Er Rachidia to Ouarzazate, Morocco

In Azrou, we were able to have a hot drink and the usual baguette and jam breakfast that is traditional in the hotels and a French habit. The bread is never served on a plate and it seems you have to cut and spread it either on your hand, on the table top, or if you are lucky on a serviette that they give you. It's a curious habit and of course all of the above get covered with crumbs, butter or jam!

We managed to get onto a bus that was leaving at about 9.30 and there was plenty of room. Quite a lot of the women on the bus had tattoos on their forehead and between the nose and lip. It is supposed to protect them from evil spirits. The Berber women don't wear veils but do have a headscarf.



We climbed up through the Middle Atlas mountains that became drier and rockier. The Ziz gorge was pretty spectacular and the road thankfully, in great condition.

We arrived at the bus station in Er Rachidia and tried a budget hotel that was recommended in our guide book. It was disgusting, so found a cleaner and more comfortable one near the bus station. Straight across the street was a cafe where we ordered a chicken salad. The place was not only a cafe but also a restaurant and brand new hotel. The manager was keen to show us the place and informed us that it had not had one guest yet and was probably hoping that we would be his first ones.

Er Rachidia is a popular stop for visitors who go onto visit the 150m high sand dunes in Merzouga near the Algerian border. The border between the two countries is closed. The town was established by the French as a regional capital where they had their Foreign Legion fort. It still has huge areas of military barracks.



Pink seems to be a favourite colour to paint building both in the country and in the city. Some of the design features are often painted in contrast colours and bricks in the traditional step design add a pattern to the otherwise plain roof.

Some places are elaborately decorated.

We arrived at Ouarzazate and got a petit taxi to the main square where we checked into a hotel overlooking it. It was the middle of the day and pretty hot and there was hardly anyone in the square. As the day cooled more and more people came out and as the sunset the stall holders came on force to set up. There were lots of stalls with second hand clothing and shoes as well as the usual Chinese plastic houseware. Some men had bits of wire and old tools while others had boxes of brand new juicers, blenders, pressure cookers and coffee makers. Families flooded the place with babies in strollers and never left until about 1am.

Our room had no fan or air con and we had to keep our window open and it was difficult to sleep with so much racket. Moroccan children don't just cry when they are unhappy or don't get their own way. They have this infuriating habit of crying and then follow it with a high pitched long loud squeal. It goes on and on and the parents don't seem bothered by it. It's torture when there are two or three of them in your bus!



From our hotel we could see the piles of traditional cooking dishes called tagines.



We set off after one night and got another bus to take us back to Marrakech through interesting terrain.



There are numerous kasbah between here and Marrakech. They are essential fortified tribal villages. They are well decorated and look like giant sandcastles. Some are over 100 years old and need a lot of maintenance as the rain erodes the walls. Many are used as hotels.

The Ouarzazate region has been the film set for many movies including, Lawrence of Arabia, Alexander the Great, Gladiator, and Black Hawk Down to name a few. From the bus we saw the Atlas Film Corporation Studios and at a major roundabout in the city there is a model of a giant film reel.



We drove alongside many palmeries that ran for kilometres in the valleys. In these oases settlements, small holding farmers may have about thirty palms per family and in a good year can produce a thousand kilos of dates; the market rate is about $1NZ per kilo. Unfortunately the effect of drought and the Bayoud fungal disease have a caused a lot of problems for the families here.


Our bus with air con that worked reasonably well.

We stopped in front of this shop/restaurant. Passengers got out and bought goat meat from the butcher next door and then gave it to the cook. He put the meat in a wire grill and fanned his charcoals into action. None of the targines sitting on their small charcoal holders were ready so I guess they would be for the evening meal.

In the towns and along the roadsides there are tables set out with geode, ammonites, and trilobites for sale.

As we got closer to Marrakech there were more wildflowers and this valley was attractive with its oleanders in flower.

Watermelons and cantelopes for sale on the outskirts of Marrakech.

We headed back to spend a few days in Anette's aprtment in M'hamid to get ready to walk in the Atlas mountains now that we are cough free again.

Azrou and Er Rachidia, Morocco

We enjoyed our relaxing stay in Fes where we mostly had the dar to ourselves. The staff came in the morning to give us a huge breakfast of different kinds of bread and then returned in the evening to turn on lights and check for online registrations. As there was no one booked in the day we left we were able to hang around for our 7.30pm bus to Azrou. It was a short, but hot walk to the gare routiere where all the buses were.

My cough was still lingering so we put off the plan to walk in the Atlas mountains until later. Luckily we did as Omar, our neighbour and mountain guide in the Marrakesh apartment, had to go back to his mountain village to visit his sick mother. We could also have made a circuit through Casablanca and Rabat on the coast but decided to try the route known as Trek es Sultan or Royal Road in the Middle Atlas mountains. It was the trading route for slaves, salt, and other goods carried by caravans of camels through the desert from West Africa.

