river there was, with a hand-powered chain ferry crossing it. The river was only about three times the width of the ferry, but obviously deep enough to warrant it. We drove on, up steep metal ramps, and crossed in a couple of minutes, along with some local children, who when we got to the other side, had to take off their trousers and skirts to wade the last bit. I asked how much to pay, and the ferryman said a figure which sounded like FG 60,000 (about £8), which had to be wrong – that's a fortune here! So I offered a FG 5,000 note, but he said no, we had to pay over ten times that amount! I couldn't believe it, and discussed it with him light-heartedly, but he was sticking to his guns. The ferry had pulled just short of the bank, so we couldn't drive off, in theory.

Thus began a lengthy debate, with me saying it was way too expensive, and him saying no, that was the official rate, and everybody had to pay it. Mindful that you pay in Africa either in time or money, we sat around and twiddled our thumbs waiting for the price to come down. The guy was very un-cooperative, and then said he'd charge us FG 5,000 for every ten minutes we waited around! He said he'd lower the price to FG 50,000, or 40,000 plus a shirt! A SHIRT! We told him no, we'd pay 20,000 and no more.

After waiting around, and talking, and arguing, I started the engine, and said I'd pay 25,000. He still wanted 50,000. This was just ridiculous, a small fortune over here. I said I could buy the whole boat for that much. I took a look at the exit ramps, which were floating in about 18 inches of water, and figured I could probably drive ashore as a last resort. As the guy still wasn't co-operating, I told him we'd leave anyway, money or no money, and I started to drive forward, over the wooden chock he'd put down in front of our wheel. I think this made him think a bit more seriously, as he hadn't realised I might actually be able to drive away from where he'd stopped the ferry. He told me if I did, the ferry would slip backwards, and I'd get stuck… more likely, I'd have broken his ramps, which were held up by thin cable.

I said 30,000, no more. He said he was going to charge me 5,000 per 10 minutes waiting time, and I said he'd agreed that, not me! In the end, we were both getting a little cross, but I think he was worried we were going to drive off anyway, so he took our FG 30,000, which was still an absolute rip-off, and pulled the ferry up to the bank so we could disembark. It was a game of bluff at the end; he thought I couldn't drive off the ferry without him moving it; I wasn't sure whether or not I could; but he didn't know that I wasn't sure! I'm glad it didn't come to that, as it would have probably ended up in me breaking his ferry, and I don't think he'd have been too chuffed about that. It could also have ended in me getting stuck in the mud, which wouldn't have been ideal either.

By this time, darkness was approaching, so we've pulled off the road and into a clearing where we're parked for the night. We both had a shower (our portable shower is just great), but I ran out of water whilst still covered in soap, so Nicki had to fill it up again. Dinner was soup, plus plenty of mangoes. Insects abound here, and some are a little daunting, including some large, predatory-looking spiders which move like the wind, and some very determined beetles and moths. There are monkeys in the area, but so far they're keeping clear of us; the wandering cows continue to be surprised by our presence.

Thanks for the continued messages to the satellite phone; they really are appreciated, especially as we haven't had mobile phone or internet access for a week or so.

Captain's Log - Supplemental

2006-05-17T19:27:00.000+01:00

Hi everybody,

Sorry for a few days (actually more than a week) without updating the blog. We couldn't get an internet connection in the National Park, or anywhere in Guinea. We're now back in Gambia so have a slow and intermittent, if functional, connection.

Also we're a couple of days behind on the blog, because we've been really busy! We'll finish writing up the last 3 days and post it later this week.

All the best,

Nicki & David xxx

13th May - Mali-Ville

2006-05-17T19:24:00.001+01:00

Pleased to report it was indeed cool overnight. We both slept better than we have since leaving Fansu's beach. The Auberge is right at the top of a hill, so there was a pleasant breeze for some time.

One of the hubs on the truck has been leaking, and I thought whilst we were staying at a place which was not too dusty or sandy, and had some shade, I'd take a look at it. I have spare oil seals, and it's not a major job to do, providing you can keep stuff mostly clean. As I started to unpack the bits and pieces, Moussa, the brother of the custodian at the Auberge came along and started to give me a hand. I dismantled the hub, but like an idiot, I got a bit distracted and carried on and removed the stub axle too; this was irritating, as it didn't need to come off, the gasket was destroyed in the process, I lost some of the one-shot grease I put in it last week, and I don't carry a spare gasket. Doh! So I put it back on using Loctite liquid gasket, which I hope will do the job instead. Time will tell.

Replacing the oil seal on the hub went straightforwardly after that, except one of the gaskets I brought with me was too small and split; more liquid gasket. With the wheel off the truck, however, I could see that the anti-roll bar mounting on the right hand side was rubbing on the chassis. The anti-roll bar has been forced to one side, so needed re-setting. With help from the brother, we undid the clamps, but the bar is gripped by rubber bushes, which don't give up without a fight. In the end, with a combination of hammering, levering, and using the hydraulic bottle jack, we got it back where it should be. At this point I was really glad to have the extra pair of hands, because it was a bit of a bugger to do. Moussa also gave us a huge bag of mangoes from the tree in his compound.

I put half of our remaining 120l of fuel in the tank, and Moussa told me that since two days ago, when we tried to buy fuel in Koundara and found they'd run out, petrol has gone up from 4,600 Guinean Francs per litre to FG 5,500! (About 70p. Compare this with a loaf of bread for 9p, or a meal in a café for 60p.) There is a petrol station in Mali-ville, but it's not had any fuel at all for some years. Petrol is sold by the side of the road from wine bottles, but it's not really a practical way to buy 260l of the stuff, which is what we will need when we next fill up. I'm glad now that we have all the jerry cans on-board; up until now I thought they might be a waste of time. Let's hope there's petrol for sale in Labé.

Apart from the above, the truck is, touch wood, faring well. Just as well it's one of the toughest vehicles Land Rover ever made, because it's taking a real hammering here. There is, however, no way to keep the dust out, so the interior is full of dust. Nicki does well at keeping on top of it in the bits we use, like the bed and the sink, but the cubby holes at the back are just full of dust. I don't think we'll be able to do much about this until we get home and have the use of the Dyson.

Moussa invited us to come and visit his village, which is just round the corner. The village has about 185 inhabitants, and every last one of them is a relative of Moussa. We visited a few different compounds, and met some of the relatives, who were very warm and welcoming, and told us (in Foulla) that we were regarded as family. I took some photos of some of the family, and wondered briefly about taking a family portrait, but then I realised what a futile task it would be! As we went around, Moussa pointed out all the various edible fruits and seeds on the trees, and I tried most of them. There was a real variety, the majority of which were unfamiliar, but of course we recognised mangoes and also avocadoes. Two of the children in the village shinned up a tree to pick mangoes, which they threw down to us (to add to the huge collection we already have!) I climbed the tree too, but because of my extra weight, I couldn't get near enough to the ends of the branches where the fruits were. We now have something like 10kg of mangoes! Mango, anybody?

We returned to the truck and I decided to go into town with Moussa to buy bread. It's about a 10 minute walk to the market from here, but it took some time, because everybody greets you with endless cries of "Ca va?", and a good proportion of the people we saw were relatives of Moussa. We were on a quest to find Sprite, to decant into a plastic water bottle I took with me, but although we tried just about every little shop and stall in the village, the town is devoid of Sprite. I bought bread at the market, a little hall full of stalls with women selling gourds, sauces, onions, rice, dried fish, fruits and all sorts. I had the inspiration to make an omelette for late lunch, so I also bought some spring onion stems, and bananas. On the way back up the hill, we stopped at a little stall on the hill manned by a couple of young children, and bought some eggs (about 4p each), two purple avocados (that's how you tell they're ripe here) and some more dough-ball "gateaux".

