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| NAMIBIA | ANGOLA | DRC | CABINDA | CONGO | |
| GABON | CAMEROON | NIGERIA | NIGER | MALI | SENEGAL |
| MAURITANIA | W. SAHARA | MOROCCO |
We hope to update our diary on a regular basis, while we are travelling. However, there may be delays in areas where it is difficult to access an internet cafe!
ENGLAND
July 2007
As we approached Cape Town, I found that I was anxious to get home, after more than nine months away from our family and friends. This was reinforced by the fact that South Africa had become cold and damp – not ideal camping weather – and I looked forward to a dose of English summer! It was wonderful to greet our kids again – arriving home earlier than planned, we had a surprise reunion, orchestrated by our son-in-law. However, our dreams of an English summer were not fulfilled: we arrived home to find that the South African winter was not too dissimilar to the English summer, in fact England was experiencing the wettest summer on record!
But it was good to be home, and to be reunited with the family, and to find that the house was still intact! It was a very busy six weeks, catching up with the mountain of paperwork which awaited us after nine months away and dealing with preparations for our return trip. We also spent a good deal of time visiting family and friends: for the first two weeks this was necessary, as we could not move into our house until one of our lodgers moved out. It will be no surprise to those who know him that David spent much of his time at home working – so much for retirement – so most of the preparations for our return were left to me.
It was more hectic than I could have imagined – sometimes we missed the slower pace that is Africa! The biggest hassle was obtaining the Angolan visa, which involved three visits to the Angolan embassy in London, but finally we have it. The other visas will be obtained en-route.
And so, armed with a fresh supply of books to read and some tinned goods from M & S for those places where fresh food is much more difficult to find, we finally set off from London to Cape Town for our journey ‘Homeward Bound’!
SOUTH AFRICA (part 2)
August 2007
We arrived back in Cape Town to a very warm welcome from Manie and his family. We had intended to spend a weekend with them, before setting off on our travels, but ended up staying for ten days! For part of that time we were ‘dog-sitting’ for their two boxer dogs, whilst the family had a long weekend away. We coped very well, with being ‘taken’ for walks on the beach by the energetic dogs.
It was good to have comfortable accommodation, as the weather was quite mixed, and not ideal yet for camping. It gave us chance to make sure that we were fully prepared for the trip ahead of us: David did some further work on ‘the Beast’, I updated the website, and we did some necessary shopping, taking advantage of the good facilities Cape Town has to offer. One essential purchase was a large, thick blanket – which we appreciated in the weeks to come! We also had to get our refrigerator repaired, because the cooling unit had packed up – a good thing it happened whilst we were in Cape Town!
Of course we also did some sight seeing. On our first full day in Cape Town, in glorious sunshine, I was determined that we would go up Table Mountain, and we duly drove up to the view point after church, to find that the cable car was not running, and there was insufficient time to walk both up and down again before dark. Undaunted, we went for a pleasant walk on Signal Hill instead, anticipating another chance another day. During the following week, each time we decided we would make the trip, it was either raining or the top of the Table had a ‘table cloth’ of cloud (or on the bank holiday, the queues were enormous). On our final morning, we set off in lovely sunshine to make our last attempt, but after trailing round looking for an outlet that would refill our Calor Gas cylinder, we found that once again the clouds had descended – it was not to be!
We did manage another drive around Cape Peninsular on a sunny day, enjoying a fish lunch in Simons Town. We also went for a tour of the winelands, around Stellanbosch and Franschhoek. Unfortunately it was a very wet day and, after a lovely meal in a restaurant, we discovered that we had left the lights on and had a flat battery. Of course all the tools were left behind at Manie’s, but an elderly gentleman came to our rescue and brought jump leads to get us started, and then invited us back to his home for coffee and to dry out. We spent a pleasant afternoon chatting to Varnie and Eileen, before returning to Cape Town without any purchases of wine – but there are always supermarkets in South Africa!
We will remember our stay with Manie and Anna-Lou with great affection, and it was with some reluctance that we finally set off on our journey north. We hope that the friendships forged with them and their children will be lasting, and that there will be opportunities to meet again.
We set off first of all to the West Coast National Park, to see the displays of wild flowers. It was a lovely drive, in brilliant sunshine, and the scenery was spectacular. We spent the night at a backpackers in Langebaan, glad not to be camping as it was extremely cold.
From there we made our way to Citrusdel, camping overnight at a Hot Springs resort. This was very pleasant, and we were also able to buy oranges, lemons, and kumquats by the roadside, as this is a centre for citrus fruits.
We had arranged to meet Marc and Christine, our friends from Austria in the wild flower reserves further north. We bumped into them on numerous occasions on our trip down the east side of Africa, and they had now returned to collect their yellow Land Rover for the final lap of their own odyssey (which had ended in Windhoek, rather than Cape Town, in May). We met up with them - this time by prior arrangement - in Nieuwoudtville, and enjoyed two days with them seeing the wild flowers together, before going our separate ways.
The wild flowers were absolutely amazing, quite beyond anything I had expected. There were fields of colour, flowers of every hue. It was a really enjoyable experience, and as we continued our journey north through Namaqualand, there were flowers on the banks of the road and in all directions.
We stayed in Springbok, and then decided to head for the Richtersveld National Park. This was yet another new experience, as the Richtersveld is a mountain dessert, quite barren but beautiful. Surprisingly, there are a number of interesting succulent plants which survive in these conditions. The roads within the park are difficult, and slow. We stayed at a wonderful campsite by the Orange River, with minimum facilities, but superb views.
The next day we drove out of the park and decided to take the mountain pass to Vioolsdrif and the Namibian border. This was probably the worst road we had met in South Africa – good practice for what lies ahead: we took six hours to drive less than150 km!
Our final night in South Africa was a pleasant riverside campsite near the border, so that we could make an early start the next morning. We feel once again that there were many more places that we could have explored in this lovely country had there been time. One day we will return.
A(nother) Backwards Glance at South Africa:
It was great being back home for a while. The Kids are still as mad as ever (a cruel quirk of nature has seen our children inherit all the dubious characteristics of their Aunts and Uncles rather than the solid qualities of their parents – oh well). Seeing our friends again who had provided all sorts of practical support in our absence, giving us great peace of mind during the trip. One lady from church providing the letter of invitation, enabling us to secure our Angolan Visa; and a Nigerian friend, anxious for our travels through Nigeria, providing a complete itinerary, taking in all his friends and relatives!
Feeling like strangers being welcomed like family by Manie, Anna-Lou, their two boys and two dogs. What kind of people do this for folk they’ve barely met - collect us from the airport, clean ‘The Beast’ inside and out (whilst looking after it in our absence), replace a leaking water pump, give us all the benefits of their lovely home for nearly two weeks, sharing their mealtimes with us, getting us a replacement mattress cover for the tent………………..? For all this kindness and Manie pointing out the marital benefits of having a teacher for a wife, we will be for ever grateful.
At Franschhoek in torrential rain, leaving the car lights on while stopping for lunch at a restaurant and returning to a very ‘flat’ battery. Lifting the bonnet, feeling soaked to the skin and being joined by Varnie (who just happened to be passing). “No problem mate, get back inside, I’ll just take my wife home then come back and fix it” Later at their home drying myself off in front of their fire drinking hot coffee and eating cake with Varnie and Eileen!
The final meeting with our young friends Marc and Christine. The ‘Carrot Soup’ that punctuated our first discourse, being served with pancakes during our last evening together before going our separate ways. Farewell Fine Friends, the sight of your Yellow Landy always brightened up our day.
Leaving Richtersveld National Park and wanting to avoid backtracking along four hours of tarmac roads to the Namibian border crossing point, asked if there was a short cut across the mountains. There was. Six lonely hours later, greyer and trembling, we made it through!
Wild flowers, blue skies, dazzling birds, cutting wood, building fires under a yellow moon, still waters, mountain peaks, warm friends, hot food, cold beer – South Africa.
When starting out on this trip I wondered whether I’d know why we did it by the time we reached Cape Town. Well, now I know.
August 2007
Namibia is a country of contrasts, with mountains and valleys, gorges, plains, desert and the wild Atlantic coastline. But what most struck us was the scarcity of people: it is possible to drive for hours between settlements on excellent roads and, on all but the main B roads, if you see more than three cars in an hour it is a busy road.
We passed through the most seamless border crossing since we had reached Africa, and made our way to the Fish River Canyon, where we stayed at the Ai-Ais Hot Springs resort. The weather was glorious, and we enjoyed a lovely walk along the bottom end of the Canyon, before sampling the pools which are fed by the hot springs. The following day, the weather changed and became very windy. We visited the Hobas end of the Canyon, where there are spectacular views, but decided not to stay, as it had become really cold .
We drove west towards the coast, stopping at Klein Aus for the night. The wind was so strong by now, that we had to put up our kitchen tent in order to cook, and during the night the fly sheet fastenings to our roof-top tent were damaged by the wind. We arrived at Luderitz the next day and decided that we would stay in a guest house rather than camp in high winds again.
Moving inland (to warmer climes) we made our way north to Sesriem, in the heart of the Namib desert. At the campsite, we met a German couple, Marian and Ludger, who were holidaying with their small son, Robin. They had travelled down the west side of Africa some 15 years ago, and insisted that planning to get back to the UK by Christmas is an impossible feat, as there is too much to see and experience!
The next day we drove through to Sossusvlei and the classic desert scenery of red sand and enormous dunes. The whole drive through this part of the park is amazing, and we managed to climb the famous ‘dune 45’, from which the views are spectacular. The pans at Sossusvlei are surreal, silvery white crazy paving, with skeletons of trees and surrounded by immense dunes.
