4 toes

I have had many (well, a few) requests for more 4 toes, which will follow when all are gathered in.
We aim to collate all our overlanders' pics, then create a humdinger collage that will blow everyone's Djellaba off.
So, please be patient whilst our photo shop works some Moroccan magic.

Day 27/28 550 mile marathon Chartres - Dunkerque - Dover - Home

Mixed marathon

Off we set to Dunkerque, but we ended up taking a tortuous route to the ferry, ending up with an 8pm sailing.
We pulled off-road near the port terminal to confer. Setting off again, we discovered some Brits in their saloons had followed us, assuming we were queuing for the ferry. More than mild amusement ensued as they extracated themselves across bumpy land and huge kerbs.

The sun set on board as we left foreign land behind, indicating a hard day's night ahead.






Fortified with good British stodge (chips, pies, sausages and beans, so good for you), it was time to go our separate ways.
Mick and John already home, it was our turn to head off into the night.
In the cargo hold we shared man-hugs as we bade final farewells.
Paul and Lance were to get home safely first.
Robin, Mike and Steve would take much longer, still having over 250 miles to go. Out came the Red Bull.
Robin made it home around 3am, nursing Patrick's carawagon home without a turbo.
Sunder was less fortunate. A good overland was cut short 10 miles from home as the overdrive gave out (we think). The ignominy of being transported the last few miles were tempered with the thought that it could have happened near Algeria.

The old land rovers had done us proud, and we all returned home safe and sound.

What an adventure!

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Day 26 May 26th 240 miles Angouleme - Poitiers - Tours - Chartres

Slow progress through France

A lateish start (no John to cajole us) and a somewhat slow day punctuated by stops meant that only 240 miles were covered, leaving something of a marathon for tomorrow should we decide to aim for home.

One fuel stop gave a chance meeting with a Frenchman's Gold Star, which Lance approved of.





Little progress and a very dry day led us to a posh campsite on the Loire. Desperate for a cold beer, a re-enactment was called for.

Ice Cold in Chartres





It's a tough life.


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Day 25 May 25th 330 miles Burgos - Biarritz -Bordeaux - Angouleme

Spain to France, happier pace.

'Only' 330 miles today, but in a more respectable 11hours.
A mindset of not repeating yesterday's sleepy marathon led us to a better pace into France.

Unfortunately we had no time to revisit LRM's Drew and Jacquelineline at Auchan, but rural France continued to enthrall, magical villages offering tasty pastries to fortify our journey. This town square had immaculately topped plane trees.





As evening beckoned, we found a wonderful cheap municipal campsite at Chevanceaux, where a communal meal created by masterchefs Paul and Michael was consumed with relish (curry sauce, actually).
The site came with the added benefit of a group of enthusiastic young ladies playing netball behind our camp. Sweet dreams, Michael..




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Day 24 May 24th 399 miles Jaen - Madrid - Burgos

The pain in Spain lies mainly on the plain

The long overland home stretched ahead for our depleted crew of five. Paul & Lance, Mike and Steve, and now Robin on his own with Susan & Patrick, Heather & Dianne flying home from Malaga. In losing Patrick, we now had no insured spare driver, so accidents / illness were not optional.
A normal stop at the many vineyards of Spain was tempting, but drive we must.





The distant hills and intense heat threatened to lull us into sleep at the wheel, so more rests, lots of water and infusions of Red Bull saw us through 399 miles in an eye-watering 16 hour day.
Compensation lay in steak and chips at a local eatery.

A planned blast north was revised to a slightly more doable three days, still a real challenge after so many miles in the saddle.


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Day 23 May 23rd 269 miles, 50 in Morocco Tetuan - Tangier Med - Jaen (Spain)

Leaving Morocco and loved ones

Five landrovers were now down to three, heading home with mixed feelings. We recalled the long slog overland down through France and Spain, overland adventure still to come.
A short hop to Tangier Med and the ferry to Algeciras revealed good views of majestic Gibraltar.





