Two years ago, we had our sights set on Morocco, but the pandemic shifted our plans, leading us to choose Portugal instead. This year, our travel plans were uncertain due to my surgery in February, which had critical implications. Thankfully, the operation was successful, and we decided to take a chance, driving to Interlaken on March 8th to meet Patrick at the Carlton Europe Hotel. Upon our arrival, we found Marco and Patrick busy mounting a new steering wheel. Once they were finished, Marco treated us to a fantastic meal at a Korean restaurant. Unfortunately, he couldn't join us due to work commitments, so he waved us off as we made our way along Lake Thun towards Bern under overcast skies. The March weather remained cool and dreary, but the roads were clear, allowing us to reach western Switzerland swiftly (or as swiftly as one can in a Defender). After a brief stop in Estavayer-le-Lac, Patrick discovered a water leak, which he had previously fixed by replacing the radiator hoses before the holidays. To be cautious, we picked up two bottles of radiator sealant just in case.
We made our way to Geneva, stopping in Lausanne before hitting the motorway towards Cruseilles and Chambery. Patrick's GPS seemed determined to avoid the usual routes through Les Echelles to Voreppe or the Lyon path to Valence, opting instead for a slower journey through Grenoble. So, we veered off the typical path in Chambery and took the motorway leading to Grenoble. Unfortunately, our ticket malfunctioned at the toll booth; it seemed my wallet had damaged the magnetic strip, resulting in a 25 EUR charge on my card. Not letting it bother us, we pressed on along the Autoroute du Sud towards Valence, battling strong winds. Patrick took the lead while we managed our three diesel canisters and a 40-liter water tank strapped to the roof. I know it might seem impractical to carry weight up there, but I cherish my morning showers, especially when traveling through the desert. Having those reserves gives me peace of mind, allowing me to rest easy even when surprises arise.
The challenging journey commenced after Valence, with wind and rain as our companions. To pass the time, we turned to an audiobook that kept us entertained on our way to Narbonne. As we arrived in Perpignan, we were fortunate to catch the last glimmers of sunset while making our way to Port Leucate. In Banyuls-sur-Mer, we found a quiet side street to park and wandered through the empty village towards the beach promenade. The only places open were a fast food joint serving pizza and a seafood restaurant. Given my usual aversion to seafood—unless it’s a basic fish—I chose a "Côte de Boeuf," while Rose and Patrick indulged in a seafood platter. The meal was mediocre, and the wine left much to be desired, especially for France. After sharing a Crépe Suzette, we meandered back through the quiet tourist town to our cars and headed almost directly to a hidden wild campground nestled in the vineyards, boasting a stunning sea view and level ground.
Morning arrived with warm sunshine, offering a sweeping view of the sea. We prepared breakfast under the sun, relishing the scenery while attending to our morning routines, which were still a bit unpolished—after all, it was our first major trip of the year.
Eventually, we set off, lowered the pop-up roof, and opened the water valves to prevent any damage to the pipes from the heat exchanger's excess pressure. We conducted an oil and water check, discovering that Patrick was low on water again. We then traveled along the stunning coastal road to Portbou, passing through Llança and Figueres before merging back onto the motorway. After a short distance, a BMW sped past us, with the driver gesturing animatedly at our rear. Just as we were about to move to the right, I recalled that this was a common theft tactic. One driver distracts the victim while another steals the car as they check behind. We managed to alert Patrick in time and accelerated southwest toward Barcelona. The motorway continued to stretch ahead, and since Granada was still quite far, we decided to camp near Alicante by a river in a cedar forest. A few other campers and overlanders were present, while joggers, dog walkers, and hikers passed by. For dinner, we enjoyed a delicious white wine risotto and meat from the Skotty grill, before heading to bed early.
Following our morning routine and a satisfying breakfast, we resumed our journey on the motorway, passing several budget-friendly petrol stations en route to Algeciras. The drive along the motorway proved to be monotonous and uneventful, with minimal traffic until our fuel reserves began to dwindle, prompting an urgent need for a refill. The navigation system suggested a shortcut through the Sierra's natural landscape, which we opted for, ultimately arriving at an economical petrol station where we replenished our fuel. Anticipating the forthcoming border crossing, we chose to leave our fuel canisters empty, planning to fill them later with more affordable diesel in Africa.
Once back on the motorway, fatigue began to set in, leading us to stop on a hill where we visited a restaurant offering basic highway nurishment. The proprietor was preoccupied with a Spanish quiz show on television. Eventually, we were served a selection of tapas, including potatoes, sirloin, serrano ham, and a dessert. The meal was neither particularly good nor inexpensive, reflecting the typical experience along the transversal motorway. After enjoying an espresso, we continued our journey for several hours until Patrick decided to stop at a petrol station due to his tiredness.
During our travels, we always consider individual speed, fatigue, and driving capability to ensure a safe, healthy, and enjoyable return home—after all, this is a holiday, not a competitive event. I set up the Alucab pop-up roof and lay down, though I couldn't fully sleep; however, a brief period of dozing was beneficial. After some time, we circled the petrol station and filled our tanks with water using a filter.