We really enjoyed the bus ride up the mountains through oak, cork and cedar forest. We were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of several barbary apes foraging under the trees close to the road. The light was fading but we were able to see the steep pitched houses on the hills that looked like they were built to handle snow. We could have been travelling through a Swiss, French, or Slovakian mountain village. There were orange tiled rooves and stone walls. It was quite unlike anything we have seen to date in Africa. The French colonial chiefs came here to escape the heat.

We passed through the modern, clean, expensive town of Ifrane. King Hassan 11 with King Fahd of Saudi Arabia, financed the fee paying university here. It has a mosque, synagogue, andChristian church on campus to encourage tolerance between the faiths. All lectures are in English.



We after a two hour bus ride we spent a night in Azrou in a hotel on the main square. The hotel had a small window overlooking the street and we watched the locals enjoying the evening chatting and playing with their kids until around midnight. The room was pretty hot and in the corner of the room was a an old water radiator heater, another thing we haven't seen for a long time.



We checked out the buses at the station at about 11.30pm and had a local with very good English wanting to help us in exchange for a deposit for a bottle of wine!

We joined the men in the morning for breakfast before catching another bus on to Er Rachidia.
It would have been a place we could have stayed longer at, if we had more time. It was relaxed and pleasant.

Wheat fields

Sheep and goats off to market.




The Berbers are Moroccos original inhabitants. They still speak their ancient languages and recently TV programmes were produced in the Berber language and it is now taught in schools although Arabic is the official language. The Berber herders have their goat hair tents in the fields with their huge herds of goat and sheep.



The storks and their giant nests can be seen perched on power poles, house rooves, or atop the minarets.

Meknes, Morocco

We took a train into Meknes to spend the day, it was a short trip and very pleasant. Looking out the train window you would think you were in Greece or even Turkey, as the scenery was so similar. A man on the train gave us his phone number and told us to visit him but he reeked of alcohol so we decided not to bother. It is certainly most unusual to see anyone drunk and he would only be the second person we have seen in Morocco obviously under the influence.

The streets in the new town were very attractive with trees along each side and the parks were green and well kept. We saw a lot more beggars here on the streets than we have seen anywhere else. Maybe they are deliberately kept away from the tourist areas.

One of the main gates to the old city.

We walked around here but it was not as interesting as Marrakech or Fes and in the middle of the day it was unbearbly hot. We have taken a long time to recover from the coughs we got in St-Louis so it was good to be able to walk long distances without tiring.

Near Meknes is an old Roman ruin but we decided not to bother visiting it as we had seen so many in Italy and some of the Middle Eastern countries.

We did however end up having a milkshake in a McDonald's and enjoying the air conditioned atmosphere. Meknes has nothing like the hassles you get in Fes so it was fun to stroll and look at the souk without being told to 'just look, it's free'.

Fes, Morocco

We had booked into another riad in Fes and were met outside the Medina's old city walls by one of the riad staff. The accommodation was a long way from the main gate and it would have been too difficult to have written directions to follow to find the place. Although the place was called a riad it was small and fitted the category of dar instead. We were the only guests and when the staff left we had the place to ourselves. There were only three double bedrooms and the place had been renovated and operating for only a year. The owners seemed to be based in the UK.

From the terrace we could see all over the old city. Even though we were a stone's throw from the mosque we never heard it in the early hours of the morning. In this photo we are just behind the pink roofed building.



Fes has the world's largest urban car free area and it was so pleasant after Marrakech where you had to avoid motorbikes in the narrow lanes. There were two main pedestrian streets where we could navigate our way to and from our dar to the restaurants, main gate, and markets. There are about 365 mosques in the Medina and we were near the oldest university in the world. There are more than 14,000 dwellings jammed into the old town. The houses have flat rooves and many people escape the heat of the night and sleep on the flat roof. This also means that they chat late into the night and can be heard by all their neighbours. On the rooves we could see men in their underwear washing their bodies during the day. There are still many hammans or bath houses where people go to sweat up, scrub up, and wash up. Families take pottery urns, filled with food, to the hamman fire keeper who puts them in the embers to stew slowly.



It was a lot calmer than Marrakech and there were very few tourists in the Medina. We were joined by Chris and Sam from the US for a couple of nights. Sam is a Peace Corp volunteer working in small business enterprises. We went with them to the new part of the city, Ville Nouveau, where they showed us places to get not only a reasonably cheap beer, but also free tapas to accompany it. It was also here that we saw our first Mc Donald's restaurant since the start of our African trip. There were also the other pizza and fried chicken fast food places too.