Guinea is one of the poorest countries in the world, and generally ranks at or near the bottom of the worldwide index of standards of living. There is very little infrastructure here (I'm not sure if they have any tarmac roads at all), no electricity in most of the country, and in the mountains, despite having the highest rainfall in the world, water is a problem for half the year. Jobs are few and far between, so many people live a subsistence lifestyle, making what little they can by selling food at the side of the road. Moussa doesn't have a job, and made a start on building a little campement for tourists, but he doesn't have any money to finish it off, and even if he did, the country has precious few tourists, because the infrastructure's so poor. Despite all this, the Guineans are relaxed, cheerful, happy and friendly people, in this area at least. They may not have much, but they seem very positive about what they have. People here are nicely dressed, almost always in western-style clothes, and apart from a few grubby children, always smart and tidy, unlike me, who has been clad in dirty, dusty clothes for days.

Moussa speaks excellent English, which he taught himself entirely on his own initiative. It's sad to see somebody who is such a genuinely decent bloke, not afraid to work hard, trying to carve a niche for himself in a place with few opportunities. He'd do brilliantly with tourists, if there was a way to get more of them to come here.

As I write we're sitting in the compound of the Auberge under some trees. It's hot here, but only Europe hot, not Africa hot, because we're at the top of a mountain. From time to time, goats wander by (one just farted voluminously), and cows. There's a cockerel just next door, which may not have long to live, as Nicki gets very annoyed by farmyard animal noises, particularly bleating goats and crowing cockerels.

Later: Moussa took us to the edge of the village to watch the sun go down. We could see right across the mountain range. The government owns several big buildings in the prime spots on the hill, but they're all derelict. Today is approximately the half way point of the trip, and it was nice to sit and watch the sun setting over the green Guinean mountains to mark the event.

Afterwards, we went to the Café Montreal in the town centre for dinner, and treated Moussa as well. They rustled up omelettes for Moussa and Nicki, and some sort of beef for me, with French fries, salad and fresh bread. The meal for three, including drinks of Coke, cost just over £2, and was very pleasant. There is no electricity, of course, so we sat in the light of a single candle and the moon. I wondered when their last customers were; it's quite likely that the chef and waiter have been sitting around for weeks on end waiting for somebody to come by. That's the way things are out here. It's an odd situation.

Our intention was to suss out whether it's safe to head south to Sierra Leone, which means going all the way through Guinea and past the capital, Conakry, which we know is not great. We wanted to go from here to Labé and then on to Kindia before bypassing Conakry, but Moussa and his brothers reckon that Kindia is also an unpleasant and dangerous place. It's hard to tell whether this is accurate or not, but we're not sure it's worth covering the extra thousand or so kilometres heading south just to get to Sierra Leone, particularly if we're going through unpleasant country in order to do so. So we will head to Labé, and then turn back north for the return journey to England.

12th May - Mali-Ville

2006-05-17T19:24:00.000+01:00

Nicki reporting!

We woke early, and by early I mean about 1am. For no reason other than it was again boiling hot. We spent a sleepless night tossing and turning, trying to appreciate that it wasn't quite as warm as Bassé but failing slightly. It means one never starts the day well, due to a lack of sleep and a desperate need for a shower that you can't have, but there you go!

So we set off once again on the road at 7:30am. The road was exactly the same as the day before if not worse as there were more steep inclines, more steep precipices (usually on my side I'll hasten to add), more pot holes and more boulders sticking out of the road. Progress was slow and hot of course, although we did benefit from a breeze.

About midday we happened upon a village in the middle of nowhere that had a primary school. David had a brainwave and we pulled over. It was a small school of about 50 students, but they were very well behaved and greeted us accordingly. The school itself was literally a rectangular room but it did have a corrugated iron roof and some windows so was better than some we have seen. We decided to donate all the Lego we brought out here for David and Abby's sponsor child in Burkina Faso, but of course we now won't be travelling that far. It seemed an ideal place because Guinea is such a poor country with little aid and these kids in the middle of nowhere had definitely never seen toys. So in we piled with all the Lego and showed the teacher briefly what is was for (a toy to play with but it can also be educational). Next minute the teacher has called in the entire class plus parents of the students plus anyone else who was in the area for a demonstration, by us! David said a brief introduction in French which the teacher translated into Malinke, the local language, saying who we were and where we were from. He then said a company called Lego has sent this as a present for you, to which we received a hearty round of applause and cheering! Following this the teacher asked if we could make something to David and I returned to our childhood and built a house, again to a round of applause. One of the students came and made a house after this which was pretty good considering he'd never seen Lego and had no concept of the idea of building something with plastic. Finally the teacher asked us to make a boat, so I had the brainwave of taking the house off the board and turning it upside down. Voila! We made our escape just after to another round of applause and au revoir's.

And so we continued on our way. We bounced and catapulted all the way along, I managed to leave the seat AGAIN and hit my other elbow although nowhere near as badly as yesterday. On the subject I have spent 24 hours realising you use your elbow for a lot of things: propping yourself up, pushing yourself up, leaning on in bed, etc etc all of which I have done and then yelped in agony as a result. It is one of those annoying injuries where there is nothing to see but it is incredibly painful, especially when continuing to jolt it around in the truck. Even shaking hands is painful! But enough about that.

The next eventful moment came as we crossed over a bridge. It was a concrete bridge with a slight lip on the approaching side but nothing anywhere near as bad as what we had been tackling. Next thing we know there was a huge BANG like a rifle shot and we realise the back tyre on my side had been punctured. How, we are still not sure. But the tyre and the inner tube were absolutely royally… destroyed! So in the middle of the day heat David got down to changing the tyre with me finding and handing equipment as and when it was required. However we attracted quite a crowd and in the end three men were getting involved and mucking in with the process. Quite a godsend really, as David was pouring sweat as it was! The job was done in no time and we were soon off on our way again, hoping that it didn't happen again as we only have one more spare tyre. David brought a puncture repair kit but this tyre was beyond that by a mile.

Soon after this I began to feel pretty queasy. Whether it was the heat, the bouncing around continuously for hours on end, the lack of lunch, dehydration or the fact I was inhaling a lot of exhaust fumes and dust I am not sure. In any case I was thrilled to reach Mali-Ville, finally, our destination. Just short of the town, yet another group of children gave us a wave and a spontaneous cheer as we went past. It's like being the Queen!

The town was something of a surprise. Firstly it does have electricity now in some places, secondly it is pretty big for a mountain community and thirdly it was totally buzzing with life. The first place we were directed to was a bar, we obviously looked like we needed a drink!! It wasn't cold but a fizzy drink all the same. Our paper work was checked by the Customs who tried to fill it in when they weren't supposed to and then they sent us on to the police. There was a problem here because our passports hadn't been stamped in Koundara, the first town we came to after the border. So they kept our passports until half five which was slightly worrying, but what could we do? We spent this time drinking a sprite and finding our accommodation for the night. L'auberge Indigo is a quiet little place up the hill so it is lovely and cool. It has gates so we are hopefully secure here and the man running it is trying really hard to make us feel welcome. He was attempting to make us do a 4 hour 7km round trip up a mountain, so David said I was tired and feeling a little ill from the journey. At which point he takes me to the back and shows me where the town clinic is and said I can go even in the middle of the night, I'm not even ill!

We headed down soon after to get our passports back, which we did in one piece. We wandered around the market for a while and David tried to take some photos but no-one was very keen. Some children were writing Koranic verses on wooden boards, which would have made a great photo, but when David asked they declined; he pointed the camera at them to gesture what he wanted to do and they scattered as if it were a grenade launcher! We bought some bananas and also some fried dough balls which are apparently 'gateaux' and have retired for the night at the truck. I hope it is cooler than last night!