I also filled the still vacant 40-liter tank located on the roof prior to our final stretch on the motorway. As we drove, we were treated to a stunning sunset while passing the golf courses of Marbella, ultimately arriving in Algeciras with a view of the Rock of Gibraltar. We overlooked numerous ticket sales booths until we reached a barrier at the port where we were required to present our tickets. Patrick navigated the challenging traffic of the city, prompting me to take the lead, feeling somewhat "hangry," to guide him back onto the correct route. In the port area, we purchased a ticket for the Armac ferry via phone, despite the fact that we could have easily boarded the 7:30 PM ferry, which was not scheduled to depart until 9 PM. Unbeknownst to us at that moment, our vessel would be delayed for five hours, leading us to spend time in the port surrounded by unsavory characters, beggars, and other travelers with vehicles of questionable reliability. It is advisable to opt for a ferry that is 20 EUR more expensive, as it tends to be more punctual, has fewer problematic passengers, and thus facilitates a smoother and quicker customs process. Additionally, more than one restroom is available on these slightly pricier ferries, and the food options are generally safer. During this time, Patrick took the opportunity to secure his two red diesel canisters in the GMB holders, install his roof boxes, and inspect his engine. Just as I finished setting up the roof, a rather anxious Spanish dwarf approached and instructed me to proceed to border control immediately. After departing from Spain, we found ourselves on the pier, where we spent an additional three hours in the driver's seat, waiting, dozing, and observing trucks until we were finally permitted to board the rusty barge.
The situation presented a dichotomy: nearly all the toilets were locked, while the bar offered only a single canned beverage, which we decided to purchase despite having our own supply in the car, as it was priced at a mere two euros and was chilled. During this time, Patrick took the opportunity to rest, while Rose busied herself with synchronizing the images from her camera. Shortly thereafter, a few individuals approached us, informing us that we needed to register with the immigration officer aboard the ship. Rose promptly ascended to the first floor and headed directly to the counter, at which point I observed a number of Moroccans who appeared to be "standing in line." Our apparent naivety as tourists elicited laughter and leniency, likely due to Rose's gender and the fact that it was the onset of Ramadan. Following a straightforward passport verification and the registration of a form we had previously completed, we returned to the lower deck to rouse Patrick and send him to the border officer while we rested and awaited our arrival on a new continent. As the boat finally docked, I noticed that some passengers had already started their engines, eagerly searching for the fastest route to disembark, even though no ramp or gate was yet open. "Welcome to Africa," I mused, reflecting on a continent where the meticulous organization typical of Western Europeans and the associated bureaucratic norms were conspicuously absent. To my surprise this country offered partly a better mobile service than many locations in Germany and the streets were partly in better conditions, than in many places in Italy or France.
Upon the arrival of the Mud Terrains on the new continent, our journey commenced, albeit with considerable fatigue as we navigated the customs process. Only one of the ten counters was operational, leading drivers of motorhomes, overloaded vehicles, and delivery vans to engage in inventive queuing practices. Eventually, a border official adorned with numerous gold stripes on his uniform appeared, prompting the opening of additional counters and accelerating the procedure. After approximately an hour, we found ourselves amidst towering border fences on the Moroccan side of the bureaucratic process, contemplating our overnight accommodation options. Tangier Med is situated about an hour from the campsite near Tangier, prompting us to opt for a drive into the hills to locate a wild camping site. Despite travel guides cautioning against nighttime travel, wild camping, or stopping roadside, we ascended the winding two-lane road and soon identified a large television antenna as a potential overnight location. Ultimately, we selected a spacious parking lot beneath a high-voltage power line for our stay.
The subsequent morning, we decided to prepare "rösti" and eggs for breakfast in the spacious parking area before starting the engines for a refreshing shower. The sun was shining brightly, yet a mild breeze did not evoke any summery feelings, while sporadic clouds of dust drifted by. Despite the presence of a heat exchanger, the shower was cold, indicating an issue within the cooling system that we were neither inclined nor had the time to address. We loaded our belongings into the car, closed the pop-up roof, and navigated the winding pass road to the initial police checkpoint. Following an inspection and a friendly exchange during the scanning of our passports, we proceeded with a view overlooking Ceuta towards Fnideq. In the city center, we exchanged currency, attempted unsuccessfully to find a local SIM card, and then took the motorway towards Tétouan. The toll could only be paid in cash, making our currency exchange fortuitous. While in Tétouan, as we were using the radio for route planning, I inadvertently drove into the radar of two police officers. They conducted checks of my passport and ID. The officers meticulously filled out an Arabic form, inscribing my name in both block letters and Arabic, and informed me that I had been speeding, resulting in a fine of 15 CHF. They presented the registration number of the radar gun and requested my verification on the document. After receiving a receipt for the fine, I expressed my apologies and inquired about shopping options. They were exceedingly helpful, providing valuable advice regarding SIM cards and allowing us to continue on our way.
The supermarket was bustling with local residents, the parking area was impeccably maintained, and shoppers returned their carts without the need for deposit coins. I was struck by the fact that Moroccans had accomplished what many Western Europeans still require coins for returning their shopping carts. We purchased three SIM cards from the Maroc-Telecom store and then gathered a variety of beverages, snacks, fruits, milk, and coffee. Upon returning to the parking lot, we set our navigation system to “Chefchouan via side roads” and proceeded along a route that took us past numerous tajine pottery workshops and shops selling lamps and tin goods, leading us towards the lake and mountain road. While we did not encounter any Defenders, we observed many Mercedes “Bremer” buses, which served as unofficial taxis, delivery vehicles, or general transport. The streets were free of litter, and the sun shone brightly.
We reached Chefchouan around 3 p.m. The sole campsite is situated on the mountain above the town, which is constructed steeply on the hillside. The distinctive blue-painted facades of the houses, along with the steps and even the flooring in certain side streets, contribute to the town's unique charm. After settling in at the campsite, enjoying a cigar, and organizing our car, we arranged for a taxi to take us to the central square. The taxi driver dropped us off right at the steps leading up to the square. Thanks to our navigator's capabilities, we were able to explore the town before a local guided us back to the spot where the driver had left us, for a small fee, of course. At least we had the opportunity to view the town from the valley, along with a donkey and the town wall.