From Sossusvlei we continued north, stopping at Solitaire for the night. This is a tiny hamlet of a garage with a shop, a lodge and a campsite – literally in the middle of nowhere!
We reached the coast again at Swakopmund and stayed at the most luxurious campsite we have come across in Africa: each site has its own bathroom and kitchen area! We stayed there for two nights, so that I could tackle the laundry – and we could enjoy the facilities! It was sunny during the daytime, but bitterly cold at night.
We drove on up the Skeleton Coast, experiencing some of the sea mist which must have caused the shipwrecks which gave the coast its name. We stopped at Cape Cross to see the ‘Cape Fur Seal’ colony. This was an amazing experience: we had never anticipated seeing so many seals, and the sight and sound (and smell!) of tens of thousands of seals on the beach, bobbing in the water and gathering on the rocks had to be seen to be believed. This is also the home of Black-Backed Jackals, for whom the seal is the only source of food in the coastal dessert. They prowl around the groups of seals, and we witnessed some sharing their prey!
It was far too cold to camp on the coast, so once more we headed inland. We discovered a campsite – purely by chance – at Ameib Ranch, which was really lovely amidst the mountains. The following morning we walked in the surrounding area to find the famous Bushman cave paintings.
We continued on towards Windhoek, and stayed at the ‘Stopover’ camp site: not mentioned in the guide books, but a site which we certainly recommend, with the best ablution blocks we have seen. And we were woken at 7 a.m. with fresh coffee – a first! The staff are really friendly and eager to please, and we were just sorry that we were their only customers.
September 2007
We made our way north towards the Etosha National Park, camping en-route. The Etosha competes very well with the Serengetti and Ngorogoro NPs, and in fact we saw more animals, because it was the dry season and therefore the water holes were absolutely crowded! We were unable to book into a campsite, so we stayed at a lodge, where we were privileged to see two herds of elephants taking turns to use the water hole at dusk. The next morning there was a family of lions at a waterhole, which had taken down a large Kudu.
From the Etosha we continued north to Oshakati, where we were able to use the internet and to do some necessary shopping before we reached the Angolan border. However, the GPS aerial got damaged, which meant backtracking to get it repaired or replaced! There is no way that our journey could be continued without a GPS, and we thought that we would have to travel all the way back to Windhoek, but a shop at Tsumeb sells Garmin, and they were able to give us a new one in part exchange.
And so it was off to the Angolan border. We realised that we would be leaving behind a good infrastructure, excellent roads, good shops and a well developed network of campsites. We have enjoyed Namibia very much, but are now heading back to the ‘real Africa’!
A Backwards Glance at Namibia:
Namibians have everything; diamonds, oil, space, sun, sand, sea, great parks, good roads, everything in fact except a sense of humour. Personally I’d trade ‘em all for a smile.
Standing at the top of Fish River Canyon, reading a notice telling us that in the interests of ‘conservation’, no day visits into it were allowed. If someone finds a diamond or a smidgen of oil down there, then they’d have bulldozers and drilling rigs along it in a week.
At Klein Aus where the Namibian wind took on our tough tent and started to pull it apart. The biting cold, my numb fingers, and that long, noisy night.
Sesriem, where I met Ludger, a cheerful German bloke, knowledgeable in all things to do with adhesives. Between us we worked out how it was possible to stick all the necessary bits back together again on the ‘Beast’.
Being transfixed by the stark beauty of sand dunes – their perfect curves and lines – wondering how the many dune beetles dashing about all over the slopes managed to survive.
The very long, very straight roads to Solitaire – literally a place in the middle of nowhere with a landing strip, garage, shop, lodge, camp site and the best bread I’ve tasted in Africa.
Cape Cross on the Skeleton Coast and the sight, sound and smell of great colonies of fur seals and their dependent small entourage of black backed jackals.
Travelling through Etosha Natural Park: without a doubt the best and most exciting and natural experience of African Wildlife so far.
The shop called ‘Cymot’, an oasis for overlanders in Tsumeb. The extremely helpful staff and well stocked camping and vehicle accessories where we sorted our damaged ‘Garmin’.
When you’re in Namibia, surrounded by so much space, no sounds, and even less people, it can do strange things to your mind. I’ve carefully calculated that if you put the whole of Dune 45 through an egg timer it would take 38025 years, 8 months, 1 week, six days, 22 hours and 27 minutes - Fascinating, eh?
September 2007
There is very little data on Angola in the ‘Lonely Planet’ guide, therefore, our information on the country was based on that given by other overlanders on their websites. I must admit to being rather apprehensive about the country: fear of landmines, ‘banditos’, finding safe places to ‘bush camp’, and of course the roads. It seems that my fears were unfounded – except for the roads!
We encountered the bureaucracy which we were expecting at the border when, despite being the first people across, it took almost two hours to process our documents. But everyone was friendly, and this impression continued as we drove along the roads: once again we were encountering children gathering and waving at us at the roadsides.
However, we were very aware that we had returned to the ‘real Africa’ after South Africa and Namibia. Angola is a third world country, despite being potentially one of the richest on the continent, with income from oil and diamonds in particular. We were aware of the poverty of the people in villages we drove through, whose lives have remained untouched by the wealth of the country, and who are only now rebuilding their lives after thirty years of civil war. Five years on, there are still burnt out tanks by the side of the road, and red and white signs to indicate areas where land-mines have not been cleared.
The road started as reasonable tarmac, and then to a road in various stages of improvement (the Chinese are rebuilding all major roads in Angola in return for oil). We looked at one another and decided that Angolan roads weren’t going to be so bad after all – then came a few stretches of potholed tarmac, until finally we reached the potholes which everyone had referred to. The size of these potholes meant that there was no way we could circumnavigate them. Some were a metre or more across, whilst others were so deep that they could potentially do a lot of damage to the car.
Our pace slowed considerably, and soon we were looking for somewhere to stop for the night. However, we had been recommended to look for tracks or areas where the land has been worked, in order to avoid landmines, and that meant being close to people. We were undecided about where to stop but when the road began to improve we continued in the fading light, in the wake of a lorry with good lights, and managed to reach the little town of Chibia. We don’t speak Portuguese, and the vocabulary in the back of the guide book is limited, so we had to resort to sign language to ask for somewhere to sleep for the night. Eventually we found a very pleasant hotel, where the manager spoke good English, and permitted us to camp in the car park. Of course we felt obliged to eat in the restaurant, which was very pleasant.
On our second day, we took the cross country route to Benguela. This route has also been improved in places, but it is not good. The scenery is attractive over the hills, but the vegetation was brown – definitely in need of the expected rains. We reached Benguela and were able to find a place to camp at the edge of the football pitch at a police training centre. The policemen were very friendly, and although they didn’t speak English, we communicated and we had our first lessons in Portuguese.
The road from Benguela to Luanda was good (by Angolan standards) and we made excellent progress. At the toll bridge just short of the city, we were fortunate to meet an Englishman (Paul) who lives and works in Angola and has a tour company (www.eco-tur.com). He confirmed that one of the yacht clubs would be the best choice to camp, and agreed to call and see us with information on Luanda. We stayed at the Club Naval, where we could camp for free (again) with the use of toilets and (cold) showers.
Luanda is a city of contrasts: there is the marina, with luxury yachts; there are the many large, expensive 4x4 cars; and there are the luxury hotels and the enclaves of expensive houses where ex-pats and people working in the oil industry live. On the other hand, there are some of the largest slums we have encountered, with dirt, squalor and rubbish as far as the eye can see. And over everything is a cloak of dust.
Our first port of call in Luanda was to the British Embassy, where we met Mike, the very helpful Consul. He gave us information from the Foreign Office on current risks and places to avoid. We wanted to make a decision as to whether the next stage of our journey should include Cabinda (part of Angola, separated from the rest of the country by a strip of the DRC) or whether to go directly to Kinshassa and Brazzaville. He confirmed that Cabinda would be the safer option at the moment, and also obtained addresses of other embassies in Luanda for us. He advised us to visit the Mine Clearance Department, to check on the safety of roads along the route we would be travelling, but we were unable to do so – the road past the president’s palace was closed to both pedestrians and vehicles. Eventually we decided that this information would not be necessary if we chose routes followed safely by other overlanders.
From the British Embassy, we went to the Angolan Immigration Department to clarify whether our single entry Angolan visa would still be valid for Cabinda. We spoke to two different people who both confirmed that we would not need a new visa for Cabinda. That evening Paul and Mario (his business partner) called to see us and we enjoyed a drink with them. They offered us one of their drivers, Pedro, the next day to take us to sort out visas to DRC, Congo and Gabon and to act as our interpreter.
Pedro was a great help as we negotiated the maze of red tape surrounding embassies in Africa. We were able to apply for our Gabon visa and collect it the following day (at a price) and we confirmed with the DRC and Congo embassies that a transit visa would be available for purchase at the respective borders.
Paul and Mario persuaded us that we needed to see something of Angola, rather than race through, so we agreed to spend the weekend on one of their tours, but using our own car. We enjoyed a trip to the Kalandula Falls. We stopped off at Pungo Andongo, to see some curious rock formations, and then spent the night at Melange. Mario had booked his group into a hotel, but we found when we arrived that the hotel was double booked! We were ok, as we were allowed to camp in the hotel car park, but the rest of the group had to find an alternative hotel. The next day, after a trip to a local Catholic orphanage, we visited the Falls, which were quite spectacular. We enjoyed the company of Mario and his wife, and the group of colleagues from one of the oil companies.
