Crossing the Sahara Desert, Part One.
Dec 7th, 2008 | By Rob | Category: ARTICLES, Travel StoriesWe landed at Tangiers Airport in the early afternoon and from the moment we began our drive to Chefchouen, I realized this wasn’t the landscape I had expected to see. This was not the Africa that I had pictured in my mind: mosques and mountains, rolling hills and green vegetation. This felt more like the Middle East than it did Africa. This is because it is partly true. Morocco is a great crossroads of civilizations; the three corners of Europe, Africa and the Middle East meet. The local population, the Berbers, have just carried along on their own pace, allowing the influences of all three points to shift and change the look and feel of their homeland, but they have remained mostly intact. They are on the great road that leads everywhere and as a result, they have been accommodating travelers for hundreds or thousands of years. From Romans to Islam, Camel Caravans to backpackers, they have seen it all. Everyone passes through, and then they leave. The land never changes and the Berbers go on living in the same way they always have.
So, it was this first impression that stuck with us for the majority of Northern Morocco. It wasn’t until many weeks later, in Mali, that we realized the true nature of North Africa. There are really only two parts. There is the green, rolling hills of the north, the Rif and Atlas (Mid, High and Anti) mountains and the part that clings to the Mediterranean for survival. And then there is the desert. And what an extreme difference it is. We spent the first 2 weeks driving around the north, from Tangiers past Fez, to Marrakech back onto the coast in Essouria and then to Agadir. We crossed the mountain pass through the Anti Atlas Mountains, and before you could admire them as they passed away in the rear view mirror, it was flat. We had reached one of the most extreme places on the planet: The Sahara Desert.
Almost as soon as you reach the vast expanse of the Desert, it becomes one of the most trying and difficult places you have ever been. Its hot, there’s nothing to see and your driving down a straight road with no end in sight. Speeding along at 100kms an hour, you try and appreciate it. You try and think that for hundreds of years this has been what separates Africa proper and the rest of the world. Of the months spent traveling across in Camel Caravans, or the Tureg People who call this their home. Nothing works. You have entered the extreme and there’s no looking back.
Almost immediately after arriving in the desert, you reach the invisible line - and corresponding checkpoint - which signifies your arrival in what was at one time called Western Sahara, currently an occupied territory of Morocco. Some people consider it a country and some don’t. Morocco does not. As soon as phosphorous was discovered here, it became worth holding on to. Without that one valuable resource, it would just be a flat sandy plain. Our first night in the desert we spend sleeping on the beach, just outside of a town called Tan-Tan. We drove as far as the daylight would take us and we pulled over. We woke up to the sound of crashing waves, and after a quick breakfast, we packed up our tents and got back on the road. Our next night, we made it to Layyoune, the last major town in a long time. It is the last major town along the coast before Nouakchott in Mauritania, and its airport – and close proximity to the Spanish owned Canary Islands – it represents the last chance to abandon ship on what would obviously be a difficult few days of driving. Three of our bus-mates took advantage of this opportunity. The remaining dozen travelers spent the night in a typical run down hotel and the next day resumed the southern journey towards the Mauritanian Border.
We set out early in hopes that we could cover some good ground, but midway through the day, the bus began to make a distinct whining noise. Fortunately we were just under 100kms from our destination for the night and we would be able to have a mechanic take a look at it. Dakhla is just north of the Tropic of Cancer, and situated on a peninsula that juts off from the mostly unchanging coastline. We took the van into the shop, and we had our bearings replaced. It took 2 days for them to fix, which after driving for 2 straight days through the desert, ended up being a nice break. Once re-assembled, we continued on, only a half days drive from the border.
Before coming on this trip, I had known that crossing borders in Africa could be a difficult process. It could be as quick and easy as 20 minutes or it could take hours and hours, and even require a bribe or two. Leaving Morocco (or Western Sahara, depending on who you ask) was relatively easy. We arrived around noon, and after having our passport looked at by 4 different guards, at 4 different spots standing no more than 15 meters from each other, we were sent on our way. Just over an hour at a border, when traveling with 12 other people, all with different nationalities has to be considered a miracle. But this is where it gets tricky.
A 10-foot fence encloses the Moroccan border outpost, and the road that you drive along goes through the middle, with buildings on either side. The paved road goes right up to a certain point and just ends. This dramatic effect is accentuated by the fact that there is a 10-foot fence - with barbed wire of course - and a gateway, with a big archway. That is where Morocco ends and “No mans land”, a 5km stretch of land that stretches towards Mauritania. To make things even more ominous, and it’s full of mines.
The mines are a result of the War between Morocco and Mauritania over the Western Sahara, and neither country wants to take responsibility over them, hence why the two border crossings are 5km apart.
- For a little bit of back-story, you can read about the Western Sahara War here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Western_Sahara_War.
For those of you who think it might not be the best idea to try and cross, there are well-worn paths that do navigate through. Or at least it seemed that way at first. As you drive through the archway into “no mans land” one thing that stands out are the wrecked cars. This is partly because its a no mans land (neither Morocco or Mauritania wants to take ownership of the stretch of land, hence why there are no marked roads and mines littered all over the place).
A lot of people drive out of Morocco, dump their car and turn around and go back - although driving through, knowing that it’s a mine field, its hard to convince yourself of this. You of course assume it is a graveyard of sorts; a warning to anyone who might be braves enough to try this. It’s a bit of an unsettling scene. But the path forges on for a KM or so, before suddenly it branches off into several different options. THIS is when it starts to get scary. Threes no maps, no signs, there’s just tracks. And then sometimes, the sand has blown in from the desert, covering the worn track you’re on. It wasn’t like driving along unmarked sand paths, which crisscrossed each other randomly wasn’t bad enough already; the only thing that I could think of that is worse than driving through a mine field is reversing through a mine field.
Until the moment we got stuck. I definitely spoke too soon; THAT was the worst thing that could happen (well, except for getting blown up, but as you might be able to tell I at least lived to tell the story. Still, do you have something to top being stuck in the sand in a minefield?). So, the scariest part of the whole ordeal was the first jump from the safety of the bus to the sand below, but once we were on the ground - aside from the one upside down, stripped car off in the distance - things weren’t so bad. Must have been a pretty funny scene for anyone who might have been watching us: 12 white people trying to dig the front wheel out of the sand, in the middle of the minefield. But eventually we got the van onto solid ground, and out of the rough patch of the sandy plains. Within a few hundred meters we were back on a more worn path, and soon enough the Mauritanian border post was in view. We had survived the minefield.
The border crossing was much the same as our attempt on the Moroccan side. We showed up, and they guards had just finished their lunch break, so the 2 other cars that were ahead of us on the Moroccan side were sitting there waiting. Fortunately, they got through all the passports in fairly decent time and Rufus (our ‘fearless leader’) came back with the guard, the armed man announcing, “All that is needed to sort out now is the bribe”. Fortunately, the border posts generator was out of fuel, so we filled up a jerry can of diesel for him and he quite happily let us go. We had to go through a police check and then the vehicle check, but neither of these required much time or a bribe of any sort, and within an hour and a half (again, we must have made record time) we were on the road driving through the second country in our cross Sahara adventure; Mauritania.
Stay tuned for part two of “Crossing the Sahara”, which includes the Military Coup that had taken place two months previous, our 5 days stuck in the capital waiting for car repairs and the most daunting part of our Sahara crossing, “The Road of Hope”.