Flower's cousin and her husband, who had been traveling for approximately two months, awaited our arrival in the main square. They suggested a restaurant located on the third floor, directly overlooking the square, where we decided to dine. The menu featured a variety of tajines alongside several meat skewer options accompanied by a type of French fries. For beverages, guests could choose from fresh fruit juices or the renowned Tuareg tea, a staple among Moroccans on all occasions, except during Ramadan, when consumption is limited to before or after sunrise. We were struck by the extent to which the entire nation observes this tradition, in stark contrast to the tourists who indulged freely in the restaurants. The social structure appeared to be segregated, with women often seen in groups or largely absent from public spaces. The food was exceptional, and the view of the mosque highlighted the evening prayer as a communal event. Residents gathered to pray and subsequently engaged in lively discussions in the main square, exchanging ideas with enthusiasm. Service was temporarily halted during the prayer, as the kitchen staff also participated in the ritual.
Upon returning to the campsite, we enjoyed a final drink while a cat paid us a visit. We observed that cats were well-liked and accepted visitors at numerous campsites, urban areas, and most dining establishments, adeptly soliciting food from tourists. Flower activated the auxiliary heating, and we settled in for a peaceful night's sleep.
The following morning, we rose early, likely due to the time zone difference in Morocco. The showers were uninviting, providing only cold water and lacking cleanliness. After having breakfast and freshening up, we gathered our belongings, settled our bill at the reception, and navigated the city to meet Flower's cousin and her husband, who had decided on a whim to accompany us to Fez.
Flower and her cousin traveled in Patrick's car, while I drove the Panda with her cousin's husband. The route we selected was suggested by a contact on Facebook, who had traversed the same path four weeks earlier. He indicated the Cha-Cha Café as a waypoint, which we later discovered was merely a point of interest.
Our journey took us along uneven back roads leading to the El Wahda reservoir, continuing on partially potholed and unpaved paths further south. The road was nearly deserted, with many children running towards the vehicles, waving or hoping for a handout. When two girls approached us to sell fresh peppermint they had gathered from the hills, we offered them some caramel biscuits, a gesture we repeated with other children, provided there weren't too many. Some children were quite mischievous, while others were notably shy, friendly, and joyfully waving.
Upon arrival, we found the Cha-Cha Café closed. The entire row of shops overlooking the lake was abandoned, littered with plastic waste. At the Al Wahda reservoir, we encountered expansive grasslands and marshes, strewn with thousands of plastic bags. Children played with an old tire or a well-worn football. The clothing of the locals was tattered, often bearing the logos of football clubs, and their footwear resembled slippers typical of our region. The dwellings appeared rudimentary, and the remnants of a past earthquake were evident not only in the roads but also in the structures and bridges.
The route traversed a desolate area until we finally arrived at a Cepsa gas station. A small grocery store was operational, while the restaurant was enveloped in a layer of cigarette ash, including on the tables, and a corner was marred by vomit that appeared to be gradually reviving. Fortunately, I had a Mars bar in the fridge, which I combined with some chocolate cookies for a snack, as my fellow travelers gathered nuts and other provisions. Nausea ensued almost immediately after consumption.
After replenishing the fuel tanks, we chose a slightly better route and proceeded towards the city of Fez, which has a population of approximately one million residents. We arranged for our travel companion to meet us in a taxi a short distance away, as I preferred to avoid navigating the Defender through the narrow streets of the Medina. The campsite was located about twenty minutes from the city center, adjacent to a water park. Visitors had the option to rent stylish bungalows with designated parking and well-kept lawns, or to camp in their own vehicles in a spacious parking area shaded by large trees. The bathhouse was notably well-equipped by African standards and maintained in relatively clean condition; the showers offered warm water with sufficient pressure, provided one was the sole user, and the toilets were stocked with toilet paper.
After a brief rest and a shower, we walked through the still-closed water park and eventually caught a shared taxi. The driver paused at an intersection to discuss our intended destination with his colleagues before navigating through the heavy traffic near the upper city gate. After traveling a few hundred meters, we met the cousin and her husband, selected the nearest restaurant, and were led to the top floor via some precarious stairs. The menu mirrored that of Chefchouan, but the service was somewhat less enthusiastic and rather unfriendly, possibly due to the special menu requests from our companions. Regrettably, the very good orange juice arrived much later than expected. The food was excellent until a group of Eastern Europeans entered the restaurant and began smoking their cigarettes. I lamented having left my cigars in the car, as they would have noticed that smoke and food do not pair well together.
Following dinner, we embarked on a brief stroll through the Medina, navigating some of the city's 9,300 alleyways. Certain passages were scarcely wide enough for a single person, and the unlit dead ends transformed our exploration into an adventure that frequently concluded at a front door. We eventually returned to the broader market street, where a local approached us with an offer to "assist" in our navigation. Ultimately, we gained considerable insights about Fez, albeit not without providing a gratuity afterward. The taxi fare had amounted to CHF 10, yet he seemed to expect more for his five-minute accompaniment. We settled on CHF 5, coming to the realization that the urban populace might not exhibit the same warmth as their rural counterparts.
Near Bab Boujloud, we paused to enjoy Moroccan tea, coffee, and other beverages, extending our best wishes to our temporary travel companions. The taxi then transported us back to the campsite, where our vehicles awaited us patiently. The night was serene, and we drifted off to sleep to the gentle rustling of leaves in the trees.
The following morning, we took our time to shower, replenish the car with water, and engage in conversation with two Swiss individuals at the campsite regarding optimal routes, travel suggestions, and shared experiences. One of them was a member of the Land Rovers of Switzerland, offering valuable route recommendations and captivating travel stories. When the groundskeeper finally showed us some consideration by increasing the water pressure, the refueling process became significantly more efficient, aided by the activated carbon filter. Consequently, we were soon prepared to depart in temperatures hovering around 25 degrees. After a brief stop at the petrol station, where we also filled our additional 20-liter canisters mounted on the roof, we proceeded along the country road toward Sefrou, where we were thoroughly impressed by the town.