On our return to Luanda, David spent a day preparing the car for the next stage of our trip, and then we set off north, once again on tortuous roads. We camped at a Catholic Mission in Nzeto, where the friendly priest in charge gave us advice on the route to the border: he is from the DRC and travels the route quite often. Mario had advised us to use the route to Luvo, as the other route was really bad, but the priest told us that the shorter route to Noqui was improved, and we could do it in one day if we left early.
The road started off with the worst kind of potholes and was very slow going, and we resigned ourselves to having to bush camp. However, once we were off the main road, it became easier: the track was narrow and bumpy, but easier than potholes and relatively navigable. We arrived at the border at 4.30 p.m. and decided that there was time to cross into the DRC. However, by the time the information on our passports was copied out three times by three different people, and we had explained to a customs officer what needed to be done with the Carnet, we were out of Angola but the border into DRC was closed. We therefore had to put up our tent and cook our supper in ‘no-man’s land’ between two border posts, watched by curious armed guards! But it was goodbye to Angola, before hello to DRC.
A Backwards Glance at Angola:
There I was, an old man staring open mouthed into the shop window. It wasn’t the nubile slim female manikins that had my eyes out on stalks, neither was it the sheer and filigreed laced under garments so lightly hung on them – no it was the stratospheric price tabs. This was not only a French Lingerie boutique; it was Paris, and apparently, the aspiration of New Angola.
Being led by the tail lights of a large truck at night to an excellent haven in Chibia. The secure parking area of a small inn where the Portuguese manager spoke perfect English and provided us with ice cold drinks and a hot meal.
Lost just outside Luanda and watching Carol single handedly put out a fire in a road of waste paper and decaying rubbish crammed with dead locked traffic in the worst slum area I’ve seen in Africa. Assistance offered by a vendor offering to sell her a cold bottle of Fanta which Carol heroically declined.
Feeling dizzy and confused at the Belas Shopping Centre just south of the outskirts of Luanda, where bespoke designer furniture was displayed like sports cars at a Motor Exhibition, multiplex cinema, jewellers and the new luxury houses being built around the complex, all clearly for the rising elite of Angolan society.
Gabon Embassy where the clocks tick about once an hour, and I have it carefully explained to me that to copy my name and the date onto a visa, peel it from a pad and stick it into the passport would normally take two weeks, but for an additional hundred dollars each she might manage to complete it in twenty four hours. I was so impressed I just passed her the three hundred dollars to see if this superhuman task could in fact be realised – it was!
The partial eclipse of the beautiful Kalandula Falls by hundreds of other Bank Holiday visitors, cars and radios.
The long slow crawl out of the city as we gladly made our way north and homewards. For the first time feeling that home might just be further away than I’d prefer.
The modern buildings stand tall like gold crowns, flanked by decay and neglect, all surrounded by the bruised and bleeding gums, which are the slums of Luanda, which is the mouth of Angola. However, out in the surrounding impoverished villages our wave constantly elicited bright, broad, white toothed smiles and the ‘thumbs up’.
DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF CONGO / ANGOLA-CABINDA / CONGO
September 2007
We were up early, at our ‘no-man’s land’ campsite, and ready to enter the DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF CONGO long before the border opened. However, we needn’t have been in a hurry, as ’waiting’ is the name of the game in Africa! We had to wait for the ‘chef’ of the immigration to arrive, in order to request our Transit Visa to the DRC. Then it appeared that he was not authorised to issue it, and so (after the information on our passports was copied by the immigration people, by the police and the customs, and after our ‘Yellow Fever’ certificates had been inspected and the details copied – a first) we were escorted into Matadi to the central immigration offices, stopping en route to get photocopies of our passports. Here we were finally issued with the required visa, and sent on our way: the whole process had taken four hours! However, although the system is not efficient, we had no complaints about the friendliness and helpfulness of the people we were dealing with. It was also easier to be in a French speaking country, after the difficulties we have had making ourselves understood in Angola.
From Matadi we set off towards Boma and then on to the Cabinda border. The countryside is very attractive, with rolling hills, occasional views of the river Congo, and lush vegetation. But the roads had soon deteriorated and so the journey was once again slow. We moved from pot-holed tarmac (not as bad as Angola) to sandy tracks, often very deep soft sand. It was not easy when we encountered lorries coming in the opposite direction, as there was little room for manoeuvre! We had decided to drive all the way to the border, but after our delay, it was dark by the time we arrived. We were stopped by the guards, who turned us back and said it was not permitted to park there. We therefore drove a few kilometres back, and decided to park at the roadside and sleep in the car.
The next morning, we were prepared for the waiting (I was armed with my book of Suduko puzzles) and the process started once again. The officials were all very friendly, and asking all manner of questions about us and our trip, but the process only took two hours this time, and we were free to cross the border into ANGOLA-CABINDA.
The bureaucracy at this side of the border is another story! We were met with a very arrogant, self-important immigration official, who decided that our single-entry Angolan visa could not be used in Cabinda, and that we would have to purchase another visa. We tried to explain to him that the woman at the Angolan Embassy in London had said that it would be valid, and that two people at the Immigration Office in Luanda had said the same thing. But he was quite insistent. When we argued, he took us back to the Immigration office on the DRC side of the border, where the Chief explained to him that as we only had a transit visa for the DRC, and had made the journey in one day, the Angolan visa should be still valid. But he would not be persuaded and told us that we had to go back to Muanda to see the Angolan Consul. We suggested that he telephoned, but the Consul wasn’t available, so finally we capitulated and agreed to purchase another visa. The official decided to keep us waiting even longer (he obviously didn’t like us!) then when he finally produced the necessary visas, he gave us two further forms to fill in, and insisted that I copy out a list of all the countries we had visited since we left the UK!
It had taken four hours to complete the process of entering Angola-Cabinda, when we would be in the country for only 24 hours! We were both feeling very frustrated by now, and decided that we would not head straight to the border as originally planned, but would find a hotel in Cabinda for the night. We stayed at an over-priced hotel, but at long last we had the hot showers we had been dreaming about, and felt much better for a night of comparative luxury.
The next morning we left early, to arrive at the border and face more beaurocracy, but fortunately this time the process was painless, and we were out of Angola and into CONGO.
Despite some misgivings about Congo, as with the DRC and Cabinda, because of reported civil unrest and instability, we were pleasantly surprised with the country. It is one of the poorest countries we have seen, but the people are some of the friendliest and most welcoming.
We had planned to stay at a Swedish Mission in Pointe Noire, but they had no vacancies, so we made our way to the beach and asked at the ‘Bel-Aire’ restaurant on the beach whether we could camp beside the restaurant. They were happy for us to do so, and made available their toilet and shower. The staff were extremely helpful and friendly, and concerned for our security.
The next morning we set off at dawn and made our way north towards the border with Gabon. The main road towards Brazzaville is appalling, with the usual potholes, but we eventually turned off onto a logging track through the forest. This proved to be a wide road, but we made slow progress: the logging vehicles passed us at a rate of knots, heavily laden with tree trunks almost a metre in diameter, leaving us in a cloud of orange dust! By the time we reached the border, our poor car was dirtier than it has ever been – and so were we!
We reached the border by 4.30 p.m. and of course there were the usual formalities of our details being copied into ledgers by each person, and once again we were obliged to camp in between the two borders. We happily put up our tent and cooked our meal, with an audience of men from the local village, who were most interested in our activities and unwilling to take the hint that we were about to eat: so we ate our food with them watching and commenting!
We finally said goodnight to them all, and disappeared to bed, ready to cross our fourth border in five days early the next morning. We were on our way to Gabon.
A Backwards Blink at DRC, Cabinda and Congo:
This part of our trip was a sprint across four borders and we would not be touring or exploring the countries in between. Inevitably we met fewer people than we would have liked and those that we did meet were mostly police and customs officials.
Spending a night in ‘no-man's land’ at the DRC border under the watchful eye of the police guards who kept themselves between us and the curious crowds on the busy side of the barrier.
While being directed around a stranded truck caught in deep sand, deciding to waive my usual hard line with regard to bribes – well the guy had taken the trouble to jump on the car and lean in through the window to make his purpose clear. Being told off by Carol for not stopping to help another chap who’d just jumped from a lorry in front of us. I was being very rude by all accounts and the man clearly needed help because he was waving a really big spanner at us.
At the Cabinda border where Carol told the man dealing with Visa requirements just how stupid he was and what he could do with his forms. (The French language really brings out the passion in my wife).
Bliss! Our first hot shower in two weeks at a Hotel in Cabinda.
At Pointe Noire, Congo, on the beach outside Bel-Aire restaurant grumbling about selfish people leaving sharp pointed lengths of metal half buried in the sand, before realising that I had in fact just run over my own aluminium ladder!
In Congo near the border with Gabon learning that in this part of the world it is the usual custom to surround visitors sitting down to dinner and have the details of their food and eating manners described and explained among the growing audience. Weird, but friendly weird - very cheerful and hospitable people.
Paddling along the shore is different to swimming among the waves; but we enjoyed our time paddling and the occasional splashes did us no harm.
September 2007
We both enjoyed our stay in Gabon, a peaceful oasis among countries which have suffered coups, civil wars and extreme poverty. We found the people extremely friendly and eager to help us foreigners – often going out of their way to show us directions. The scenery is exotic – largely hot and steamy rainforest and rolling hills, with the jungle reaching all the way to the coast.
We entered Gabon with very little hassle, although it was some 30 km distance between the border and Ndende, where our passports were stamped and we were free to move on. There is no customs point at this border, and so we were unable to get our carnets stamped, but were told to sort it at the exit border! This laid back attitude seems typical of Gabon.
