Riding the Sahara: One Revolution at a Time

I have already written about the background, planning and preparation of my cycling across the Sahara. I also have provided a brief outline ( itinerary with distances, observations and notes) of my journey ( March 2017) in my previous blog post. It can be found here:

Read my previous post  

Read the Sahara Quartets 

In this post I will cover two major aspects of the journey: 

1-The routes/roads of the Sahara. 
2- A description (in a precise form 😊 ) of my ride. Instead of a narrative that describes my daily preoccupations and the subsequent events that came my way, I have broken it down in 5 stages. 

Disclaimer: 

Before you read on please understand that I do not consider myself a cyclist. I simply find the bicycle a wonderful companion on a long journey. I have never had the time to set out around the globe, for months and years and cover millions of kilometers,though my admiration for those who can or could is nevertheless profound. I have a family to feed and the part of world I belong to does not value the role of an adventurer in their society. 

When I  studied the Atlantic route of the Sahara, I realized  that it could be done-considering my standards- and the sheer challenges of cycling this particularly harsh and desolate landmass fascinated me. After studying recent reports by cyclists who traversed this route, I also realized that it could be done without having to camp or cook. This very thought augmented the fun for me. It would be like a lightweight, alpine style ascent in the Himalaya, or so I thought. 

On the last days ride in Mauritania I took the longer and quieter road to the Diama border post. It was a very good decision I took. 

The Roads across the Sahara

Before embarking on this journey my first work was to dig up as much pertinent information as possible. Internet, as we all know, has revolutionized the information world. Taking full advantage of that I chanced upon Chris Scott's (admittedly the most respected Sahara expert today) extremely informative ( and up to date) website . The Sahara that existed in my mind since my juvenile daydreams, had finally begun to shape up into grains of sand.

The Sahara in the 1980s, the golden period of crossing the central Sahara. Image courtesy: Chris Scott

The 1980s was surely the golden age of travels in the central Sahara as the map above explains. I am quoting the following paragraph from Chris Scott below, as it is best to hear it from the expert.

"Today, following over a decade of kidnappings, much increased trafficking, rebellions, revolutions and the spread of weapons from Libya, independent tourism in the central Sahara has collapsed or is severely restricted. But it wasn’t always like that. The 1980s were a Golden Age for desert tourism: post-colonial nations had yet to be beset by internal strife while the popularity of the Dakar Rally, as well as the emergence of desert-capable motorcycles and 4x4s, saw adventure tourism flourish in the central Sahara. Most winters the overlanders’ campsite in Tamanrasset was packed with VWs, Land Rovers, Ladas, BMWs and XTs".

But quite evidently, that period is now gone.

The map above shows the current Atlantic Route or Nile Route in green. Former routes are in red. There is only one open desert border crossing on each of the current routes: Guergarat-Nouadhibou on the Atlantic Route – and Wadi Halfa on the Nile. These two border crossings are the only two ways to cross Sahara overland. : Chris Scott 

What I understood after reading Chris is that there has always been only a handful of routes across the Sahara. Over the centuries, routes linked the Mediterranean Africa with the Sub-Saharan Africa. In the old days caravans of camels were used to travel these paths. These paths essentially followed a string of wells for obvious reasons. But the routes often changed their course in accordance with the geo-politics.The activity of nomadic bandits posing as guides were not uncommon. And when one looks at the current situation of the Sahara, the picture is not much different. It still remains as a huge 'lawless' area. As per Chris Scott, 'When Algeria closed to tourism in the 1990s, the flow of trans-Saharan traffic, both commercial and touristic, diverted to the west via Morocco, ‘Western Sahara’ and Mauritania. This has now become a full-width all-sealed road across the desert, barring a few kilometres of piste through No Man’s Land' .

That totally explained why all the Trans Sahara cyclists of recent times were taking the Atlantic Route. It was around the same time that Dr. Rupak Bhattacharya presented me with a  copy of 'Africa Overland' by Sian Pritchard-Jones and Bob Gibbons- and the Michelin map of Africa North and North West (number 741) was delivered at my doorstep ( courtesy of online shopping). This home work stage reached its culmination when I studied the website of Jean Baptist and Ride to Education and thus initiated the formulation of my itinerary.