Due to our limited timeframe of merely two weeks, we proceeded directly southward to Annoceur, where we made a left turn and traversed a narrow road that led us past impoverished residences towards Ifran, renowned for its monkey forest. We opted not to pause, deterred by the throngs of tourists, and continued our journey to Azrou. From Azrou, we advanced to Douar Caïd Amgor, navigating through the botanical landscapes of the interior, characterized by modest homes, shepherds, and small plastic structures, until we reached Tiglmamines. Our route then took us along a steep and treacherous off-road path, where we encountered a small hut with a family seated outside. Utilizing sign language, I inquired about the possibility of spending the night by the lake, to which they consented. The path leading to the lake was both slippery and daunting, prompting my hope for dry conditions, as I was reluctant to attempt the descent in the rain. Upon arrival at the lake, we parked our vehicles not for a view of the water, but rather to shield ourselves from the wind. We unfurled the awning and savored the final rays of sunlight alongside a fine cigar and a drink. As the sun began to set, we commenced preparing risotto and grilling entrecôtes on the Skotti grill. Shortly thereafter, the landowner approached us on his donkey, accompanied by his two children. We offered him a bar of white chocolate, and despite the language barrier, we shared a moment of laughter before he returned home as we served our meal, marking the first time we did not hear the call to prayer from the muezzin.
The temperature dropped rapidly, prompting me to reflect on how families managed to endure such conditions in their homes. It was spring, yet I could only imagine the presence of snow during the winter months. The residences lacked fireplaces for warmth, and the children were not dressed in adequate clothing or footwear. Neither of us experienced a restful night, awakening early the next morning, once again without the call of the muezzin. After a brief, warm shower, a light breakfast, and the customary morning duties, we ventured back along the muddy path to the main road. The scenery became increasingly stunning as we progressed. Initially, we traced one side of the valley, crossing a narrow bridge before ascending through an ancient cedar forest.
Beneath the trees, patches of short grass meadows suggested they had been lightly grazed by goats and sheep, and the trees themselves appeared quite old, based on their girth. Eventually, we encountered a shepherd accompanied by a donkey, followed by a villager on horseback, and then two children situated in a narrow passage between the fields, with their parents absent. They were asking for clothing, shoes, or pens in French. I pondered which child would seek such items from us, when they normally asked for sweets or luxury items. Lacking suitable clothing, we offered caramel biscuits instead and continued along the path until we rounded a bend that took our breath away.
A vast expanse unfolded before us, transitioning from lush greenery to sandy hues. Morocco, as envisioned by a newcomer, revealed itself in all its splendor. We navigated the path to Zaida, traversing the desolate terrain en route to Midelt, taking a detour past what appeared to be a sewage treatment facility, as indicated by the unpleasant odor, further south. The city left an indelible mark with its pervasive plastic waste and foul smell. Driven by a desire to explore, we continued through the Tunne Zaabal, passing the Al Hassan Addakhil reservoir on our way to Erfoud. The city began to present itself with numerous sophisticated desert resorts and a distinctly tourist-oriented atmosphere. In the distance, we could see the vast dunes of the Erg Chebbi, while to the west, the sun dipped slowly towards the horizon, shrouded in the dust of the Sahara. A few off-road vehicles were stationed nearby, promoting desert excursions and campsites in Merzouga, attempting to sell us various services. We remained steadfast in our plans and conducted our own research for our destination. We ultimately chose the Auberge les Roches in Merzouga, which boasted a stunning atrium and a campsite nestled under palm trees with a view of the Sahara, complete with a swimming pool, warm showers, and a restaurant.
Upon checking in, we were presented with the option of a camel tour and informed that dinner could be arranged at the hotel if ordered promptly. Given that all ingredients were prepared fresh, the tajine required approximately two hours of advance notice. We placed an order for dinner for nine, which nearly overwhelmed the hotelier behind the bar, while we enjoyed an aperitif beneath the palm trees, sheltered by an awning and overlooking the erg.
As darkness enveloped the Sahara and the calls of the muezzin faded into silence, the hotelier extended an invitation to dine at the restaurant. We commenced our meal with a delightful "Soup Ramadan," which was truly exceptional, followed by a tajine omelette accompanied by chicken skewers, and various tajines featuring lamb, beef, and chicken. Our beverages included Touareg tea, water, and wine sourced from the vicinity of Rabat. We were intrigued to discover that wine was produced in Morocco, although we noted that there remained potential for enhancement in its quality. After indulging to our satisfaction, we returned the empty plates just as the chef presented dessert, which consisted of cinnamon oranges, caramel pudding, and an assortment of fruits. Despite feeling nearly overstuffed, we relished the final morsels before embarking on a leisurely stroll through the village. We wandered through the quaint town, navigating past sandstone structures and shadowy alleys, before retracing our steps and enjoying a Ramazzotti before settling down for a peaceful night in the Defender parked outside.
The view was captivating and enchanting. The Erg unfolded before our pop-up roof window, showcasing palm trees, sand dunes, and a few camels and dromedaries in the distance. As the sun began to rise behind the dunes, I heard the muezzin's call for the second time that early morning and quietly slipped out of bed. After a long, warm shower to cleanse the sand from my body, we organized the car, securing all our belongings, and savored a delightful breakfast provided by the hotel restaurant. Our planned route would take us around Erg Chebbi and then along tracks to Zagora. Patrick expressed reservations about this plan, as our two-week vacation was drawing to a close. Ultimately, we decided to traverse the desert tracks to Zagora, a journey of approximately 280 kilometers, primarily through the stony terrain of the Hoggar, with a brief passage through the sandy Erg. I revisited the route details in our travel guide to ensure that the difficulty level was manageable given our experience and preparation, and that we were equipped with the necessary supplies.
