....still thinking

This is being uploaded from a petrol station just outside Merzouga, after 3 nights away from a connection, so forgive the rough edges. These last 2 posts have been put together earlier but the photo uploads take too long. We'll come back and polish up later - hopefully...

We considered staying at Maddid for two nights, but the les moustiques swung the decision. There was, too, another task drawing us away. We needed to get back up to the Tea Tent Crossroads to pick up our continuing “off-road” tour, and we’d bought Laaguid a present. While we were with him he’s asked if we had any medicines with us. This is a common question. This request wasn’t followed up, as it usually is, by a list of other wants and needs which the “passing trade” might supply. He just showed us the stuff he needed – Lanzoprazole – for his stomach complaint. He had two pills left. He was going to be without any more, assuming he could afford to buy them, for at least another four weeks, alone in his tent. Once we’d got sorted at Karla, Ishmail had offered to drive us into Erfoud to the pharmacie, where we could get what Laaguid needed. The box of tablets cost us 80Dh – about £5.35. A craftsman in Fes earns 250Dh a day, so I can only guess at how much a ghillie earns on a hilltop near Hi-Hassane….and there’s no NHS here.

Back on the piste on Saturday 2^nd April.  MS11 to Erg Chebbi and a quick stop for fuel, water and food in Erfoud. While waiting for Sue to get the bread and directions to the butcher’s, Mike was approached by Mohammed – he gets everywhere and always looks different – who admired Daphne’s graceful, if slightly grubby – lines, expressed his approval of our choice of vehicle “TD5 is bad for the desert – sand and computers don’t mix”, and tried to talk me into hiring him as a guide for a tour of the dunes. He quoted 150 for the half-day. Dirham?  “No, my friend. I am expert and provide everything. Euros”. 150 Euros…and people pay it! I pointed out that he could see for himself that we probably didn’t need a guide…except to the chicken shop. Could he oblige? Quick as a flash, he’s back in his – Toyota, I noticed – 4x4 and leading us through town to the souk, where all things can be had. While we were doing the chicken-killing thing, a woman came along begging for money and was ignored by everyone around. She approached me and I used the Arabic phrase that Mohammed-in-Fes had used. Mohammed-in-Erfoud asked where I’d learned my Dharija…”From the lady that runs the pizza takeaway in Fochabers….” Once the shopping was done, we were asked to go back to his “tour shop” where he could give me business card “in case we had trouble in the desert”. I thought it a bit odd that he didn’t have one to hand already as he was clearly looking for work, but hey-ho, He’s done me a favour so…

We arrived, and I should’ve been expecting this, outside a very posh looking handicrafts shop. Invited in “to the cool”, the boss appeared as if from nowhere and it started…..or would’ve done, if I hadn’t insisted that I had a plan, a schedule to meet, and we were out of time to do shopping. And we didn’t want a carpet, anyway. It wasn’t easy, of course, but we’ve learned a few lessons and one of them is not to be too polite when heading for the door, or you’ll never get there.

Out of town, back into the sand and we’re both a lot more comfortable. We didn’t want to avoid people here – the whole point of putting in so much effort to preparing for this trip is to make more contact than before – but there are times when the hassle is more than we’ve got the patience for. The little bits of language that we have been able to recall when needed, as opposed to rehearsed ahead of the event, are certainly making life easier, though. Using French is all very well, and everyone seems to understand it, at least where we’ve been so far, but a few words of Arabic are like a Secret Handshake, and the results are little short of miraculous. We wouldn’t presume to make any recommendations to anyone travelling here to do as we’re doing, but learning some phrases will make a huge difference to how folk respond to you, and the difference has always been positive.

So, onwards and Southwards! Well, east, actually, for quite a while over some pretty rough stony terrain. Daphne judders and shudders like she’s got malaria, and Mike tries to find a speed that keeps the boneshaking to a minimum. He says something about “resonant frequencies” but as far as Sue’s concerned, it just makes reading the satnav impossible. Not that we need it. The track is very well defined, Chris Scott’s route notes very comprehensive, and all we have to do is tick off the waypoints as we cross them. We pass a group of Frenchies who’ve stopped for an early lunch and don’t wave back, probably thinking that if they do, we’ll stop. Pas de Chance, Rene, we’ve got our own and we’re eating it. In admiration, though, they seem to be pretty well sorted; four vehicles, two of which are the equivalent of British Army 4-tonners with box-bodies. A flat on wheels, and probably equipped with more mod-cons that anywhere else you’d choose to live. One day….maybe.

We stop for our own lunchtime break. Sue gets on with the food while Mike gets on with the repairs.

