Agadir bay at night
Group talk
A bright and early start saw Tom puttiung the kettle on at 6.15am, ready to stir everyone into action with tea and coffee. Most took the hint but there were definitely a few of the group who weren't quite so into their early mornings – sadly a way of life on a journey like this as it gets dark so early in the evening.
Once everyone had helped themsleves to a very modest breakfast of bread and marmite or dairylea, or both, Mark led the induction chat, added to by Tom and sat through very patiently by everyone else! Then it was pack up time and road bound to Essaouira, the beach and 5 weeks of travelling.
We stopped briefly for a stock up of food, fuel and money and then ventured out towards the wilds of Morocco, leaving behind the shadow of the Atlas mountains and heading west. Along the way the road was mixed, good then terrible, then good again, and we did stop for Tom to enquire as to the price of a traditional Berber tent in his finest French – there's definitely some negotiation to be done before Sabre can have one!
We reached Essaouira by sundown, having left Marrakech a little later than anticipated, and found a campsite just on the outskirts of town. Camp was set up, Rich proved his prowess on the stove through a fantastic tomato and mushroom pasta, and Tom opened the bar. Good times. After eating, most of the group headed into town to try and find a bar and the others sat talking around the table, telling stories and getting to know each other. Bed time for those at camp came at about 11pm and god only knows when the everyone else returned, reminiscing of music, magicians and the great Maroc!
On a separate note, Tom realised he had already lost his passport once we arrived in Essaouira. Not the greatest example to set to a new group of travellers, entrusting their safety to the team leader. Nonetheless, these things happen and we'll have to see if it turns up when the truck can be turned upside down tomorrow and properly rifled through.
Tom was up with paintbrush in hand by 7.30am, putting further coats on the ladders, front grill, box cleets and other previously ignored spots. The others were soon to follow with drills, spanners, rivet guns and the rest to get everything finished and ready for a clean before the group arrived. The plan to have this all done before everyone joined us clearly wasn't going to work and so whilst Rich and Mark cracked on doing the best they could, Tom ran lessons in putting up tents and camp beds to those who had arrived. Lesson complete and with everyone now with their own tent and bed, the group less Tom, Mark and Rich headed into town to soak up the atmospheric city.
With the group arriving in dribs and drabs through the afternoon, there was several different camp building lessons and lots of trying to get out of doing the clean! Eventually, everyone was fully trained and the truck was spotless which was our cue to all go into the city, meet up with the others who had previously gone and go for a welcome supper. We sat in a restaurant overlooking the main square and ate tagine's whilst drinking coke. We were joined by Jess, a friend of Tom's from university who is working in Marrakech, who is organising a city-wide arts festival in November. Now in it's 3rd year, it growing hugely and sounds very exciting. We did, however, all forget to ask what it's called!
A taxi back for everyone at 11pm was followed by a pretty swift goodnight by all and dreams of what to expect when the sun comes over the horizon tomorrow. The beginning of the drive from Morocco to Ghana and plenty of stories along the way...
An earlish start with a mission to track down a welder in downtown Marrakech. After a bit of faffing about and a semi wild-goose chase we found a man not too far away. He and his team worked diligently to finish off the few bits and pieces of welding that were needed to add steps to the box and some other snagging issues. Whilst they worked and Mark looked on, guiding and suitably impressed, Rich and Tom went round the corner and did a supermarket shop. It was croissants for breakfast over a hot welding arc and by 11am the job was done. The next stop was the French sister company of B&Q, Mr. Bricolat. Again just round the corner, for a few nuts and bolts along with other good DIY fare required to bring this seemingly endless building project to a close.
All tools and work bought and done, we returned to camp and got on with our various jobs. Mark and Rich attacked the truck and Tom set about organising the trailer. It was soon discovered that we still needed mugs, cups, plates and bowls – fairly standard camping equipment. Still, better to discover this now then when on the road with 8 other hungry guests!