Our first stop was Lamberene, where we stayed at the Catholic Mission. We camped in their lovely garden, a really tranquil setting, and the nun in charge, Sister Elva, is a delightful lady who really made us feel welcome. We stayed for a few days, to recuperate from the seven day non-stop journey from Luanda and across four borders. We had an opportunity to catch up with the washing and check the car over, also to use the excellent internet in the town. David, who usually tells me that it is a waste of time cleaning the car, decided that it was time for action: the poor ‘Beast’ needed cleaning inside and out, as everything was really dirty and rain the previous night had added mud to the thick layers of red dust.
We had arrived in Gabon at the beginning of the rainy season, and it was very hot and sticky: the torrential rains, usually at night, were a welcome respite! Fortunately, the sun soon dried everything out, although navigating puddles at the edge of the road when we walked into town was not easy.
Whilst in Lambarene, we visited the Albert Schweitzer Hospital where there is a fascinating small museum in the original hospital building. We were both really impressed to learn more about this remarkable man: world renowned musician, theologian and philosopher, who took up medicine in order to serve God in the jungles of Africa for more than half a century!
October 2007
From Lambarene, we drove to Libreville, again staying at a Catholic Mission. We were not impressed to discover that the roads were badly potholed once again. However, Libreville is a different story: the main roads in the city are excellent, with good drainage. We spent a lot of time walking in Libreville, finding embassies, internet cafes and shops, and found it a very pleasant city – with one of the best French supermarkets outside France! In addition, there is some quite spectacular, imaginative architecture.
We had received emails commenting on the floods in Central Africa and so, ascertaining all the facts, we realised that we might need to reconsider our plans for onward travel. Our proposed route was through southern Cameroon and into Nigeria and we were concerned about the roads in Cameroon as well as the dangers currently facing ex-pats in Nigeria. We investigated the possibility of shipping the car from Libreville to Ghana, but the cost was prohibitive; we looked at taking the car on a cargo ship to Lagos, but that again seemed fraught with problems. We then consulted the Cameroon embassy, who reassured us about the roads, and we communicated with someone we had met in Luanda who is conversant with travel in these parts, and who advised us to travel north in Cameroon and into Nigeria that way.
We finally decided to go ahead with getting visas for Cameroon and Nigeria, and to consult the British Embassy in Cameroon (there is no Embassy in Gabon) for up-to-date advice when we reach Yaounde. An additional problem is that David is running out of pages in his passport, due to the enthusiasm which African border officials have for rubber stamping, choosing nice clean pages before we can stop them! We are told that Nigeria is the next country where British passports can be renewed.
Once we had obtained our visas, we decided to move on to Cap Esterias, feeling that it would be cooler on the coast. We stayed at ‘La Maree’, made very welcome by the owners, Francoise and Jules. We camped for free, with the use of a room for shower and toilet. When it rained, Francoise even produced a large umbrella to put over our table and chairs! The beach was quiet and deserted, but came to life at the weekend, when the crowds from Libreville turn up to eat at the restaurant. It is a tribute to Jules’ cooking that people brave that 20 km rough and muddy road just for Sunday lunch!
Francoise recommended a car mechanic just outside Libreville where we could get ‘the Beast’ checked over: David was concerned about a knocking in the wheel. We found Nicholas a very good mechanic, and once again experienced Gabonaise hospitality when he and Florence allowed us to set up camp for the night on their premises – watched with interest by their friends and neighbours. Nicholas solved the problem with the car the next day, and we were sad to leave our new friends.
We had to spend longer than planned in Libreville, not only to sort the car, but also because I developed an ear infection, and ended up having to visit the local hospital. I must say that I can’t fault the treatment I received, being seen instantly, and referred to an ENT consultant. Thankfully my ear has recovered, and what is more, my hearing has returned!
We finally moved on towards Cameroon. It was another very long day’s driving, as the roads for the first half of the journey were appalling, and at one point we were held up for more than an hour whilst a truck was towed out of the mud and up a hill. However, later we discovered a very good tarmac road and we made it to Oyem by the time it was dark, and stayed the night in a hotel, ready for an early start the next day.
Crossing the border into Cameroon was a very easy process, and we left without having our Carnets stamped, as no one was on duty at the Customs office. We crossed that bridge with some trepidation on my part, wondering what lies ahead!
A Backwards Glance at Gabon:
You know, when we left Namibia, the Foreign Office and other official advisors virtually performed the last rites for us. Telling us that travelling through Angola we risk being blown up by land mines, attacked by armed ex-soldiers and the roads will destroy the car. In DRC, Cabinda and Congo, it’s the same only no mines just armed gunmen and carjacking. Gabon’s OK but the roads are impassable through Cameroon during the rainy season with bandits along the borders and anyway kidnapping of whites is rife in Nigeria at the moment which is a no go area – wait a minute did they say Gabon was OK?
Arriving at the Mission de l’Imaculee Conception in Lamberene and being greeted by Sister Elva. A beautiful retreat where we planned to stay two nights and were there for six.
Visiting the Doctor Albert Schweitzer Hospital and seeing how an overflowing life was lived. A hugely talented man who at the age of twenty one made a vow to devote his life to serving humanity when he reached thirty. Reading his testimony to God’s will in his life was astonishing, a meek and mighty man, (his wife was no pushover either).
Getting lost in one of the poorer suburbs of Libreville, being greeted in the streets and having my hand shaken – the traditional welcome to visitors in Gabon. Being shown over planks across ditches, around the backs of homes and through gardens to the main road again.
Seeing the brave optimistic architecture of the city’s modern buildings and thinking - inspirational.
Our first taste of ‘mud’ en-route to the ‘La Maree’, twenty kilometres (three hours) up the coast from Libreville, to a warm welcome by Francoise and Jules.
Taking ‘The Beast’ to a mechanic to investigate a small knocking through the steering. Discovering that two out of four top studs attaching the wheel to the swivel bearing were missing, another had sheared and the nut was loose on the other!
The excellent clinic where the ENT doctor discovered a small piece of Carol’s brain (cotton wool) in her ear. Realising how much easier monologue is in a relationship and having to readjust to verbal censorship again.
Gabon was very OK, a great place to relax and unwind. They mended our car they mended my wife, but there was nothing they could do about me unfortunately but, ‘ça va bien’.
October 2007
As we move from country to country, we are always aware of how different each is from the one before and this was apparent in Cameroon. The rainforest scenery in the south gave way to forested hills and later to mountains and scrubland: Cameroon has it all, as far as scenery is concerned and the population is vibrant and colourful, a range of ethnic groups each with their individual style of dress.
After a very easy border crossing, we drove straight to Yaounde along surprisingly good roads. From reports we had received we expected all roads in Cameroon to be bad, but we experienced some of Africa’s best roads as well as the worst! There were plenty of road blocks, but we found the police to be friendly and chatty, and never encountered any problems.
In Yaounde, we stayed at the Presbyterian Mission, and our first stop the next morning was the British High Commission. We wanted advice on routes, and also to find out whether it would be necessary to go to Lagos to renew David’s passport. We spent some time with a Deputy Consul examining our options. The first hurdle to cross was David’s passport: we found that we could obtain a shortened temporary passport within 24 hours, which would have enough pages to get us home. After much discussion, we were persuaded that our original route into Nigeria via Mamfe was not advisable, due to the bad roads after recent heavy rains and also because of the recent spate of kidnappings of Europeans in southern Nigeria. We therefore chose to continue north through Cameroon and then into Nigeria. This would mean changing our entire itinerary, as we would have to miss out Benin/Togo/Ghana and head on into Niger, because of time constraints.
We collected David’s passport the following morning and headed north-west on excellent roads, stopping at Founbam for the night. We had intended visiting the Sultan’s Palace, but in the end just viewed it from outside as the transmission oil in ‘the Beast’ had to be changed before we could continue our journey.
There was a thunderstorm and torrential rain all night, and the next morning we set off on our first dirt track in Cameroon to head north. The road was really difficult, mud and potholes throughout. We were obliged to stop several times when we encountered lorries which had overturned or stuck in the mud. At one point there were more than ten trucks queuing in both directions, having already waited for twenty four hours whilst men were attempting to dig out the stranded vehicle. We were offered a detour through a village by some enterprising lads in order to pass the lorries: a very expensive toll road! We only got stuck ourselves once, and then we were fortunate to be in a place where we had a group of willing helpers, and made good use of the winch. At times the road necessitated me walking through the mud first, in order to find the most suitable route! By the end of the day, both we and the car were filthy! We reassured ourselves that the roads would have been even worse had we taken the Mamfe route.
We stayed the night in Banyo, deciding to take a room at the Auberge rather than camp: at £3 for a basic room, it was as cheap as camping! We were issued with candles, as the power supply is irregular! The road continued to be difficult as we moved on to Tibati, but David negotiated his way through the mud and around more abandoned trucks and we arrived safely. Again we stayed at an Auberge: a heavy thunderstorm prevented us from camping.
We had a third day of mud, with no further mishaps and reached Ngaoundere. We stayed at the ‘Nice’ hotel, very pleasant, and decided to stay for two nights so that we could sort everything out and update the website. We paid a young man to clean ‘the Beast’, which was filthy and paid a second young man to do our laundry – but it was somewhat disconcerting to discover my ‘smalls’ draped African-style along the hedge surrounding the hotel car park!