I was ready to ride across the Sahara by its Atlantic Route. My original intention was to start the cycling from Rabat, Morocco. But visa complications of both Morocco and Mauritania ( I have written about this in my earlier post on Sahara) forced me to truncate the distance and in the end I rode from Guelmim, the gateway of Sahara to Dakar, Senegal. In the end, I am glad that I could ride the whole of the desert section in spite of all the hassle that the red tape offers.

My ride

I landed in Casablanca on 20 Februray. The very next morning I took the train to Rabat and applied for the Mauritania visa. They took 4 days to deliver the visa with wrong dates ( I later learnt that it has happened to many other travelers before me and it seems that they are determined to keep this tradition going) which in turn squeezed and compressed my available time across Morocco and Mauritania. I rushed back to Casablanca with my passport and took the overnight bus to Guelmim on 25 February.

Stage 1: Guelmim to Laayoune, 455 kms, 5 days

I reached Guelmim on the morning of 26 February. Instantly liked the atmosphere of this little city on the edge of the Sahara. It was distinctly different from what I saw in Rabat and Casablanca. I reassembled my bicycle and roamed around Guelmim's lanes and market streets. I also managed to buy a Tuareg scarf. The shopkeeper showed me how to tie it the Tuareg way. The next morning I was ready to start the ride across the Sahara. It was a now or never moment.

The patient donkey waiting by the street for his master in Guelmim

 me sporting my new Tuareg headdress

The first days ride of 130 km to Tan tan felt long due to head wind. Sitaharan, as I called my bike, fondly ponders over the road sign in this photo here

Reaching Tan tan

On the morning of 27 February, I started riding. The road was nice, but most of the time I had to stay on the shoulder of the road due to traffic. Which was okay. On this very first day of the 2000km plus ride, I realized that the main factor of this trip was going to be wind. Over the next weeks we developed  a love-hate relationship depending on its direction. It was quite easy to find a cheap night's shelter in Tan tan and I gorged upon street food with tremendous satisfaction of having the first day behind me. It felt good, as after all those weeks of planning in India and waiting for paper work in Rabat, this was happening. I was moving.

Next morning I decided to take a short day and rode only 25 kms to El Outia or Tan tan plage, as it is also called. On 1 March, I rode to Akhfenir (90 kms). The terrain was Reg or stony desert type. The road often came very close to the Atlantic. This helped break the monotony of the ride. I sometimes walked the bike off road and stood by the cliff and watched endless big waves of the Atlantic. I also met a Chinese cyclist on the road today near Oued Chibika. He said he was riding from Gambia, but have skipped the desert section almost entirely by using public transport from Nouakchott to Laayoune. I told him riding the desert section is my precise objective. He was riding a mountain bike, as most riders in Africa do. He was amused to see me on a hybrid bike and did not hide his surprise. Found a very affordable place to sleep in Akhfenir and also found a delicious plate of fish.

On 2 March, I rode to Tarfaya (110 kms). The wind became a storm today and I got to taste the desert's wrath. I had read about storms in the desert before. But suddenly I was in the middle of one. At first I was kind of shocked at the tremendous force of the wind. The flying sand made it an intense affair. It was impossible to keep riding. So I kept on moving by pushing the bike thanking my head dress every step of the way. The storm lasted for nearly 5 hours and my going became extremely slow as a result. Finally a shop appeared in the middle of nowhere and I could take shelter for 2 hours in there. In late hours of the day, the wind died down a bit and I reached Tarfaya feeling thankful of a hotel bed and shower.

Tarfaya is a beautiful place and I wished I had more time at my disposal just to laze around its streets or simply to sit by the sea. But I had to keep moving and decided to ride to Laayoune (100kms) on the next morning and take a rest day there. On 3 March, I rode to Laayoune. Apart from a series of windmills and the long conveyor belt system of the phosphate mines; the ride was pretty monotonous. Wind was also kind and I quickly forgot how it terrorized me only 24 hours ago. Such is the blessing of movement. Before you know it, all the bad memories are blown away into oblivion.

I found Laayoune to be a very big city. It was definitely a lot bigger than what I had expected. It felt unreal. Out of nowhere there appeared city buses, taxis, cafes, restaurants, hotels, monuments. A little before Laayoune, one enters the region of Western Sahara. Western Sahara has been under Moroccan control for over 40 years and in reality, it is a colony of Morocco. The last colony in Africa. I do not want to go into the geo-politics here, as this blog will get too long otherwise. On 4 March, I took a rest day in Laayoune, cleaned my bike and walked around aimlessly in its empty streets. Perfect rest day activity.

