Already when we went to bed, we could hear them chatting and singing, the fishermen at work fishing in the bay. They continued throughout the night. They are all Senegalese, according to Victor, because the Mauritanians don’t know how to fish and feel to be too superior to do this work. With dawn, they slowly made their way back to port in Nouadhibou. I had no idea the sea could be so noisy at night.

I slept well under an amazing starlit sky. Another factor reminding you that you have really reached the desert now, the temperature at night. It was a chilling 19°C, almost 20°C different from the midday temperature. My duvet cover kept me warm. Soon, I guess, I need to get my sleeping bag upstairs to snuggle into during the cold desert nights.

The sun rise was glorious and I jumped to the opportunity to take some nice pictures of Eeyore.

After breakfast we said our goodbyes to Pauline, Olivier, and Roland. Wished them a safe onward journey. We also said ‘à bientôt’ to Tish and Victor. See you again in November with other friends (Charlotte and Trevor).

The border was quickly reached and the formalities at the Mauritanian side swiftly finished. All officers were very friendly. Now came the dreaded and famous no-man’s-land between the two countries. On the internet you find plenty of horror stories either made up, hear-say or that are very old. The same goes for the pictures you find. Old wrecked cars and lorries, stories of land mines right next to the track. All of this contributes to the myth. Nowadays the Mauritanian side of this stretch of the connection road is unpaved, a bit rough but easily doable for any car. There are no more wrecks lining the track. They have all been cleaned up years ago. The Moroccan side of the track before you reach the border post is even paved although it should see some maintenance.

Even before you reach the first gate, there is a long queue of mainly empty Moroccan trucks on their way home. The police officer at the gate waves you, in a car,2 past the trucks. Some chatting and registration in a book occurs. Then you see customs at the same gate. More chatting and registration in another big book. First time question if we had drone or were carrying any hunting weapons. We denied. Four times the same question was answered with the same denial by us.

Now, you are allow into the border post compound. Next step, park your car in the blistering sun next to many poor souls who have to completely unload all luggage and open everything up. I was already fearful that this is, what we would also have to do in a few minutes time. Christoph and I were sent over to a building to get our passports stamped in but we couldn’t find the entrance nor a hole in the wall. We circled the building a couple of times like lions around their prey. Suddenly, a blackened window opened, and a hand reached out to ask for our passports. I also had to hand in my car papers to be registered in my passport. All quickly, friendly and efficiently done.

With a heavy heart I returned to Eeyore. Now what? The customs officer came, asked for all doors to be opened and requested a colleague with a Labrador sniffer dog to check our car. Hmm, will he find our last bit of porc salami??? No, that dog was walking around the car and sniffed a bit here and a bit there. No problems. Then the first officer returned and requested the ‘box on the roof’ to be opened as he suspected luggage in there. To his surprise I opened a roof top tent. Was that it or when will we get the order to unpack everything??

To our relief, we could close up again and a second sniffer dog, this time a German shepherd was lead around the car. He was clearly not interested in working today, the poor soul found it far too hot and attempted to lay down behind my car in the cooler shade. The handler didn’t want to have any of that and ordered in German the dog to get up and follow. Poor doggie needed quite some persuasion to continue following his handler.

All done, next was getting a custom form filled in and stamped to be let forward to the big and mighty vehicle scanner. One if the truckers recognised our number plate being Ivorian and started chatting window to window with Christoph while I got the paperwork sorted. Fortunately, we were let in front of the trucks and four cars, including us, gained access to a large hall with the scanner that is sitting on a truck that rolls back and forth and produces an X-ray image of all the four cars or trucks. All people had to exit their vehicles of course while the machine was in operation. Very interesting to watch. Afterwards, we got our paperwork back from the control room of this scanner. First time I saw an X-ray of my vehicles. Unfortunately, I was not allowed to take a picture of it.

At the exit of the compound, we were checked yet again, if all stamps and signatures had been gotten and we were ready to go. The police officer there asked where we were going. Europe? I responded, no Marrakech where my parents live. I asked, where he was from, as I know that they can be from all over the country. Tahannoute, he said. I started laughing and said that I know this place well. He looked very surprised. A German in an Ivorian vehicle that knows his hometown? The expression on his face changed even more, when I asked him if he knoew El Kharoua. Of course, he said. Nearby village. By now we were holding up the exit of the border post. Yes, and do you know Afous Rofous? He had even heard of that as he asked “le jardin d’enfant?” I gave him high five, we quickly exchanged a few more words of farewell as the cars and trucks became impatient behind us. WHAT A SMALL WORLD! At the border all the way south you meet an officer, who knows the project of your parents in a village more than 1,200km away!

Just next to the border post, we bought sim cards and vehicle insurance for Morocco. Once we had Internet again after 60h of abstinence, and a quick check through the hundreds of messages, I called a friend who is on her way down to South Africa, leading a group of four vehicles from Barcelona. She was already delayed and supposed to be on her way to the border this morning. Unfortunately, she was early this morning and had already entered the other side of the border. So we missed seeing each other and were separated by just a wall in the compound. Bugger!

Eeyore’s belly needed to be fed. The tank was almost empty because the diesel is subsidised and, therefore, much cheaper on the Moroccan side of the border. Once done, we could finally hit the road and head north to Dakhla. The desert landscape changed a few times but nothing dramatic. The coastline looks stunning on this stretch.

Before we could reach Dakhla, the capital of the region, we had to fill up again as Eeyore was a very thirsty boy today. The headwind was draining all energy and he wanted almost 16l of diesel per 100km. That meant the tank was already more than half empty after 270km. Fortunately, the Shell station accepted credit cards, we could save our last dirhams but still needed to get more in town.

We had tried to reach a campsite near the beach but that was impossible for us. Once in town we tried a couple of hotels to our dissatisfaction. Either too expensive or no secure parking for Eeyore. We got some money from an ATM and went looking for a restaurant to have dinner. That proved equally difficult. Finally we found one, had a nice tasty burger with a big Moroccan salad before we headed back out of town again to a secure parking near the kite surfers’ bay to sleep for the night. It is quite windy here when we arrived. Eeyore’s nose into the wind and Christoph crawled into his tent while me holding it down that it wouldn’t fly away. Managed.

We also found out that the place where wanted to sleep tomorrow night doesn’t exist either anymore. But that is a challenge to overcome tomorrow.