We made a brief stop at a nearby fuel station, where we topped off our diesel tanks completely. Unfortunately, there were no vendors selling water, so we managed to fill our roof tank with 20 liters and the others with 100 liters. Additionally, we carried 20 liters of drinking water and provisions sufficient for 4 to 5 days. As we departed from Merzouga, a sense of unease began to settle in, particularly as the road became increasingly obscured by sand. The volume of traffic diminished significantly, and in the rearview mirror, we could only see the road, the expansive erg, and ahead of us, a few sand dunes, crumbling forts, or sand structures repurposed as hotels. The road came to an abrupt end, leaving only a dirt path ahead. A Berber approached us, warning that a jeep had become stranded in the desert a week prior and suggested we visit his "Port de Sahara" hotel to review a map to avoid getting lost. We suspected this might be a typical tourist trap and chose to remain resolute. Continuing along the track, we passed several desert hotels, some in ruins and others still operational. A camel rested beneath a tree, seemingly indifferent to our presence, allowing us to capture its image from various angles. This was my first encounter with a camel in its natural environment, and it was captivating to observe such a creature in the wild, free from enclosures or zoos.
The path transformed into a quintessential stretch of corrugation, which one could traverse either at high speed, embracing a "hopping philosophy," or at a leisurely pace. My shock absorbers had reached the end of their functional lifespan, causing the entire vehicle to "rock" multiple times. Consequently, we proceeded cautiously along the route, taking in the expansive view of "NOTHING." I began to grasp the concept of "NOTHING" as articulated by Michael Ende in The Neverending Story. Such an environment invites contemplation and the emergence of personal thoughts and ideas, albeit interrupted occasionally by changes that pique the interest of newcomers to the desert. We arrived at a plain characterized by extremely fine dust known as fesh-fesh. Even the slightest disturbance, such as placing a shoe in the sand, left no discernible prints or traces. After capturing a few photographs outside the vehicle in temperatures exceeding 30 degrees Celsius, we continued along the track, passing a Swiss camper isolated in the wilderness and yielding to a group of motorcyclists. Traversing a vast, barren plain, we approached a hill that bore the remnants of a dilapidated fort. Only the telephone poles accompanied us on our journey southwest. Adjacent to the path, we noticed a Bedouin tent. I opted for the route that led past the tent when a young boy appeared, to whom we offered a "fruit stalk." The Bedouin inquired if we would like some tea. We settled into the tent made of sheep's wool, marveling at the ancient craftsmanship of tent construction.
The atmosphere was pleasantly cool beneath the tent's canopy. A goat wandered nearby as the Bedouin served us tea and asked if we preferred it with sugar. After several unsuccessful attempts at communication, we presented the family with a water container and a bar of white chocolate before resuming our journey. Eventually, the landscape shifted to sandy terrain, necessitating that we navigate the small sand hills with considerable acceleration. Dunes possess both a windward and leeward side; the leeward side is typically steep and requires careful driving, lest the Land Rover risk overturning.
The necessity to forge our own path arose from the ever-changing landscape of the desert, which is reshaped by each sandstorm. The dunes are in constant motion, never remaining in a fixed location or form. As a result, any tracks left behind are swiftly obliterated, granting the desert a continually evolving visage.
Eventually, we arrived at Sidi Ali, a modest settlement adorned with a few palm trees, which we navigated around to steer clear of the throngs of children seeking assistance.
After traversing a broad expanse, the rocky terrain gradually transitioned into a sandy environment, compelling us to maneuver through patches of grass and over undulating sand hills. By following the telephone poles, we found ourselves in a desolate area devoid of human habitation; for nearly an hour, we encountered no houses, camels, or other vehicles. Even the telephone poles appeared to have deviated from their original course. The only evidence of civilization was the faint tire tracks on the ground. Remarkably, we occasionally experienced 5G connectivity.
As the valley unfolded before us, distant hills remained visible on the horizon. We frequently spotted four cairns aligned in a row—referred to as the Touareg's GPS—which often guided our journey. The Sahara boasts an intricate navigation system that has directed caravans for millennia and more recently, overlanders.
The sun descended lower in the sky, and a sense of fatigue began to envelop us. Flower assumed control of the vehicle while I occupied myself with the camera. We still had approximately 120 kilometers to cover, a distance that could potentially be addressed the following day. At one juncture, we halted beneath some thorny bushes and opted to camp in the desert. Numerous travel guides, blogs, and vlogs caution against overnight stays in such environments. The risks include theft, abduction, and various other threats. However, it is worth noting that theft can occur just as readily during daylight hours. Aside from a group of motorcyclists and an individual who seemed out of place, we had not encountered anyone else. The cover of night does not inherently provide an advantage to potential assailants, thus necessitating a fundamental approach to risk management when venturing into these areas. The likelihood of experiencing a vehicular accident, mechanical failure, or health issue is considerably heightened in such remote locations. Incidents of theft and robbery predominantly occur in urban centers rather than in the vastness of the desert.
Regrettably, our initial camping location was situated within a termite colony, prompting us to relocate our camp a short distance away. For dinner, we prepared potatoes using the Omnia oven, accompanied by sliced meat in a red wine goulash sauce, complemented by the remaining red wine, tonic, and beer. As the sun gradually vanished beyond the horizon, it cast a reddish hue upon the rocks, until the moon ascended and the stars began to illuminate the desert landscape. The temperature dropped swiftly, leading us to retire early for the night.
By 5 a.m., daylight had already broken, and during my first trip to the restroom, I captured some of the best photographs of our campsite. By 7:00, we were all awake and gathered for breakfast, during which I insisted on enjoying a refreshing shower from the heat exchanger in the midst of the desert. We departed without significant delay, navigating along the rocky path. As a poignant reminder of past travelers, we passed three crossed shock absorbers positioned beside an engine piston, resembling an island in the track. Shortly thereafter, we arrived at the first sign of civilization: a military outpost that conducted a thorough inspection of our passports.
