DAY 21 WEDNESDAY 27th JANUARY 2010

We thought that we had turned up for breakfast at 7.00 am and disappointed that the staff were not ready. Then the waiter pointed out it was only 6.00 am Mauri time and we were an hour early so it gave us plenty of time to get packed to get out of Noakchott early. The morning rush hour in Noakchott was the most manic and insane driving standards of all. It is funny how the week before we had thought Rabat was traffic was mad, but compared to Noakchott it was positively civilised. At least in Rabat they confined their driving to the actual road whereas in Mauri they use the dirt tracks beside the road to take shortcuts and overtake. Also the condition of the vehicles was noticeably worse with cars driven until they simply fell to bits, sometimes at a busy junction. At every police check all the officials were polite and welcoming.
About 30kms short of Rosso we turned off on to the new "road" which cuts across to the piste to Diama. This began over 50 miles of offroading on surfaces varying from soft sand to corrugated road. This was extremely exhausting due to th eintense midday heat so we had to stop frequently to take on water and get our breath back. We were fairly shattered by the time we got to the Mauri borderwhere we were swiftly processed (by African standards) by pleasant friendly officials. They even came to Bhuds aid when he dropped his bike and cut finger keeping up his tradition of bleeding in every country we visited.
The officials on the Senegalese side were the opposite, immediately confrontational and demanding money. Once across the bridge we were met with an official who demanded Euro 70 just to lift the barrier to allow us to proceed. We had read on various travellers website that this fee is negotiable so we made it clear we would not pay Euro 70 just for a barrier to be lifted. A stalemate ensued with all our bikes blocking the entrance whilst I walked past the barrier to the police control to enquire what documents were needed for entry into the country. Among the required documents was a receipt from the barrier man confirming that we had paid him. Welcome to classic African corruption, they are all in it together. I remembered the last time I had crossed this border and we had experienced similar problems. In that case we had managed to buy off the officials with copies of adult magazines! As soon as I had told barrier man that we wouldn´t pay his initial price he reduced it to Euro 40which still seemed expensive but at least confirmed that the price was open to negotiation. After a while, another police official was getting annoyed with us and threathened to have us all sent back to Mauritania if we did not clear the bridge. I related this info back to the group and we concluded our haggling with a final fee of our left over Mauri money amounting to around GBP 20. With hindsight we may have been better to pay up rather than be delayed for so long. The police chief then began the typical African practice of writing down all the details from our passports into a big book. I did wonder what the point of all this is? Does anyone ever look in these books to read who came in when and for what purpose? The customs documents I can understand as its purpose is to ensure that any foreign vehicle brought into the country is exported again and not sold in the country avioding import taxes. I queued at the customs window for an hour before he even took my papers at 5.50 pm and then he told me that the seven passports and logbooks would take a long time to process. Usually in Africa, you are told thatsomething will be be done in minutes and it takes hours so when you are told up front that something will take along time then you know they really mean it. They love their ribber stamps in Africa and this customs official had several in different sizes and colours. The countries are so poor that they can´t even afford new ink pads so the stamps in your passport are subsequently very faint and barely legible. Each bike needed a customs form which of course