 

 The electrical system is not performing as designed. That’s a polite way of saying that the whole set-up is f*cked as the split-charge relay – the expensive, purpose-built gizmo that sends revitalising energy to the aux battery once the main is charged up, has gone to sleep. It no longer functions as designed. It is, as I said before, f*cked. Whether this is due to planned obsolescence,  poor manufacture or plain abuse (“You’ve been using it in a vehicle? Ah, but south of Watford! That’s outside the warranty, mate”) is debateable. But we need to get this sorted out. The aux battery provides us with power for the fridge, lights, computer batteries…in short, all the necessities of modern techno-life. It ain’t getting a charge from the alternator and is gradually dying….the fridge cuts out if it senses a low voltage. Very sensible, as it stops your battery from going completely flat, so we have no fridge just a very expensive cool box. But we do have a lot of beer and a lot of chicken, not that the latter is of much concern. I “need to fix it”. Yes. Dear.

Anyway, to cut a long and not-very-interesting saga short, the only way we now have of charging our aux battery is by solar power. I brought a battery charger with us on a previous trip but didn’t use it, so it’s been left on the shelf. If we had it, we could at least give the aux a “hit” at a campsite. The whole point of the system is that we should be able to stay off-grid, as they say, so we want to make it work. The fuse has been removed from the relay so it can’t confuse the rest of the system, and the output from the solar charger has been routed exclusively to the aux battery. We’ve bungee’d the panel to the roof and now we have a workable system back, even if it is a bit cumbersome.

As we drive, the fridge is plugged into Daphne’s main battery so we use the engine to run it as well as recharging the laptop batteries, Kindle, phone and all the other gubbins that we don’t seem able to exist without, and the solar panel has the chance to get the aux back up to full charge for the evening. Once we stop we change over to solar and over the last two days it seems to be very efficient, as long as you ignore the need to constantly check that the bloody plug hasn’t fallen out of the bloody cigar socket - again! Those things really are completely useless unless you tie them all together with a rubber band or something. When we get home, we’ll change them all for euro-plugs.

So we finish lunch, the aforementioned Gallic Globetrotters pass by. This is not good. We’ll be in their dust for several hours now and as the track doesn’t allow for overtaking – unless they pull over – we’ll be in a queue at the next military checkpoint, which we anticipate is about an hour ahead. Luckily, they’re moving at about our speed- almost Dead Slow, so we just hang back and watch them bouncing all over the place. Given the clattering, crashing and banging that’s going on Down The Back of Daphne, it’ll be really interesting to see what carnage they’re presented with when they open the back doors of those trucks tonight. Probably get buried under an avalanche of wine and Roquefort. Lucky sods.

Our own back end is suffering too.

The constant flexing of the bodywork and movement of the heavy contents – bottlejack, chocks, tyre levers, big hammers – have burst the rear seam on the nearside storage bins. Half an hour and some epoxy glue and we think it’ll hold until we return home.

The anticipated checkpoint isn’t there, though. What we do note is that the border now has an inner berm, quite a few K’s back from The Line. It’s quite clear that the area between is No Man’s Land, so perhaps the Moroccan Authorities are content that people like us aren’t going to deliberately climb over a ten-foot high sand bank just to take a better look at more of it. Sand, that is. And we’re getting into more of it. This is Good News. The ride is softer and more fun –Daphne now responds to steering input much like a thoroughbred horse. She goes where she wants to go, which may not actually agree with the driver’s demands. A lot of gentle persuasion is needed, and too much aggressive behaviour might result in her “throwing a shoe”. Now, we’re equipped and practiced at putting a tyre back on, but I really wouldn’t want to do it here….It is hard work, though, and the concentration and planning ahead at speed, with quick decisions needed to avoid obstacles is tiring. We decide to have an early stop and look around for a sheltered spot as the wind is getting up again. Well, the only things higher than us in this landscape are the camels, and they’ve all gone home. To say that we stick out like a Rabbi in a mosque is an understatement. This area is flatter than week-old Watney’s and the wind is whipping the sand past our boots about 30 mph; the picture is like we’re standing knee deep in pink smoke, just like a 70’s stage set. I reckon it’ll calm down once the sun sets, but at the moment – 4pm – it’s pretty draughty. This is the notorious “desert wind” – khamseen, ghibli -  which we largely avoided before. We’ve had 3 doses of it on this trip and we know that tonight might be a bit gritty under the duvet. Oh well, press on! We paid for this, so best enjoy….right? Get the bar open, and we’ll sort out the dead poultry later……

A noisy night and a grey dawn, but the wind’s dropped now and we move on. Monday morning, and the view south and west towards the famous dunes is hazy and disappointing. Sue’s reminded of the time we went to Fes and didn’t see the Tanneries, and Mike recalls seeing HMS Victory with our son Ewan, only they didn’t really as it was covered in builder’s plastic and scaffolding. We’re confident, though, that the air will clear later and give us a spectacular sunset. We’ll be on the “wrong” side of the Erg to really appreciate the colours, but the dawn should be a payback, assuming we’re awake for it….we’re both pretty tired but the experience of the journey keeps us smiling. Most of the time.