By dark, the majority of the work has been achieved, leaving tomorrow morning to finish the rest before everyone comes to join us. In quiet celebration and to mark the end of the journey for just the three of us we headed to the main square and feasted amongst the market food stands, surrounded by snake charmers, dancing monkeys, musicians, acrobats and the wafting scents and sounds of a bustling city come to life at night.
The ferry docked early on Sunday morning without hitch and we drove off and upto customs and immigration. The usual fanfare erupted and before we knew it customs were crawling all over us like lice, eager to get their hands on what looked like a treasure trove, owing to the size of the trailer and truck that we had rocked up in. From the off there was to be no reasoning, so better just to sit back, watch and wait for them to decide what they were after. No amount of paperwork thrust in their faces could prevent them from eyeing up their potential gains and so they ordered us to completely unpack the trailer at about 1.30am. Not best pleased but having to do it, we set about helping them unload everything and open every box. With each box opened, the look of disappointment on their faces grew until they finally realised that they weren't going to find anything that was either illegal or that they wanted. Bad times for them was good times for us, as once they had left us to re-pack the trailer and swindled about 120 euros off us for the pleasure we were back on the road again.
Leaving Tangiers is never easy in the light. In the dark it was impossible and it seemed an age before we managed to find the right road. Eventually we did and we drove off in the direction of Rabat. We pulled up at a service station at about 4am, bought some food and hit our beds. We awoke at about 8am and filled with fuel, took in our first sights of Africa in the light and cracked on. With better roads than Spain, northern Morocco is great to drive through and you can just eat up the miles. We made Rabat at around lunchtime and stopped in what could have been a brand new European shopping mall, this place was vast and filled with Morocco's fashionista. We found what we were looking for though which was much less glamourous – a grease gun and an ATM!
After re-greasing all sorts of mechanical compomnents on the truck and trailer we were ready to continue on our way towards Casablanca which we did tout suite. It was pretty boring driving really with not much to look at. Bets had been on since leaving Tangiers as to when we would see our first road traffic accident, so common are they in this part of the world, however, in all 400km odd of road we witnessed not one. Not one camel either, perhaps they'll have to wait until we're further south... We scooted past Casablanca and onto Marrakech where upon the Atlas mountains loomed into view and gave us something to aim for.
We rolled into our campsite in Marrakech at about 8pm, having stopped for supper on the motorway at one of the many Oasis cafés – Morocco's versions of motorway service stations. These are so much better than those back home, you can get proper food served fresh from a clay oven and choose between tagine's, grills and various other tasty Moroccan morsels. After a long time driving and having reached Marrakech in the time we set out to achieve the distance despite all the previous difficulties, we collapsed into our various sleeping positions. Too tired even to make tents and camp beds and in need of a recharge before spending tomorrow finishing off the truck.
After we stopped for fuel we carried on and found our way past Madrid. Just past Ocaña we stopped for some drinks and a short rest and ended up putting some more oil in the diffs, which we noticed had lost some, although nothing dramatic. We pushed on at about 05.30 and stopped an hour later for a sleep.
Tom woke everyone at 08.15 and coffee was had by all. Fuel was topped up so we could just drive, as the aim of the day was to make the crossing from Spain to Morocco and we were still many hundreds of kilometres from Algecerias. No breakfast, no lunch – a spot of shopping just west of Malaga for a few odds and ends and then back on the highway to Algecerias. We hit the ferry terminal at 20.45 and found out that there was a crossing at 21.00
After being mis-directed by a useless policeman who tried to tell us that we had bought a ticket for the wrong ferry and that we couldn't go to Tangiers, but had to go to Ceuta instead, we got a bit fed up and just joined the queue. As 21.00 rolled by and a ferry upped and left we got a bit worried that perhaps we had missed it. A quick check with the totally disorgainsed port authorities reassured us that we had not but that we weren't in the right queue. As a result we had to get several cars to move and scoot around the outside, only to talk to the ferry operators standing at the ramp, who put us on the reserve list for the ferry that we had just left the queue for. Suitably unimpressed with the lack of any organisation or information at all, we were very lucky that the shambles we had to deal with turned out to be alright and the ferry was made. We left port over an hour late and to make matters worse, the pub on board was closed. Still, tomorrow will bring us to Africa and so to the next stage.