11th May - The Road to Mali-Ville

2006-05-17T19:23:00.001+01:00

After our non-eventful day yesterday, while I convalesced, we started early this morning, when I got up at 7:15 to top up the gearbox oil on the truck. The good news is that the gearbox oil isn't leaking much; the bad news was that the exhaust mounting which I tried to repair has gone again, and the leaky front hub seems to be leaking just as much, if not more, now it has One Shot Grease in instead of EP90. Colvin found some strong wire which I used to re-bodge the exhaust mounting; it's lasted all day, so we reckon it will probably withstand nuclear attack.

We bade our guide farewell, as he is involved with an animal counting project a university is doing at the park, and couldn't join us today; so much for getting eaten by lions! He suggested we left the hotel and headed back north to Tambacounda, then round the park anticlockwise and south to the border. However, Nicki pointed out as we left that this represented way further than the point-to-point distance we needed to do, as we'd have to more than double back on ourselves. So we reversed back up to the hotel, consulted Colvin, the guide and others, and decided to drive across the border through the national park itself, on a rarely-used road.

The first step in our journey was to head for the leopard cage, which we weren't sure we'd be able to find easily. After one wrong turn, we did actually find it, but it was more by luck than judgement, as we thought we were on a different track. From there we were to cross a log bridge across the Gambia River, which is a series of large puddles in this season. We had to wait whilst some workers used the bridge to fill up their oil cans with water, but then we headed across. The bridge is a series of gravel mounds, bridged by palm trunks, which are cemented in place. As I drove across, I thought of the 5 tonne weight of the truck, but it all held OK.

Just past the bridge, a tree had fallen across the track. Some other vehicles had driven around it, but I couldn't fit past in the 101, so I got out my trusty towrope, shackled one end to the tree and the other to the tow hook on the front bumper, and reversed it out of the way. The pulling power of the 101 did the job effortlessly.

The track from here was relatively easy to follow, albeit a little varied in quality. We drove for an hour or so before we reached a military post in the middle of the forest, where the soldiers were somewhat surprised and apparently quite thrilled to see us. They asked us for a lift to the next post, but we were reluctant to, so then they asked if we could take a package down to the next post for them. It could have been dodgy – we didn't really know what was in the package, although they said it was some medicinal thing from a tree, and it looked like that – but we obliged anyway. About 20km later we reached the next checkpoint, where a soldier was expectantly waiting for his delivery (they'd radioed ahead).

From this point we took the track that crossed the border, and it was immediately clear that this track doesn't get used much, and hadn't been used for some time. In places it was quite hard going, and you'd certainly need a 4wd to drive it. There were ditches, dips, hill climbs, boulders and gulleys. Moreover, it was quite overgrown, and something the size of the truck could only make progress by bulldozing some of the trees and shrubs as it went through. At one point we had to detour around a large fallen tree, and just had to run over one tree outright to make our way past.

The landscape varied quite a lot, from mature palm and mango trees to smaller, verdant trees, and in some places scrubby heathland. We didn't see much in the way of animal life, apart from some duiker, wild goats and a few warthogs. There are starlings here that blow your mind – they are a really vivid iridescent blue, and slightly smaller than magpies. I tried to photograph them, but they always flew off at the crucial moment.

We crossed a couple more log-bridges, including one which was quite decrepit, and I wasn't sure whether it would take our weight. I tried to pick a route across the strongest logs, and Nicki got out to video it using the digital camera. Unfortunately, her frantic hand-waving to direct me accordingly got in the way of the video! It was pretty close, the back end did sort of go through some of the logs, but we came through unscathed.

We could see our path through the park on the laptop screen, and around mid-day we reached what was nominally the border, although you couldn't really tell, apart from at one point there was a faded sign. If anybody has used this road within the last month, I'd be surprised. We passed through a little settlement of concrete buildings, some with chairs outside, and with water and oil tanks, in the middle of the forest, but it appeared to be totally deserted. We tooted our horn in case it was a sleepy border post, but nobody appeared. Finally, several hours after leaving the hotel, we started seeing small, round, thatched huts, which marked the beginning of the first village in Guinea.

We found the first police checkpoint, and they seemed happy with our passports, although they didn't stamp anything. They were puzzled as to why we had no Senegalese exit stamp in our carnet, of course this was because we had entered Guinea without passing any border posts, so couldn't get our documents stamped. A little further down the road, we were stopped at a Customs point, where the junior officer in the first office in the building was incredulous that we didn't have the stamp, so passed me on to the next most senior person in the next office; he couldn't deal with it either, so I worked my way through the building to the man in charge, who stamped our carnet for entry into Guinea.

Immediately in Guinea we found the people friendly and warm; more outwardly cheerful than the Senegalese, and many of them wave to us and call greetings, particularly in the more remote areas. Ethnically they look different than the people we've seen until now, as well.

We reached the first town of note, Koundara, and stopped at a petrol station. Unfortunately, they'd run out of petrol, but they did change our US$ into Guinean Francs for us! They also sold us some cold drinks. Until you've spent days drinking bottled water at 40° that is itself also 40°, you can't really appreciate how appealing a cold Sprite can be. In fact, I'd cheerfully give a tenner for one right now.

We decided to head for Mali-ville, a town on the top of a mountain, which has no running water or electricity, but apparently has fabulous views and is pleasantly cool! We could see roads to it on our maps, but of course you don't know what they'll by like until you get there. The first bit of road was quite hard to find, and we had to ask about 6 people for directions, all of whom were very friendly, polite and helpful. We eventually found a nice gravel piste, but it was peppered with potholes which meant I couldn't relax for long if I didn't want to end up catapulting the truck through the air. To get to the first village along it took a good hour, and according to the map, it wasn't very far at all!

We stopped and bought bread (about 6p) and 5 mangoes (about a penny each) and ate them in the village. The villagers were obviously quite curious to see us, but were polite and didn't impose at all. One youngster came up to us carrying a white baby, for our inspection, but we couldn't work out whether it was a Caucasian child, or an albino African, of which there are quite a few around, and we couldn't think of a polite way to ask. The village was scattered under an avenue of huge trees, forming a shady canopy over the main street.

Onwards we went, along a similarly mixed track, until it started to degenerate. As we drove we were amazed to find people in the middle of nowhere, carrying goods, riding bikes, or just walking down the road. They would have had so far to go to get anywhere! One village was very busy and colourful, as it was market day, and there was a cheerful atmosphere for some distance around. The landscape here is far from desert, being mainly small forests, shrubs and scrubland, with a few small rivers dotted around. In some of the rivers children were playing and washing; they also seemed to congregate around the village pumps.

As we hit the foothills, the road took a turn for the worse, and became most definitely 4wd only (although you see Peugeot 505 taxis in so many strange places, I kept expecting to be overtaken by one). We climbed laboriously up the side of a hill, which Nicki was not keen on as she does not like heights. By now we were well off the beaten track, even by local standards, and at one river the handful of children playing gave us a hearty cheer! In a couple of tiny villages we stopped to talk to people, to check we were on the right road. The Guineans are a most welcoming people.

We stopped to refuel from our jerry cans, and when I climbed up on the roof I found we had a good proportion of the total vegetable life of the national park up there. The roof vents were full of foliage and one had nearly been ripped off. The end of the awning has been damaged – I think it'll still work fine, but I'll try to get a replacement end cap when we get home. I had to sweep a couple of bin-bags worth of foliage off the roof before I could get to the jerry cans.

On a particularly bumpy piece of road, when we were in low gearbox with the diff locked, a large bump catapulted Nicki into the air, and on re-entry she cracked her elbow on the door, causing her some pain and a temporary loss of feeling in her fingers. It's not great, but Ibuprofen have made her feel a bit more comfortable about it. Her fingers are now fine, I'm glad to report.