meant all the details from the logbook and passport written out twice, once on the formfor us to take with us and onceagain for their own records. The fee for this was supposed to be CFA 2,500 (about Euro 3.8) or CFA 5,000 depending on size and type of vehicle. Not surprisingly, our bikes were rated in the more expensive category but as we had no CFAs the fee was rounded up to a nice Euro 10 per bike making Euro 70 in total all of which went into the officials pocket. When the official completed the first form he stapled a receipt for CFA 2,500 to it but on the second formhis stapler run out of staples. Despite him repeatedly banging it on the desk it refused to work with no staples in it so no receipts were attached to any subsequent forms. I did not query this at the time as he gave the firm impression that you did not question anything he did. Over an hour later he finally handed back all the completed paperwork although by this time it was getting dark and we really didn´t want to ride on these roads at night but it appeared that we had little choice.
It was pitch dark by the time we set off towards St Louis with me leading on the treacherous roads. I kept on having toreduce my speed as I encountered all manor of obstacles and hazards inthe dark including unlit vehicles, donkeys feeding in the road, pedestrianswalking in the roaddressed all in black and crazy taxi drivers racing each other. Going into St Louis was like another Mad Max scene with some of the most beat up vehicles ever seen, many without any lights at all.
We were stopped in a police check and the first thing they queried was why we did not have receipts attached to our customs forms. We explained the situation but the equally corrupt police just openly told us we would have to make a contribution to the chief´s drinking fund.
Thoughts turned to getting a hotel in St Louis but I was determined to get us to Zebrabar which was 20kms south of the town. John had the brilliant idea again of hiring a local taxi to guide us through the chaos and take us directly there. We stopped in a petrol station and I began to haggle with a taxi driver just as a passenger jumped into the empty taxi. The passenger turned out to be anEnglish teacher who actually taught the children of the owners of Zebrabar. We agreed on a deal whereby we would follow the taxi as it drove the teacher home and from there the driver would guide us to the Zebrabar. It was a long 15 kms in the dark on rapidly deteriorating roads until we finally reached our destination. I shook hands with the taxi driver and thanked him profusely, I almost gave him a hug as I was so glad to finally be at the famous Zebrabar again. For a second I had the awful thought that it might be closed as there seemed to be little sign of life or any other guests but we soon found a member of staff to book us in. Glen as ever was the most organised amongst us and not only started to help sort out the chalets but also located the famous ice cold beers and got a round in. Well done that man!
The relief at being at Zebrabar with a cold beer was indescribable. When I had my annual medical check up in December, the nurse had warned me that my blood pressure was too high. She told me to sit calmly for five minutes and think of something relaxing. When she subsequently retestedme the results were normal so she asked me what I had thought of thathad relaxed me so much. I explained that I had dreamt of sitting on the terrace at Zebrabar with a cold beer in my hand. The nurse agreed that this definitely worked so I should hold that thought in my head. That thought had motivated me since I left home in Devon and rode through the snow and ice of England and France. It had kept me going when dealing with tedious African officialdom and now finally the dream was reality, Zebrabar and cold beer, almost perfect. The only part missing is my wife Ann who I have promised to bring to this little bit of paradise in Africa.
After a few more beers we all headed off to our chalets after avery tiring but enjoyable day.

