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The Road to Dakhla and the King
Western Sahara
March, 2002
There's something surreal about driving through the desert. Especially when your in Western Sahara on the Road to Dakhla. To your left is the biggest expanse of desert in the world, the Sahara, almost the size of the entire USA. Swirling sands and camel trains. To the left the aqua blue waters of the Middle Atlantic. It was amazing to watch the wild camels running home at sunset with the stormy blue Atlantic as the backdrop.
The plan was to travl from Essaouira to Dakhla and back in one week. I went with Christopher (the Captain) Gilmore, Anita (his gal), Nicole (my gal) and this French girl Caroline. We rented our cars at Wind Car from Rachid, a friend of a friend of Chris's. We got a good price, about 25 bucks a day, but we did have to negotiate. We told Rachid we would call him in the morning, around 8:00, to drop off the cars. When we were ready the next day, Chris gave Rachid a call and we walked down to the edge of the Place for Pickup. Soon he was 15 minutes late and we were getting antsy. Chris calls again, a bit of a strange conversation, Christoph repeating all details "Ya know, we rented two Pallio's and your supposed to pick us up" etc. The person on the other line seems confused but assures us he will be there in 10 Minutes. I decided to go to get a couple crossiants at the cafe while we were waiting. When I was walking back I see Chris from a distance talking to our other friend Rachid who works for Hassan's Boat Yard. When I arrive Chris is really pissed that our cars haven't arrived and walks away from us to call the Car Rental Rachid again. Boatyard Rachid and I are going through a bit of small talk (always small due to language barriers), when his cell phone rings. He grabs it from his pocket, looks at it, looks at me, shakes his head and shows me the display which reads "Christoph". We both completely crack up.
Chris had been calling the Boat Rachid all Morning demanding that he bring the rental cars. He was confused and also in the middle of a big job so he didn't come right away. After Chris called 3 times sounding desparate, he decided to come over from the yard to see what was going on.
We walked over to Chris, showed him the phone, and we all laughed again. Soon after we called the correct Rachid, who had been waiting anxiously, and we were on our way. What a funny start to a great trip.
Our first day was a beautiful drive, a few hours through Agadir on down to Sidi Ifni. What a great little surf town. We stayed in Luxury at the Belle View, great dinner, service, etc. This is when we first heard that the king was visiting Layoune and Dakhla in the coming week. Exactly when we were to arrive!!
The next day we drove to Layoune. On the way we passed convoy after convoy of soldiers on there way to provide security for the King. There were lots of police checkpoints - 6 different times we had to get out of the car and go over to a Royal Police Guard with a little manual typewriter and answer questions and fill out forms to be able to continue south. It makes you a bit nervous at first, but with smiles, especially Nicole's, soon the ice is broken and we are all joking around.
When we arrived in Layoune the place was packed with soldiers. The King was not there, and the rumor was that he was to arrive in a couple days. I say 'Rumor' because no one knows if the King will really show up. Sometimes a town prepares for weeks only to have the King cancel the day before he was supposed to arrive. This has happened in Essaouira, but no one complains because his visit is a great reason to clean things up and make civil improvements. So the King was a few days away, but there still was not a hotel room in town. The place was packed and streets hectic, so we decided to go to Layoune Plage to watch the sunset and try to find a hotel.
The beach was great, but a bit chilly because of the wind. After an incredible deep red sunset we began our hunt for accommodations. We asked around and there was a hotel right on the beach. But since nothing has signs, not even the hotel, we drove in circles for awhile. We even drove right to the King's beach Chalet (we thought, 'Wow, this is a nice hotel!!'). We were politely turned away by the guards who pointed directly to the hotel which we had drove past around 6 times. The only cars out front of the hotel were a few United Nations Range Rovers. Four stars, but off season, so the rooms were about 50 bucks each. Pricey for Morocco, so we decided to go checkout this camping/cabin place we had seen on the way into the beach.
We get there right when it is dark. We pull up out front and two Moroccians walk out of the shanty office. They are both really scruffy, unshaven, and are eyeing us suspiciously. We ask if they have a room. They don't answer. They just stand there and stare at us saying 'Who the Hell are You' with their bloodshot eyes. This goes on for few minutes so we decide to leave. Right then one of the Moriccians sternly spouts 'What time will you leave in the morning.' Well OK, now were really getting somewhere! We look at them, a bit stunned, and say we don't know, maybe 11:00? The same man quickly states that we must be out by 10:00 or we cannot stay there. We were blown away. Usually in Morocco you are greeted with Smiles, Salaam's and 'let me show you our rooms'! We look at them, Laugh, and drive back to the UN Hotel.
At this point, only two days into the journey, I have had about enough of the King and the bullshit. Police Checkpoints every few miles, full hotels, giant convoys blocking the roads, I was ready to abandon the Mission and head towards Ouarzazate. The Captian really wanted to go to Dakhla, because he has driven all the other roads in the country. Anything but Dakhla was old hat. I had some of the troops on my side. But, thankfully, in the morning the Captain crushed the mutiny and we decided to continue south.