Mark and Tom awoke to those extremely irrititating but somehow expected words, redolent of the Apollo 13 mission... “Mark, we have a problem”. That was Rich at about 06.30 and without the full-scale back up team that NASA had at their disposal, not that we could go so far as to compare the two expeditions – at least not at this stage! The problem, it turned out, was that we had run out of fuel on a motorway in France. This had the potential to contravene at least 2 laws that we could think of; firstly, breaking down because of lack of fuel, and secondly, potentially having to tilt the cab and prime the engine whilst carrying out some other mechanical work on the side of the motorway. It was pitch dark and our breakdown equipment (hazard triangles etc) were locked in the trailer on the road side. Coupled with that, we didn't have any fuel in our spare jerry's and we guessed on what Richard described that the next garage was at least 5km down the road. Mark took off with 2 jerry's leaving Tom and Rich to sort out making the most of warning oncoming vehicles of the hazard ahead. We were parked in the hard shoulder, but being a big vehicle, we were a little wide for it.
Having donned hi-vis jackets and arranged the hazard triangles, a set of orange flashing lights turned up. This was highway maintenance and they took to getting cones out and doing a professional job of closing the lane around us and filtering the traffic past. It was al smiles and consolations from him, who spoke not a word of English, and Tom's French was rusty but rapidly improving... or improvising yet again. Once the cones were set out and Mark had been on his walk for about 50 minutes, he phoned to say he was on his way back. Soon after, the gendarmerie arrived. Two young guys who really wanted no trouble and again were all smiles. After a quick chat with the highway maintenance guy they said they were a bit cold and asked which direction Mark had gone. We duly pointed them off up the road and 15 minutes later they arrived back with Mark and one jerry can. Two had just been stupidly hard to carry for 5 kilometres and in fact had been ditched back at the garage after about 200 yards.
At this point Mark emptied the jerry into the tank whilst one of the gendarme's asked Tom for a lighter, carrying on that great French tradition of Gaulouise and looking on. Quickly getting bored he asked Tom in his neatest English whether he thought there would be a problem starting the truck. Tom diplomatically responded “Je ne sais pas... peut être”, knowing that to re-prime the engine and drag th fuel through could take a couple of hours at least and that it was illegal to do where we were, and also that we didn't have so much as a sniff of European breakdown cover! Basically we were at risk of a fine at the least and arrest at the worst. Luckily, the engine burst into life after Mark, thankfully, had the genius idea of injecting some ether through at the same time, which had the effect of pushing the fuel through and bringing it to life. By this time it was 08.45 and light, the police didn't care about us and simply waved us on. We then restocked with fuel and picked up the jerry Mark had left at the garage up the road. By the time we had done this and fixed an air leak and a few other things it was raining hard – certainly not a time to be standing at the side of the road, so thank we got our breakdown sorted when we did.
About 10 kilometres down the road we came across our police friends with radar gun out, upholding the speeding laws. Friendly waves and smiles hopefully detracted from the fact that we were slightly over our limit. Onwards towards Bordeaux and a McDonalds brunch and Hypermarket shop on the outskirts later and once again we were on the road. Not too long after and Mark noticed, whilst Tom and Rich slept that we weren't getting full power through the transmission. This time we were able to pull over properly at an Aire, change the fuel filter and cross our fingers that all would be well! By this time we were quite bored of France, unfortunately with limited power we would not have been able to make it over the Pyrenees and so we had to sort the problem out. Our diagnosis seemed to have worked and we cracked on down past Biarritz and over the border by about 7pm.
A fuel fill and another night of driving ahead of us, Rich took the wheel once we reached the Madrid plains and by about 02.30 on Saturday morning we stopped to refuel about 40 kilometres away from the city.