A street scene from Laayoune

Stage 2: Laayoune to Dakhla: 538 kms, 5 days

The direction of the winds was changing and I was beginning to feel the pressure of time. My Morocco visa was due to expire on 15 March. I was in Laayoune- and the border was about 900 kms away- left with just 11 days in my hand. I decided to ride all the way to Boujdour on 5 March. I knew I could do it if the wind stayed in my favour. On 5 March, after a brief lunch stop at the petrol station at Lamsid, I rode all the way to Boujdour. The wind became a friend and I enjoyed the occasional stops at the police check posts. Every time, when they found out my nationality, they mentioned Shah Rukh Khan. It seems that the Moroccan police are his biggest fans. Apart from being keen followers of Bollywood, the Moroccan police were always extremely kind and caring. All along Morocco and Western Sahara, I always looked forward to the gendarmerie posts. A little conversation, a little laughter, sometimes a small cup of tea kept me entertained and in good humour.

Entering the city limits of Boujdour

First, the ride to Tarfaya in a sand storm, then the 190 km ride to Boujdour. All of this gave me immense confidence. I took another rest day at Boujdour and then on 7 March I started riding on the road to Dakhla. The wind maintained its friendly direction and by midday ( covering 90 kms) I reached a truckers's stop (Cafe Amghar) and decided to call it a day. On 8 March, the wind turned and decided to blow from the South East and sometimes East, making my progress slow. The terrain had become more sandy and the heat had amplified considerably. Once I spotted a group of people sitting on the sand next to road and I stopped to say hello. In turn they invited me to join them for a cup of tea. I was thrilled, as this was a Saharwi family, and I considered it a privilege to be a part of this moment. After riding 85 kms I reached a small shop and petrol station. It was lunch time- and as usual I ordered a tagine. A funny incident occurred next. Sitting next to me on the floor was two policemen in civil clothing. They warned me of Polisario activity on this road and offered me a lift. I accepted. This lift saved me 35 kms of ride and time. On my request they dropped me at Centre Bir Anzarane.

Above Bir Anzarane. Below a photo with Mr. Mahfoud

Centre Bir Anzarane is complex of two storey bulidings, occupied by Moroccan Army and UN staff, standing awkwardly in the middle of the desert; looking completely abandoned and deserted. But from previous cyclists' reports I knew that it was possible to get shelter and food there. Mr. Mahfoud has been hosting cyclists for years there, and soon he was there to take care of me. I got a hot shower ( from a natural hot spring being pumped up from beneath a kilometre of the surface) and Mr Mahfoud invited me to join his family for food. It was perfect. Later he told me that I was the first Indian cyclist he had met and went on to show me his logbook which he meticulously keeps.

On 9 March, I rode to Dakhla (120kms). En route, the police posts and the army posts ( guarding the coast from desperate immigration attempts) helped me refill my water bottles. Once, a car pulled over, and the gentleman driving gave a me cool bottle of water. I was blown away by the kindness. At point 40, after a sumptuous meal, I rode the last 40 kilometers to Dakhla. On 10 March, I took a much deserved rest day in Dakhla. Border of Guergerat was only 367 kilometers from Dakhla and finally I felt a bit confident that I will be able to cross the border by 15 March comfortably. The thought of overstaying my visa was never a nice one. I suddenly had this luxury to take it nice and easy for the next few days.

plants full of water next to the road. Echeveria Sahara ?

After point 40 looking towards the last 40 kilometers to Dakhla. It was a long day. 