From Ngaoundere to Garoua, the road is excellent tarmac, and so we decided to continue on north to Maroua. The scenery changed and was mountainous, accompanied by a welcome decrease in temperature. Unfortunately, the road changed as well, and we were back to badly potholed tarmac. This part of the journey had worried me, as we had learned of bandits who frequent the route near the Chad border. But there were no problems, and we reached Maroua before nightfall. To celebrate David’s 60th birthday, we decided to stay in Maroua’s best ‘European standard’ hotel, which was ok but had seen better days! We decided that pizza was the safest item on the menu, and toasted his birthday in mineral water, as it is a Muslim area and therefore no alcohol!
We continued the next morning to the Nigerian border, on more bad roads, but it was dry and sandy. The border officials were friendly, although very slow with their paperwork, and we had to wait whilst the customs officials were in a meeting. Then it was out of Cameroon and into Nigeria.
A Backwards Glance at Cameroon:
Chicken Licken rubbed her head and went to Henny Penny to tell her that the sky was falling down and she was going to tell the King.
Crossing the border into Cameroon and seeing the tops of trees poking through the swollen and raging rivers.
Meeting Chicken Licken at the British High Consul who informed us that the sky was indeed falling down. The only travel advice she was authorised to give was a flight out of the country and any attempt to travel through the country by road would be in breach of their recommendations. However, if we ignored their advice she recommends that we have authorised copies of our passports made, because the unscrupulous police would most likely hold onto them. Chicken Licken said they could provide these copies for £34 (pause), each! We declined, and left.
The long, winding road from Yaounde to Founbam over steep hills of steamy jungle The three days clawing our way through the notoriously treacherous roads from Founbam to Ngaoundere and the thunderstorms each night. The amazing willingness of other travellers and local villagers to get into the mud and push and pull us through the worst parts, without whose help we would have been stranded.
The feeling that we were in a beautiful and diverse country, but that the weather conditions were dictating our every move, forcing us indoors and into hotel isolation.
The glazed expression on the faces of the ‘unscrupulous’ at police stops as Carol smiled and chatted in French about our children back home, my up and coming sixtieth birthday, how safe their presence made us feel because of all the wicked bandits………she was merciless, they never had a chance.
The guy at the border who started throwing water all over the ‘Beast’. I said he was making excellent work of cleaning it, far better than I had done that same morning, he smiled proudly. When I asked if he does this for people who don’t want their cars cleaned too, he smiled saying it’s his job. Enquiring how much it would cost, he smiled again and said as much as I liked. Ah ha - a bandit!
I reckon if you go along with Chicken Licken all the time you’ll end up guests at Foxy Loxy’s. We have met so many very kind and generous people throughout our travels. Maybe it’s because we’ve been very lucky, (I certainly feel that way), but perhaps the chances of serious problems are sometimes a little exaggerated. We found Cameroon a very friendly country; they seemed to take full responsibility for the bad roads and weather conditions, offering us cheerful help all along the way. Thank You Cameroon, you were Great.
October 2007
In the previous two countries, a number of people had warned us that Nigeria is a volatile and dangerous place, and to beware of corrupt police and people out to part us from our money. We only spent time in the north of the country, but we felt perfectly safe whilst there, the police and officials were very friendly and there were far less beggars than anywhere else we had visited.
Our first experience of friendly officials was at the border: when the chief of customs heard of our presence, he invited us into his office for a chat and to ask questions about the countries we had visited. We were with him for quite a while, so it was a good thing that the next stage of our journey was relatively short.
We moved on to Maiduguri, passing through more than ten police checkpoints: this was to be a pattern, travelling through Nigeria. We had exchanged our CFAs for Naira at the border, with plenty of low denomination notes, having heard about the demand by police for a bribe, or ‘dash’. However, we have learned that engaging the police in conversation deflects the request, and we just get waved on. We were only once asked for a bribe, and I think that David was so shocked that he succumbed and parted with twenty Naira (the princely sum of 8 pence!).
In Maiduguri, we booked into a hotel which had seen better days. Mind you, we sympathise with the staff, who have to run a business with regular power cuts and an irregular water supply – this is unfortunately the pattern in Nigeria. We went out for dinner and sampled a traditional Nigerian meal, which we enjoyed.
We left early the next morning for Kano, on roads which were much better than we had expected. We soon got used to people waving at us (often calling out ‘Oyibo’, a word for white man. We were glad that we had filled up with diesel before leaving Cameroon, as we found that most fuel stations were without fuel, and those that had some had long queues stretching for some distance.
In Kano, we stayed for three nights at the ‘Camping Touristique’, which is actually a lodging house where camping is permitted in the car park. The facilities were very basic – again the power was intermittent, and the plumbing was archaic and the water was frequently turned off. Fortunately we are self-sufficient, and so can cope with such minor deficiencies (but we did yearn for a hot shower!).
We were woken at 4.30 a.m. each morning by the wail of the muezzin: a pattern which will now continue into North Africa. The north of Nigeria is largely Muslim, and in fact Sharia law is enforced, with traditional penalties of whipping for demeanours such as gambling or consuming alcohol, and the cutting off of a man’s hand for stealing! There is a mosque in every street, and everything stops at the time for prayers.
We made our way on foot to where the Niger Consulate was supposed to be (an hour’s walk in high temperatures) only to find that it had moved. So we took a yellow three wheeled taxi across the city – quite an experience, as Nigerian driving is akin to that in Egypt, the chaos exacerbated by the scores of ‘achaba’ (motor-bike taxis) which weave in and out of the traffic. We were delighted to find that we were able to get our Niger visa on the spot, a first! That afternoon, David serviced ‘the beast’ whilst I spent time updating the website.
On our last day in Kano, we decided to see something of the city, so we called into the tourist office next to the campsite to ask about a guide. Again we experienced Nigerian friendliness: when they learned about us, we were introduced to the Director of Tourism, who made available the company mini-bus with a driver for half a day, plus a guide. We visited the old walled city, the Grand Mosque, the Emir’s Palace (both only viewed from outside) and the city museum. But the highlight for me was a visit to the dye pits, where they are still dying fabric in the way they have done for centuries (a gloriously messy process) using local indigo. It was fascinating to watch the various stages and processes, and of course I succumbed and bought a length of fabric, but not sure yet how I will use it!
We returned to the campsite exhausted, having declined a visit to the famous city market, because by now the temperatures had soared over 400. That afternoon, the Director of Tourism brought two reporters from the local radio station to interview us! David elected me as spokes-person, as I am more vocal than he is! I was asked about our journey, about the countries we had visited and specifically about our impressions of Nigeria. I was able to be very positive, and spoke about the misconceptions of the country and the friendliness we had discovered. However, I didn’t mention the lack of fuel, the power cuts, the water problems and the mountains of rubbish found everywhere!
We moved on from Kano through Katsima and to the border with Niger. We were sorry that we had seen so little of the country, but we enjoyed our brief stay and our encounter with some very friendly Nigerian people.
A Backwards Glance at Nigeria:
I am sometimes politely reprimanded by being told I’m ‘laid back’, the truth being that I’m very slow at getting things done and slothfulness is my besetting sin. However, in northern Nigeria, where nothing seems to work and nothing seems to matter, I’ve met people who make even Eeyore look over excitable.
The pleasant long chat with the Muslim chief customs officer at the border, agreeing totally about the core of good religion being ‘loving our neighbour’.
Staying at the best hotel in Maiduguri, a room with an electric light that worked sometimes, a loo that flushed sometimes, a very wide clean bed, and wallpaper which we could appreciate from both sides. (Running an efficient hotel business is made near impossible by the failing electric and water supplies).
The Nigerian young lady that came over to chat (a first), and after asking her if she’d be my number two wife, replied 'of course'. Who then went immediately across to Carol and said ‘you can be number one wife and I can be number two wife, and we could live happily together. Feeling totally out of the equation while Carol explained that as a husband I would be a major disappointment to her and that she deserved someone much better and younger.
Being escorted around a Museum in Kano and after reading the Jihad statements in the Muslim section; having it explained that it is to do with purification and cleansing. That ‘word’ immediately popped into my head, but I caught it before it got past my lips.
Carol’s recorded interview by the lady from the local Radio Station, who had been informed that some visitors were in town saying nice things about them. The banal questions which guaranteed the answers they wanted.
Noticing how the ‘nothing matters’ takes a back seat as soon as the locals get on a motorbike or behind a wheel. Suddenly the only important thing is to be as close behind the person in front and as far in front of the person behind.
If back home I was a donkey (and I am), my owner would put me in a large field with my family and friends and build a strong fence around it with a secure gate. I would have a shelter, grazing, with food and water supplied. Six days a week I would be taken out to work for him. This way the owner’s turnips in the surrounding fields are kept safe. Here it's different, the owners tie the front legs of the donkeys together and they hobble from place to place searching for food and water. The owner gives it nothing and can easily catch it for hard labour whenever he wishes. Donkeys are friendly enough creatures, it’s the owners I have issues with. Oh, and one final point eeeeeaww…....eeeeeeawwww……eeeeeeawwww…
October 2007
Although Niger is one of the poorest countries in Africa, there is an impression of calm and stability, and as we drove through the rural villages, we were immediately aware of busy and hard working people (men as well!) getting their daily work done. Again, people waved cheerfully as we passed. The route skirts the southern edge of the Sahara, and the temperatures soared to above 400.
Our first stop was Maradi, where we spent the night in a very pleasant guest house, an oasis in a scruffy, litter-strewn town, enjoying the luxury of hot showers. The guide book described it as ‘the best’ accommodation which Niger has to offer. The owner was friendly and hospitable and was keen to know what we thought of his hotel.
We moved on to Birnin-Konni, where we camped at a municipal camp site with minimal facilities. Our presence attracted the immediate attention of local tradesmen, who wanted our custom, and we had a continuous stream of people selling local crafts, stones and antique jewellery, none of which we wanted, but which they insisted on spreading out in front of our vehicle. Once again, we had to prepare and cook our food with an audience!