The new town had wide boulevards and was built by the French as an administrative area. The fountains were working and in the day the children were swimming in them to keep cool. At night the wide parks in the middle of the streets were busy with families eating ice creams, playing, and spending time in the coolness of the trees. In the open paved squares boys were practising their jumps and turns on their inline skates. Compared with other places we have recently visited, the street lights and traffic lights all work.

Our dar had kept as much of the original mosaic tiles as they could and the very narrow steep stairs were an example of this.



The main lounge area was not as brightly painted as the one we stayed at in Marrakesh. Most of the houses in the Medina have electricity but ours was one of three in the neigbourhood to have running water. In the day we could see people filling containers at the fountains to get household water. It is becoming more and more popular for foreigners to buy properties in the old town and renovate them and we read a book by Suzanna Clarke, a NZer living in Australia, who wrote about her experiences- A House in Fez: Building a Life in the Ancient Heart of Morocco.






John was particularly interested in the hand made plaster work on the ceilings and around the windows. He could see the holes left by the compasses that measured the circles and curves in the designs. They love geometrical shapes.

We went to the working Islamic school that can be visited by non-Muslims and many of the craftsmen that worked on the Alhambra in Spain settled in Fes. The cedar ceilings are an intricate example of Moorish art, laceria: carpentry of knots. Across from the Medersa Bou Inania is the partly renovated water clock. It has thirteen windows and once had brass bowls into which a weight was dropped every hour when the windows were opened.

We could see the tanneries from our dar and luckily the wind didn't blow from that direction as it is really smelly. Pigeon and goat droppings are still used in the tanning process. The street stalls are full of brightly coloured and embroidered slippers made from the animal hides from the tannery. Yellow is the most popular colour for the pointed slippers the locals like to wear.

We walked to the palace gardens one day but they were closed for renovations. John was taking some photos of the palace gates when two men cooling in the shade of a tree leapt up to stop him. It seems you cannot take photos of anything with the Moroccan flag on it but we have never read this any where nor seen any signs prohibiting photos. From here we walked to the Jewish Quarter. Some of the houses here had wooden balconies built into the side of the houses and overlooking the narrow streets. This is a noticeable difference from a Muslim house as they do not want their women folk seen by anyone outside the family. Many of the Jewish families have now emigrated to the US, France or Israel while others now live in Casablanca.

Marrakech, Morocco

The bus we arrived in Marrakech on is owned by the railways and gives priority to passengers connecting with the rail network and stopped not far from the train station. We had booked accommodation on www.hostelworld.com in a renovated riad also spelt riyad. We took a petit taxi from the bus station to the main Djemaa el Fna square. These small taxis can only take three people and each city has a different colour for them.

John recognised the square from his trip with his Manurewa soccer mates in 1975. The horse-drawn carriages, or caleches, are still there waiting for the tourists in the baking hot sun.

In April this year a bomb exploded at the cafe behind this tarpaulined area. Several tourists were killed and now people are wary of visiting Morocco. As we have been in places with no English newspapers, TV, we had to quickly research the internet to learn about the killings. We expected there to be a lot of police around the square and some security checkpoints but there was nothing at all. The locals told us there were not as many tourists as usual but the main season for the European invasion is in July so maybe things will pick up by then. We did however see a few tourists including young families.

In the evening the square is busy with snake charmers, the water sellers in their red hats, men with trained tailless Barbary monkeys, acrobats, and story-tellers who all make money from you when you take photos of them. Groups of musicians play all kinds of instruments; metal castanets, brass pipes, tamborines, as well as traditional two or three-stringed guitars. Locals crowd around the story-tellers who have all sorts of props and costumes to enhance their tales, none of which we can understand as it is entertainment for visiting locals, but you are still asked to make a donation anyway. There are men with rows of teeth they have pulled from desperate and, afterwards, probably grateful victims. The second hand dentures they have will hopefully be sold to someone who needs them. There are stalls of natural therapists with herbs and concoctions to cure all ills. They have dried skins and bones as well as live tortoises, lizards, and chameleons that can mend broken hearts or keep husbands faithful.

Around sunset the mobile food stalls arrive to be set up to cook local dishes and in no time the charcoal grills cover the noisy bustling square in smoke. They compete with the orange juice sellers, dried fruit sellers, restaurants and cafes that line the periphery of the square.

Wrinkled headscarfed old ladies sit in small groups showing photos of their henna designs to all who pass in the hope they can make money from decorating your hands and feet. We met a young Australian girl whose arm was grabbed by one of the women and after a quick scribble to her arm demanded money for the service. We have seen several warnings about henna 'tattoos', as some women use a synthetic carcinogenic additive to make black henna and it can cause burns.

Our riad was in the Medina or old walled-city, a great location, a short walk from the square. We met several young Australian travellers who are doing their OE (Overseas Experience) in the UK and taking advantage of the cheap flights to Morocco.