It was clear we weren't going to make Mali-ville by darkness, as we were moving at about 20kph on most parts of the track. We decided to camp just before darkness, but as the sun started to set, we arrived in a relatively large village (ie a hundred people). A barrier stood across the road, and after we tooted a youth appeared on a bike; then another chap came up, looking just like the M*A*S*H Colonel off the TV, but African; and shortly afterwards we had about 8 men around us, all talking cheerfully and keen to know what we were up to. I couldn't understand why they wouldn't let us through the barrier, and wanted to find out what we needed to do, but in the end it transpired they weren't really waiting for anything, they were just interested and keen to talk to us! So we got through the barrier, took the road that cut across the football pitch (interrupting the game in the process), and about 20 minutes later pulled off the road to camp wild.

It's still warm out – I'd say it's in the 30s now and the sun has been down for a few hours. The truck, of course, remains hot, because as fast as it loses heat, it's warmed up again by the engine and gearbox, which take hours to cool. Nicki cooked us soup for dinner (neither of us fancied much more), and I sat outside to read, which is where I am now writing the blog. It's dark, the moon is full, and earlier I could hear animals wandering around the forest nearby, probably cows. Occasionally somebody has cycled or walked up the road nearby, but if they've seen us, which they will have from our lights and torches, they've ignored us. A few paragraphs ago I had to move my chair a bit because ants had started investigating my feet.

As I typed earlier I was aware of a noise, rather like the noise of somebody rooting through corrugated aluminium sheeting; I couldn't work out what it was. It's been going on for an hour or more. Suddenly, it started to get louder, and was accompanied by a roaring noise. I was slightly concerned that it might be a forest fire, but there are no flames or smoke to be seen. The roaring got louder, and sitting here on my own (Nicki's in bed) I wondered what sort of unearthly experience I was about to have as it got closer and closer! It's actually the wind in the palm trees, which makes quite a racket. What's odd is that for an hour or so the wind was a few hundred yards away, and where I am was totally silent, and then suddenly it enveloped our little area. The area covered by the wind keeps advancing and receding, and we're now right on the boundary, which is a slight shame, as anything which makes things cooler is good by me.

Tomorrow we press on to Mali-ville, which I hope is cool, as we're not going to be able to buy a cold Sprite there!

10th May - Niokolo-Koba National Park

2006-05-17T19:23:00.000+01:00

Hi all Nicki reporting as we have a man down, but more of that later.

Our dinner was very pleasant, charcuterie for starters (various salamis and pate with bread), then roast beef and chipped potatoes, finishing with watermelon. We retired early making the most of the air conditioning and separate beds. I read a while and then turned out the light.

Two minutes later David was up asking for my head torch before sprinting to the bathroom where he was rather ill, throwing up copiously. Of course my phobia of such things had me plugging my ears with my fingers to drown out the noise! Two hours later we had a repeat performance which, touch wood, has been all so far. At least we were still in a hotel not the truck! However a restless night followed, especially after the air con turned off at something like half one. (David: I had quite strong pulsing stomach cramps until the middle of the night, which was fairly unpleasant, especially for my male pain tolerance.)

Our original plan was to leave at around half eight this morning to cross the border to Guinea, well when the alarm went off David decided he still felt a bit sub-standard. So I got up and had a pleasant cold shower and washed my hair (such a treat these days!) before heading off to have some breakfast with my book. I lounged around the bar area until all the waiters congregated around me, and anyone who knows the African culture will tell you it is pretty loud! Even general conversation is carried out at top volume, so after ten minutes of trying to read quietly I moved outside to the viewing point. A few minutes after this two ladies with screaming babies arrived which I tolerated for a while (I did feel sorry for the women and exchanged smiles for a bit) until my patience wore thin. So I moved on to the viewing area where I was quickly followed by what seemed like the entire Senegalese army. I asked Colvin what was happening and he reported that a few Czech students have come to the park to carry out an animal count. All the guards/ army men were there to assist them and had arrived for their briefing. I can imagine it must be a near impossible procedure to carry out and I was fairly impressed they were attempting to do it, though I was still not impressed with the level of noise and a lack of somewhere peaceful to read my book!

Finally David roused himself and has announced he feels slightly better, though we have decided we will see what happens later before deciding our next course of action. It is pretty hard to know what the best idea would be, because we never know how long the border crossing will take and having researched Guinea I know there are no hotels with air con till you reach the heart of the country. The place we were planning on heading, Mali-Ville, is a small town up in the mountains and is reported to have a cool climate. However we do not know how easy it is to get there, how good the roads are and hence how long it will take, and with David's present condition we do not want to be taking any risks. Over and out for now.

9th May - Niokolo-Koba Nature Reserve

2006-05-17T19:21:00.000+01:00

We left a very warm Bassé first thing yesterday morning, having spent our remaining Dalasi on petrol. The drive to the border was fine, although the dust road wasn't great. The border must rank as among the friendliest I've ever been through; our paperwork was stamped by friendly and cheerful Gambian officials, although I had to show one of them what to do with the carnet de passage, and when we got to the Senegalese side, they were only slightly less enthusiastic, and even overlooked an issue with our carnet.

From Velingara, the border town, the road back north to Tambacounda was tarmaced and pretty good, although it lulled me into a false sense of security before launching surprise potholes at us. Some of the time I could veer around them, but sometimes they were too extensive, so it kept me on my toes. Tambacounda is a fairly unremarkable town, probably the largest in the south east of the country. We posted our blogs at the web café, pleased to find we were back on a fast connection, rather than the slow modem links we had in Gambia. We went to change some money, but the bank was closed, so we headed for a hotel Nicki had spotted in the guide book which allegedly had a swimming pool. Alas, the pool was closed, presumably due to the green hue of the water. But we had a few drinks in their cool bar to avoid the mid-day sun.

We changed our money when the bank re-opened, and turned south again towards Guinea. On the way, we wanted to detour into a nature reserve which covers a large part of the south east of the country. Before we arrived, however, we saw a group of children by the road, which seemed the perfect opportunity for us to get rid of our large stockpile of plastic water bottles, which was getting a little out of hand. I pulled over, and before I'd even opened up the back of the truck, the first boys were running towards me. When I waved a bottle in front of them, they sprinted, and I only just had time to get into the truck before I was torn apart by the baying pack with their cries of "Toubab! Toubab!" ("white man!"). They were quickly joined by other children, and I was concerned that in their enthusiasm to grab bottles, they'd tear down our mosquito nets, or indeed anything else within reach. So I threw the bottles out of the door over their heads, which distracted them from the truck. We made our getaway without harm to me or the truck, apart from a scratch to my hand from the melee.

Driving south again we occasionally saw monkeys and baboons around the side of the road. The housing here is fairly traditional, usually circular huts made of mud or breeze blocks, with thatched roofs. We arrived at the entrance to the Niokolo-Koba National Park, where you have to pay to get in: for the two of us plus the truck it was £9 per day, which is quite a lot for Senegal. At the entrance we were told we would have to take a guide in with us, which has apparently been the case for three years, so of course the Lonely Planet stated the opposite. On the bright side, they told us that the main hotel in the reserve had a swimming pool, and also air conditioning! (19:00-24:00 and 06:00-07:00 daily.) Our guide, Sitifa, joined us, for the princely sum of £6 per day, which included his food and accommodation as long as we stayed at the hotel. With hindsight, of course, it is well worth having the guide, because he pointed out myriad things we'd have missed, took us to all the best places, and if we were to break down, he'd have been very handy to have around, as there are lots of things here which would cheerfully eat you, like hyenas, lions, leopards, crocodiles, and hippos. We heard some local women came into the park a few years back to collect flowers, got lost, and not all of them were seen again. The park is about 300km across and partly spans the border between Senegal and Guinea.