Stage 3: Dakhla to Bou Lanour, 432 kms, 5 days

11 March, I took a bus from Dakhla to the tiny village of Imlil. I wanted to avoid retracing the road to Point 40 from Dakhla and thus save precious time.  Thanks to the gendarmerie, I was allowed to sleep in a shop in Imlil. The wind seemed to have turned in my favor entirely and on 12 March as I started riding towards Guergerat, the border town of Western Sahara and Mauritania. After 75kms I reached a small shop cum restaurant. The owner was friendly and I took the opportunity to explain that I wanted to spend the night there. A bit amused to have an Indian guy out of the blue at his doorstep, he agreed. I knew I would reach Bir Gandouz the next day and there was a hotel. I wanted to have this quiet day in the middle of nowhere and the setting was perfect. Next day, the 13 March I rode to Bir Gandouz (95kms) with the wind still blowing in my favour. It was a delight to get lodged at Hotel Barbas, truly a modern day oasis.

road through a sea of sand

Hamada or rocky desert sections en route Guergerat

approaching the border post of Guergerat

On 14 March, I rode 85kms to Guergerat. The desert today was sometimes Reg (stoney), sometimes Hamada (wind sculpted rocky desert). Occasionally dunes appeared and once I came across a big herd of camels that looked totally wild. Like everyday in Morocco and Western Sahara, the kindness of the police amazed me even in this border post. A kind gendarmerie made sure I get a bed in a safe place. Before leaving he told me that I will not have to queue up for border crossing tomorrow. Next morning, on the very last day of my Moroccan visa, I exited Morocco and Western Sahara with nothing but good memories. A few kilometers of pushing my bike through the No Man's Land ( Morocco has tarmacked almost 1 km on its side) I arrived at the Mauritania border post and immediately got swarmed by money changers and sim card sellers.

at the crossroads of Nouadhibiou and Noaukchott

Landmine warning sign at the entrance of Bou Lanouar

The No Man's land is particularly much talked about among all the overland border crossings in Africa, because of landmines. I think as long as one follows the tyre marks on the sand,  he or she is quite safe. The border officials on the Mauritania side behaved very different than Morocco and the for the first time I faced corruption and fraud in this trip. The police is working in an understanding with the money changers and touts. They move freely inside the offices and one police man picked up money from my hand. Without wasting time I started cycling towards Bou Lanouar, my intended objective for the day. It was 65 kms away from the border. It was 15 March and my Mauritania visa was about to expire in 11 days. The race was not over.

After riding a while from the post and crossing a railway track, one reaches the crossroads of Nouadhibou and Noaukchott. Pressed for time, I avoided going into the Nouadhibou peninsula and started down the Nouakchott direction. What I immediately noticed was that the desert on the Mauritania side was more sandy, the kind of terrain one imagines when they hear the word 'desert'. Soon the SNIM train carrying iron ore from deep inside the desert gave me a special audience. I stopped and watched one of the longest trains (2.5 kilometers) in world pass by. 5 kilometers Bou Lanouar, a gendarmerie post I met a French motor cyclist. He told me he hated Mauritania and is leaving the country in his second day. Before I could understand the reason for his dislike for Mauritania, he was gone. Since I was not on a motorbike, I would not be able to cross the length of the country in two days. So I focused on my own ride and reached Bou Lanoaur. The road sign with landmine warning reminded me that all along the railway track there are still landmines. Not a very comforting thought for a cyclist I guess. I found a small hotel (Hotel Ezze Raha) 1 km beyond the town and settled there for the night. I was in Mauritania.

The longest train in the world (?) the SNIM cargo train carrying iron ore from the mines of Atar passes by

Stage 4: Bou Lanouar to St. Louis via Diama border post, 687 kms, 8 days

On 16 March, I started my ride on the road to Nouakchott. I had a head wind almost all day and the amount of sand flying all around increased considerably. Another annoying factor got added in the form a particular kind of fly. In spite covering my head and face, they always found a way to infiltrate. The only way I could entertain myself today was by watching mirages.They kept appearing on the horizon, looking like wetlands, spread over kilometers. Within a few minutes they would disappear and change location. I remembered the experiences of Thompson and Thomson in the Tintin series and laughed out loud. The wind made sure it laughed louder than me. To me it sounded more like howling however.