When we reached Niamey, we camped at the ‘Camping Touristique’, where the facilities were adequate and clean. The bar seemed to be the local centre for the community: we listened to very loud music until the early hours of the morning! We were there for three nights, as we needed to get visas for Mali and Mauritania. These are the last visas we will need, which is a relief, as those forms are daunting and time consuming! We took a taxi into town, and were overwhelmed by the heat and by the people who wanted to assist us in getting to the various places we were going to. I am sure that it was a genuine willingness to help strangers, but we were wary, having had more than our share of touts in East Africa!
We moved on from Niamey to the border to cross into Mali, following the river Niger along a scenic route. Again we felt that we had not had chance to really experience this country, but were impressed by what we had seen and by the warmth and friendliness of the people.
A Backwards Glance at Niger:
Niger is one of the remotest and least visited of all the African countries. Most of the country has been swallowed up by the Sahara Desert in the North. Our route took us along the southern border with Nigeria and along the arterial Niger river in the South-West of the country, which is its most densely populated area.
Travelling through village after village and noticing how the women spent all their time pounding millet in large bowls with long heavy wooden clubs. Realising that arguing with a woman in Niger must be even more perilous than it is in Britain.
Arriving at Maradi – the final resting place of the ubiquitous plastic bag and driving over, through and around areas totally despoiled by the ugly un-decaying remains of its cheap convenience.
Niamey, where the Taxi fare into the city from our camp site cost five pounds and the Taxi fare back was forty pence!
Unwittingly managing to smuggle our vehicle into the country, so consequently having to smuggle it out at the Mali border and demonstrating just how wasted our talents are in honest living.
We only spent five days in Niger, but it was a window into another world, whose ancient customs and traditions landscape village life and where modernity is scarce as snow. Niger is where I felt the slow, strong, timeless pulse of Africa.
November 2007
Having spent much of our time in recent weeks just travelling through countries, Mali has been a country where we were able to become tourists once again. It is a vibrant, colourful country, with very interesting, diverse cultures. Mali has had an important position in West Africa, historically, bridging the gap between the Sahara and central Africa, a major centre for the ancient trading routes. Now, with few natural resources and the Sahara encroaching on the usable arable land, this is one of Africa’s poorer nations, but is nevertheless a great draw for tourists.
We entered Mali from Niger, following the river Niger to Gao. We had not anticipated getting there in one day, but the roads were better than expected. In Gao, we found an auberge where we could camp in the courtyard, before moving west to Douenza, a lovely scenic route. In Douenza we camped at ‘Chez Jerome’, a good site run by a French doctor, who has spent most of his life in Mali and is a very colourful character: his experiences range from spending a number of years driving the Paris-Dakar rallies, to working as a doctor for Unicef. He now offers his services free within the local community, paying for any medication from the profits of his ‘campement’. Jerome made us very welcome and we were treated as guests, as we shared an evening meal with him and his friends.
Jerome warned us that Timbuktu was not worth visiting, but we were determined to make the trip, setting out early the next morning. The gravel road to this city ‘in the middle of nowhere’ was arduous but we had seen much worse! It took us more than five hours to reach the ferry across the Niger to arrive in Timbuktu. The price for crossing the river is dependent on the number of vehicles, and so we were thankful when we were joined by a taxi!
We were prepared for the hassle that awaited us in Timbuktu: with the tourist season barely started, we were soon surrounded by would-be guides and artisans wanting to show us their wares. We settled into a hotel (deciding that camping in the hotel car park would have been an impossible situation, as we would not have been able to escape from the hawkers!) We chose a guide, Mohammedan, who was able to speak reasonable English, and set off for our tour of the city. He was knowledgeable about his city and the history, but the experience was marred by the way in which he charged us in excess of the actual costs for entry into the tourist venues. The narrow streets and old buildings are fascinating, but we were less impressed by the fourteenth century mud mosque, when we learned that it is rebuilt every year after the rainy season (this process was taking place whilst we were there).
After our tour, we bought some souvenirs from a Touareg craftsman, who invited us to take tea with him. The Touareg tea drinking is a ceremonial event: starting with a very strong cup of tea, there are at least three stages, when more water is added and you are obliged to take at least three cups, representing death, life and love. It was interesting to discover something more of this nomadic culture, in fact Ibrahim, our friend, still takes his camels across the desert, trading salt for goods to feed his family. I also purchased a Touareg turban for David (a five metre length of blue fabric) and learned how to put it on – David was not too impressed!
We made our way back to Douenza, taking two passengers with us: we were asked at the ferry whether we could take any extras, and we said there was no room, whereupon they said that was ok, they could travel on the roof! Of course, we couldn’t agree to that (even though it is what is done all the time in Africa) and so we shifted our luggage around to make some space inside. On arrival in Douenza, we found that grease was oozing from one of our front wheels, and so we went on to Sevare to find a mechanic recommended by Jerome’s colleague.
Typically, the mechanic was able to deal with our problem instantly: they discovered that some conical washers were missing on the spherical bearing (??) We then camped at Mac’s Refuge, where we met a group of very interesting people. There was a French couple, who were travelling around Africa in an anti-clockwise direction, some aid workers, and a very interesting Canadian couple, Jack and Ellie, who were designing a project to replace the gardens in the Dogon communities which had been washed away in the recent heavy rains.
On the Sunday, I attended a local church with Jack and Ellie, but David declined, as it was obviously a French speaking church, and he is suffering enough from not speaking the language! Afterwards, we found yet another problem with ‘the Beast’ – the rear fuel tank was leaking! And so, it was back to the garage. Despite the fact that it was Sunday, they worked really hard, removing the damaged tank, and replacing it with one from an old vehicle in their yard. I couldn’t help thinking that service like this would never happen in the UK!
With our car as good as new, we then set off for our tour of some of the Dogon villages. These are people who still live in the way in which they have done for centuries, on the plains and escarpments of the Bandiagara. It is possible to do a trek to see these villages, but our time was limited, and so we took a guide (Gabriel) and drove to three of these villages, enjoying a walk through and meeting some of the people. Tourism brings a much needed source of income now to the communities, although the village elders have to be paid in Cola Nuts – we are not sure why, as they seem to us to be quite inedible! Some of the villages are built in the rocks on the side of the hillside, although most of the villagers have moved to ground level, now that it isn’t necessary to defend their territory. They exist from subsistence farming, and in particular they farm onions for export – hence the need to repair the damaged gardens. It was a very interesting tour, and we were impressed at a culture which has not changed for centuries, and yet remains strong in its identity and values.
We spent one more night at Mac’s (it is difficult to move on from such a comfortable place, with such wonderful food!) and we continued west. We stopped at a campsite near Segou, where we were joined by two of the French couples we had met at Mac’s. We moved on to Bamako, the capital, where we camped by the river, alongside some Italian overlanders in Motorhomes: an indication, we think, that the bad roads are behind us! There we updated the website, at a very fast internet for once, and stocked up with food supplies.
We were advised to take the northerly route to the Senegal border, via Nioro. The road to Nioro was excellent, and we decided against stopping in the rather nondescript town, and bush-camped a few kilometres on the other side of town. I had been a little nervous at camping in the wild, but it was very peaceful, and any passers by (we were some miles from the nearest village, but people walk incredibly long distances) were keen to come along and chat to us, before continuing on their way. We continued our journey, which was particularly bad, made worse by the recent rains, and we took endless detours, rejoining the track intermittently. For those who may be following in our footsteps, it is worth noting that we discovered that the new road has been built now to link Diema with Kayes, and we didn’t need to go all the way into Nioro, and could have avoided that off-road route!
In Kayes, we stayed in a small hotel, and visited the local market: an enjoyable experience, as for once our visit was hassle free and we were not charged exorbitant prices because we are tourists. And so our tour of Mali had come to an end, we were off to the border with Senegal a new country, with new experiences.
A Backwards Glance at Mali:
Mali was a kaleidoscope of events as the turning of each day was tumbling us into different experiences. Suddenly we were in the company of fellow travellers, making new friends and exploring a fascinating country.
Meeting the irrepressible Jerome (Raid Expeditions - Douenza), being made guests with his friends at dinner and that whisky with ice. An extraordinarily good, larger than life character, the like of which I normally only meet in books.
Timbuktu – the first Englishman to visit Timbuktu died trying to leave, (courtesy of his hosts). The last Englishman to visit Timbuktu was, after one day, just dying to leave. The ‘hole’ story – first a major excavation in my wallet, then two holes in the rear fuel tank, followed by three leaks from that front spherical wheel bearing where three conical washer seals weren’t and should have been. Then the Timbuk-cocktail: one broken bottle of Merlot, one split carton of pure orange juice and one pierced can of beer. Shaken (not stirred) for five hours, then filtered through the holes in the bottom of the plastic storage box. Allow to soak into floor carpet until sticky glutinous mess. Leave for three days before squeezing into a suitable glass, being careful to remove all beetles, ants, flies, grasshoppers, moths, and a praying mantis glued onto the mix – then enjoy (or not - but Carol hates waste).
Mac at ‘Mac’s Refuge’ presiding over his table of refugees each morning and evening – a very warm and hearty host. Chats with Jack and Ellie, a ‘retired’ Canadian couple and Christian aid volunteers whose get up and go has taken them all over the world doing some great work. Fellow French overlanders and a crowd of crazy English guys driving all the way from England to Timbuktu in an assortment of ‘bangers’ (totally bonkers, the lot of them).