We set off for the hour or so drive through the reserve to the camp. The reserve is mostly forest, of a variety of trees including palm trees and cheese plants. But the cheese plants here are the size of oaks and have thick wooden spiny trunks. When we arrived, the only guests in the whole reserve at this point, we were quickly invited out the back to look down at the river, where for the first time this year, a hippo was grazing on the bank. Normally the hippos only come out at night, so we were quite honoured, and this just about made up for the fact that the pool was closed for cleaning. (The algae run rampant in the sun, regardless of how many chemicals are added.)

An Englishman, Colvin, who part-owns the hotel, joined us, and when he went off down the river bank to get closer to the hippo, I went with him. We managed to get some good photos of the animal on the opposite bank of the river. Hippos, if you meet one in the bush, will cheerfully stamp you into little pieces, but like all animals here including crocodiles and lions, they will generally try to avoid you. This one didn't spot us for a while, but gradually became aware we were there, and slowly immersed himself back into the river where he disappeared underwater. I went back to the hotel with 73 photos of him. We could also see crocodiles, and many birds.

Colvin used to work for an organisation generating employment opportunities for the mentally handicapped, but he became disillusioned when he saw that Social Services seemed more interested in refurbishing their offices and updating their computers than spending money keeping programmes for the disabled running. So when he visited the run-down hotel about 18 months ago, he recognised an opportunity to develop it, and moved here and invested in the hotel, which is owned by a local family. He seems to be getting on very well here, and the hotel is rather nice now, so we hope it all works out for him.

He's divorced, so arrived here on his own, and settled well into the community. After a year or so, the local elders decided he needed a wife, so the heads of the village chose him one in the traditional way, by committee. The woman in question, the daughter of a village head, had the choice of whether she wanted to go ahead with it or not, and she did, and he reports that although it's an unorthodox marriage by our standards, it's working well so far!

The hotel generator started up at 7pm, so we sat under the lights in the large covered restaurant area and had dinner: salad, followed by roast duck with beans, and papaya for desert. The food was really excellent, and given we are the only two people staying here, and they have 40 rooms, the service was attentive. I gave Colvin a CD of all my hippo photos, as he's collecting photos to use on the hotel's website. Sitifa tipped us off for a 7am departure to go and look at wildlife.

I decided this would be a good time to work on the truck, partly because they have a ramp here you can drive on to so you can get to it all without grubbing around in the dirt, and also because I noticed some clunking noises coming from the front transmission which weren't there before. So I got up at 6am to don my overalls, then went back to bed for 15 minutes because it was still dark. When it got light, I checked the front diff oil level (which was fine), greased the front prop shaft (which has a bit of give along the splines; ideally it could probably do with replacing, but hopefully it'll make it back to the UK) and replaced the EP90 in the swivels with the one-shot grease we bought in Gambia. Due to the heat, EP90 has about the consistency of water, so runs out of the truck with gay abandon, and even the grease is rather like engine oil! (Nicki opened a pot of Vaseline yesterday and it all ran out.) I'd hoped to be finished by 7, but of course, it took longer than that, so it was 7:30 by the time we were on the road and in the bush.

Sitifa took us to various places in the park, including sections of the river, open savannah areas, and parts of the forest, where we saw lots of warthogs (they run along with their tails in the air like Pumbaa out of the Lion King); plenty of deer and antelope; all manner of birds; and crocodiles. No lion, sadly – there are some here, but it's very rare to see one. For me it was interesting to be walking around in countryside where you're not the top predator, and there are plenty of things which could cheerfully munch you up if they felt like it. At one location we saw a river bed which was rapidly drying into thick grey mud, and there were some reasonable sized fish thrashing around in it, presumably praying for rain, although I think it was really all over for the fish.

At one place we parked up and walked across a river on a cable bridge, heavily reminiscent of the one across the volcano in Shrek. Nicki's not keen on heights, so took it very gingerly. The bridge had a definite cant to one side, which livened things up a little.

Sitifa then told us about a leopard here, which was orphaned when it was three months old, and was taken into care by the park staff and now lives in a cage. He offered us to go and see him, so we did, and got within a couple of feet of him, through the mesh of the cage. We were pleased to see that the cage is actually a pretty large enclosure, the size of several tennis courts, and is full of trees and plants, so at least he must feel a bit at home. He's never going to be released into the wild, which is a shame, but as orphaned leopards go, we hope he has a reasonable existence. The bones in his enclosure testify he's still got his appetite at least.

At the end of the morning we returned to the camp, and enjoyed a pleasant three course lunch. And with that, over to Nicki.

Hi all, yes it is Nicki taking over for a bit. Lunch consisted of a salad followed by beef in a lovely sauce and rice, and ended with mango (the really juicy sweet kind, the kind you CAN'T buy in Sainsbury's!). We then crashed out for a few hours, reading and sleeping, and had a lovely surprise when the air con came on at about 3pm for an hour.

At 5pm we met Colvin, 2 Italians, our guides and a local state chap who took us for a boat trip down the river. It was a bearable temperature as we floated along the River Gambia, which stretches from Gambia to Guinea. We saw hundreds of types of birds including brightly coloured blue kingfishers and huge pelicans. Baboons, antelope, crocodiles, deer and warthogs were also spotted, but the main reason we went out was to see the family of hippos. This we did, they were spotted having a swim in the river. There was a mother and a baby, and a third hippo, and further along there were more sightings. Interestingly we learnt that they don't swim, they walk along the bottom. We decided that would be fascinating to watch!

At one point we came across two packs of baboons who were screaming at each other, it was the biggest racket I have ever heard!! I now know where babies' screams evolved from. The last thing we saw was a huge monitor lizard lying in a tree, David managed to get good photos of it as well as everything else we saw. It is going to be one huge slideshow when we get back!

We had a quick drink in the bar on our return and we have planned to have dinner with Colvin and his African wife tonight which will be nice.

Announcement: Big Change of Plan

2006-05-08T13:32:00.000+01:00

We had an emergency committee meeting at 2 o'clock this morning.

Over the last few days, since we left the coast, it's been getting very hot indeed. The daytime temperature has been in the 40s, and inside the truck it is even hotter. This means you spend a lot of the day feeling pretty damn uncomfortable. Sweat drips off you; you can feel the sun burning into you, even wearing Factor 50; you drink bottled water which is the temperature of a cup of tea; you seek shade whenever possible and drink constantly. This was not entirely unexpected, and we can cope with it. It's not ideal, but you have to make sacrifices.

The crunch point is the night-time temperature. When we went to bed last night, it was still well in the 40s in the truck, long after dark, with the door and roof vents open. It's not easy to explain what this is like to anybody who hasn't experienced it, but imagine going to bed in a sauna. As you lie down, sweat pours off you, and it does so all night; you can't escape. You lie there nearly naked and your pillow and all your bedclothes are soaking. If you lay your arm across your chest, it slides off again. You wipe your eyes and the salt stings them. For Pete's sake, I'm lying in bed at a temperature at which I have actually COOKED tuna! The lowest temperature all night was 37 degrees. In the desert, the nights are cool, so you can recover from the heat of the day. Here you just can't escape the heat at all, ever, not day or night. Add to this the fact that it's always hotter in the truck than outside, whether or not you're moving.

Now, as we head inland to Mali, it will get hotter: up to ten degrees hotter. Nicki was not relishing the thought of these daytime temperatures in the 50s, but we both agree that the night temperatures will just be intolerable, for at least three or four weeks until we get towards the coast again.

So, we've decided can't feasibly go on as planned.