The place was owned by an English lady and her Moroccan husband. This shot was taken from the top floor looking down to the lounge on the ground floor. It is traditional to have a central courtyard like this. Our room was gloomy with its dark walls trying to hide the moisture leeching behind the walls but it was obvious from the musty smell in the room when the doors were closed. However we only had one night here as we were fortunate to be invited to stay at an apartment owned by Anette from Sweden.

The narrow streets of the Medina.

Anette's apartment is a short bus ride from the square and she uses it to escape the Scandanavian winters that aggravate her arthritis. As she was still in Senegal we had the place to ourselves. Her neighbour is a mountain guide and we hope to be able to do some walking in the Atlas mountains with him later. We enjoyed being able to cook for ourselves and experience life in the suburbs. The local shop keepers were very helpful and seemed to give us a reasonable price for our groceries compared with the service you get in the tourist areas. We were able to give our camping gear a good wash as it will be inspected for bugs, seeds, or soil on our return to NZ. Such unwanteds threaten the bio security of our horticulture and agricultural exports.

The temperature on the day we took the train to Fes.


The beautiful main station building.

The train ride was our first long distance train since we left South Africa. The only other trains we have taken this trip were the ones to get to the fan park in Cape Town. This train was air conditioned and was so much more interesting than the buses as we met lots of different people who sat beside us. In the buses no one seems to chat to you, but in the train they face you or are next to you and it is easy to get a conversation going. These two sisters spoke very little English but we had a great chat. I carry some pictorial books on the Bay Of Plenty where we live and some others showing various places in NZ so they are always a good way to share when we have run out of all we can say and have a long time to spend together. I also have a map that shows where NZ is and it is surprising how many Africans don't know where Europe is in relation to Africa.

Dakhla, Morocco

The camp owner in Mauritania organised a taxi for us to go to the Moroccan border, or so we understood, but it turned out we were being taken all the way to Dakhla, the first big Moroccan city in the Western Sahara. We transferred from the small city taxi to a large sept-place at a dusty transport hub at the main road junction. Luckily we were in the middle seat and there were just six of us. The young driver bought cartons of cigarettes from a store and stuffed them in the passengers' bags. He also had plastic bags full of the gowns the men wear and was obviously in a position to make some money on the side from selling these goods in Morocco.

The guide book and travellers we met told us about the numerous police check points in the Western Sahara and the need to get photocopies of your passport made. To this we had to add, our mothers' name, our fathers' name, our occupation, and our visa numbers. We had about eighteen copies of these ready for the police. The copies could be left with the police so that the taxi could continue on its way without having to wait for everything to be hand written in the huge logs at the check points. We thought we would take the bus on the Moroccan side and the copies would be used by the bus driver for the police. We still have every copy made as we only had to get out of the taxi once to show our passport and state our occupation. Maybe the taxi driver gave the police a steady supply of cigarettes!

The road to the border was a newly sealed smooth one and the ride was very comfortable. The two men behind us were a bit cramped, not having any leg room and the old man in front had swollen legs that were covered with festering sores. He seemed the most uncomfortable. The taxi was driven into a huge shed at the newly constructed border post where a scanner checked it for contraband, along with every other vehicle passing through. We had to find a shady spot to sit and wait.

The section of No Man's Land between the borders was sandy and rocky in places. Maybe both countries couldn't agree on who should pay what to have the road sealed! We didn't need visas for Morocco and once again the border guard had no idea where NZ was and had to check with his superiors. It shows that not many New Zealanders travel this part of the world.

We had a smooth ride to a brand new hotel complex that had Wifi, a tiled courtyard with a fountain, huge palm trees, a garden, and waiters in the restaurant dressed in white shirts with black aprons. The hotel, built about 3 stories high wrapped around the semi-circular courtyard and seemed so out of place in the middle of the desert. The other passengers washed their face, hands and feet and headed for the prayer room and then ate in a small area sitting on the floor.

The driver dropped us off at a hotel that Anette had recommended. It was very comfortable and in a quiet part of town not far from the bus offices we needed to continue our journey. It had free Wi fi which we were able to use from our room and a hot water shower. The head-scarfed lady at reception did not speak much English so with a bit of French we were able to communicate. The teenager receptionist who came on at night spoke excellent English.



There was still a coolish wind blowing and lots of people had only their eyes peering out of their veils or scarves as the wind blew lots of fine sand and rubbish about. We had definitely arrived in a modern place. No thatched mud houses here. Tall apartment blocks painted in their favourite pink colour. The footpaths were paved and used by pedestrians and not cars or stalls. There were no open drains or smelly sewers. The street lights all lit up at night and there were traffic lights that the drivers obeyed! We walked along the corniche and watched some of the locals taking their pet dogs for a walk on a lead, things familiar to us at home! John came to Morocco in 1975 and it was not as modern as any of this.



