Marrakech and on into Western Sahara

So, when we left you last, our exhaust had just fallen off again 2 hours from Marrakech in the dark, in the middle of nowhere. Dustys luck again as two friendly Morrocans pull over in a clapped out VW Golf and we ponder what to do. The best solution, with 20 tonne trucks zooming past, was to yank off the exhaust pronto and shove it in the car. Our new friends wanted to put it in the trunk Moroccan style – i.e. with about a meter of the exhaust pipe overhanging into the road. We explained that in the interests of not taking out every pedestrian and moped en route to Marrakech, perhaps the exhaust should go INSIDE the car. After some headscratching we got the exhaust nestling nicely in the car from back left to front right and out of the passenger side window. After giving the Moroccans a push start, Dusty was back in action sounding like a prehistoric fanged beast.

Marrakech. Finally. Navigating traffic chaos under the admiring gazes of fellow Mercedes taxi drivers, we eventually found Group 1 in Hotel Tazi near the main square. Sharing news of our escapades so far over beers and chicken tagine, it was time for bed – mainly because the waiter had turned out all the lights. The next day we sharpened our bargaining skills in the souk buying pointy slippers, leather bags, trinkes, a kitchen sink, some apricots and figs. Bartering like berbers said one store owner – the Terranauts found that hugely flattering.

Time running short and the rest of the group zooming ahead, we said goodbye to Marra and set out on the road toward Agadir, 250 miles south. Our destination by nightfall was Mirfelt, a sleepy coastal village with a crescent of white sand on the Atlantic ocean. As the green Atlas mountains fell away behind us, we entered the clay red plains that turn to desert as we work our way into the Western Sahara.

Chugging along in the rain, Jimmy valiantly manoeuvring in the dark, it was tough going. Where the edge of the road begins and ends was lost in the glare from truck headlights, spray and mud. Wihth the exhaust pipe still poking out the window, sitting in the back is like being in the midst of a mini tornado. Urgh. The rain finally cleared as the road snaked into Agadir and we pushed on through the night to Tiznit, a small walled town famous for its silver Berber jewellery. Beyond Tiznit, the road stretched out long and straight into the wilderness and dark. This is where Morocco ends and the Western Sahara begins. 11pm and the rain started lashing down again – all we could see left and right were ominous looming shapes of the sand cliffs.

At Mirfelt we were welcomed by 2 Morroco-Rasta boys, Hassan and Ahmed. They noticed LL Cool J on the car and we talked about music. At the height of the hippy invasion Jimi Hendrix came to the village and chilled out, they said. He gave someone a guitar which was later used for firewood on a particularly cold day. We gave them some tags and they told us how cool it was that we were telling people about HIV/AIDS.Tomorrow we leave with the group for Laayoune, close to 450 km on the long desert road to Dakhla, the furthest point south before the tarmac ends and the sand begins.