We considered a number of options last night, including getting a roof tent (but it's nearly as hot outside as in), getting a big generator to run the air conditioning, staying in hotels, or shipping the truck from Dakar to Ghana. The most sensible option seems to be to cut out the eastern half of our route and instead of going through to Ghana, driving back the route we came down on, through Mauritania, Morocco and Spain. This would give us a chance to see more of these countries which we had to race through on the way (and of course Nicki didn't see anyway). The visas would be easier, and I know the terrain and the campsites.

So we're intending to carry on south through to Guinea and probably Sierra Leone, turning round when time gets short or the heat gets too much, and then come back up the Atlantic coast to Europe.

It'll be a shame to miss our sponsor child visit in Burkina, and the other countries we were looking forward to, but unless anything else comes up this seems to be the best way forward.

7th May - Basse Sante Su

2006-05-08T13:21:00.000+01:00

(Finally have a decent connection, so have dumped the last few days' photos here.)

After the heat of yesterday, which was just too much to be pleasant, we decided to aim to travel mostly in the cooler morning, then stop at the heat of the day, and move on again in the afternoon. We said goodbye to our friends in Farafenni and headed out. We tried to fill up with fuel on the way, but the petrol station was out of petrol. We drove off and were immediately shouted at by the police; we turned round into the little side road the station was in, and they pulled us in to their police office, said we were going down a road reserved for ambulances, and told me they were going to take me to court! I thought they were really after a bribe, so I protested that there was no way we could have known about the road. They leafed through our passports for a long while, then said they’d let us off, as it was our first time in the town. I wonder whether the fact we have so many stamps in our passports persuaded them that we weren’t going to be a pushover.

On we went towards Wassu, one of the sights to see in the north of the country because it has a Neolithic stone circle complex, rather along the lines of Stonehenge but not so impressive. The road to Wassu varied from tarmac to sand to ditches, and we had to divert off the road in several places. We stopped to empty two jerry cans of fuel into our tanks en-route, and we arrived there at about mid-day. The stone circle complex is just to the north-east of the village, and was surprisingly easy to find, although as usual, you’d struggle to get there without a 4wd. We got a friendly welcome from the custodian, paid our 100 Dalasi to get in, having parked under a tree, and went round the museum.

Despite being panned by the Lonely Planet, which is always scathing of cultural things, the little museum was quite well put together. It showed the history of the stone circles in the greater area and how they were made. Interestingly, Neolithic round here means about 500-1200AD. Rather like we were building Stonehenge when the Egyptians were lolling around outside their huge pyramids, the Ghana and Mali civilisations were putting up stone circles while we were fighting the French at Hastings. We signed the visitor’s book; the last visitors were 5 days ago, and before that, three weeks before. It’s the low season!

From there we went to look round the circles themselves. Each circle was about 3m across and the stones were up to a metre high, occasionally higher. They were used sometimes as burial mounds, but not always. Three young children struck up on a set of xylophones as we got near; they were a bit haphazard, but quite rhythmic. We took the usual set of photos. The custodian asked if we were going onwards, but we said we were planning to stay around for a while, because of the heat, so he invited us to sit with him outside his office. Nicki collapsed in the truck, but I sat and talked to the custodian, who spoke excellent English and was fascinating to talk to. He was Mandinka, but had a Fulla companion who he referred to as “the old man”. He explained that the various tribes in the country coexist in total harmony, regardless of ethnic background or religion – what a breath of fresh air!

I said we were learning the drum, and asked if he could play – everybody here can, of course. So we got out our drum, which apparently is a popular instrument with the Fulla, and the old man played some interesting rhythms, totally different to the ones we’d heard on the coast. I picked up some of the easier stuff, and it was fascinating to see the different way the drum could be used.

Across the other side of the compound, three young Fulla women were doing their weekly washing, which they did most efficiently and effectively, before hanging it on the barbed wire fence to dry, which didn’t take long at all. One of them brought me some cups of the strong, sweet Gambian tea, which generally comes in twos or threes (it’s rude to refuse before your third cup). Later I wandered over to watch what they were doing, as I needed to pick up some tips! I hit upon the idea of asking them if we could pay them to do our washing, and the custodian translated for me. They were quite happy to, and did a great job of it all, although my white towel is now rather blue! I took some photos of the three of them, and printed them; they were quite delighted, and thought it was great fun, so of course then I had to print a photo for the custodian, a photo for the old man, one for the xylophone player, and one for the guy who had turned up and was making tea. We paid the women 100 Dalasi for the washing, which the custodian thought was quite generous.

The three boys were hanging around, having fetched some jerry cans of water on a donkey cart. I offered them some empty plastic bottles, and was nearly trampled in the stampede. It’s funny how something inconsequential to us could be so important to them! As the afternoon wore on, the custodian was slightly irked by a westerner who was wandering around in the bush near the compound, thinking he was trying to see the stones without paying. I intercepted the guy and talked to him for a while; he was Welsh, living in the village, four months through a two year contract with VSO as a teacher trainer. He was being driven mad by the heat, so was wandering around doing some twitching. He tipped us off that Bassé, where we were planning to head, was even hotter than Wassu, but that there is a guy opposite the Shell petrol station who has the only ice cream machine in Gambia!

The day was wearing on, so we got on our way again, having spent a nice afternoon with the people at the stone circle. The drive to Bassé involved two ferry crossings; when we got to the first one, we didn’t realise it was a ferry, so spent a while looking around for the road until some local lads showed us what to do. You have to toot your horn to summon the ferry, which was just big enough for us and two other vehicles, although it seemed a bit touch and go. This took us to the island in the Gambia river which hosts Georgetown, which claims to be the centre of the slave trade, but we’ve also heard that very little slave trading was actually done there. On the other side of the island we took a chain ferry, which was even smaller, and only just accommodated the truck and one other vehicle, to the south bank, where we drove to Bassé. There were many police checkpoints on this section of road, but mostly the police are just friendly and interested. It must be a boring existence from them. We’d learned from Saikou that in the height of the heat of the day, you can usually ignore the police checkpoints, as it’s too hot for them to bother. I watched the fuel needle on the truck plumb new depths, keeping my fingers crossed that we would make it to Bassé without running out. Evidently it runs OK on rust and petrol vapour, because it kept going.

We eventually got to Bassé as darkness started to fall. The Shell station, which is the only one open in the evening, didn’t have any petrol either, but we parked there to visit the legendary ice cream machine opposite. The guy who has set it up is an inspired entrepreneur. We were quite happy to pay 40 Dalasi (80p) for a large cupful of delightfully frozen Mr Whippy. In fact I had two! We asked if he knew of anywhere we could camp, and he suggested we followed him on his motorbike to a hotel on the other side of town – just as well, as we’d never have found it on our own, especially in the dark. It was 250 Dalasi for a room, or 150 Dalasi to park in the compound, so we went for the cheap option, as the rooms were just as hot as the truck, and there is no electricity tonight. I tried to get the truck through the gateway, but it was too tall for their signboard, so we’ve parked just outside on the road, and they’ll keep an eye on us for 100 Dalasi.

It’s almost too hot to consider eating, but Nicki forced down half a plateful of tuna & sweetcorn pasta, and I had the same mix in a baguette. The truck peaked at 45° in the early afternoon today, when it was parked in the shade with the engine turned off! We’re sat outside in the dark, because it’s cooler out here, and Nicki’s reading while I update the blog. There’s a little frog on the sand just next to us, mopping up some of the insects.

6th May - Farafenni

2006-05-08T13:20:00.000+01:00

Crikey. It’s hot. Nicki and I are sitting here in minimal clothing and have sweat running off us. The laptop is so hot I have to put something between it and my legs so it doesn’t burn me. Nicki’s just realised that Mali is going to be even hotter. We’re going to miss Timbuktu out on the basis that it’d be a heat nightmare. Today it was 45° in the cab. In Timbuktu it would be about ten degrees hotter. That’s not nice.