We found a busy local restaurant to eat in the evenings and enjoyed the grilled chicken, beef kebabs (called brochettes), and real salad, with delicious flat bread that didn't taste anything like a baguette (air bread, we nicknamed it). Along the street were dozens of cafes. All the seats at the small tables face the footpath and the men oogle the men as they go past. They sit for hours with their green tea and mint or small glasses of coffee and catch up with their mates. The cafe is the man's domain while the kitchen is the woman's.

One evening, after dinner, we walked past a pool room and a group of about five teenage boys came up pointing at us, shouting and jeering. It was really strange behaviour and felt uncomfortable. When I gestured what, they swore, " f... you" and went back to their game. We were at a loss to explain why they did this. We were both covered up in the important places, and wondered if they thought we were Americans and were expressing their displeasure at what had happened to Osama Bin Laden, or if there had been some other event that we had not known about that could cause such a negative reaction to tourists.

The parks at this time were busy with women and children enjoying the cool of the evening to play football or just run around. We saw babies in strollers for the first time for many months, no one was carrying goods on their head or babies on their back. A few women were all in black but most were wearing multicoloured scarves and dressed beautifully. Several young girls were wearing jeans and tops without anything on their heads. Most of the younger men were in Western dress with the older men preferring the gown and embroidered cap.

We were able to Skype our daughter and heard that the family cat of nearly 20 years had died. He had a great life but was showing signs of senility over the last couple of years.

Bought a bus ticket for the government run air-conditioned bus to Marrakech the day before we needed to head out. We were asked if we had photocopies of our passports, well that's what we think the conductor asked us. So we were ready with our unused copies from Mauritania. At the first stop we showed the policeman the copy but he wanted our passports. At this check point a young policeman in his green and red uniform accompanied us and we never stopped at any other check points until Marrakech 22 hours later.

Nouadhibou, Mauritania

Left Nouackchott by Global bus. Lamir from the guesthouse had told us Global was the best company with air conditioned buses so, on his advise, bought a ticket the day before. Even though everyone had a seat number there was still a stampede at the door to get seats. The bus was what we have used as a commuter bus in our country, with hard backed upright seats with minimal cushioning but a whole lot more comfortable than the sept-places and minivans that we had been using to this point. It left at four in the afternoon which was a good time as we would be driving parallel to the coast through the desert. The air con was inefficient but we were able to catch some of the breeze through the driver's window. The road looked newly constructed and was very smooth. We heard that the original road ran along the beach at low tide.

The moon was quite bright so we were able to see huge herds of camels and see the herders' tents. There were large rectangular blue PVC 'pillows' of water beside each tent community which we deduced would have been filled with water from tankers plying the main highway and probably the only way the nomads could get water while on the move. They could be easily rolled up and carried by camel when empty.

We arrived in the dark at just before midnight at the Global bus office and had no map and no idea where we were. Of course we expected to be chased by taxi touts but there were only enough cars for the families who had ordered them and we were left alone on the side of the road. We had no choice but to flag down any lights coming towards us and hope they were a taxi or would give us a ride to the campement we wanted to stay at. Someone did stop and after dropping off his two passengers took us to the camp where we wanted to stay.

Even though it was after midnight there were women and children sitting on mats on the floor eating food. They found a male to take us to our room.



We were lucky enough to get the largest room with three narrow thick foam mattresses on the carpetted floor. The other six rooms were rather cell-like. The bathroom was a long walk across the sandy car park and we had a key for this as the locals from the shops nearby used the other two unlocked toilets and showers. There was even a gas water heater to have a hot shower. At one end of the rooms was an open kitchen with a gas cooker where we could cook if we wanted. In the morning we met Rina from Japan and Axel from Sweden.



Rina was planning on a year in Africa and had been to Algeria, Tunisia, and Morocco first. She planned to take the longest train in the world, 2.3 kms long. The train carries iron ore from Zouerat to Nouadhibou and has only one passenger carriage which gets really crowded. If you ride in the empty ore bins it is free and we met a young French guy who did this. He got covered in dust from the ore and it went all through his pack. Each time the wagons slowed they clunked and crashed so he couldn't sleep and at night he froze even with all his gear on. We would have liked to have gone to the Adrar area too but the summer temperatures can get to the high 50's so we decided to add it to the bucket list. Axel planned to do the same trip but we never saw him again as he headed off to stay with a Senegalese family he had met in town.



There was nothing else in our room except for the three mattresses and a small table but it was warm at night and cool in the day. There were two wooden shutters that covered the window holes to keep the sand out and let light in, as well as one light bulb.