Leaving Morocco behind felt strange. So much preparation and hard work to get there, now departing. Would any of us return?
Little time to reflect, we headed off to Malaga to drop off yet more of our crew. Susan and Patrick, Heather and Dianne were flying home. Big hugs and sighs saw them safely return home, whilst we turned our heads northwards towards Madrid and beyond.
In truth, this day was to be a slog which would alter our return overland philosophy.
A future more relaxed visit to Spain entered our heads as we once more enjoyed spectacular snow-capped views of the Sierra Nevada and the vista of Granada. ITV never looked better!
Filling with fuel for the umpteenth time, dirhams gave way to euros, and prices doubled from 60p a litre in Morocco. At the station, a reminder of the reliability of our old land land rovers as two more modern vehicles were having to be carried out.




Some light relief at the end of a long long day was required, with Robin preparing an ageing pair of melons for our delectation.




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Day 22 May 22nd 249 miles Casablanca - Tetuan

Atlantic to Mediterranean

It felt strange to be so far North, although still in Morocco. This was in part that seeing many local people doing 'normal Brit' things like sitting on deckchairs and wearing swimming costumes was so foreign to us.
Heading off towards Tangier Med to hop over to Spain was next, but to give some final local flavour we decided to overland non-motorway.
It was with great sadness that we bade an emotional farewell to our esteemed mentor, Mr John. It was time for him to overland home to his beloved wife, and prepare for his special presentation for the Royal Geographical Society. They want to hear about our overland adventure.
The landscape on our continuing journey north east changed once again as we crossed our southern path over the beautiful Rif mountains weeks earlier.
A local pottery seller in the middle of nowhere benefitted from our desire for tagines and plates, as we bartered for a decent price and sought out a soft location mid-rover so they stayed in one piece.
Tetuan was a coastal town with much investment, palm-strewn avenues and hundreds of locals promenading in groups along the well-manicured sea-front. Most strange and un-Moroccan to us; more like a visit to Cleethorpes sans pubs.





The campsite was well recommended, but was tired like us. A less than welcoming dark green piscine remained undipped, whilst the offer of a lodge or caravan to sleep in was equally resisted, neither having been inhabited or cleaned since Mohammad was a lad. This was pleasurably tempered by the tasty restaurant food and the complete absence of barking dogs, hopefully not a coincidence.





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Day 21 May 21st 184 miles Essouira - Bouguedra - Casablanca

Big waves at Casablanca

The early morning sun awoke us with a huge warm smile, so off we headed north to Casablanca.
For the first time there was a plethora of horse-drawn 'carriages'. Ancient wheels creaked as whole families packed into a tiny space to attend the local market, teeming with people. We stopped at one for lunch, a stall-holder grilling chicken in bread and pouring on fiery harissa. Lovely, with freshly squeezed orange juice.
Also, barley was being harvested by hand in many of the fields.

Meanwhile, in another cafe, Young Michael spent time educating a group of enthusiastic linguists, happy to have their photo taken.








Then at our campsite tried out Paul's new chopper








Down to the beach, huge waves lashed us delicate tourists and caught us in its powerful undertow. Sand was later discovered in unlikely locations by all bathers.

Back at the campsite, heads down for sleep was met with 'who let the dogs out?' It seems routine in Morocco, but these Baskerville hounds who were roaming the grounds, allegedly protecting us against invaders, were particularly vicious looking. Waking up in one's hammock to be met by a savage countenance seems increasingly de rigour.

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Day 20 May 20th 135 miles Marrakech - Essouira

Hey man, Essouira, chillin' joint for Jimmy Hendrix, Cat Stevens & John Horne

Slept like Lawrence of Sunderland in our Arabian tent.
The morning shone clear, offering stupendous snow-capped views of the Atlas mountains.
Heading due west, a straight road led us to Essouira, one of the coolest places around, our first stop on the Atlantic coast We all stopped off at a local fish 'restaurant'. Two Germans who were eating were deprived of their table as our group was bigger. They were given a minuscule replacement board to fit their lunch on. We stole their towels too (I made that up).
The fish lunch was ok, apparently, although yours truly was almost throwing up, and had to leave the building. Perhaps it was the raw fish slush on the floor, or the boy who fixed our salad, wet bread, and cut up the raw fish with the same knife on the same soggy table whilst picking his nose and attempting the famous 'Moroccan crotch lift'. Or maybe it was the soggier Gauloise hanging out of the owner's moustache...
Everyone else tucked in.
Nom-nom!
Time to explore the sea front and the huge fleet of fishing boats. Hot Whitby comes to mind.




