Wanna tell you a story. 'Bout a woman I know.
Trip Start
May 08, 2002
1
8
34
Trip End
Apr 15, 2003
Dakhla, Morocco
Tuesday, June 18, 2002
witnessing a very satisfactory state of footballing
affairs. England through. And Argentina out with the
French. Oh, the schadenfreude was overwhelming.
A 5.5 hour boneshaker of a bus journey to Tiznit and
then a 45 minute 'grand taxi' ride further south to
our destination , Mirhleft. It was just the place to
recharge our slightly Essaouira-jaded travelling
antennae. The place consisted of one main street
(which inexplicably has half a dozen hotels on it -
although as far as we could ascertain we were the only
'tourists' in the whole town), a kasbah in ruins on a
hill and three nice beaches within walking distance.
We were staying in a recommended place, and had heard
great things about the food. We weren't to be
disappointed, and were served our best tajines yet.
Almost on a par with the food was the slightly surreal
musical choice of the owner. Each evening shortly
before food was served AC/DC came on, so our
meal was accompanied by 'Whole Lotta Rosie' at a
slightly unhealthy volume. (Note: the owner was a
middle aged Moroccan, and the music was not in-keeping
with him, the hotel, or the cafe's clientele.)
We left Mirhleft after anoher sporting display par
excellence from Becks and der Boys. Bye Bye Denmark. We crammed ourselves
into a taxi for a 7-hour journey south. Our
destination: Tan Tan. Our guidebook promised something of a duty-free
electronic mecca - perfect for purchasing a cheap walkman to listen to the plethora of
cheap cassettes of African music that were available everywhere (minidisc
technology has not quite made it here).
Upon arrival Tan Tan did not endear itself to us. We arrived at 9pm
desperate for something to eat. We eventually found somewhere that
seemed to be serving food. Our conversation with the
waiter went something like:
Us: Are you serving food.
Him: Yes.
Us: Do you have a menu?
Him: No menu, only tajine.
Us: Do you have a vegetable tajine?
Him: Yes, one moment
(We wait whilst he goes out the back of the cafe, he
returns a couple of
minutes later with a tajine pot lifts the lid and
waves it under our noses.
At this point we are a little suspicious about how
long this has been sitting
around, the hygine of the cafe and what exactly is in
the tajine).
Us: Is it a vegetable tajine?
Him: Yes.
Us: Only vegetables?
Him: Yes.
Us: (We're still rather suspicious) So it is
vegetarian?
Him: Yes.
At this stage we were too hungry to question further
and agreed to buy it. Needless to say that beneath the pile of vegetables
were several bits of bone, gristle and what could loosely be described as
meat. We nibbled at the onions around the edges of the dish, found a strange
object in the middle of the bread that accompanied it (animal, mineral or
vegetable? We're still not sure); cut our losses, paid and left.
Upon returning to our hotel we found the largest cockroaches we had seen on
the journey so far in the toilets. We went to bed hungry and sniffing
nervously at the funny coloured sheets that we had been provided with.
We got up the following morning wondering what we weredoing in this hole
of a place and vowed to leave right after the Ireland game had finished. Oh
yes, the duty-free paradise we had found ourselves in -
call us electronic snobs if you wish, but 'Sunny' is
not a make of walkman that inspired us with confidence - particularly when
they looked like Tomy toys. No Sony, Phillips or the like around these
parts.
However things did begin to look up a bit as the
morning went on, and by the time we were due to leave Tan Tan it had managed to
endear itself to us a little. We found a nice cafe to watch the (very
exciting) Ireland game and were offered friendly condolances from the largely
Spanish-supporting locals. Sarah-Jane found herself a full length robe (colour -
sandy, need you ask?) and upon returning to our hotel to pick our bags up,
we were offered a glass of mint tea whilst Mrs R's gown was greatly admired.
Not only that, but we caught the only available bus that day out of Tan Tan with 10
minutes to spare. This saved us the sardine-like experience of getting a taxi
again.
And so now we are in Laayoune the capital of the Western Sahara region. It
is currently part of Morocco but has had a lot of argy-bargy since the
Spanish left the region in the mid-1970's. Both
Mauritania and the Saharawi peoples have put in a
claim for the region which has involved a lot of
bloodshed over the last 25
years. A peace now exists, but there is an
expectation that a referendum
should happen soon to determine the status of the
region.
Given the history involved the number of police and
soldiers on the streets are
understandable; and every second vehicle here seems to
be a United
Nations one. There are also numerous police
roadblocks on the approach to
Laayoune. On a bus of 50 or so people Mr R (& by
proxy, "la madame") were
the only ones hauled off for questioning. I guess he
should get used to such
victimisation now he is a member of two sub-human
persecuted races - those
of the Cumbrian and the beard-wearer. Fortunately,
the questioning was
quite affable and we were sent on our way with a "bon
voyage" after a 10 minute interruption to the bus
journey.
And so tonight we leave Laayoune and get an overnight
bus to Dakhla - the
last town in Morocco before Mauritania. After this our
plans get a little
more hazy. There's no public transport between
Morocco and Mauritania.
When we get to Dakhla we need to find someone heading
in our direction -
perhaps not as easy as it sounds as there are no real
roads between the two
countries - just a 'piste' track through the Sahara or
along the beach - the journey is further complicated
by the
fact that there are numerous landmines - relics of the
years of conflict
around these parts. However, this is not as concerning
as it first sounds.
The desert may still be littered with mines, but the
roads (or rather,
pistes) are clear. We won't be straying from these
well-worn tracks.
After all, there are other good reasons for keeping to
the roads when
driving through 100s of kilometres of desert...namely
getting lost without
enough water. So, it seems our most likely bet is
finding one of the
apparently many European 4x4s being driven south for
sale. With a bit of
luck, we could be in Mauritania within 2 days,
en-sh'allah. But then again,
we might still be looking for transport while we sit
back and finger-bite
during England vs Brasil. We'll let you know!
A short note from MAUREEN & DEREK:
If you find yourself travelling for an extended period
with another
individual DO agree a limit to the number of waking
hours devoted to
discussing each other's bowel movements. If you
discover a spotlessly clean,
sit-down toilet with toilet-paper on visiting the
bathroom in a restaurant,
DO make the most of it!
(DON'T get the impression that M & D have become
toilet-obsessed within 6
weeks of leaving home.)
Salaam from the Sahara,
The Chick and the Hairy Guy.
STOP PRESS: We are now in Dakhla (June 18) having survived an overnight bus journey, again liberally punctuated by Mr R being hauled off the bus for questionning. To heighten his sense of persecution they seem to have stopped taking an interest in Mrs R (her headscarf and robe seem to be helping her blend into the scenery). However it has been quite entertaining, and there is something rather surreal about having a conversation about Michael Owen & David Beckham at 4 o'clock in the morning in pidgin French in the middle of the Saharan desert. We've just enjoyed watching Italy being eliminated, and hopefully we'll be getting some transport out of here tomorrow morning. Just don't ask us how, yet. Lots of love from Mr and Mrs.
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Mr and Mrs R On Tour -
Goodbye Morocco. Thank you, we didn't need a guide.
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