Sitting in a Dogon ‘Togu Na’, a low building used by the Village Elders to decide on important issues like, is one wife equal in value to two camels or is one camel equal in value to two wives (assuming of course that the wives and camels are equally beautiful). A great day out with our friendly guide Gabriel.
Meeting Knut, a German traveller in Bamako: a teacher who spent his long holidays exploring Africa and now, having put down the chalk, deciding to do more of the same. Seeing the Italian Motor Homes and concluding that the roads from here up were going to be easier.
Bush camping outside of Nioro, our evening visitors: a couple of lads walking home to their village and wanting to take us with them, three horsemen that had me thinking they were the local Royals judging by their dress and demeanour, and lastly a friendly young herdsman, who called by again in the morning to check we were OK. The quiet company of stars, another meteorite sighting like a match silently struck against the sky.
Walking through the local market at Kayes and constantly having money thrust back at me! I thought a pound was reasonable for eight oranges – ‘don’t be silly sir they are only 25 pence, take that note away and give me that change in your hand’ (in a language I didn’t understand of course). This repeated itself over and over again until we came away with a kilo of potatoes, eight oranges, two small melons and six big bananas for the total sum of one pound. Kayes was a fascinating, hassle free town and you don’t find many of them ’round here.
Arriving in Mali reminded me of when I was a youngster turning up at my Nan and Gramps' and seeing the Plum tree over the shed in their back garden heavy with ripe fruit. I could only stay a short while because tea was on the table at home, but it was one of those glorious, frantic fragments of time I never forgot.
November 2007
Senegal seems to be more affluent, and modern than the countries that we have just travelled through, although poverty is still very noticeable on the outskirts of cities and in rural areas. Tourism has become important in recent years, and the number of westerners driving through the country has presumably led to the amount of children (and occasional policemen) who demand ‘un cadeau’!
We had in fact been warned that there would be frequent police road blocks, and that we would have to produce all our documentation, fire extinguishers and warning triangles, or face hefty fines. However, we were mostly just waved through the road blocks, so perhaps the message has percolated through that tourists should not be harassed? We managed to obtain insurance for just ten days, and I was pleased that we were finally asked to produce it at our last road-block as we headed for Mauritania!
On arriving in Senegal, we were unable to find a place to camp, and we decided to treat ourselves to a night in a hotel in Tambacounda, with all mod-cons, including a swimming pool and WI-FI! The latter was particularly useful, as we had not had access to internet for a while. Moving on to Kaolack, it was another hotel, until we finally reached the coast and a superb camp-site at Palmarin.
Djidjack is situated at the edge of the Saloum Delta, a paradise for bird watchers. It is a tranquil site, on the beach, and we were made very welcome by Jean Paul and Giselle, the Swiss owners. The camp restaurant is particularly good, as they have an excellent chef. We stayed for four nights to relax and catch up with some ‘housekeeping’. One marked difference from recent places, was the fact that it is a catholic enclave, and so we were not woken at 4.30 a.m. by the Muezzin – the dawn chorus was far more melodious!
We moved north up the coast, visiting the island of Fadiout, which is entirely constructed from shells: the island is built on a four metre foundation of shells, and the houses are made of ground shells. It is an attractive place, reached from a bridge to the mainland, and the cemetery and the granaries built on stilts are also worth seeing. We completed our trip with a ride in a pirogue back to Joal.
We continued north towards Dakar, and camped for a while at the Lac Rose, another good campsite. This is a salt lake, which is fascinating, and the water is at times a rose colour, apparently caused by the bacteria which excretes iron oxide! Our walk around the lake was marred unfortunately by the local people wishing to sell us things which we didn’t want to buy, and not taking ‘no’ as an answer! The lake is separated from the sea by sand dunes and the sea here is lovely, with long, white, sandy beaches.
Our final stop was St Louis, a quaint old city, with crumbling colonial architecture in its island centre. However, again our visit was marred – and curtailed – by the amount of hassle encountered on the street or along the beach. We set out to take an afternoon stroll, to discover a lovely beach, with a fleet of colourful fishing boats, but which has become the place where the city’s refuse appears to be dumped. Any walking along this beach is unpleasant and difficult, and we soon escaped back to our hotel, disappointed.
From St Louis we made our way north to cross into Mauritania across the Diama Dam, apparently a little used crossing, where there is far less hassle than at Rosso. We had enjoyed Senegal, although our stay was spoiled by the hassle in the last two places we visited.
A Backwards Glance at Senegal:
On the beach at Saint Louis I came across a large Skate abandoned amongst the litter and filth. I could see in the forlorn wet expression on the fish’s face, regret at not giving Senegal a miss on its own around Africa trip.
The long balmy hours spent beneath the tree where we camped at Djidjack’s, watching the black and yellow Weaver Bird do what it does so well. A very pleasant dinner with our French speaking hosts who always included me in their warm, enthusiastic, unintelligible conversations.
The drive along the salt lakes of the Saloum Delta seeing Pelicans, Flamingos, Heron, and all manner of other feathered white waders. A beautiful, secluded retreat and stop over for many migrating birds.
The tour of Shell Island with our guide Lam Soloman, where the only traffic permitted are hand carts unless you are deceased, when you’re allowed the luxury of a car ride. The very courteous reception and hassle-free walk through its small market place.
The walk around Lac Rose and over the sand dune barrier to the long beautiful white sand beach and rolling surf of the Atlantic ocean. The tortuous attention and unrelenting pressure that accompanied us, from which only cash promised relief.
Saint Louis, where it was pointed out that I was responsible for one chap’s children going to school hungry the following morning. A place of undiluted discrimination against visitors, where I felt I was simply walking prey to nearly all my encounters there.
People who respect the countryside, I respect. People who respect animals, I respect. People who respect… I respect. How can I respect people who show no respect themselves? In Senegal I was privileged to enjoy and witness the respectful lives of many people and to abhor the effects of disrespectful attitudes by others.
November 2007
Our visit to Mauritania was too brief to have an accurate impression of the country: all we did was travel through. We would have enjoyed travelling into the interior to see the famous desert oases, but were not prepared to risk off-road driving at this stage of our trip, with the time restraints that we have.
As usual in West Africa, I was the one to deal with the beaurocracy of border officials and road blocks, due to David’s inability to speak French. We found that officials in Mauritania seemed reluctant to deal with a woman, but they coped! This is another country under Sharia Law, and the import of alcohol is forbidden. Just before entering the country we realised that we still had three cans of lager stored amongst our tins, but fortunately no one searched our car!
The first part of our route was along the Senegal river delta (The Dawling National Park) and, although the road was bad, it was very green and there was a vast number of birds to be seen. After 100 kilometres the green disappeared, and we were travelling on long, tarmac roads, with desert on both sides until we reached Nouakchott.
In Nouakchott, we decided to camp at a beach campsite for two days, where there was space for David to service the Beast for the final time before we get home, and for me to tackle the washing once again. Although the site was very basic, the beach was pleasant, and we enjoyed a walk along it to watch the fisherman launch their boats in the evening. On our second night, a music evening was held in the building adjacent to where we stayed. We were invited to go and join in, but David was fast asleep by this time, and I felt unable to go along in a predominantly male domain!
From Nouakchott, it was another long tarmac road to Nouadibou. This time we camped in a central location – another basic campsite - in order to do some shopping and to have access to the internet to update the website. It is a pleasant enough town, very dusty with the winds from the Sahara, and relatively free from hassle. The temperatures were still very high in the day time, despite the fact that we were moving north towards a European winter, but it was becoming cold at night.
Leaving Naoudibou, we passed the ore train delivering iron ore from where it is mined in the Sahara to the port. It is reputably the longest train in the world, sometimes as much as two miles long – but we had no way of measuring the length as we watched it pass!
It was then just a short distance to the border with Morocco – or Western Sahara, according to the maps! Our impressions of Mauritanians are of a people who are not eager to speak to tourists, and generally rather sombre, compared with the previous countries. But we had no problems and enjoyed our short visit.
A Backwards Glance at Mauritania:
The only part of Mauritania we saw was along its coast, and during the short busy four days, never really got to chat with many of its people. For me it was just a long drive and a place of transition between traditional rural Africa and its surprisingly more European influenced northern neighbour.
Arriving at the camp site in Nouakchott and watching turban clad men in their long robes and cloaks playing football. Heading the ball would have caused serious unravelling and passing the ball between the legs was impossible. (There is no lack of enthusiasm for soccer anywhere in Africa).
Doing what will probably be the last service on the car before reaching home, just a couple more backwards glances and that’s duties over and hopefully an end to the harassment from 'she who must be obeyed' (plus of course worshipped and adored).
Pretending to be asleep for almost three hours while Carol frantically tried to shake me into consciousness in order to be able to join a weird party going on just outside our tent.
The change in the air as temperatures dropped and we drove and were drawn northwards each day. Fresh thoughts of home being rekindled in my mind, and Christmas…...what better time of year is there to get back home?
November 2007
Western Sahara, although marked as a separate country on our maps and our GPS, is not mentioned in our Lonely Planet guide, probably because it has been occupied by Morocco since 1975. There has been conflict over the country ever since, as the original inhabitants (Saharawis) want independence, but the promised referendum has not happened, and meanwhile there is a large Moroccan military presence in the country.
We found the Moroccan border police and soldiers most officious, and it took a while to convince the Douane to stamp our carnet: they have their own document, but as this was our last official country in Africa, our document needed a final stamp. They also insisted on searching the vehicle.