Then the massive fortified walls with huge cannons facing ancient invading enemies from the sea. The medina, a magical, secret place, no hassling, fixed prices, brilliant value, friendly people. Vibrant colours, intricate wooden carving, henna salamanders, cool Tuareg music.
We finished with a Mojito each and an extra mortgage at Jimmy Hendrix's bar.




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Day 19 May 19th 0 miles Marrakech

Chilling in Marrakech

Bacon & back-edd bee-anns, great start to the day after camping out.
Last night Paul and I braved the rain (although it doesn't rain in Morocco). We went swimming in the pool (French - Piscine) in the rain, of course. One of the French waiters came to see the mad Englishmen treading water, and struck up a conversation in Franglais. "Piscine? You piscine? You like piscine?"
Anyway, this morning we did Marrakech new town, then visited the Medina. We walked past the ruined cafe where just a few weeks ago people tragically lost their lives, extremely humbling. The medina was still vibrant, and very welcoming.
 .. The innovative 'new' king, inheriting the throne from his father in 1997, had decided that the country should modernise. He declared tourists should be more protected, so that .
Mike generously allowed me to spend ages haggling a reduction for an ancient teapot, then nipped in and bagged one himself at the same price. The boy will go far.
John met one of his old friends in the souk, selling jewellery, and we benefitted from some Tuareg pieces.
Another old man sat at a table with lots of teeth on display, including two of his own in grinning situ, and brandishing a vicious set of pliers. We edged by.
Hearing the recent news of Osama Bin Laden, a bizarre sight met our eyes. A salesman was enthusiastically urging us to purchase a tiny train set. The engine was Bin Laden, the tender was Bush, trying to catch him. What goes round, comes round, repeatedly.
After paying a miffed car park attendant (John had beat him down) we returned to the campsite with various treasures.

Unfortunately we bade farewell to a snowbird, Martin Horne, who flew back to Leeds today.





Martin is a wonderful guy, calm, unflappable with a great sense of humour, liked by everyone & sadly missed.

Then Mike and I went to the airport to pick up a couple of other treasures, Heather and Dianne, the latest recruits to our party.
They came in a thunderstorm which engulfed the bonnet of Sunder, a leg-drenching experience.
The pay-off lay in a Bedouin tent.






Marrakech is expanding fast, and may engulf this wonderful French enclave.
We partook of a tasty meal, ignoring the dole-eyed pleas of their deaf boxer for food, and slept like bedouins.



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Day 18 May 18 66 miles Tassouirgane - Asni - Marrakech

Marrakech Express

Waking to thick cloud, we enjoyed it clearing up the valley to reveal a precise, colourful vista.
Sadly, after breakfast, we bade farewell to three of our fold. Mick, Louise and William setting off back to blighty for personal commitments. We were sad to see them go, all friends. William had been a wonderful catalyst for joy, seeing the adventure through the eyes of one so young. Louise, so friendly, kept smiling all the while, despite some scary moments (including, notably, camel spiders). Mick's great knowledge was a constant source of assistance and interest, whilst his face upon leaving us revealed a Yorkshire grit with a very soft centre.





Our party of overlanders now numbering nine, 'twas time for us too to leave our lovely bolt hole in the sky for the plains of Morocco and we headed north once again to Marrakech.
At Asni the Toubkal range stood out magnificently, snow-capped peaks dominating the row of €900 Richard Branson tents beneath. Maybe next time.
Marrakech brought the best campsite yet, a hippy French couple having transformed a piece of virgin soil into a tropical oasis 13km out of expanding city limits.
We then bid sad adieu to Yahya our Berber guide. It is good to make acquaintance with such quality people.
He offered to be our guide up to Toubkal on a future trek. Another reason to return.
Great guy, although he does look better in a black head scarf.
And he plays footy.
And he plays in goal, which means he is actually quite mad, like all goalkeepers.
He has fitted in with us perfectly.