An early start at 05.15 left us plenty of time to reach Portsmouth docks by 6am when we had been told that the ferry companies offices would be open, and we could begin our research into fare costs. An easy and quick phonecall en route to LD Lines managed to secure us a crossing at no extra cost for midday so by the time we arrived all we needed to do was find out how much the competition were going to charge for an earlier crossing. When that quote came in at nearly £600 it was time to go back to sleep and await midday! Tom went to find coffee and a newspaper but not before being told off for not wearing a high-vis jacket or having his passport on him. Firstly, who has a high-vis jacket and secondly, even if they do, who admits it? Truckers, eh! The passport though, was his fault, but luckily it was in the truck and not back in London.
We did manage to pick up some valuable advice, however, which is that the French and Spanish authorities (read underpaid police service), have found a lucrative second inome from stopping Brits abroad who they reckon won't have the right kit. Basically, don't forget your hi-vis jacket (one per car in France but one each in Spain), your GB sign on the back of your car and two warning triangles. Also if you're driving at night you'll need those funny headlight adaptors. Without these things we're told that a €90 fine may quickly come your way. You'll be pleased to know that should we be stopped we're fully kitted out.
The ferry crossing passed nearly without incident. Whilst Rich slept, Tom and Mark were accosted by a mad Frenchman who just so happens to live in Le Havre but who is a die-hard Chelsea supporter and makes the cross-channel journey often, to see his beloved team. After he had shown us all his Chelsea tatoos, legs, arms and bare-naked torso (the man actually removed his shirt at the bar), he seemed slightly unamused when we asked him who he supported. Still, you can't win 'em all, and he just looked confused and then probably contemplated just how stupid we were, or perhaps just how many beer's he had consumed. Luckily for us Chelsea had recently won 4-0 so he was trés content, and luckily for him, we couldn't remember any French. Anyway, we quickly got bored of him and went to find something to eat and a conversation that didn't involve the word Chelsea every other word.
Instead we quickly discovered how not to speak French at all, and that the same actions you need to choreograph the buying of a coffee in a quasi-charades style act is very similar to that employed whilst attempting to mime the name of some smutty 80's TV show at a family christmas. Happy days indeed, but the coffee was rubbish!
Before we begin this properly we should probably introduce the team leading this expedition. Lead driver is Mark who previously did this journey as recently as March 2009 and so is gunning for his second Saharan crossing of the year. Then we have co-driver Rich, a Peter Kay doppelgänger and taxi-driver extraordinaire; a man used to sitting in the drivers' seat then. Lastly, but most importantly (who's writing this anyway?!), is Tom. Full-time Sabre staff on his way out to Ghana to man the office for a couple of months. Tom was a tourist on Sabre's first UK to Ghana road trip and loved it so much he now makes sure more people do it as part of his job. The rest of the team will join us in Marrakech and we're greatly looking forward to meeting Jossy, Kimberley, Kristy, Nicki, Jon, Rachel, Victoria and Andy.
Wednesday brought with it our final day of preparations on the truck. This would involve finishing the trailer, packing and making it secure, along with putting the passenger box on the truck, a few mechanical alterations and making the journey from Burley to Portsmouth. That may sound like an achievable list, however, it was always going to be close to the wire. We planned to catch the 23.30 ferry from Portsmouth to Le Havre. At 21.45 we rolled out of Burley and an hour an three quarters later we arrived at the docks, not a ferry in sight!
Not an ideal start then, but at least we were on the road! Unsure what to do vis-a-vis ferries the next day we found out that there was an 07.30 sailing through a diferent company or a midday sailing using LD Lines – the carrier we were previously booked with. Obviously, but rather frustratingly, all booking lines and office phones in general were unmanned that late in the evening and so we bedded down for the night in the glamorous surroundings of a Tesco carpark somewhere near Portsmouth. Never has Lily Allen's rhyming of Tesco with 'al fresco' seemed so apt...