DAY 20 TUESDAY 26TH JANUARY 2010

Had a good nights sleep in our communal tent although the surrounding tents may have suffered from the combined effects of seven bikers snoring away in ours. It was a team effort to physically drag each bike each bike back through the soft sand and out on to the tarmac road but good to start the day with some exercise. We were soon away from the border in the crisp morning air. With the early start, we made excellent progress and the average speed was only reduced by the numerous police checks. Without exception, the police were polite and welcoming being excellent ambassadors for their country. The impression was given that they were genuinely concerned for our safety and they all wished us well for our trip. The quality of the main road was a revelation as we had been led to believe it would be patchy in places, understandable considering Mauri is one of the poorest countries in the world. However, the road was excellent with much of it very recently refurbished to a high standard. I presume that they must have imported the road building skills as, apart from one other road heading east, this is effectively the only main road in the country. It was odd to see junctions on this quality road where all the side turnings only led to dirt tracks. The overall opinion of the group was that the quality of this third world road was far better than the general standard in the UK.
The weather gradually warmed towards midday but a strong wind blew from the east bringing a mild sand storm from the Sahara. At times the road disappeared beneath the sand but there were diggers at certain points to keep the road clear. Aproaching 200 miles from the border, I was leading the group and aware that we would need to stop for the riders with smaller fuel tanks to refill from their reserve tanks. The problem was finding somewhere sheltered from the wind in this bleak wilderness to fill with petrol and not half a ton of sand. Miraculously, a newly built petrol station appeared around the next corner complete with cafe, boulangerie and general store so all our prayers were answered.
Suitably replenished, both bikes and riders, we set off again for the next 150 miles to the capital Noakchott. We stopped for a photo break when we passed another herd of wild camels and it was pleasing to see that all passing vehicles stopped to check that we were OK in this harsh environment.
As we had entered the town, Mikey had taken the lead as he had copies of everyones fiche in his tank bag and it was more efficient for one person to deal with all the formalities. Although Mikey spoke very little French (and with a strong Scottish accent), he did an excellent job with all the officials. Ride up slowly, switch off engine, remove gloves and shake hands with official seemed to do the trick and ensure a smooth passage. I overtook Mikey to try to lead us to the Novatel Hotel that I had stayed at previously. Alas, my navigation skills were no better in central Noakchott than they had been in the minefield as all the roads looked equally chaotic. Soon we were in the old part of town which looked like a scene out of a Mad Max movie with crazy smashed up wrecks coming at you from all directions and the road surface covered in deep sand. I admitted defeat and asked a taxi driver to take us to the hotel and I'd try to follow him through the insane traffic. Bhud came to grief at one of the junctions but with the help of several locals managed to pick the bike up before any of us could get any photos. A local jumped down from his donkey and cart to help Bhud and then had to run to catch his donkey who carried on up the street without stopping. Fortunately, Bhud was totally unhurt in the tumble and we soon got to the hotel. Their initial quote was Euro 133 each for a single room which we all thought was expensive so I volunteered to ride up the road to the next hotel to compare prices and found a quote of Euro82 but at a lesser quality hotel. I came back and told the group and the conclusion was that we liked the posh hotel with its secure parking so we would try to bargain a deal and perhaps share rooms. With my best negotiating skills I succeeded it getting the rate for a twin room down from Euro169 to Euro137.
Whilst all this was going on, the group outside had been chatting to a visiting senior UK policeman who had just concluded a meeting in the hotel with his Mauri counterpart concerning anti-terrorism issues. The UK are helping Mauri deal with their terrorism issues but although Mauri is keen to take the required action they lack adequate resources. This policeman told the group that he considers Mauri to be very dangerous and that we should leave the country as soon as possible. He told us not to trust anyone and not to tell anyone our plans or movements as there are "spotters" who are relaying details of kidnapping targets to the terrorists. He described my planned solo trip to Mali as "total madness" and very strongly advised against it under any circumstances. The mood amongst the group had been fairly high after successfully reaching Noakchott but this info plunged everyone into a worried state again. In amongst the doom and gloom the policeman told us about an excellent little French restaurant hidden away down a back street near the hotel. He recommended it highly and told us that unlike everywhere else in Mauri, this place served alcohol!
Before heading out for dinner we gave the bikes a quick check over as we knew that riding through the deert had taken its toll on the machinery and the sand had got abolutely everywhere. John had problems with both his flip up crash helmet and his panniers as the fine sand had got into and jammed the hinges. However, a rinse out with water followed by a squirt of WD40 and all was well.Most riders alo cleaned out their air filters and emptied handfuls of sand from the airbox. I unscrewed the drain plug from my airbox expecting to see sand drain out but instead about half a litre of oil poured out over the hotels smart paved carpark. I remembered now that I had overfilled the engine oil by mistake when I serviced the bike in December. In my usual impatient manner, I had not waited sufficiently for all the cold new oil to drain to the bottom of the sump and therefore I had accidentally put too much in. This excess had subsequently been blown back into the bottom of the airbox which would alo explain why the bike had been running a bit rough at low revs.
Once the bike maintenance was completed we walked the coupe of hundred yards down a side street opposite the hotel to the French restaurant. There was a wooden door which led into a sort of holding room and to a large steel door at which we were told to knock and wait. Eventually, it was opennd and we were ushered into the restaurant/bar beyond. We asked in slight disbelief if they did in fact serve alcohol and the very attractive waitress confirmed that they did so 6 beers and one vodka were ordered without further delay. The drinks soon came and were so good we ordered another round. We had an excellent meal after which the proprietor (who looked like a French version of Peter Stringfellow) came over with è shot glasses and a bottle of French brandy and absolutely insisted that we all have a complimentary drink. A perfect end to a brilliant days riding through Mauritania.