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Day 17 May 17 0 miles Dar Tassa mountain retreat, Tassouirgane

A day of chilling.

Again no signal, so apologies to our followers for the late posting. Occasionally Patrick would hang sideways off the cliff-face and achieve a phone signal, but it was never strong enough for t'internet.
After the dark evening and a treacherous drive up a slippery track, the morning was clearing as cloud was burnt from below our eagle nest hotel.




A walk up the wooded valley witnessed spectacular flowers, Mike clicking away like a cricket in a salsa dance.
The lavender in particular smelled delightful.
A tour of the local village included the old hand olive press and the water mill for grinding corn, all shared within the community co-operative. Sometimes we have a lot to learn.




At the riad we were treated to beautifully made bread, made before us by a local lady. The dough was shaped into flat rounds and patted into the sides of a tandoori oven. We dipped it in local olive oil and savoured.
We learnt how to make a perfect mint tea, with a tasty lamb couscous and henna tattooing of everyone from the cook to end an unusual day in a magical place.








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Day 16 May 16th 57 miles Taliouine - over 200 metres Tizi-n-Test - Tassaouirgane



Spectacular mountain climb to idyllic hotel refuge

After bidding farewell to the posh Azualai land rovers next to our golden oldies, we set off on an exciting drive over the huge mountains of Tizi-n-Test. Rain had left the roads like lakes, a few town locals almost unwittingly drowned in our passing.
The spectacular road over Tizi was wet and slippy in the rain, but the tarmac was hugely safer and easier than the off-road white-knuckle nature of the previous Tizi-n-Tazazert of Friday 13th.
Perhaps we are becoming more proficient too.
John was traveling down memory lane and after an unusual stop to walk around a lovely C12th mosque, we stopped for an Ice Cold in Chigaga drink in the quaintly named Le Sanglier Qui Fume,




Another old watering hole of our esteemed leader. Cheers John.
Further along the road we turned off-road to our destination for two nights, a wonderful mountain hotel perched on a cliffside, another most challenging drive. We were warmly greeted and 'Mr John' afforded much respect, as the owner is yet another of his friends. Stunning(?) views were shrouded in mist and dark skies as we took advantage of this beautiful, calm relaxing retreat.

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Day 15 May 15th 163 miles, 57 off-road in desert Erg Chigaga dunes- Foum-Zguid- Tazenakht- Taliouine

We awoke to a calm, peaceful desert, a young Bedouin with mule pulling an empty barrel passing by. Proof of yesterday's storm, however, was evident in the form of sand... everywhere!
There was a proud sense of achievement from yesterday, as we had overcome an unexpected and life-threatening challenge.
Only 500 metres away were the large protective dunes, but in last night's storm they may as well have been in Timbuktu.
It was time for the big photo shoot, a chance to line up the vehicles and their occupants for a chanceofalifetime view.




Eventually Mike's lens became hotter than a Series manifold, it was time to set off on the long off-road section back to civilization. Great fun was had riding all abreast across Lac Iriki, a superb sand sea. A small sign appeared in the middle of nowhere, advertising l'ecole, a school, for nomads!
Retirement sounded better, so on we forged to the stoney, barren stretch of desert leading to tarmac, which tested the leaves to the limit. Our cooker attempted a high dive of 2.8 difficulty, and our guide Yahya counted his teeth. We had made it to Foum Zguid, a lovely, peaceful non-pestering frontier town and lunch.
A tight route between the Anti and High Atlas saw us dropping down to Taliouine. No saffron, just a decent meal and a well-deserved sleep.


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Day 14 May 14 163 miles Nekob - Zagora - Mhamid - Erg Chigaga

Sandstorm!

