The sound of the muezzin calling the faithful to prayers wake me at 06:00, the hotel is next to three mosques and all three seem to be competing with each other as to who can be the loudest. After a quick breakfast we have the challenge of getting Phoebe and the Dukes of Dakar's Merc out of the underground garage as both cars had bottomed-out on the ramp down the night before. The Dukes go first and with the aid of some planks make it out ok, but a headshield on their exhaust was half ripped off last night, so they are now accompanied by a constant clang-doing-clank noise as it bounces along the road surface. Phoebe is next and in our excitement we forget that she's front wheel drive, so the planks go shooting out backwards as the power is applied and Nathan nearly loses some fingers. But no harm done and we are soon all formed up and out on the road again.
There is only one road leading south from Tiznit out into the badlands, the N1 and we are going to be following it for quite a while yet, as we leave Tiznit a sign reads: Nouakchott 1,982 km
Tiznit sits on the floor of a wide valley that separates the High-Atlas from the Anti-Atlas mountain ranges that run diagonally across Morocco and divide the fertile North from the arid South. So as we set off from town we're climbing again, but the Anti-Atlas are mercifully not of the heights that we did yesterday and the N1 is also a much better road, but all the same we are still provided with some excellent views.
Coming down from the mountains and just on the outskirts of Bouizakarne totally by chance we come across Spirit of a Star (Kiera and Cassie), Dot Inc (Yodish and Richy) and Just us then (Bob and Julia) with Banjul Baby pulled over at the side of the road taking photos. To our amazement the Toyota and the little Lancia Y10 are both still going strong! (Although Bob says that the handling is becoming "interesting" as the back axle is shifting and a split in the join between the body and sills seems to be getting bigger, and the Toyota has lost 2nd gear so they have to go from 1st to 3rd and the engine keeps intermittently cutting out and they have to wiggle the ignition key to get it going. For this reason they took the longer route around the Atlas rather than attempting to go over. ) After a joyful reunion we all decide to join forces, so there is now a total of 9 vehicles in our convoy.
The lanscape is becoming increasingly desert-like and sparsely populated, but it is not until we have passed through the town of Guelmin that the desert really starts. In Guelmin high street two local lads on a moped pull up next to Paul and Nathan. "Hello hello, English? You doing Banjul Challenge? Yes? We know it, we know it, you have trouble with guards at Mauritanian border, yes? They like tea. You give from each car 1kg tea, they give you no trouble." The lights change and we're off again. They catch us up at the next lights; "My cousin has shop sell tea."
Despite the lads on the mopeds best efforts we depart Guelmin in a tea-less state and get our first taste of the desert proper as we blast along the 120km stretch to the next town of Tan-Tan, there really is nothing, but nothing out here. The temperature outside is about 36 degrees and Phoebe is running just a little on the hot side as we blat along at up to 130kmh as we try to keep up with the Merc as the rest of the convoy start to fall behind, but the roads are so straight and so smooth and the scenery so impressive that it's hard not to get carried away by it all...
We regroup in Tan-Tan for coffee and after having seen the plastic camels on the approach to the town, coming out we get to see the real thing and understand why they have road signs warning of camels, the ships of the desert just stand in the middle of the road staring at you with a terminally bored expression and only wander slowly away when you come right up to them. A flashy Merc pulls over and an immaculately-tailored gentleman with designer shades gets out and discusses with us how you don't see sights like this very often in the UK. The subject abruptly changes; "You want ice cream? My cousin has ice cream shop a few kilometres ahead..." However impressed we may be by the Moroccan approach to commerce, marketing and family-run businesses, we pass on the ice cream proposition.
From Tan-Tan the road heads for the coast and then runs parallel to the Atlantic ocean for about a hundred kilometres where the temperature drops to an agreeable 28 degrees and Phoebe cools down to normal running temperature, before heading back inland again where the landscape changes yet again, from gently undulating rolling hills and visually interesting it now becomes flat and opens out into a vast, baking and featureless expanse that stretches from horizon to horizon.
At the otherwise totally insignificant little hamlet of Tah we pass a major milestone, crossing a dotted line on the map we finally enter Western Sahara, but still have about 50km to go before reaching the dusty desert city of Laayoune just as night is falling. Just as we reach the outskirts of town we have a red letter moment as we hit 3,000 km from home.
After arranging accomodation and an invisible security guard for the cars (he was supposed to be outside watching the cars, but spent most of his time upstairs with his feet up, chatting to the hotel manager. So we chased him back outside from time to time and pointed out that if he was only going to be there when we were, then we might as well watch the cars ourselves and as Laayoune is quite an unnerving place, a couple of teams actually consider sleeping in their cars) and a meal served by possibly the slowest and most forgetful waitress in the world, we embark on the nigh-impossible task of finding somewhere that is willing to serve beer to thirsty travellers and then retire to bed.
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