After taking a lunch break at Chelkha petrol station, I reached an unnamed settlement (95 kms) and with the help of the gendarmerie found shelter in an empty hut. All along Mauritania I found such shelters called 'auberge' (meaning 'hostel' or something similar). Next day, 17 March, I rode to Gare du Nord (65 kms). It has a petrol station, a shop, and a cafe. And again with the help of the gendarmerie I could find a safe shelter for the night. By this time, in the last 3 days of riding through Mauritania, I was continuously facing a strange kind of non-cooperation and sometimes racist behavior from the white moors. Whenever I passed a settlement by the road, children would shout 'Nasrani-nasrani' and throw stones at me. I was finding that stressful. To me the desert seemed much kind hearted than the white moors. I was only 237 kilometers away from Nouakchott and it was at this point I realized if my bicycle breaks down in the middle of the road or I have an accident; nobody will help me here. With the help of a kind soldier (Mohamed) I got a lift in a car next morning and on 18 March I reached Nouakchott, the capital city of Mauritania.

Typical Mauritanian Sahara

Mohamed, the kind soldier who helped me. As you can see he is a black Moor

On 19 March, I took a rest day, a much needed one, in Nouakchott. After talking and making friends with a few black Moors of Mauritania, I started to understand the reason for the strange and hostile treatment I was getting so far. They also told me that, as I will progress down south of Nouakchott I will meet friendlier people. With that hope in mind, I started towards the Rosso border on 20 March morning.

Gare du Nord

It took me almost an hour to get out of Nouakchott. The roads were bad and traffic was worse. After every 15-20 kilometers today, settlements appeared. It was nice to see villages and kids playing around for a change. But each time I stopped by a village, I got the same hatred as I got before. Then at one point I decided not to stop near villages at all. After riding 104 kms I reached the small village of Tiguent. Just before the village there was a quiet looking auberge and a young lad named Ibrahim came out to greet me. He said, welcome. That was the first time in Mauritania someone smiled back at me and said 'welcome'. I was too happy and asked him, where are you from brother? My doubts were cleared when he said 'Mali'. But of course, I thought.  It is in the same evening I almost stepped on a real Sahara scorpion and enjoyed a fabulous meal cooked for me by Ibrahim. Before the sun went down Ibrahim played Mali music on his mobile and together we danced. Looking at me dance Ibrahim could not stop laughing and when I saw him breaking out in laughter a deep sense of happiness engulfed me.

near Tiguent

the visitor in my auberge in Tiguent

Me and Ibrahim

On 21 March, I started riding towards Rosso. After crossing 50 kilometers I came across two French cyclists ( a couple to be specific) coming from the other direction. They strongly advised me to avoid the notorious Rosso border crossing and suggested that I take the Diama border route instead. I took their advise and went on to reach the Maison du Parc at the heart of Diawling National Park at the end of the day. The last 40 kms of this route was piste and through the National Park and I thoroughly enjoyed the company of nature and occasional road crossings of the warthogs. The guest house of the National Park was nice and spacious and I was thankful that the real desert was now behind me. I had just crossed the Sahara, on my bicycle, alone and unsupported. It felt somewhat special. On 22 March, I rode 10 kms to the border post of Mauritania and Senegal at Diama. The crossing went very smooth. As I entered Senegal, right from the border I felt the warmth of Africa. The sense of distrust that had been developing inside me over the last week through Mauritania, vanished instantly. I was happy. I rode (another 35 kms) to the beautiful island of St. Louis in time for lunch.

Stage 5: St Louis to Dakar, 271 kms, 3 days

I took a rest day in St. Louis. I was not under pressure for time anymore. But now I wanted to keep going for two reasons. 1- Dakar was only 271 kms away. 2- I was going to be out of cash soon. So, I started the last stage of the ride on 24 March and rode just 75 kms to the town of Louga. The landscape was still not totally green. It was a terrain called 'Sahel'. But coconuts and baobabs appeared intermittently to entertain me. I could stop at villages, or near schools and chat with the kids. Life was good. On 25 March, I rode 125 kms to Thies and on the next day the 26th, I reached Dakar. Suddenly the journey that started from Guelmim, Morocco was over.

It took me 28 days in total ( 23 days of riding + 5 rest days) to cover this distance. In this whole length (approximately 2380 kms) of the Trans Sahara road I had to skip 285 kilometers out of which 237 is in Mauritania and the rest in Western Sahara.  It will go down in my memory as one of the life changing journeys I ever undertook.

As I moved across the Sahara, as an insignificant human being on a bicycle- against wind, against sand, taking in love and hatred in my stride- one revolution at a time; the vast nothingness of the desert taught me a lot. I can only hope that I will be able to imbibe the spirit of the Sahara in me for the rest of my life.