Stopping off at Zagora for Mick and Paul's landies to receive running repairs, the group of battle - hardened veterans wended their weary way to the last town at the end of the road.
Mhamid's hotels all line up impressively well before the outskirts, a sharp contrast to the tawdry 'wild west' final frontier nature of the place itself. Although prosperous Zagora was traditionally the end of the road, the map shows Mhamid now boasts the honour, if little else. We did, however, manage to find a tiny 'shop' selling camel meat, the treat for tonight.




After haggling and many heavy strokes with an enormous cleaver, the resulting bag of protein was to feed us all in the dunes.
One final check under the vehicles, we were about to set off into the unknown, when a sad looking but very expensive Porsche 4x4 limped back into town.
Patrick was leading with our guide, the weather looking a tad hazy, with dust devils reinforcing the shanty flavour of our position.
Acknowledging a group of bikers, we set off into the unknown. The sand was a mixture, some very fine, softened by recent rain, which had fell on our dusty charges.
The weather worsened, the desert wind picking up as visibility fell a tad, then dramatically.
With many twists and turns through low dry river beds and small dunes, some land rovers got stuck. Progress became slower as the light faded, winding through the numerous callotropice bushes, their poisonous pear-like fruits laughing at us. We became separated as another wheel sank. As our heroic guide Yahya left the two stationary leading cars to seek the others, running away Ninj-like in seeming slow-motion, we shared worried looks and wrapped our heads in cloth to protect us from the fierce windblown sand.
Some long minutes later, lights appeared out of the gloom. We were reunited, but had not reached the protection of the high dunes. Reluctantly, camp was carefully set up where we were in tight formation against the driving wind, extra tarps pegged and edges buried in sand.
Finally the wind died somewhat, enough to make camp, start the barbecue and begin mincing the camel (as you do). John's ancient device was clamped to the bumper as Louise turned the screw. Paul, our expert chef, then made the burgers, we tucked in and spirits were revived.

Fanciful thoughts of sleeping outdoors, however, were dashed as the storm returned, so we battened down the hatches and slept fitfully.
What a day!





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Day 13 May 13th Todra Gorge - Tinerhir - Ikniouin - over Tizi-n-Tazazert - Nekob

DAY 13 MAY 13TH

An epic white-knuckle day, huge giddy mountain passes, verdant oases. Live Road!
Living the Dream came alive today in a massive demonstration of raw beauty and knife-edged ridges, a huge challenge for old land rovers and their old(ish) owners (no, not you, Patrick).

What began with a 'routine' tarmac drive down the N10, turned into lovely rising hills on a rough track beneath the Anti Atlas, where we stopped for lunch, most unaware of the challenges ahead.


then a hairpinned, buttock clenching, precipice dodging exhilaration.


Here's a few thoughts on today's experience from each of us:

Mick: Epic landscape, a cacophony of colors. Now I need gorilla glue to put t'tlandy back together.
Mike: A whiter than white knuckle off road ride.
Martin: Felt like the end if the Italian Job, but much better, a fantastic experience.
Paul: Today was one to cross off my bucket list. One word, superb.
Susan: Wonderful (when we were out of the Land Rovers)
William: Why was there a road there?
Louise: Todra Gorge was incredible, but was topped by these incredible vistas
Lance: I swapped cars and enjoyed both. It looked like loads of film sets.
Robin: Hard, bumpy and beautiful.
Patrick: Long road into Eden.
Stephen: Second ever drive off-road, baptism of fire, incredible experience. Can I take my hands off the wheel yet?
John: 40 years of bad road is enough for any man, especially in a Series 2.

Tomorrow, the sand sea and big dunes.
PS Apologies for delay in blog posting, I'm trying every couple of waking hours !





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Day 12 May 12th 5 miles Todra Gorge

'Luxury' accommodation and a long walk.

After a sumptuous night at the 'gorge' ous Yasmina we awoke to another full breakfast. The view up the gorge suggested more adventure.

And so it proved. We made plans for this 'rest' day. Some of us heading off into the mountains, some resting around the gorge. Here are most of about to do our thing.