The Layoune Plage Hotel was really luxurious. We all had ocean views, big rooms and most importantly, hot water. Since the hotel was completely empty, they gave us a 2:00 checkout and we decided to leave late and only drive two hours south to Boujdour (we had planned to get up early and drive all the way to Dakhla). Boujdour is the only city in the 800KM between Layoune and Dakhla.
Another town in the Middle of nowhere. The drive was easy and only a few Police Checkpoints. At everyone Chris would always ask the Officer 'Ou est le Discoteque?' which would get all the cops to laugh and shake their heads. Boujdour is a dry town. It was easy to find to the two hotels in town, both on the main strip. They were the same price (cheap) so we decided to stay in the one that seemed more central. The first time we went there and asked for prices we confused the hell out of them. We had Chris, Anita and Caroline asking for rooms/prices/etc all at the same time quickly switching from English to French and the poor lady and her daughter sat there shaking their heads. This time their teenage son was there and he was really cool and we easily got our rooms. I ended up slipping him a few glasses of wine as the evening progressed. We had time go to the Esplanade for sunset and it was beautiful, but still really windy. We had an beautiful night, drinking a few bottles of wine and jamming guitars in our room.
Day 4. We left early for the 600 KM drive to Dakhla. What an incredible drive. Lots of camels, sand and water. There was almost no one on the road so it was easy to stop wherever we wanted for pictures. There was a really fun Gas Station Town about half way down. We stopped for gas and tea and were automatically celebrities. Some of the people have never even met and American before, and what a great motley bunch we were, all smiles and broken Arabic greetings. They loved us. Soon we were back on the road, and not long after that we arrived at the checkpoint at the turn off to Mauritania. This was much more elaborate than all the previous checkpoints. There was at least 15 Gendarmes, all manning spike roadblocks so it was impossible for renegades to blast through to the road to Mauritania. Dakhla is on a Peninsula, so the only way to Mauritania is on that road. If we wanted to go, we would have had to get permission in Rabat, get our papers authorized when we arrived in Dakhla, and then follow the Police convoy down, which leaves twice a week. Maybe someday. After filling out our last set of forms, we were heading south and the scenery was incredible. The bay side of the peninsula was very shallow so the water went from clear light green by the shore, to a deep blue in the middle. And on the right was the boiling blue Atlantic. Next came the Dakhla Checkpoint.
There were lots of National Police and they were abuzz with activity. When we get out to fill out the paperwork they told us that King Mohammed VI is in town. Soon he was to make his welcome appearance and we might have time to see him. We were all really excited - this would be my first king ever, and I really like MVI. So we get back into our cars and are about to be waved on when an officer with lots of flashy accessories runs up and tells us to hold on. He spends about 3 minutes on his walky talke with very animated expressions, looks over at us, shrugs, and walks back to the little cement barracks. Ten minutes later he comes back out and waves us to follow a little convoy into town. We drove on a dirt road that was parallel with the main street. Main street was filled with dispersing people and police moving silver road barriers. We had missed the king. With spirits low, we began our search for hotels.
We knew it was not going to be easy. First we went to the "Bar" hotel on Main Street (the only place in town that sells alcohol). It was sold out and they said all the other hotels in town were full too. But they did direct us to the other two hotels. The next place we found was called the Sahara and was right on the bay. Chris and Caroline went in and right back out, sold out. This was not looking good and we needed 3 rooms, minimum two. They jump in the cars and as were driving away this middle age guy, grey but young, waves over Chris's car. They talk for a couple minutes and Chris is gets out of the car and walks back to the hotel with the guy. Next thing you know we have two hotel rooms withy possible a third later in the evening. True Morrican hospitality. Chris said that if the person at the hotel would not have given us rooms the mysterious fellow would have let us stay at his house. Once we had rooms the guy smiled, waved and we never saw him again. We stayed at The Sahara for two days. Our first night we were all tired and ate a great dinner in the hotel restaurant and went to bed early.
Our second day in Dakhla was great. In the morning Chris Anita and I went searching for Bisera (Morrican Breakfast Soup). This had been our tradition the whole trip - a different Bisera in every town. This is always an fun experience. It goes like this. We get to a little berber cafe and ask for Bisera and they don't know what were talking about. After a couple minutes of broken Arabic and sign language the guy will say "Oh, BISSERA" pronounced a little different from us and say he doesn't have any. As were walking away the guy starts this discussion with the cook and the next thing you know were sitting down. As we wait I notice a little kid come around the corner from a little alley way holding a tray with three bowls of Bisera. Talking about home made. This was at least the third time of the trip that the cafe "sent out" for our soup. And oh it was good. After breakfast we went back to the hotel and Chris and I hung at the cafe as the girls prepared for a trip to the beach. I decided to hang around with Chris because I needed some time away from Nicky but especially Caroline. She complains the whole trip and pays for nothing.