Upon successfully completing the test, the journey proceeded along a somewhat improved path, leading us past the initial clusters of trees and shrubs toward Zagora. After traversing a parched plain, we encountered a second mountain range. Following a descent along a rough trail, we arrived at a slightly more verdant expanse of savannah. After an additional 50 kilometers, we reached the paved road, shifted into low gear, and drove northward in a state of exhaustion. In Timtig, we found shops and restaurants, stopping at the first street café we encountered, where we ordered a tagine, chicken skewers, and green vegetables. A local man, adorned in a blue cloak and turban, acted as our intermediary, translating from French to Arabic and ensuring that our order was fulfilled. He owned a pottery shop and attempted to sell us clay pots, but we successfully resisted his efforts until he suggested we visit a Land Rover specialist. Although we declined, he proceeded to call his colleague regardless. They parked a 300tdi HT directly in front of the restaurant, waiting patiently in their vehicle until we had finished our meal after about an hour. They offered to "blow out the air filter and grease the nipples (on the car)." We continued to refuse, even when the cost was "only 30 dirhams" (approximately CHF 3.00). I explained to them that we drive Land Rovers: they would take the vehicle to their workshop, disassemble it, and then impose exorbitant charges, or, given that it was a well-worn Land Rover from the desert, they would identify numerous issues, compelling us to undertake extensive repairs.
They laughed and remarked that I must be a Berber. Subsequently, they showed me references on their phone, indicating that many members of the Land Rover Club of Switzerland were likely already patrons of their workshop or at least connected with them on Instagram and Facebook. We followed the Land Rover past the Palmiers campsite to the workshop, where we encountered a Frenchman awaiting a front axle for his Toyota, who was camping in the garage, as well as a motorcyclist repairing his own bike, alongside a Unimog and a Vamper experiencing gearbox issues.
The TD4 was the first vehicle to enter the pit for inspection and underwent a thorough evaluation. It was soon discovered that the low range gearbox was leaking oil, prompting a check of the axle oils, which had been recently changed prior to the trip, as well as an assessment of the wheel bearing play. The shock absorbers were found to be at the end of their operational life; however, I expressed my desire to drive the vehicle home despite this issue. After the technicians removed the shock absorbers against my wishes and demonstrated their ineffectiveness, I inquired about the cost of replacements. High-quality shock absorbers from Naka would have been approximately 1500 EUR, while they offered Britpart components for 180 CHF. The total cost for the service, which included refilling the oil in the intermediate gear, reattaching the third brake light, cleaning the interior, conducting a comprehensive inspection, replenishing the air and water, installing my replacement air filter, and reconditioning the K&N filter, amounted to 240 CHF.
In contrast, when Patrick's vehicle was inspected, the findings were somewhat different. His rubber buffers were found to be deteriorating, and he experienced coolant loss, leading him to authorize the necessary repairs. As the work would extend overnight, he opted for a scooter taxi to the campsite, stopping at a Berber shop where souvenirs were being sold. The shopkeeper, a Touareg, quoted 1600 Dirhams (approximately 160 CHF) for a teapot, and an additional 70 CHF for a hoodie that a friend desired. I declined the initial offers, and after enjoying some tea, the shopkeeper proposed a trade. I had a promotional pocket knife in the car, and we engaged in traditional haggling, reminiscent of carpet dealers, until we settled on a price of 40 CHF for the pocket knife in exchange for the teapot, a metal tray, and the sweater. The Vespa taxi transported Patrick to the campsite, where we subsequently parked under palm trees adjacent to the pool while he settled into his room, which included a toilet and shower.
Following a brief nap, we convened for an aperitif beneath the awning, where we ordered tajine—our only dinner option—accompanied by a bottle of wine. We relished our meal by the pool, conveniently located near our vehicle. The waiter exhibited a strong eagerness to expedite our service, likely motivated by the impending conclusion of his shift. We took our time, savoring the pleasant evening characterized by mild temperatures, delectable food, and fine drink, all while strategizing our travel route.
The Dades Valley was included in our itinerary, albeit as a detour. Although the Tiki N TestPass was en route, we deemed it a significant time investment and opted instead for the most direct path over the hills to Marrakech.
The following morning, after enjoying breakfast and a shower at the campsite, we prepared for departure. Flower reclined on the bench while Patrick occupied the passenger seat. We made a stop at a bank to withdraw cash from the ATM, limited to a maximum of CHF 200 per transaction. Patrick's repair expenses totaled approximately CHF 760, a third of what it would have cost in Switzerland, while my costs amounted to around CHF 200 for a new coolant tank cover, shock absorbers, and brake light, with washing and oil changes included.
We found ourselves at Jaboud's garage until after eleven o'clock before we could finally set off. At a nearby gas station, the attendant inadvertently overfilled Patrick's fuel tank, creating a bit of a mess. Subsequently, we commenced our journey toward Marrakech, bypassing the Dades Gorge. The road meandered alongside a river and ascended toward Agdz. Instead of turning right, we continued along the road that traversed the Atlas Mountains. We were uncertain whether we were navigating the High Atlas or the Anti-Atlas, but the landscape was undeniably barren, rugged, and strikingly beautiful.