The kitchen walls were covered with copies of photos of groups who stayed here in the heyday of 1997 when there was a huge camel herders' tent in the yard. The tent has gone and looks like nothing has been done to the place since then.

Some of the houses and shops on the outskirts of town built from recycled wooden crates or pallets.

The wind was cold and we put on jackets for the first time in about three months. The local men dressed in their blue or white traditional gowns with western clothes underneath. The gowns were billowing in the wind and to stop being blown off or blown along like a parachute kite, this man had to wrap himself up tightly.

I was not feeling well with a cough and runny nose and needed to rest and stay warm. John went for a walk to check out the port and fishing. The seas are overfished but Mauritania has given licences to European fleets. There are dozens of partly submerged ship wrecks rusting away

amongst the trawlers in the bay.

On the shore there are racks of drying fish.



We were able to find a pretty fast internet shop and a nice place to eat rotisserie cooked chicken with chips. The people we met who had come to Mauritania all said there was not much here and not a lot ot do. We had not planned on spending too much time here and would have liked to have spent more just appreciating the gentle nature of the people.

It is noticeable after Senegal how pale skinned the people are. The only worker in the camp was black. He had come to Mauritania from Mali, but ran out of money so the owner gave him a job cleaning the place and running errands for the women in the family house at the front of the camp.

Mauritania has outlawed slavery several times but it seems people are still slaves here. Read more http://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2011/06/the-country-where-slavery-is-still-normal/241148/

Nouakchott, Mauritania

We were definitely in the Western Sahara Desert. As soon as we started towards Nouakchott we could see the sand dunes changing colours. In some places the dunes looked red or orange and then they would fade to a peachy colour. In the lower area where a lot of the locals were living in small communities the sand would be grey or white.

There were many structures like this where the bottom half of the wall was made of brick or concrete to protect from the wind and blowing sand. Some people were sitting around inside while others were lying down.

Other communities had tents rather than permanent structures. We were surprised there were so many small communities in such a hostile environment. There was very little distance between the settlements. Some buildings were made of wood and looked like they had pulled pallets or wooden boxes apart to make small huts to live in.

This community had quite a large town centre and the driver and the Senegalese passenger got out here to wash their face, hands and feet and pray. The Senegalese guy spoke slow clear French so we were able to chat with him easily in our bad French. He had been back to St -Loius to have some teeth pulled and was heading for Nouakchott for a few nights and then onto Nouadhibou where he coaches a senior football team.

It was quite hot during the drive and there was not much activity in the desert. The sheep, donkeys, and goats stood in what little shade they could find under the trees and very few people were out and about. The camels wandered across the road and seemed to have the most energy as they looked for food. 75% of the land is desert or near-desert and this is increasing. As wood become scarce. dried animal dung and kerosene are being used for cooking.

The driver took us to a guesthouse that Swedish Anette had recommended near the main city market. We were given a huge room with a shared bathroom at the back of the main building, which was a cafe/ restaurant. There were lots of mosquitoes so we asked for a room with a net. Said, the owner arrived with some hooks and a net and proceeded to set it up over the bed. This is the last area that we know we will be in, where we can still catch malaria. So, after a year of avoiding it, we do not want to get it now.

We had to go to the market to change some Euros into the local currency called ouguiya (UM). It has been so wonderful travelling in the CFA countries where they all use the same currency. The market was pretty modern compared with others we have been to. It was clean and well organised.

Nouakchott is about 50 years old and the streets look newly sealed with lighting that works and footpaths that can be used by pedestrians. Some small streets are still sandy and there are no obvious open drains.

Mauritania is a Muslim country and it is illegal to bring alcohol into the country. Some of the tourist hotels have alcohol and a beer is about 8 Euros. The women wear coloured head scarves rather than black veils and we were surprised to see quite a few of them smoking. After Senegal, we welcomed the peaceful gentle approach of the Mauritanians. There were no touts hassling us and the locals left us alone.

The guesthouse cafe was busy with locals coming and going from about eight in the morning until late. Some men arrived for coffee with their laptops because there was free Wifi. There were also tables outside where they sat and watched everyone go by. We met a man called Lamir, he was a friend of Said and spoke excellent English. We chatted to him, when he was about, and learnt a lot about Mauritania. He said you can say what you like about the government and the king and there was a free press. He had worked for various non-government organisations and was a translator. He brought his friend along one night who was a lawyer. He had studied in Russia and and also did a lot of work for NGOs. In no time his rusty English improved. I showed them my books on NZ and they were most interested in all the different kinds of sheep we have
and also did a lot of work for NGOs. Later in the evening Lamir brought his wife, Tisnet, in to meet us. He invited us to visit he and his wife but John had already bought tickets for the bus the next day which was a shame. His wife made beads but couldn't speak any English at all.