DAY 19 MONDAY 25th JANUARY 2010

Considering the overall standard of the hotel the breakfast was disappointing with only a few bits of bread, some hot water and milk and an empty jar of Nescafe. I asked the waiter for more coffee but he couldn't find any and after making a few phone calls, he told me it would take 10 minutes to send out for some.
We left just after 9.00am and had to double back 15 miles up the peninsular to rejoin the main road south. The sand was blowing so hard over the road that it was difficult to even see where the road was, We made good progress and got down to the border just after lunchtime. Firstly we had to exit from Morocco/Western Sahara. Just my luck but the passport office's computer system crashed when he attempted to enter my details. After that was fixed all 7 passports were processed and then it was on to the customs office to process the bikes. It was a relatively painless operation before moving to the first part of the Mauri process. I collected up all 7 passports together with the V5 logbooks and took them to the man in the next office. He had a massive book on his desk in which he wrote down all the details from your passport on the left hand side and all the details from your log book on the right hand side. The poor chap must have writers cramp atthe end of each day and must dream on one day getting a computer to ease his workload.
Once clear of the Moroccan side it was time to enter the few miles of no-mans-land between the two countries. To show there was no hard feelings from last nights discussion the rest of the group suggested that I could lead the way here as I liked going first. So I rode away with the border guard kindly reminding me "Be careful out there, remember it is a minefield. Do not wander off the path or you might hit a landmine. Good luck!".
We had 3 main options for transversing the minefield.
1. Pay one of the many guides who will alledgedly lead you through the safest route although there are many tales that they lead you into soft sand and then charge you to be towed out.
2. Simply follow another vehicle. Fine in theory but they took off too quickly for us to follow.
3. Get some suicidal idiot to volunteer to ride first and hope that he doesn't blow himself up.
We took the thrid optio with me as the volunteer as I had crossed this minefield before. I forgot to mention to the other guys that I did it 5 years ago, in a car, in the dark and ended up being towed out.
I charged into the minefield and made a mistake with the route but choosing a path with too much soft sand for our fully loaded bikes. We managed to select a firmer path after I took a shortcut between tracks whereas the others had lost all faith in my navigation and chose instead to retrace their tracks and take the other route.
Once at the Mauritanian border we had to join a long, slow moving queue of vehicles waiting to gain entry. It took nearly an hour just to reach the barrier to get into the compound with us moving up one car length every few minutes. During one attempt at moving up, I lost my footings and the bike crashed over onto to its right hand side with me underneath it. Several people came to my aid and it was soon back upright and I was completely unhurt. Once through the barrier at about 5.30pm, the first task was to give a copy of all our fiches to the military looking people in the first building. Next task was to take more fiches, passports and logbooks to the next building where another policeman repeatedd the process of writing down all our details in an even bigger book. Once he had completed this labourious task (which took about an hour) he passed everything to his colleague who wrote the details of our vehicles into our passports. Whilst all this was going on, Gert and I started to arrange to insurance. This was of course also very time consuming with lots more forms to be filled in. We had to buy insurance for Mauritania at Euro10 for 10 days and had the option of buying it for Senegal and The Gambia at further cost. I needed to extend this for a period of one monthto cover me for my return journey. Time was dragging on and we still had not got our passports back so we were starting to get concerned that it would be dark before we left the compound. Everyone from the Foreign Office to fellow travellers had told us that we absolutely MUST NOT ride in the dark in Mauri. All the recent kidnappings had taken place after dark and the 3 Spaniards had been captured on this very road. Our fears were not reduced when the Head of Security said he would phone through to each police check points to check we made it through to Noadibhou. It was then pointed out to us that there is a new camping faciltity within the border compound so it was the obvious choice to stop here. We were shown to a large new tent with 7 mattresses and pillows in what was a sharp contrast to our usual 4* luxury. I was fainally able to retrieve our passports at 7.30pm but there was still customs clearance to be finalised. The customs office consisted of a very broken down wooden hut lined with bits of cardboard nailed to the internal walls. It was a bit like the sort of old shed you might find on an English allotment but this was the official customs office for Mauritania. By now it was dark and the only light was from an oil burning lamp on his desk. The character behind the desk had his whole head and face wrapped up in Arabic headwear leaving just his piercing eyes staring at me. "Come back tomorrow. I am very tired. It is 8.00pm and I've been working all day" he advised. With the help of the fixer we had acquired, the customs man was persuaded to process out forms that evening to allow us an early start in the morning. We got chatting and he turned out to be a very helpful and friendly person and unlike my previous visits to Mauri he did not ask for any bribes to speed things up. I had to fill out a customs declaration form for each bike and forge every riders signature on different bits of paper just like Ihad done on all the insurance forms. The friendly customs chap kept telling me how much he liked the British and that we were very welcome into his country. A frenchman poked his head around the door to enquire if his forms could be processed that evening but my friendly official gave him a very firm "NON".
The delapidated shack also served as his living quarters so he told me I could wake him in the morning to lift the barrier to allow us to leave the compound. He smiled and siad that it officially opens at 8.00 am but as a special favour to his Bristish friends he would open up earlier if we wished.
By now it was 9.00 pm and dark so we moved to the tent where we were supplied with cans of coke, large bottles of water and a wonderful meal of chicken and vegetables. After all the dire warnings from the Foreign Office and others the welcome we received in Mauri was far better than we had expected. We all went to sleep very early in preparation for a big day to follow.