The route was challenging but the views returned ample reward for our endeavours.

Near the top of the pass, Patrick and I scouted ahead for routes.

Looking out over the abyss, a beautiful haunting yet melodic voice came to our ears. We instantly glanced at each other to check whether we were dreaming or not. Carefully scanned the whole valley for signs of life, we eventually, far across the valley slopes on a similar height to us, saw movement. A shepherdess was singing to her goats. It is moments like these that defines a unique experience in this magical place.
We turned away to see sheep around us, seemingly emaciated, they resembled walking pipe cleaners.

Meeting up with our compatriots around the peak, we found John discussing the weather (or the like) with travelling mountain Berbers. Then a young girl headed warily towards us with three laden donkeys.

Desperately wary, possibly due to her age, even of our western smiles, she carried on her way.

Stopping for lunch gave us pause to admire the stark beauty and vastness of our surroundings.

A vastness such that, after our twenty minute break, the young Berber girl and her three donkeys could still clearly be seen, plodding into the distance.

Lance had made the decision to join us on the long trek upwards. He did so well on the walk apart from a little fall, unfortunately on a prickly bush, resulting in his big bro Paul removing numerous painful spines with a large needle and tweezers. A badge of honour for a brave hero to gladly bare!

On the way down Mike kept taking his usual batch of excellent pictures, and paying a few extra dirhams for this friendly chap to pose with us. We'd turned into tourists for a few minutes.

A steep ravine was navigated with care...

...and returned yet another stunning view.

Paul, Mick & Louise had a more relaxing day whilst William won all the hotel staffs' hearts and earned himself many forbidden cokes which he enhanced with a number of equally forbidden sugar cubes. He finally crashed out after dinner in the restaurant, all sugared out.

Dinner tonight was unusual as it was alcohol-free. Serves us right, if the kind reader will forgive the pun.

Tomorrow we were heading south into the desert again, so we needed to share out the forbidden booze. The cans of beer were obscenely expensive, so it was with dismay when one of our party rightly complained of a hissing noise in his bag. Less of a cobra, more of a wounded can. Upon examination, the metal was so thin as to be almost translucent. However, I can say with pride I still have one in our fridge here in Blighty at this time of editing yet again (26.8.11).

PS Someone in our party was the first to buy a carpet today. A book has been running here, but can you guess who succumbed first? Magic, in one.

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Days 9, 10 & 11 May 9th 51 miles Foum Tillich - Meski

Mick found his biggest fan, Robin finally located his dongle, and someone had a birthday in the desert.

We awoke to sun, peace and quiet. Some of us slept in the house, whilst Patrick and I hammocked.
Please note that when night falls, Moroccans allow their dogs to roam, no doubt protecting them from the fierce wildlife (meerkats?). Dogs locked up all day celebrate their freedom in dog-like ways, ensuring a 120db all-night chorus. Who let the dogs out....

Nevertheless, here is Mike enjoying the early rays. The reason he looks awake is he'd probably been up since 4am photographing.

Our day journey was only a short distance, but we started late after an informative and emotional guided tour of our new friends' farm. Their very own water mill has three speeds, and seemed to work more efficiently than some of our vehicles.

The lovely old Kasbah near the river witnessed a surge of 15 metres of water two years ago, destroying 80% of the orchard on which their livelihood depends.





 

It must have been devastating for the families who rely upon their crops and to see their lovely building washed away. John also had fond memories of past visits.

The river which did the damage was back to its life-giving tranquil self, the cool mountain water so refreshing.
Susan took William for a taster.

Given their bravery, I felt duty-bound to plodge...

Oh, and any questions over my headgear should be addressed to:
Sir Ensure Youhaveasunhaton
c/o/ Lawrence of Leeds

After a later morning routine packing the vehicles, it was sadly time to leave. The girls were lovely, just look at these smiles.