We did go to the market yesterday on the way to the web café. We bought a drum, which Saikou carefully chose for us. The price the salesman named was 950 Dalasi (about £20), but before we could say anything, Saikou dived in and spoke to him in Mandinka. The price immediately came down to 650 Dalasi. In the end we paid 600. It’s a nice drum.

We also bought: deodorant, which the stallholder had to go and find specially for us, and was quite expensive as it’s not common out here (the Africans seem to wash very frequently, and are of course used to the heat anyway); some peanuts, as Gambia makes something like 85% of its foreign export capital from peanuts; a sarong for Nicki; a doormat for the truck, to limit the amount of sand we track in and out; and 2 bananas. We dropped Saikou off at his compound, said goodbye, and headed back to the beach, stopping at the web café on the way to post the blog. We also printed out a photo from each country so far, on our little printer, to brighten up the wall of the truck. Dinner was swordfish.

Fansu has a little cat at the restaurant, which is very friendly, and tries to climb all over you as you eat. The trouble is, it’s pretty flea-ridden, so we kept shooing it away. But it wasn’t put off in the slightest. I suggested to Tony that we could throw it in the sea, to get rid of the bugs, but he said “They’ve already tried that, it doesn’t work!” It’s a great ratter, apparently, so earns its keep, and Fansu took it to the vet to find out how to get rid of the bugs. Nicki was very amused to find the cat’s name is “Boos”, which is apparently what Georgia calls their cat, Lulu. The restaurant also has a wildcat population, which ate the chickens, plus a monitor lizard which drops by from time to time.

Just before bed, I went to the sea to answer the call of nature, checking that nobody was around. After a while I felt a presence behind me, and turned to find two large cattle standing there in the moonlight. They were quite surprised to see me too. Tony says they head north along the beach every evening, but he doesn’t know where they are coming from or going to.

We had an earlyish start and breakfasted with Fansu and Tony before leaving the beach, stopping at the village well on the way to fill up a jerry can with water. I hope we will be able to go back one day, as it really is a special experience.

We headed north up the coast to visit the crocodile pool near Bakau. The Lonely Planet lived up to its usual promise by being woefully inadequate to navigate by, so we zigzagged through the dust streets of the town asking as we went. We got there at the same time as a Gambian school visit. The crocodile pools have a fairly interesting museum, but the main exhibit is a pool, funnily enough, full of crocodiles. The crocs can come and go from the pool as they want, and they stay very still most of the time, so you have to check you’re not about to tread on one. They were about 4-7’ long, so a close encounter would be inadvisable. Guides will tell you which ones you can touch and which you can’t. It’s an odd experience, touching an animal that you know could give you a lot of grief if it put its mind to it. The staff feed them only on fish, presumably on the basis that they won’t get a taste for meat! We took lots of photos, naturally.

We then went back to Banjul, to get in the ferry queue. We arrived heading in the wrong direction, so had to do a loop to join the queue, but there were too many taxis in the way for me to turn. One of them had to be manhandled out of the way by bystanders. Nicki bought the ticket, whilst I got annoyed with a guy who was trying to direct me where to wait, but kept getting irate when I didn’t do what he wanted, because I could see the queue was moving and he wouldn’t listen to what I was saying. This time we only waited for about 20 minutes to board, and by the time they’d shuffled us all around, we were first on the ferry. I sat on the roof for most of the crossing, and ate lunch. It was a much more amenable journey than last time.

We disembarked at Barra, after drifting around for an age waiting for the ferry in front to move out of the way. We headed north, to intercept a road which was shown on our Russian digital maps, to Farafenni. We passed the police checkpoint we went through three times last week, and after a while realised we’d missed the turning, so turned round and asked directions. We didn’t know it, but they’ve built a new road, which was right back where we’d come from, so we went back about 7km, decided to get petrol, went back through the police checkpoint, got petrol, back through the police checkpoint… I have no idea what the police thought we were doing. Nicki does a good job of the navigating, but fate is against you when the major road you want doesn’t exist any more.

The road north of the river is great for the first half, where it’s tarmaced, then goes into washboarded dirt for a while, then deteriorates further into potholed dirt and sand. However, despite the Lonely Planet stating the opposite, it’s much better than the road south of the river, which is so bad that local people have mostly stopped using it altogether, including buses and taxis. Our road was quite quiet, which was just as well as every time something came in the other direction, it kicked up so much dust we couldn’t see much for a short time. I asked Nicki to get out and take a photo of the truck going past. Of course, she ended up in the dust storm as I sped by. But the photo is good! There were roadworks, so we kept being diverted off onto side tracks, for no obvious reason; on one we nearly got stuck in deep sand, so after that we ignored the diversions.

The landscape is greener than you might expect, although it’s nonetheless very dust-intensive. There are lots of trees, some of them as large as an English oak, but no grass; the only grass we’ve seen here is outside the new Sheraton resort they’re building at Brufut, under a hail of sprinklers. Baobab trees are very common, very sturdy, thick-trunked trees which at this time of year have little sprigs of green foliage right at the ends of their branches, but are otherwise bare. Mango trees are also abundant.

Fansu had told us to go and see his friend Salfo in Farafenni, and said we’d be able to stay in his compound. We found the compound easily, as it’s one of the first in the town. But Salfo wasn’t there – he’s gone away for the night, I’m not sure where. His brothers and nephews said we could stay just next door for the night. We sat in their compound for a while, and I was surprised to see they were giving a goat a blue rinse. I asked why, expecting it would be sheep dip, but they said they just liked the colour. Two of the sons or nephews took us into the town, to change some money; the bank was shut, but the supermarket changed our dollars instead, and actually gave us a better rate than the last bank we used. We then had a cold can of pop each, which helped prevent Nicki from passing out in the heat.

The town was quite peaceful, apart from a lot of chatter coming from the mosque area. People here seem relaxed. It’s not a cluttered town, and plenty of trees around give it quite a pleasant feel. As with most towns, all the roads are dust tracks, and goats abound, with donkeys scattered around too, and the odd cow with horns. Some horses were being used to pull small carts. The small children often call out “toubab” as we pass, which means “white man” in Mandinka. We’re thinking of learning the word for “black man” so we can say it back to them. We noticed most people here wear traditional colourful dress, rather than the more westernised clothes people tend to wear at the coast.

Nicki’s just had a cold shower at the front of the truck, which has cooled her down somewhat, although she had to wait until dark and shower in her bikini.

5th May - Guess where?

2006-05-05T19:43:00.000+01:00

Our day began with a call from Dad (this being Nicki's dad!) who told
us he had spoken to the British consulate in Mali in an attempt to get
to the bottom of the Mali visa situation. He told us that it is
apparently possible to get a transit visa at the border of Guinea and
not only this but it may be possible to get a week long one instead of
just a 72 hour one. So at least we know that a) we don't have to go to
Conakry so will avoid the centre of crime in Guinea and b) we don't
have to go back to the border with Senegal where we know we can get a
transit visa for sure. So that solves that issue, thanks Dad! Now we
just have to decide whether to go to the south of Guinea and possibly
Sierra Leone, a decision that can be made once we are in Guinea and we
will hopefully have learnt a bit more about the situation in that
region.

David just opened the blind and said 'It's raining!' to which I
replied 'REALLY?!' to which he answered 'No.' Very funny, how stupid
am I especially as we have the roof hatch open!!!