DAY 18 SUNDAY 24th JANUARY 2010

Woke at 6.00am, fell asleep and woke again when I heard doors banging at 8.00 am. Rushed to breakfast room which was full of UN soldiers all dressed in military uniforms. Only had time to grab a croissant but stilll charged for full breakfast, my fault for getting up late. I quickly packed and joined the others outside loading the bikes. After last nights antics, I half expected the others to pack up and leave without me. There were numerous police checks in the first few miles until we cleared the town completely. The scenery was stunning and apart from the roads themselves the landscape could have been from another planet. We came across a herd of camels so it was a good chance for a photo stop albeit in direct sunshine. We were about 25 miles from the next town and I suggested that we stop there briefly for a drink but the group decided to just ride through. I asked John if he wanted to stop and he agreed so we agreed to ride ahead to allow us time to stop very briefly. As we entered Boudour, John and I stopped at the first petrol station to refill. The strategy from Western Sahara southwards is that whenever you find a petrol station that is open and has petrol available it is wise to fill your tanks. I was surprised when the other 5 riders rode past without stopping although Glen turned in to the next petrol station down the road. John and I pulled up next door at a small cafe for a quick tea and coffee. Glen said he didn't want to delay at all as he wanted to get to Dakhla early to have time to explore the city. Just outside the town the other 4 riders had stopped on the cliff edge for photos I assumed. Having only just stopped a few minutes earlier, I decided to continue but was surprised when John and Glen also turned off. So now I waas riding by myself for the first time since France. I rode on enjoying the freedom of riding at my own pace and stopping whereever and whenever I wanted.
One place I had to stop was at a petrol station about 100 miles before Dakhla. This is where my car had blown up in 2005 and I had spent several hours here waiting to be rescued when I was taking part in the Plymouth Banjul Challenge. This time I just stopped for a quick photo and I was soon on my way again.
I was amazed at the improvements to the roads and general infrastructure since I last visited 5 years ago. Glen had told me that morning that our planned destination in Dakhla was the Regency Hotel. Riding into town I saw a massive sign for Regency Sahara which I assumed must be the right one. After our cheap downmarket hotel last night, we were clearly back up to our usual standards. I still can't get used to this idea of adventure motorcycling but staying in luxury hotels. Last time I stayed in Dakhla it was at the travellers campsite as you come into town but this time in in the poshest hotel in town. My room was massive, you enter into a central reception room and walk through into the spacious bedroom with quality furniture, flat screen TV and balcony. Also from the central room is a walk through dressing room leading to the toilet whilst another door takes you to the large modern bathroom. First thing to do was strip off the hot biking gear and dive into the decent sized bath. Suitably freshened up, it was time to explore the rest of the hotel and find the bar for my first beer in a couple of days and over 750 miles. At last the weather is properly hot and I can feel the sun burning my skin. I must remember to retrieve the sun lotion from the very bottom of my pannier. The hotel had wifi but no computers to use so I walked into town to find an internet cafe. It was a suitably cheap looking place up a flight of stairs into a small room with 9 PC desks and I was allocated no. 9. I wriggled the mouse and hit the enter key but nothing happened. I was just about to complain that the PC did not work when I realised I hadn't actually switched it on!
The internet connection was terribly slow with each page taking up to 3 minutes to update. It took me 2 hours to update one day of my blog and post messages to friends, some of whom were complaining that I had not spent enough time updating this blog! By the time I left the internet cafe it was dark and the temperature had dropped significantly.
At the hotel the other 6 bikes were parked outside the entrance but there was no sign of any of the riders. I asked the receptionist which room John was in so that I could find out if they were still around somewhere. John answered his door and told me that the group was very unhappy that I had rode off on my own today and had not waited with the others. This subjest was raised again when we all met in the bar for pre-dinner drinks. We had a "full and frank" discussion of all issues to try to clear teh air before we embarked on the next stage of our journey into Mauritania. I offered to break away from the group and make my own way to The Gambia as, after the incident at the restaurant the previous night, I did not feel part of any team spirit. However, I was wrong, as I realissed after our exchange of views which succeeded in clearing the air and settling our differences and misunderstandings. We all had a decent meal in the hotel restaurant and agreed we would aim to leave at 9.00am next morning for the ride down to the border with Mauritania.