We’re a bit further south than Mike calculated, and we reach the north end of the dunes by lunchtime. Cruising around in the sand, Sue takes over the driving for a while.

Driving in the deep sand is a strange experience, a bit like ski-ing off-piste on new snow. There are no bumps, just a gentle up-and-down like a gentle sea swell. Mike says it feels like paddling a kayak on a flat calm sea – like sliding over silk. Daphne follows the steering demands in a more-or-less fashion and we slide along at a steady 25mph in “full traction” mode. We’re a bit wary of stopping to enjoy the views and take photos, but having resigned ourselves to the possible use of the shovel if we get stuck, the fears prove us paranoid. 

There really isn’t a problem as long as you’re not completely stupid in where you come to a halt. Mr Completely Stupid managed a tricky stop-start when he decided to pause at the top of a ridge to see how steep it was on the other side. It’s always steeper on the downwind side, but not a good plan to stop on the crest to check. Daphne seemed to teeter at her point of balance, roughly between the front and rear wheels, neither of which had much weight on them and just span, chucking up lots of sand but delivering nothing else. Some rocking to and fro on the gears gave us an escape – backwards – and the chance to find another way to our next campsite. An idyllic spot in the shade of a large conifer, in sight of the Grand Erg.

 We stopped early enough to really sort ourselves out for the first time in a week. With the awning up, table set and music on, we entertained the local fly population until the sun set, then the West Sahara moth Squadron pitched up to help us enjoy dinner. The wind has dropped though, and we have a very relaxed evening, watching the sun go down over the dunes and the stars come out. More stars than you’d ever believe you could see. Magical and silent.

A good job Mike took the awning down before we went to bed, though. Every time we’ve neglected to do this the wind’s picked up at about 3 in morning, requiring a head torch-lit pack-up job. He does it quite well and doesn’t need any help, really. He now works on the premise that if he packs it away before bed, it definitely won’t be windy. Well, that theory has just been, literally, blown out. The tent flaps cracked and snapped like masthead pennants in a Force 9 from midnight onwards. A spectacular dawn, though, and the dust in the air perhaps deepens the colours of the dunes that we can see from our bedroom window:

 

The plan to stay put for another day in this spot are soon revised as it’ll be little more than an endurance test until the wind dies again, about 4 this afternoon. We’ll pack up and head for Merzouga, the butcher’s and bread shop, and for something to do other than sit in the kitchen and swelter. Mike goes for a wander about in his shemagh and sand goggles, which he pronounces a ”good buy”. Sue thinks he looks daft. The last “good buy” was one of those jackets with zips and little pockets all over it. Something that Bill Oddie might wear. Very practical. Yes. Say a last “goodbye” to it or walk on the other side of the street from me….

Pics merzouga

“Where to now, Cap’n?”

“ Set course back to the Great Sand Sea, Number one! And keep a lookout for pirates!”

This’ll be our third “night out” and some personal stuff needs attention – badly, in some cases. The pump-up shower works pretty well, particularly if the dhobi-wallah has taken the time to warm the water in the sun for an hour beforehand. Pity that some of us have more hair than others and the hot water won’t run-ha ha – to two of us. It’s only when Mike tops it up with drinking water that I ask what I’ve just showered with. “You know that green puddle we passed two days ago….?”

No, actually it was sweet, clear well water that probably won’t be infested with Bilharzia….will it? Will it?

So, near the day’s end now, and another starlit night to look forward to. Tomorrow, Tuesday 5^th, we’ll try to get to the piste leading from Taouz towards Mhamid – MS6 in the Scott bible. This’ll probably be another two-day run as it’s a good 250kms across some pretty barren country and there’s a possibility of some difficult ground but also some smoother running. The jolts and vibes of the last 2 days have caused another casualty: the washing machine parted company with us somewhere back at the top end of the dunes; Mike found the bolt still in place, but nut and machine are now someone else’s property. We might’ve noticed it’s departure if the rear view mirror hadn’t been converted into a moving map display, but never mind. We still have a folding bucket.