Mauritania has about three million people of which 60% are Moors (Of Arab and Berber descent). It is like the buffer country between the northern Arab world and the southern Black African world. The men wear a light blue or white robe over western clothes and favour the white turban like headdress. There are no brightly coloured robes like we have seen in the other West African communities.

We tried some of the local fish that the cook went off to the fish market to buy especially for us. He also had a large group of locals book in for dinner so he got red fish for them. Like all the coastal countries, overfishing is a problem and Mauritania has sold fishing rights to EU fishing fleets.

Saint - Louis, Senegal

Getting out of Dakar was easier than we expected. We could have got in the first sept-place but the last two seats were in the back which has no leg space and is pretty uncomfortable. We waited for the next one and John got a front seat and I sat behind the driver. The driver was very careful and drove at a comfortable pace. We have heard so many people talk about the terrible drivers they have had and so far have only experienced one bad driver who fell asleep at the wheel in Togo.

The vegetation is getting noticeably drier as we head north towards the desert areas. The trees are getting smaller and more sparse as the big trees have been felled for boat-making, building, and firewood. There are lots of horse/donkey carts carrying people and goods from place to place.

We were lucky to have met a young Brit who told us about the jazz festival in St-Louis. There are no tourist offices as we know them. If there is such an office, the staff don't speak English and they only sell guided tours. They do nothing to promote tourism in other parts of the country other than where they are. This means we never saw any posters about the festival so didn't know that it would be on while we were in St-Louis. Once we knew, we decided to look for accommodation online and found a place available five kilometres away by the sea.

The transport depot was on the outskirts so we took a taxi to the island of St-Louis. It was the first French settlement in Africa and the capital of the vast French West Africa until 1958 when the capital moved to Dakar. Today there are still many 19th century colonial buildings in various states of renovation and decay.



When we arrived in town we got some money from a bank and while I looked after the bags, John headed off to see if there was any reasonably priced accommodation in town. Unfortunately there wasn't so we had to taxi out to Hydrobase to the resort place we had booked.

The place had a pool, tennis court, restaurant, souvenir shop, a library with only one English book, free Wifi, and lots of bungalows. We were the only guests and got a room with air con, hot water and a sea view. We didn't need the air con as the wind off the sea was cooling but we did enjoy the hot shower which we rarely get. The restaurant served a three course set menu. I had terrible hayfever so dosed up on antihistimine and paracetamol that we had brought from home. We decided to stay in and eat and were the only diners other than the French owners. What a treat, crab entree, zebu main and creme caramel and chocolate mousse. It is the low season and with over 130 rooms this place must get packed in the high season.


To get into the town the receptionist, who spoke very good English, suggested we take a taxi but we decided to walk towards the fishing village and take a local bus. They are pretty basic inside, with seats for 20 but we had a few standees and lots hanging on the outside, and colourful outside.



The fishing village was chaotic. There were trucks dripping with fish blood and pieces of fish scattered across the sandy road. Young men were dragging nets through the water as boats were unloading. Women were processing fish for smoking and lads loading ice tubs and fish onto the trucks. The bus had to stop several times to wait for the horse and carts carrying people to and from the African Quarter opposite St-Louis Island. The streets were sandy and washing was hung from one side of the street to the other along the side roads. There are all sorts of dwellings thrown together with materials found about the place. Whole families seem to live here full time on the shore amongst the boats and in the middle of the village where the action all happens. The best constructions along the shore are painted concrete shelters where men in their billowing white robes sit, sleep, pray or drink tea while gossiping with their mates.



These lads were keeping afloat with a sack full of plastic bottles and playing to the crowd as they walked over the bridge.



These Talibe boys were competing with the street cats for the food given by the shop owner. So far we have seen Talibe boys in Burkino Faso, Mali and Senegal. They were officially banned by the president of The Gambia, we were told, but it seems they do exist there too. Senegal has an estimated 50,000 Talibe boys. The young boys are pretty good and will leave you alone if you say no to them, but the older boys can be pretty aggressive. We have often seen the older boys bully the younger ones when they have been given money or food. The religious leaders feel that begging teaches the children humility. (http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-11265339 Check this link for an article on the Talibe boys.)



The Bou El Mogdad, built in the 1950s, used to trade between the villages on the Senegal river until a dam was built. A local travel agent bought the ship back to St-Loius and now it is used for cruising, which apparently feels like being on a boat from an Agatha Christie novel.



The main bridge is lit up at night and has a rotating centre section to allow ships to pass. At present it is being rebuilt with aid money from the EU.

We were able to get tickets for the jazz festival from the tourist office and after eating, yet another terrible shwarma, it seems standard to fill them with fried chips and not much else, we hung out near the square where the marquee was set up for the concert.