DAY 17 SATURDAY 23rd JANUARY 2010

Planned to leave very early but John was a bit unwell so we hit the road at 8.45am. John led the way out of town but unfortunately did not see a red light at the entrance to a large roundabout. I nearly missed it as well and skidded to a halt just in time. We got away with that and were soon out of town and on the road to Tiznit which is where the others had spent last night. At 11.00 we stopped for our tradional morning coffeee break but kept the stop short as we had a lot of miles to cover today. The riding today was fairly boring in comparison to the exciting roads of yesterday. The roads were mostly flat and straight and you could see for miles until the horizon. The monotomy was interrupted in the afternoon when a herd of camels wandered across the road causing us to brake suddenly. It appears that Saharan camels have the same road sense as Dartmoor sheep. We stopped to take photos of the camels but they continued to keep moving after we had parked and were sonn hundreds of yards away.
We encountered several police checks as we crossed from Morocco to Western Sahara and a few of them requested all our details. We had prepared for this by producing dozens of copies of these "fiches" which included all personal details you could think of.
There were strong winds blowing from the Atlantic spreading sand across the road. It even rained at midday but luckily we avoided the short downpour as we were inside under cover having lunch at the time.
We stopped on the outskirts of Laayoune to see if the other group had sent a text to tell us where they were staying but nothing had been received. As we rode into the town we spied their 4 bikes parked outside a cheap looking 2* hotel so pulled up to join them. The hotel room reminded me of the sort of cheap French rooms I used to use when I first went motorcycle touring nearly 30 years ago. As we were on the outskirts of town there were no restaurants and we had to walk towards the town centre to find some. Roger and Bhud walked on ahead and we explored other areas. John very intelligently thought to ask a local phamacist for directions on the basis that a pharmacist is likely to be an educated man and able to speak English. A fish restaurant was recommned and the 5 of us walked to it and then texted Roger and Bhud to let them know exactly where we were. John and I went in and the restaurant owner pushed two tables together to create on large table for 7. We ordered drinks and then saw Roger and Bhud cross the road and go into the next door restaurant with all the others. This was the real low point of the trip and John and I ate in the original restaurant and had an excellent meal.

DAY 16 FRIDAY 22ND JANUARY 2010

As arranged, we all left theh Ibis hotel at 8.30 am but split into two separate groups again. We were determined to avoid motorways and major roads and instead wanted to ride on some real Moroccan roads. It meant we would have to ride due south through the centre of town before picking up the N203 to Asni. The main roads of town soon gave way to much smaller roads and for almost the first time on this adventure we were actually leaning the bikes over to go around the sharp corners. The altitude increased and the scenery became stunning through the High Atlas mountains. I had my Ipod playing good music, I was enjoying riding my favourite motorcycle on spectactular roads in the company of good friends and thinking how incredibly lucky I am to be experiencing all this. I thought it couldn't get much better but of course it could. The one missing ingredient is my wife Ann who I am missing so much and I wish she was here with me to enjoy it as well. Then I thought how she might react if she actually were on the pillion seat as I flew around these bends with 1,000+ feet drops and thought that perhaps she might not enjoy the experience as much as I was doing.
The poverty of the subsistence farmers in the mountain regions was emphasized when we stopped and they looked at us as if we had come from another planet. Inthe mountains especially the humble donkey is still used as the main means of transporting all produce down the road.
We spent so much time simply enjoying ourselves on these fantastic roads that we didn't cover the desired mileage and would not get much further tan Agadir. John had previously visited Agadir in 2007 so he was elected to lead us into town and locate us a suitable hotel. He even managed to find the same deluxe hotel he had previously stayed in. They agreed a special off season deal for large rooms with sea views at a bargain price. This was originally meant to be a hard core adventurer expedition but so far the most we have roughed it is one night when we stayed in a 3* hotel rather than our usual 4* fare. So yet another luxury hotel had to be endured...
The panoramic view of the bay of Agadir was lovely when I hung my laundry out to dry on my balcony.
John led the four of us down to the seafront to find a restaurant. Many of the places were closed which was odd considering Agadir is marketed as a winter sun resort. Andres inability to walk too far meant we chose a nearby restaurant and this proved to be an excellent choice. Perhaps it was the lack of other people about but the service and food was excellent. In the very short walk back to the hotel of about 200 yards we were approached and offered cocaine, heroine and sex openly! It was rather sad to see these desperate women trying to sell themselves and added a bit of a sad note to an otherwise amazing day. The other sad note was that Andres would be leaqving us as he had promised his family that he would not ride through Mauritania. Andres informed us over dinner that he had just proposed to his girlfriend and she had agreed that they will get married by an Elvis impersonator in Las Vegas this coming summer.

