Day 14 – Tarfaya | Dakhla, Morocco

September 15th, 2011
This is today’s cunning plan! More from the road later. (I’m in Tarfaya, feels like the end of the earth – but there’s high speed WiFi! Yeay)

Manage early start and a sort of breakfast – which consists of the 50/50 arab coffee and milk with sugar, it’s delicious. Ride down into the main dusty street of Tarfaya and stop for gas. A kiosk is selling still warm freshly baked bread, the round loaves that the eat in Morocco. It’s also delicious and we’re set for the long trek south. Today we cross the border into Western Sahara and Dakhla, in the far south, is the destination. This is going to be the longest single stretch that we do in one go, so it will be a long haul. Decide gas money could be a good idea and nip over the most interestingly named bank ever – Attijariwafa Bank…. Mr Attijariwafa never refused us once on our travels.

As we leave the town I realize that it is literally surrounded by an endless field of low sand dunes, as far as you can see inland, otherwise the landscape is perfectly flat. We rejoin the main road and start heading south. After about 30km we enter the one-horse town of “Teh” which straddles the old border of Western Sahara and Morocco.

A short historical aside here follows. Western Sahara was run by the Spanish until the death of Franco in 1975, at which point the Moroccans decided that it should be part of Morocco. Unfortunately the Algerians and Mauritanians disagreed, and on top of that nobody actually thought to consult the local Saharawi population who wanted none of them and to run it themselves – surprise surprise. Alas, for the locals, Moroccan troops occupied the country and there has been an ongoing integration into Mococco ever since. Most Moroccans view it as an integral part of Morocco these days and Moroccans are given incentives by the government in Rabat to move there – low taxes etc. But it is still a sparsely populated part of Africa. Many of the local Saharawis continue to live in camps across the border in Mauritania and Algeria and the liberation movement, POLISARIO, continues to insist on an Independent Western Sahara. The UN regard the territory as still under dispute, despite Moroccan insistence that it is now part of Morocco. Somewhere down the road the Moroccans and Saharawis will have to come to an accommodation.

There’s no real line or sign marking the boundary in Teh but we stop for gas – the rule of the road now is not to pass any gas stations, period! Head out into the desert again and after about 65km we hit the town of El Aaiun or Laayoune. This would technically be the capital of the territory and there’s certainly a military presence around the place, far beyond what we’ve seen so far on the journey south through Morocco. We’re also encountering checkpoints where we have to give the lone cops standing randomly on the road a “Fiche”. This is simply a piece of paper with passport details and parent’s names (important in the islamic world) as well as details of entry into Morocco and visa number. Had about 30 copies made up in Rabat, just photocopies and you just hand them out and everyone is happy. Occasionally we’d just get waved on anyway! I think it just depended how bored the cop standing in the road was. And off course the bike is looking fairly “touristy” with stickers etc on her!

Just south of Laayoune there is a huge dune field, with dunes up to 20m high. The wind blows the sand across the road and there are large earth movers sporadically along the road shoveling sand off it. Now it really looks like the stereotype of the Sahara, so off course there’s some posing for pictures beside big sand dunes. The bizarrest thing is that it’s not particularly warm, maybe only 25C, which almost makes it feel like cheating. It sure looks hot, like being in a foreign legion movie ….. or you kind of expect General Gordon and the Maadhi to be having beers together around the next dune reading over a film script – I guess both Charlton Heston and the Maadhi were gun lovers anyway 😉

The big dune field only lasts for a few kilometers though and we keep motoring south. Apparently Morocco has been described as a cold country with a hot sun – this would explain why it’s not uncomfortably hot! After another 100km or so we enter the town of Boujdour and pull off for a bit of lunch, some salad and minced lamb – small lamb burgers with fries! As we’re sitting there we spot a couple of bikes on the other side of the road – clearly overlanders packed for long distance. They’ve obviously spotted our bike parked on the street and they make a b-line for us. Two guys, Martin (German) and Henry (South African) join us for lunch and road stories. Martin has been on the road for just over one year. Travelling from Germany to Egypt, down the east coast of Africa to South Africa. Spending some time there and then working his way up the west coast of the continent. He has done 47,000km so far with only 2 flat tires, although he has gone through 6 back tires and 5 front tires in that time. Amazing, it makes my 3500km look positively humble. Henry, the South African, started in Cape Town in April and is riding to Casablanca and has 23,000km under the wheels since leaving. So both of them are nearing the end of their respective epic trips. Both are riding 650cc machines, Martin a Yamaha and Henry a BMW. You need to be able to pick them up by yourself so anything bigger is silly! Henry has some friends back in SAF who are keen on the old KLR650s like mine, he uses the term “Classic” – I’m feeling very complimented on the old girl. I think she felt it too as she pushed further south later on that day without any issues. The tire rubbing and shock issues seem to have resolved themselves. We loose some time with “road yarns” and stories of crossing Africa on two wheels., but it’s time to keep heading south before we loose the light and we still have almost 400km to go before we hit Dakhla.

It’s a long afternoon but we get the miles down. The landscape is flat arid desert, but there’s a perceptible change in the people. Much more in the way of traditional dress and people are getting browner. Also the percentage of black people is steadily rising, although all are still clearly sharing a distinctly islamic desert culture. The sun is sinking and it’s really starting to cool down and we’re still 100km from Dakhla and Justyna has caught got a chill. Those who bike know that once you get the chills it’s difficult to get rid of them. So wrap her up as warmly as possible with extra t-shirts etc (which are still warm from the heat of the day in the pannier) and press on. It’s been over 250km since the last gas station and I’ve tipped in the spare gas tank (5l, about 100km worth) that we’re carrying on the pannier to see us through to Dakhla. The road splits as Dakhla is on a peninsula about 40km off the main road and there’s a gas station and tea house there. JJ goes to get hot mint tea while I gas up and then join for a glass of the minty refreshment myself. There’s a bunch of old guys in the gas station glued to some kind of Egyptian soap playing on a battered TV up in the corner. As usual there are no women present. They’re all googling at it like it was the end of the world. While I can’t understand any of the dialogue it appears that the show is the same as all other soaps, with guys in suits and scantilly clad girls. No doubt this is the most titillation these guys get given that men and women don’t seem to mix socially that much in this part of the country.

We finally make it past the police posts to Dakhla, the final policeman being quite friendly. We’re now some 1500km south of Rabat the capital; it really is quite a big country! Find a hotel in the square – pretty cheap and likely in 20 years it will be a tourist hive. I notice there’s a bar. We go to inspect and it’s filled with old men men (no women as usual) with lots of empty tins of beer on the tables – we’re told it’s closed, although it’s only 10 o’clock. Justyna suspects it’s closed to women and that’s why we were turned away. So the dining room beckons and a tasty plate of fresh calamars. And fortunately they serve some Moroccan wine with it as well. The further south one gets the less one sees of alcohol. Although usually they do have some, but you have to ask! I have to wonder what’s the point of going to the bar for these guys – there’s nothing but other old guys to look at!!!

It’s quite a large town as far as I can tell and quite lively, but definitely feels much more African than further north. Time to turn as the Mauritanian border beacons tomorrow, and it’s another 500km day, hope we can fit it all in!

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