After the girls leave Chris and I go to the cafe and the Hotel Manager/Desk Guy come out and joins us. Hassan was a really nice guy. He tells us about the kings visit, what he said in his speech about the Western Sahara (he thanked the people for living there and said he would be investing lots of money there in the future). He also tells us about his home town which is actually as far away in Morocco as possible being a little town on the Mediteranian. What a nice guy. He asks us about dinner and Chris wants fish so Hassan asks me if I could drive him the the fish market. I ask him if he knows where I can get Morrican flags and pictures of the king. An half hour later I'm jamming around Dakhla running errands and listening to tunes with my new friend. This happens all the time in Morocco. The people are so incredibly friendly. As we drove around Hassan told me that the king would make another appearance the next day so we still had a chance to see the king!!!
The dinner was excellent. The hotel restaurant was large, big enough for about 60 people, but both nights we ate there we were the only ones in the place. The night guard and his friend would occasionally come in for a coffee and TV, but that was it. This night, Hassan asked if he could join us. We were glad to have his company. Its great to talk to a young, smart, open, Moroccan who can speak good English. These combinations aren't easily found. After dinner we had a little jam session, a couple beers and then crashed out with little visions of the king dancing in our heads.
The next morning Chris, Anita and I drove to the south east part of town looking for a small port. In Dakhla they have a brand new Industrial Pier with Military boats, and big fishing vessels, but we wanted to find the little port with the little boats. As we traveled south in the Sahara we visited every port in every town starting with Tan Tan. Most of them were just little quays with a sand beach. The fishermen drag their boats in and out by hand. There had to be one in Dakhla. What found was lots of refuge camps and some dirty beaches. No port out there. But the refugee camps were abuzz with activity. People were gathering in the giant dirt lot in front of the squats. Lots of people, hundreds of them. Busses were beginning to arrive. The people were excited, happy, the government was bussing them all into town to see the king!
After finding bissera, this batch I did not like because it was very spicy, we returned to the hotel. On our way back we see that things are beginning to happen. Main street was closed and the police were putting up barriers along the parade route. Cops on every corner. This was exciting. When we got back, Anita and I walked down to main street to check out the action. We find out that it will be at least and hour, maybe two, no one really knows, but the king will surely pass by.
Anita goes back to get Chris and I decide I will walk down and check out the activities. In the center of town, right in front of the Bar Hotel, is this great band playing. It's a group from Mauritania. They are playing this great cross between Moroccan and Reggae The singer is has long dreads, cool shades and a big smile. The have a few guys on percussion, dancing girls out front, and my favorite, a skinny guy with dreads playing an old fender strat. He's got some crazy amp I have never seen before but he was getting the best buzz guitar sound I had ever heard. They played a variety of styles, some traditional morrican, some African call and response and a weird form of Rock. Sometimes it was just the guitar and drums and it sounded like Hendrix lighting up the streets!! This was incredible. But even more wild was right next to the band was a line of about 30 Swamis! The swamis were angry because the band was so loud that no one could hear their chants. When the band was jamming the Swamis would just stand there, dejected, milling around whispering to each other. Between songs they would all dance and chant wildly because in a minute they would be cut off again. I have never seen swamis in such a frenzy. Normally they are the center attraction so they go about their motions in a relaxed fashion. But when they only have brief moments, and are frustrated they really move!! There was a great dynamic between band and the swamis. When the band was playing the swamis would stand around giving the band stares and hand gestures. When the band stopped and looked over the the swamis dancing furiously, they would start playing ASAP. I've never seen so many aggravated, pissed off Swamis!!
Busses are still arriving from the refuge camps and most people say I have at least an hour so I decided to go back to the hotel and try to get Nicole and find the Captain and Anita. Nicole doesn't want to get up but do do find the others and we walk back to the parade route. Things are really hopping. I tell everyone about the band so we go down to the center to wait for the King. Soon cool guys with grey leather jumpsuits on Big BMW 1000 motorcycles are jamming up and down the street for the final clear up before the king. Several cars with other dignitaries had passed earlier but no one seemed that interested. A little Moricccan boy let Anita borrow his flag. You can feel the tension in the air. The band AND the Swamis are in full gear. Soon we can see the motorcade approaching at about 15 miles per hour and zoom, in, a few moments he passed us. What a great sight, the King, surrounded by his henchmen up on this giant platform attached to the back of a big truck. He was about 10-15 feet off the ground. He smiled and waved at everyone. One of my most memorable moments was looking over at Anita seeing her jumping up and down waving her flag surrounded by a few dozen Moriccan children doing the same. Once the king went by everything stopped, the band packed it up, the swamis got on to their bus and the people went home. My first king, what an incredible experience.
Then we went back to the hotel, packed everything up and started our journey north.
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