At Ait Saoun, during the initial ascent, Patrick experienced a loss of speed. His vehicle began to overheat and subsequently lost coolant, occurring right in the midst of a road construction zone. We managed to find a small exit where we parked the car and commenced our search for a solution. The TD5 is equipped with a complex water hose system resembling an octopus (actually a pentous, as it has 5 arms), which had developed a leak above the water pump. Fortunately, Marco had provided us with specialized sealing tape, which we now needed to locate within the confines of the Dirty Panda. While Patrick adjusted the positioning of his vehicle, I extended the awning to shield us from the intense sunlight while we worked on the repairs. Ultimately, I discovered the tape in the spare parts compartment, and we began the process of dismantling the hose. Two construction workers, having left their posts at the excavator and traffic control, offered their assistance in removing the engine components. After approximately twenty minutes, we successfully extracted the hose, which was devoid of any remaining coolant. We sealed the puncture and reinforced the area with gaffer tape, reassembled everything, and attempted to offer the construction workers a tip, which they graciously declined. They also refused any refreshments, citing the observance of Ramadan. We bid them farewell and continued our journey towards Ouarzazate. Upon entering the city, we spotted a café on our right and decided to stop. The staff, engaged in cleaning the floor with a high-pressure cleaner, paused their work to serve us exceptional coffee, ensured the restroom was clean for Flower, and even washed our vehicles as we prepared to leave. The Wi-Fi connection was remarkably fast, prompting Patrick to consume two cups of coffee to upload his videos.
We ascended the High Atlas via an alternate mountain pass, and during our next break at a hospice, we encountered stone vendors and other opportunists attempting to sell their wares. After capturing a few photographs, we departed and navigated the thrilling route towards Marrakech.
After nearly 13 hours of travel covering just 356 kilometers, we arrived in Marrakech and checked into a unique hotel-campsite. The facility was dimly lit, the restaurant was not operational, and aside from three other campers, the area was well-kept yet largely unoccupied. The showers were either cold or required a lengthy wait, prompting me to opt for a shower using the heat exchanger. With all nearby hotels closed, we made our way to an acient gas station where we purchased a surprisingly excellent "burger." After consuming the first, we promptly ordered another before retreating to the car for the night.
The following morning, it took some time to get moving. After showering, organizing our belongings, tidying up, and having breakfast, we drove to a secure parking lot in the city center. From there, we ventured to the central market square and navigated the narrow streets, where every few meters a different shop offered carpets, spices, teapots, souvenirs, and various trinkets to eager customers. Amidst the throngs of people, daring scooter riders maneuvered through the crowd, often causing minor chaos as they reached their destinations. With a mix of emotions, we left the market and made our way to one of the many French cafés surrounding the square, ascending to the fourth floor where a refreshing breeze and a panoramic view awaited us. The sounds of the square enhanced the African ambiance, with melodies from singers, the blaring of trumpets, and the rhythm of bush drums, alongside the neighing of carriage horses, the calls of market vendors, and the honking of scooters and cars. Sipping espresso and fruit juice, we relished the view and decided to take the motorway north from Marrakech, with Casablanca or possibly Tangier as our intended destinations for the day.
A brief diversion took us past the city park as we made our way back to the vehicle in nearly 30-degree heat. A Moroccan Defender parked adjacent to us, complying with "the unwritten legal requirements". We engaged in a brief conversation with the driver, a Moroccan student residing in France.
Navigating through the dense and tumultuous traffic, we approached the motorway, embodying the African sentiment that larger vehicles possess the right of way. Surrounded by numerous trucks, we aligned ourselves on the lengthy asphalt stretch traversing the desert, listening to an audiobook while the monotonous and desolate landscape passed by.
After approximately an hour of travel, the Defender unexpectedly lost power. We coasted to a halt on the shoulder, where the engine failed and required a restart; the temperature gauge was firmly in the red zone and showed no signs of recovery. With the window open, air conditioning off, and heating at maximum, we allowed the vehicle to cool down. We proceeded at 80 km/h to the nearest rest area, where we inspected the water and oil levels, as well as the engine, but found no apparent issues. During this stop, we adjusted the tire pressure from "country road" to "motorway" specifications. With nearly 3.5 bar, we re-entered the motorway, continuing northward through the sweltering heat.
Upon nearing Casablanca, we experienced a significant drop in temperature. The weather was neither inviting nor pleasant, prompting us to resume our journey towards Tangier Med at full speed. As dusk approached, we refueled with inexpensive African diesel at a gas station located 10 kilometers from the port and purchased our ferry tickets. This time, we opted for FRS instead of Armac, a decision that proved advantageous. At the ticket counter, the attendant recommended that we take the earlier ferry. Standing alone on the pier, I questioned whether we had arrived at the correct location. Besides ourselves, only about five trucks were on board, and even the galley offered edible options. The fish and chicken appeared to have met untimely ends, while the rice seemed freshly prepared.
Exhausted, we disembarked from the boat in Algeciras and made our way to a hardware store parking lot, where we encountered several white vampers, some of whom were animatedly investing various brews. Having traveled nearly 600 kilometers that day, the surrounding noise faded into the background as we settled down for the night.
Flower abruptly awakened me, as parking attendants were reportedly inspecting the area. Feeling somewhat irritable and primarily annoyed, I ventured to the nearby hardware store to use the restrooms and returned with cappuccino and coffee for my fellow travelers, while I prepared a chocolate milk for myself. Without engaging in much of a morning routine, we took to the road, speeding past Malaga on the motorway towards Granada. The weather was characterized by rain, wind, and cool temperatures when we paused at a rest area. While Patrick opted for a croissant from the restaurant, I took the opportunity to shower and shave. The water was a bit warm, a welcome relief after the motorway, allowing me to wash away the remnants of sand and feel rejuvenated. When Flower got served with coffee, our spirits lifted, and we decided to head to Granada for lunch or possibly camping. We parked our vehicles in a lot overseen by a “freelance security employee,” agreeing to a parking fee of 5 EUR. The individual, a Moroccan, showed little interest in the remaining dirhams.
We made our way to the city center, bypassing the renowned Alhambra, and wandered through the quaint streets lined with numerous cafes and restaurants. Although the chill in the air necessitated warm jackets and sweaters, we opted to dine outdoors. The tapas bar I favored did not meet Patrick’s expectations, prompting us to seek out another restaurant. The melon wrapped in Serrano ham was delightful, while the main course was merely satisfactory. After enjoying a double coffee, we decided against staying in Granada and instead drove towards Barcelona in search of a camping site. We eventually located a suitable spot by a lake, which, after several attempts, offered not only a picturesque view of the water and internet access but also a serene sunset and tranquility.