After fond farewells, we were back on the road, where Paul, who had driven so many speedy miles to catch up,  promptly succumbed to a micro-sleep, but ended safely on the gravel roadside.
On entering a tunnel, we met two rock legionnaires who allegedly protect Morocco from all-comers.
Mick's fan had been stripped and examined, and sadly condemned. After a short trip into town, he emerged triumphantly with a 'new' one.
Robin required a dongle, this request usually resulting in shrugged shoulders. Happily, a Moroccan opened his telecom shop just for Robin and Susan during siesta and they got the required article, yet the packet bore no name for this electronic tool.
We experienced some epic scenery today.

Big skies, seemingly endless space

Brilliant green ribbons and silky, life-giving water

Said water no more required than by shepherds. This 'biblical' scene was fairly common, and demonstrated the timelessness of this wondrous land. Please note the recent water pipe capping, thanks to the king. More of that later.

Mysterious kasbahs

Reaching the Meski oasis, camp was set up in the now familiar routine, creative construction amongst fellow adventurers ensuring convivial wagon-train sharing. Mum & Dad Outhwaite suggested William have a bath, so a logical bathing area would not be the natural springs of Meski (a Moroccan version of our spa), but in the blue washing container!

This container was believed first used in anger on the original 'First Overland' in 1953, whereupon washing, water and powder were placed in a sealed container and strapped down to the Landrover. During the day, especially off-road, the washing would be bounced around enough to simulate a machine. Ours were purchased by the ever-resourceful Robin. Originally used to house honey / chutney etc, these are steam-sprayed clean and sold on, efficiently recycled. Personal note - when using, place a 'lid' at the bottom ensuring clothes don't end up there, as during the wash the 'sediment' of the wash ends up. My sand-coloured shirt never recovered from the ordeal, and stills displays its 'badge' of honour.

Meski natural springs.

Our meal atmosphere was enhanced with Mr Ben (our injured firepit) being lit for the first time.
Yours truly was honoured by everyone singing happy birthday, and William assisted by helping to blow out the candles and eat some cake that my wonderful grandson Jake had got me.
The balloons were great too. Missed my loved ones today.

    DAY 10 MAY 10TH

Feeling all of a year older, day 10 held some surprises 'in store' as we headed south (as always!) towards a night in the desert. Shopping was not really a chore, give us this day, our daily bread. Said flat bread cake was usually 1 dirham, about seven pence. A westerner can rightly assume it is very 'cheap' to live out here. The average income in Morocco, however, is around 3,000 euros (£2,600). Or £50 a week. Bearing in mind this is average and there are a number of dirham billionaires, I would guess that many more than 50% poor souls are literally on the breadline (no pun intended).

On the road again, two types of horsepower were evident.

Offroad into the desert, all vehicles behaved well and coped admirably with the conditions.

Lunch stop in the desert; Mick & Louise speedily convert their dormobile into a 'cafe'. Years of practice. Linking the tarp up to the rear frame of Patrick's carawagon was but one of many configurations deployed to eat, sleep and shelter.

William took everything in his stride, always smiling for the camera. It could be asked whether he resembles his father at all?

Back in the desert, we passed wonderful Bedouin encampments and a kasbah '4x4 hotel' in the middle of nowhere.

Stopping at Erfoud for food, we weaved down many alleyways of the huge souk, to happen upon a meat vendor. Paul's haggling skills brought us virtually a whole lamb. I believe Louise requested the removal of it's unfortunate head, before being weighed and bagged, ready for tonight's meal in the desert.

Hey Mick, is that one of your Mora Clipper knives our friend is using?

The Dunes de Sable at Erg Chebbi were too touristy for our liking, so we shunned the crowds and sought out a remote campsite in the desert. John's expertise with language and making instant positive relationships never failed to impress, with 40 invaluable years' experience working in 55 countries. As in here, when a farmer appeared (with more friendly children to play with William) to advise we moved a tad, due to a danger of flash floods and us being washed away.  Taking this local knowledge seriously, campsite was thus set up.

A familiar sight was that of Susan taking in the stunning scenery and atmosphere.