At what we thought was a reasonable time we went in to find we were the first to arrive. I was still unwell so we needed to find somewhere out of the cold wind. The first act didn't start until 9.30 and then there were still hardly any people. They were the Serrano Collina Technojazz Ensemble and were followed by Chico Correa group. We didn't much like the technojazz. By the end of the concert the marquee was barely a quarter full. A young local drummer with a beehive stack of dreads appeared as a guest percussionist and he was wonderfully talented with his African drums.

The second night we saw Michaela Rabitstch, a trumpeter singer, from Austria. She did a great job and was so impressed with the local percussionsit that she invited him to join her for a few numbers as well. There were still only a few people in the audience. She was followed by a Dutch pianist who accompanied a Mauritanian woman. Her name is Malouma and she is a celebrity in Mauritania and famous for her Sahel Blues style of singing. She is also a politician and a campaigner for womens' rights. She played a traditional harp and it would have been great if we knew what she was singing about. However she did get the crowd clapping with some of her tunes. John described it as screeching. Her website mentions that she is not afraid to sing about some of the taboos. As well as these shows in the marquee there are other acts at some of the locals cafes and bars and they begin when the marquee shows finish after midnight!

We have an annual jazz festival in our area and it is an enormous affair which has grown and evolved over the last 49 years. They will celebrate their 50th anniversary next year.

We haven't seen a lot of graffiti for a long time, and the street buildings and blank walls were covered in it. Some were comments about the president while others looked like comments promoting political groups. Most signs were written with black spray cans while a few were colourful works of art. Sengal is renowned for its 'sous-verre' or reverse-glass painting and I would have liked to have bought a sample or two but they would be too heavy and fragile for the kind of travel we are doing.

On the 17th of June we will have been in Africa for a year and it is also when our travel insurance runs out. We spent some time looking for a way to get ourselves covered until we return to NZ on 25th July. The Southern Cross Travel Insurance we had, only has one year policies that cannot be extended and their month by month options are very expensive. We really need to be covered if we get ill in Morocco or UK and we remembered meeting a young lad a few years ago who had insured with a company through Lonely Planets, so we did that and got a far better deal with comprehensive cover than we could have got with anyone else. http://www.worldnomad.com/

We had an early start to leave St Louis and head for the Mauritanian border at Rosso. We had to taxi to the gare routiere and wait for a sept-place to fill. We got the most comfortable seats and while we waited a lot of Talibe boys came begging for food or money. One little lad spent a long time chatting to me with sign language. He seemed about seven or eight and was so delightful, I could have taken him home. He had about a cup and a half of rice and a couple of small biscuits in his tomato paste tin. A couple of times some of the bigger boys tried to steal his booty but he fended them off. There was a kind lady with a stall who lined a few of the young boys up on a bench seat and gave them something to eat. There are dozens of needy people going round and round the vehicles begging, blind women, mothers with babies, old men, disabled people on crutches, and young girls.

The farms outside of St-Louis, on the way to Rosso were a sea of green with rice, sorghum, millet, peppers, tomatoes and other vegatables. There were sprinklers and channels supplying the crops with water and looked so fertile after the sandy desert areas we have been to.

At the Senegal border crossing the policeman didn't know where NZ was and wouldn't exit stamp me out of Senegal. He kept asking where it was and short of getting out my map and showing him he didn't believe our explanations. I was getting a bit exasperated as we knew the border on the Mauritanian side was closed from 1pm and it was already 12.15. Luckily a pot-bellied officer with a lot of brass buttons and braided epaulettes arrived and rescued me. He knew where it was. The policeman put John's details in his EU departures book and couldn't find a book for me. He had a book for locals, one for African member states, and finally put me in his departing diplomat book.

Our guide describes Rosso as a fly-blown place and I think they were describing the touts. We had a line of them following us to show us the money changers so they could get a tip. We knew we had to take a ferry across the river to the Mauritanian customs but the touts and their cohorts managed to distract us away from the free ferry and then proceed to try to find us a paying pirogue with one of their mates. John changed some Euros and we shooed them away and rested until the 'flies' had gone and then joined a group of locals to cross the river. By now the post was closed on the Mauritanian side and a policeman wanted to take our passports. I played the 'I go with my important passport' role as we knew the office would not open for two hours. Eventually we were taken to a room and a translator found who told us we had to pay to have our passport stamped. We knew it was coming so were not surprised. We refused, adding we had paid too much for our Mauritanian visa anyway, and we sat on our bags and said we would wait it out. Luckily another pot-bellied officer with brass buttons and braids appeared, stamped us in and let us go for no charge. Waiting with us was a Sengalese man who coached football in Mauritania and was heading to our next destination of Nouakchott. We managed to negotiate a ride in a Mercedes taxi for the three of us and headed off away from the flies!

Mauritania marks our 12oth country visited!