For dinner, we prepared risotto and meat, accompanied by local wine. As the sun set, I savored one of my last cigars and began drafting the initial lines of this report. Once Flower and later Patrick retired for the night, I prepared to settle into bed. Just as I was about to enter the car, a gust of wind knocked Patrick's chair down the hill, necessitating a brief rescue operation to secure it beneath his vehicle. In the dead of night, the wind intensified, prompting me to retrieve the chair from under Patrick's car and place it on the hood. I then drove down the hill with the pop-up roof open, allowing us to find shelter from the wind. Patrick has a tendency to store items under his car, only to later discover them in a less than intact condition.
The following morning, we returned to the rocky outcrop overlooking the lake, retrieved Patrick's chair, and prepared breakfast. Patrick expressed a desire to meet a friend in Alicante, while Rose and I considered heading to a nearby wild camping location or possibly spending the night in Barcelona. We resumed our journey, departing from the picturesque site to rejoin the motorway. Our route to Alicante included a stop at a petrol station. As we continued along the motorway, Patrick enthusiastically turned right, passing by our intended destinations. After approximately 800 kilometers, we arrived in Barcelona. The campsite, named 3 Estrellas, is situated right by the sea; however, it hardly merits three stars, as a minimum stay of two nights is required, and the cooler weather dissuaded us from exploring the city. Feeling somewhat fatigued, we navigated through the city towards Lloret de Mar. Although the tourist season had not yet commenced, several hotels offered commendable meals. After a stroll, we opted for the hotel adjacent to our parking area and ventured to its sister establishment located on a side street. The food was superb, yet once again, we had over-ordered. After satisfying our appetites, we set out in search of a camping site. We discovered a turnoff along the winding coastal road between Tossa and Figueras. On a hill, we encountered a fenced area that appeared uninviting at night, with bags filled with branches scattered along the steep and narrow path. We navigated the trails until we located a suitable spot on a curve. Upon exiting the vehicle, I was immediately pricked by blackberry thorns, and the grass was quite tall. Just as I was about to open the pop-up roof, a loud "BOOOAAAARRRRRR" echoed from the darkness. A wave of primal fear washed over me, prompting me to retreat into the car. I feared it might be a bear, a wild boar, or some other creature intent on devouring me! Ultimately, it was merely the thorn bushes that unsettled me, so we continued along the path until it steeply descended to the coastal road. We reached a bend via narrow, winding serpentines where we managed to park relatively straight. Pop-up roof - brush teeth - sleep.
We couldn't believe our eyes when we woke up to bright sunshine, a sea view and a cool breeze. The birds were chirping the arrival of spring. We didn't want to eat breakfast, so we packed up our car and took the road to the "Gulf of Roses". At a river mouth we stood by the fence and cooked brunch while a school class watched birds. We also seemed to be of zoological interest and so we strange birds also became the focus of their interest.
Not sure they had a page in their books about us, maybe we should write a Wikipedia article about ourselves? After breakfast we packed up our belongings and followed the coastal road through Cérbère and Banyuls-sur-mer to Fort Leucate. The road offers a fantastic view of the Mediterranean Sea and the rugged rocky backdrop with the challenging serpentine road makes driving a pleasure, even with a Land Rover.
In Perpignan we turned left and followed the “Train Rouge” into the Maury wine region. On the one hand, the Chateau Queribus, a ruin that can be visited, stands above it, and on the other hand, the region mainly produces sweet wine. Since sales of sweet wine have plummeted in recent years, the winemakers are also concentrating on table wines that offer a great price-performance ratio. At the Domaine des Capitelles, our house supplier, we tasted the latest selection and bought whatever we could somehow fit into the Defender. With a cool breeze and sunshine, we ploughed back to the motorway on the Route Nationale to meet Patrick in Sète at the Plage Marseillaise. There is a paying camper van parking lot there (the only one in the region), which offers showers and toilets in summer and has direct access to the sea. Out of season, the toilets and showers as well as the restaurants on the beach are not in operation. We cooked our last dinner together and used our tried and tested Norwegian mosquito repellent while Patrick cleared his roof. After a restless night right next to the train line and road, we packed everything up. I removed our diesel and water canisters from the roof and filled the Defender with cheap Moroccan diesel, while on the motorway the price was 2.20 EUR per liter. We lined up on the motorway through Sète and stepped on the gas so hard that our first stop was in Valence. After refueling with the third canister, we followed the route to Grenoble and this time via the Lyon route to Geneva. In Lausanne, Patrick felt so homesick that he made a small detour via Fribourg. When we made our last stop in Gruyères in almost freezing temperatures, we filled our tanks at the pump for the first time since Spain. After a short hop, we were home after 787km, just after 8 p.m. In the end, it was a day earlier than planned, as we had taken Marrakech - Tangier Med and Tangier Med - Barcelona out for a day and on the other hand the reserve was always planned for repairs, rest or ferry mishaps.
Driving from home to the Sahara in a car is still incomprehensible. We had experienced so much and yet the two weeks were far too short. Is it worth driving to Morocco for two weeks? Definitely, if the alternative is “not driving”. If you plan for three or more weeks, you are definitely on the right track and can also take your time for the individual stages. We now know that we want to visit Fez, Merzouga, the Erg Chebbi and other destinations on our next visit. It is remarkable that the transfer gearbox shaft is still holding up at 377,000km.
Oil change, rotate wheels, top up fluids, change diesel and air filters, do the transfer shaft and... the wanderlust never leaves me. I hope we can set off again soon, who knows where... one is for sure, we will do it with a DefENDEr!
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