DAY 15 THURSDAY 21ST JANUARY 2010

Two weeks ago I was buried in snow back home in Devon, now I am in the warm sunshine of Africa. Two lots of bad news this morning. Firstly, Glen is ill and has been up all night with the runs. He takes some rehydration powder for breakfast and then sits outside hotel vomitting in the bushes. Secondly, Andres limps into breakfast room on his crutches and announces that he has broken his leg! Luckily, it is only his artificial one so he only needs a few rivets to repair it Typical biker humour followed with questions asked as to whether it was covered under BMW warranty and had he bought a spare with him. He took it in the spirit intended although the leg was clearly causing him some discomfort. He would have to find a local engineer to hand rivet a repair and this would delay his departure by a few hours. John immediately offered to stay behind to help Andres and with Glen seemingly too ill to ride it looked like we would revert back into our two groups for the ride down to Marrakesh.
Meanwhile I checked out of hotel, walked past a vomitting Glen, climbed on to my bike and rode around to the Mauri Embassy to try to sort out the problems with my visa. Riding in the morning rush hour was actually great fun, hte air was cool and I was loving the cut and thrust of the driving.
Arriving at the Embassy, there was already a large group outside so Iresigned myself to a long wait outside the entrance. Then I had a bright idea and waited instead outside the separate exit door for someone to leave. As soon as the exit door opened I dived through much to the total surprise of the guard who was only used to letting people out and not having them coming in. I rushed up to the main building where there stood two large black men. One looked like a security guard ready to grab me and the other looked senior and important as he was very well dressed. I very politely greetedd the Senior one in French and explained the problems with my visa. He asked me if I had completed the form correctly and I confirmed that I had so he took me with him to the visa processing office. The surly official who had been so unhelpful yesterday, suddenly couldn't be more helpful and apologetic in the presence of his boss. They dug out my form and confirmed I had requsted a multi entry and therefore I paid the aditionl fee and he promised to process my visa "soon". He told me to wait outside and it would be brought out to me when completed. I used this time to write up my blogin the shade and learn to relax into African time again.
Whilst waiting I texted Andres to give him the good news that I should hopefully be back soon. Andres replied with equally good news that he had found a place near the hotel that was making repairs to his leg so hopefully we would not be delayed too long. John later told me of the strange sight of Andres hopping down the road on his one good leg with John walking alongside carrying Andres's artificial leg, apparently they got some strange stares from the locals!
Meanwhile back at the Embassy the hours were passing and nothing was happening. Finally at 11.30am he told me I wouldn't get it until 3.00pm as the Consul himself was not in the building to sign it. There was nothing I could do about it so I rode back to the hotel to join John and Andres who had kindly waited for me. Andres had fixed his bionic leg at a nearby saddlery centre and we walked a very short distance to the Magic Coq for lunch. I returned to Embassy before 3.00pm and as treated like royalty this time, ushered past all the waited crowd and taken inside and presented with my passport with big smiles from everyone. I made a big point of thanking them all in French and we all left happy and smiling. John and Andres had refueled next door so we were ready to set off for Marrakesh. Four hours and 200 miles later we stopped outside Marrakesh to find out from the other group where they were staying. They had texted us the GPS coordinates of the Ibis on thering road so we were able to easily find our way there.
It was decided to take 2 taxi into town to go to the famous Marrakesh square. We ate in the square then visited a barbers shop where most of our group had a haircut and/or a decent shave.
A long day but a fantastic adventure.