Whilst Robin and I went in search of a dune high enough to blog from. By this time a tragedy was unfolding the reader is unaware of. A tale of woe some may find witheringly distressing. We were running out of beer. However, our hero Robin located a can of Guinness at the bottom of his fridge, which he shared as we happily blogged.  For me, it tasted so ice-cold good, we could be in 'Alex'! Cheers.

It is worthy of mention our group dynamic. As it develops in this mostly unfamiliar situation, people's talents become strikingly evident. Like Paul's expertise with food, and the amazing speed he works to produce fine dishes. The lamb was brought out, along with all our cooking paraphernalia.

Lance too was thriving. Coming away for such an unusual adventure with your brother for such a long time posed challenges, and Lance worked hard to 'keep his end up'. Shades of success, looking cool.

The lamb was excellent, so much so that other creatures demanded a share.

Another opportunity to rig a sleep-out under the stars for Patrick and myself. Heaven!

DAY 11 MAY 11TH

We awoke to a panoramic view. Hasta la vista!

Small hills, no problem. Photographic opportunity.

We had not seen many camels thus far, and were rewarded by some slowly plodding along.

These mountains are rich in fossils, so we took the opportunity to bag some bargains, in the hope that they would not disintegrate before we reached Blighty.

Like everywhere in the world, some local Sunderland supporters were off to the match, indentified by their shirts behind the windscreen. I didn't have the heart to tell them how far they had to go to the Stadium of Light.

More stunning views were ours as we headed towards Todra Gorge.

The locals seemed surpisingly knowledgable about Land Rovers. Here a local young shepherdess admires our carawagon.

We were convinced this was a Ford, but locals reliably informed us this is a 2A carawagon.

And here we believe this lady was heard remarking 'Wow, a Series 2A Dormobile. I'm off to ring Mark Saville and demand a six-pager in the September LRO comic, if it's the last thing I do'. Thank you ma'am.

(Or maybe she just wanted an ice-cream?)

Today seemed a time for frivolity, so some of us entered the 'native' world, experimenting with the ubiquitous but very useful headgear. I'll leave it to the reader to determine relative success in these fashionable matters.

At last Todra Gorge appeared up ahead, the massive cliff walls suddenly closing in, taking away the sun's caress and making our Land Rover group seem tiny.

Our place for the night was a beautiful auberge, merging seamlessly into the cliff face.

Here too was the first trickle of the gorge spring, people being forbidden to bathe here.

Owned by three brothers, friends of John, we basked in the auberege's comparative luxury, as opposed to last night's hammockian desert wilderness. Indeed a land of contrasts.

It was time for our party to increase by one. John had taken into our employ the services of a local Berber guide by the name of Yahya (pronounced Ya-here) who arrived in time for our evening meal.

He came as recommended (and required), to help us navigate through the southern mountains and desert. He was to prove his mettle and more.

However, the nagging issue of 'no beer' remained, as the auberge was officially 'dry'. Nevertheless, a local in the know, looking round suspiciously like an actor in Allo Allo, whispered a nearby location to purchase some much-needed supplies.

Armed with this knowledge and a vague order from our 'clients', Robin and I headed off into the night. We parked at the unassuming 'supermarket', which looked closed. Upon entering, we gave the aisles a quick search, finding no booze whatsoever. Undeterred, we approached the gruff troll behind the counter, and I asked in my best French if there was any remote chance of  'biere'. He looked round suspiciously like an actor in Allo Allo, and told us to follow him. We disappeared through a back door into a long dark corridor, and after a few turns we entered a large room stacked from floor to ceiling. And we thought Aladdin's cave was elsewhere, what do we know?

In the time it took us to decide which (expensive!) alcohol to buy, a constant stream of locals came and went, all looking furtively around (like actors in Allo Allo) and flashing notes to the man, who clipped the cash into an open till with the speed of David Nixon (if you are under the age of 55, David Nixon was the magician of his day, alright?).

Suitably relieved of our cash, we were equally relieved when we had our large boxes safely stashed in the carawagon, and comforted to know our next desert jaunt would be a suitably wet one.

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