We had breakfast, a very exciting affair for me as we opened the
marmite to go with the usual bread and coffee. Saikou then showed
David how to play the drum, a traditional African drum made of goats
skin. He did pretty well and I also had a turn, though we were nowhere
near as good as Saikou of course! They then burst into a song about
us, welcoming us to Africa and Gambia, they later translated but at
first all we heard were our names - they could have been saying
anything! David took a video on the camera so everyone can see when we
return. I am currently sitting in a hammock writing this, everything
is done here on African time and we are fitting in very nicely to this
way of life. It is pleasant having breakfast not having to worry about
going to work or some other appointment within the next five minutes,
instead we leisurely eat and then sit around chilling to music and the
rhythm of the drum, with various herbal aromas floating around…

David: I decided to have a go at fishing. I borrowed one of Tony's
rods, with a weight and hook pre-attached, and wandered down to the
sea with some of our strong cheese. I thought I'd have a test cast
without any cheese, just to get a feel for the rod, and as I cast, the
weight and hook twanged off somewhere, never to be seen again… A bit
annoying as Tony brought the rods from Europe and doesn't have any
spare gear.

So, second attempt, with the other rod. I tried cheese, but it didn't
stay on the hook for long. Then I tried some bread with marmite, but
again, it wasn't a great success. Fansu came back from the market
with some fish to use as bait, so I had a go with that. Saikou came
along the beach with me. To get a good casting distance, I waded out
into the sea in my trunks, with the water at times washing round my
chest, but as the sea is so warm, it's a really pleasant experience.
There's something quite satisfying about standing around up to your
armpits in warm salty water, casting around to catch a fish.

We tried a couple of different bits of beach, and had some nibbles,
but no bites. As we walked to another recommended spot, we found a
ladyfish flapping around in the surf, so picked it up and nabbed it!
It's nearly lunchtime now, so we've come back, and I might have a go
later on. So despite no bites on the rod and line, we do at least
have a fish to show for our efforts.

The four teachers have come down to the beach and have swum a bit, but
are mostly lying in the sun, trying to get rid of some of the
whiteness. Nicki washed her hair in the sea; the shower has been
lying around in the sun all day, so the water in it is very warm.

Some young boys asked if they could wash the truck, for a negotiated
fee of 100 Dalasi (£2) – well, it's a big car, and I admired their
initiative! However, it wasn't such a good deal actually, as after
borrowing a bucket from Fansu, they used seawater to wash the car.
The body's aluminium, but the roll cage, plus things like the hinges
on the lockers, are steel, so it's not really ideal. I then gave them
one of our three jerry cans of fresh water to rinse the salt water
off, so we've lost 20l of fresh water in the process! Oh well. Let's
hope it rains when we get to Guinea!

Today's blog is a short one, because I'm going off to Brikama with
Saikou, to try to buy a drum, and then to Senegambia just up the coast
to change some money, and then we'll post the blog.

4th May - Still Fansu's Beach

2006-05-05T19:42:00.000+01:00

Yes, we are still here!! It's Nicki again. Due to our decision to skip
Guinea Bissau we have gained a week and while it is lovely and breezy
on the coast here at Fansu's, we have decided to stay a little longer.
However today it was harder to enjoy the scenery when the wind was
whipping the sand on our legs every time we left the truck, but a
minor detail really.

Today started early when I arose at 7:45, to enjoy a farewell
breakfast with the two Spanish cyclists who left today. David
abstained as he doesn't eat breakfast (he burnt some photo CDs for the
others instead). It was the first time I have started the day in
Africa with a hot drink and although it wasn't tea (those who know me
know I drink tea religiously every morning and most of the day too)
the coffee with milk powder substitute was nearly as good. Bread,
margarine and honey accompanied. Then came the rounds of photos and
email address swapping, I think we are going to have many hundreds of
email addresses from fellow travellers by the end!

We learned from Tony that Saikou, a friend of Fansu, was travelling to
Makasutu today. This is a nature reserve we planned to visit, so we
quickly offered him a lift in exchange for his directions! It took
about an hour to get there and was the most touristy spot we have been
to yet. Having said that it was very informative and well laid out, so
we were willing to leave our local lifestyle for one day and turn into
temporary tourists. It is an ecotourism site set up by two British
people, who have effectively turned the sacred forest into an
education centre.

The start of our tour took us on a river trip. We gingerly stepped
into our pirogue, a boat made from a hollowed out mahogany tree, which
took us on a tour of the mangroves. Our guide was very informative,
explaining in great detail exactly what everything was and what its
uses were. We learned that oysters grow on the roots of mangroves, for
example, and that mangroves are often used to segregate fresh and salt
water. It was very pleasant floating along in the very clear river,
although it was starting to heat up as the time approached midday.

Post pirogue trip we stopped for a cold Sprite before our tour
continued. The next stage was a 1 ½ hour walk through the forest.
Again the guide told us about everything, which was very interesting
although I was unable to remember most things he said as he told us so
much! We ambled through the forest amongst wild baboons who were
totally used to people, so they came pretty close to us allowing David
to take some good photos. We also saw termite mounds and a red ants
nest. The time was now about 1pm so we were in the full heat of the
sun, and I was starting to flag significantly (although David was
absolutely fine of course!) Next we saw a little old man who had lived
in the forest all his life, who was told he could stay when the
ecotourism site was developed. He was a healer/fortune teller,
although we declined the offer of having our fortunes told on the
basis it is probably best we don't know! Lastly a man demonstrated how
to climb a palm tree by using a thick rope behind his back, which
David had a go at but I decided against due to my total lack of energy
(I could just see myself being a few metres up and passing out!) We
also sampled the local palm wine which contained 15% alcohol, very
nice but I couldn't drink masses of it.

Then ensued the last part of the walk (the bit that finished me off!),
a 20 minute walk back to the start around the outside of the
forest….in the blazing sun. There was no shade whatsoever, and I think
the guide felt a bit sorry for me as he put his sunhat on my head. We
arrived back at the bar where 2 cold bottles of water were
distributed, absolutely heavenly. However either the heat or
yesterday's lunch finally caught up with me, as I was slightly ill.
Bonus though, we were in a place with a Westernised toilet so all was
not lost! Lastly we visited the craft market which had various wood
carvings, jewellery and tie dye for sale. Saikou at this point
presented David and I with a necklace each as a gift, which was
extremely kind of him!

On the way back to the beach we stopped to see Saikou's family in
their compound just outside the forest. It was much the same as
yesterday, a few women and hundreds of kids all over the place! They
were very hospitable and showed us into their living room, frantically
opening the curtains and the shutters. I think Saikou's family must be
fairly well off as they had a full suite of furniture (not Land of
Leather standard, but a full suite all the same) and a TV complete
with Lake Placid on video. We then delighted everybody by taking a
photo of all the family and printing it off for them on the mini
printer, the kids scrabbled at it till it was fairly bent but they
were thrilled! Initially it was the children who were excited, but the
rest of the family seemed just as pleased. There concluded our outing
for the day and we drove back to the beach.

David is particularly excited at the moment, as he has managed to have
a total body wash, hair and all. This he achieved by going in the sea
and washing his hair with shampoo, and body, then using our solar
shower to rinse off the salt from the sea water, before using the
brush from the dustpan and brush to brush the sand off his feet before
entering the truck (much to my delight as I had just cleaned the
carpets and rid them of all the sand!). So the fact we are in the
middle of the beach and he is totally clean AND there is still no sand
in the truck is something pretty special. I might attempt the same
tomorrow, as I still have not washed my hair since Sarah's bathroom
almost 7 days ago!

At around 8pm we headed over for dinner, but Fansu had not returned
with the potatoes at this stage. So we had a drink and lazed around in
the hammocks until his arrival, and soon after sat down to a Spanish
omelette and chips with salad. Although the Spanish omelette didn't
have potato in so we all agreed maybe it was just an omelette! It was
delicious all the same. We retired to the truck around 9:30 ish.