The road through Western Sahara is one thousand kilometres of almost straight, tarmac road, with no traffic lights or roundabouts, running parallel to the Atlantic Coastline. Other travellers have described it as a boring road, wondering why anyone should fight over such a territory (other than for the oil and phosphates, that is). However, we actually enjoyed the drive through constantly changing desert scenery: rocky, low shrubs and flat barren land, with occasional sand dunes, and the colours changing with the light. The occasional glimpses of the vivid blue ocean were in contrast to the stark desert.
We drove to Dakhla, and were amazed that the first town we discovered, after 400 kilometres was such a lovely place: brightly coloured buildings, wide boulevards and very clean. David decided that rather than camp, we were going to ‘splurge’ and treat ourselves to a hotel. I must admit, that I did appreciate the long, hot bath – and a toilet with a seat that I could sit upon!
From Dakhla, we continued north, by now with very strong winds. We stopped for the night just past Laayoune, at ‘Le Roi Bedouin’ campsite. This was literally in the middle of nowhere, about five kilometres from the road, and within the dunes. It is run by a Belgian/French couple, and is very clean and well run. We had a meal in their dining room – a Bedouin tent, with low seating – and enjoyed our first taste of camel, cooked with dates, which was really delicious. That night it was incredibly windy, and very noisy in our roof top tent.
From there it was only another two hundred kilometres and we left Western Sahara for Morocco – but no border posts or markers to tell us that we were moving on! The only difference is that the tax free fuel comes to an end – apparently one of the incentives to persuade Moroccans to move into the territory before the referendum is held on self-determination!
It was a short visit, of just three days driving, but enjoyable none the less. Now it is on into our final African country, before we reach European soil and our Odyssey comes to an end.
A Backwards Glance at Western Sahara:
Message for Kathryn, and all the vegetarian friends I had: thought you’d like to know, Camels are delicious!
The glorious, long, coastal desert drive to Dakhla, a beautiful, clean, colourful town with street lighting, wide pavements a promenade and Hotel Sahara Regency.
Blue sky and sea each day, blue fingers and toes each night. Driving through rainbows in the desert, being totally fooled by the constant presence of mirages with their ethereal islands and reflected dunes.
Wondering why Carol was suddenly putting on weight, and feeling very suspicious regarding the whereabouts of my thick warm fleece.
Tagine de Chameaux with dates and rice and a carafe of red. ‘Was this going to be a lasting treasure or just a moment of pleasure’? (Does Waitrose have Camel I wonder?) Best fodder since carrot soup!
The Western Sahara would appeal to people who enjoy the company of quiet friends. It’s charm is not obvious but those who spend time there, and don’t say too much, find it.
November 2007/December 2007
Morocco is an amazing country, with such varied and interesting scenery, lovely people and an infrastructure which rivals many countries in Europe. We both enjoyed the final country of our African Odyssey: the icing on the cake! We were sorry to have to limit the time we spent here.
Entering Morocco from Western Sahara is a non-event, but the scenery soon begins to change, and suddenly there is more traffic and more people. We spent our first night at Tan-Tan Plage, at a campsite which definitely had an out of season feel to it. We walked into town to do some shopping and to use the internet – where the proprietor refused to charge us, saying it was his gift to English tourists! It was another cold, blustery night and we began to realise that we were indeed heading towards a European winter!
We drove on up the coast, through villages and towns festooned with flags and bunting: no, it wasn’t in our honour; apparently the King was expected to visit. He is obviously a very popular monarch. We arrived in Agadir, which was quite a contrast to the other Atlantic resorts we had travelled through. The bay is sheltered and so it enjoys warm weather throughout the winter and the campsite was full of European Camper Vans, wintering in the warm! We enjoyed a pleasant walk along a wide promenade lined with restaurants: we could have been at any European resort.
We decided to take the scenic route to Marrakech, and as we drove towards the mountains, we were amazed to see goats climbing trees, looking like Christmas tree ornaments! The route was quite spectacular: it was a good tarmac road, but winding up and down through the High Atlas Mountains, with hairpin bends and dramatic scenery. We drove through small, remote Berber villages, where houses were pink and earthen toned, nestling into the mountains. At times we were driving above the snow-line and the scenery was breath-taking.
We finally reached Marrakech and the ‘Camping Relais’, a well-run campsite, owned by Europeans - David was delighted to find that the employees spoke English! We spent three days in Marrakech – catching up with laundry, updating the website and exploring the city, but could have easily spent longer. Marrakech is a fascinating city, and the Medina with its winding alleys of Souks is a real experience. The sights, sounds and smells are really unforgettable and we had some traditional Morrocan meals – yummy! We bought a few Christmas presents, but mainly just enjoyed browsing. David bought me a purple Djellaba (a long hooded coat, worn by men and women alike in Morocco) for my birthday. We also had a night ‘on the town’ – a novelty for us – and attended a fiesta evening with traditional Moroccan food, dancing, and entertainment.
From Marrakech we travelled south through the mountains, once again enjoying a lovely road with the same spectacular views. We camped at a municipal site, finding that by now camping is a cold option, and welcoming the warm blanket we bought in Cape Town!
We drove to the Gorge de Dades, a beautiful drive up the gorge, where the pink rocks glowed in the sunlight. Every bend in the road revealed ever increasing spectacular views. We found on our GPS that it was possible to take a ‘gravel road’ across the mountains to the Gorge de Todra, and decided that rather than retrace our route it would be interesting. Interesting it was: not what we would call a gravel road, more stones, boulders and precarious donkey trails winding up and down the mountain, sometimes in the snow. At times the track disappeared altogether, and we were glad that we had the GPS to find our way. We encountered some Spanish 4 x 4 rally drivers coming in the opposite direction, but that was all the traffic apart from donkeys!
By the time we reached the Todra Gorge, it was night-fall, and we were relieved to reach tarmac before absolute dark, or we would have had a cold night camping in the mountains. We found a pleasant place to stay, and the next morning discovered that the Todra Gorge is every bit as spectacular as the Dades Gorge.
We made our way south and back to the desert, stopping at Merzouga, the Erg Chebbi (field of sand dunes). The weather was less cold at the lower altitude, but we decided against camping after encountering a succession of touts, wanting to help us find accommodation, offering camel rides, 4 x 4 drives or having things to sell! We had a lovely walk across the sand dunes, but even then were accompanied by a self-appointed guide! We stopped to watch the 4 x 4 drivers out to ‘play’, driving in the sand dunes, but knew it wasn’t for us – we value our ‘beast’ too much to risk anything happening. The sky was fantastic as the sun went down behind the dunes, and later the night sky with myriads of stars was phenomenal.
We finally set off north in the direction of ‘home’, crossing the Atlas Mountains for the final time. We had planned to stop at Midelt, but the roads were so good we drove as far as Fez, another mediaeval city with a Medina and Souks. The guide book suggests that in Fez one is hassled by touts and would-be guides, but we found it a delightful city and remarkably free from hassle. We enjoyed wandering through the narrow cobbled alleys and had a fantastic Moroccan lunch.
Leaving Fez behind we headed for the Mediterranean across the Rif Mountains this time. This range is quite different to the Atlas Mountains but not less spectacular, with lovely rolling hills and a patchwork of cultivated fields. The roads were once again winding, with hairpin bends, and it was a most enjoyable drive, made more so by the bright sunny weather and brilliant blue sky. We stopped in a hotel at Al Hoceima, a lovely resort with a backdrop of mountains.
We made our way west through the Rif Mountains again. We decided against stopping at Chefchouen, the ‘kef capital’ of the area – there was no shortage of people on route offering us the local hash which is grown around here, but we weren’t tempted! We stayed in a hotel in Tetouan for our final night on African soil.
We decided to take the ferry from Ceuta – a Spanish enclave – rather than Tangier, as the journey is cheaper and shorter. Thus we officially left Africa when we entered Ceuta, and had our documents processed for the final time. Interestingly, as we passed the Spanish customs and police, we were merely waved through without having to do more than hold up passports: such a contrast to those African border posts. The African part of our amazing Odyssey is complete, and now it is full-steam ahead through Spain and France to arrive home for Christmas.
A Backwards Glance at Morocco:
We’d had a great time but now the fiesta was all but over, just the closing event. Then…. there she was, a goddess. When she moved she swayed and to her dance the music played – Morocco unveiled.
The long twisting climb over the Atlas Mountains to Marrakech and being greeted in ‘English’! Trying out a few phrases I remembered from when I used to live in England: ‘Hot Showers’ – No problem sir. Ok, ‘Chips’ – Fries sir? That’ll do. How about ‘A pint of Beer and a Bacon sandwich please’ – sorry sir, je ne comprends pas. Oh well, not quite home yet.
Taking dozens of photos of the dancing deity at the ‘Chez Ali’ evening in Marrakech. Wondering why her exquisite form was reduced to blurry blobs in my view finder – camera shake apparently (never had the problem before – nor since!).
The drive from Gorge de Dades to Gorge de Todra, (another of Carol’s comic route plans), children tumbling like small stones down the mountain slopes from their stark cave dwellings high above to ask for gifts.
At Erg Chebbi looking forward to a quiet walk among the dunes with Carol, but ending up planning which one to bury our self-appointed guide under. By the time I’d worked out the most prolonged and painful way of killing him he’d run off!
The heady drive through the Rif Mountains where you can smell the ‘grass’ and for just a few dirhams you can burn some too! (Carol didn’t though).
As Carol has said, ‘Morocco was the icing on the cake’: a deliciously rich and totally nutty African cake. We leave Africa, but Africa will always be with us.
Now; where’s my slippers and that zimmer mag? Whose moved the remote, why isn’t it by the Telly where it’s..…HEY! I’M FINISHED, YIPEEE!!!
