Arrggghhhh!!!!! It’s too early. At
I was feeling very delicate
and wasn’t the only one. I ate some
bread and drank some orange juice followed by coffee and felt a bit
better. Half an hour later, we were on
the coach and heading towards the airport.
Ouarzazate airport was
pretty deserted at that time of the morning.
Our flight was due out at
I just held my head and
tried to get a bit more shut-eye. I
didn’t feel well at all, but couldn’t believe I had drank
enough to make me feel that way. It must
have been the lack of sleep adding to it.
I slept on the plane and less than an hour later we were in
For the next five hours,
whilst waiting for our flight to Heathrow, I spent my time between sleeping in
the flight lounge and occupying the toilet for a number of reasons – two to be
precise – it was coming out of both ends!
I was very seriously ill and kept myself apart from the rest of the
group so that I could sleep between visits to the loo without being
disturbed. Someone in our group offered
me a rehydrating drink and energy tablet, but I couldn’t tell you who – I was
out of it – but thank you.
I remember Jim frog
marching me through passport control and I got onto the aircraft, clutching a
handful of sick-bags on my way in. I sat
next to Querida, threw up into a bag, handed it to a steward and went to
sleep. I woke once or twice and had a
sip of a still orange drink Querida had got me, before passing out again.
We arrived at Heathrow
around
* * *
Speaking days later with
some of the others who were also ill, it seemed that we all had the fish at the
hotel. The fish we had eaten in the
desert was all tinned, so I think we were lulled into a false sense of security
when it came to the fish served at the hotel.
Maybe if we hadn’t drank also, we might have
got away with it. As it was, I remained
incapable of operating properly for another 48 hours and wasn’t right in myself
for another week after getting back.
Nevertheless, the memories
and experiences of The Sahara Challenge will stay with me forever. I would recommend both the desert experience
and that of raising money for such a good cause. Both were very fulfilling and I look forward
to doing another challenge in the future.
As for the
* * *
Corporate sponsors
Thomas
Cook Holidays Ltd
EMAP
Active Ltd
OAG
Worldwide Ltd
Sunningdale
Associates
Drain Doctor Plumbing Ltd
Royal Carpets (
Sketches – courtesy of Ian Catley
Sunday 5th November 2000
Not a firework in sight!
We were awoken with a room-call
at 6.45am. I shared a room last night
with David Chapman, who had inspired me to do The Sahara Challenge in the first
place.
I’ve seen and talked with
Dave quite a few times in the run-up to this, but it will be good getting to
know him more. He seems a very laid-back
and a mild-mannered sort of guy, with no ego to contend with – unlike a few of
the others so far, from what I saw of the journey here – but that’s just first
impressions and I guess I’ll get to know the real character of my adventurous
colleagues, and myself, during the coming week.
Anyway, as I said, having
received our wake-up call, I decided to have another five minutes and was woken
with a start fifteen minutes later by Dave grabbing my foot and giving it an
aggressive tug. So much for my
mild-mannered first impression of him!
Breakfast was simple –
orange juice, coffee, toast and marmalade.
There were some black olives too.
I had a few of those.
After breakfast our
Discover Adventure guides, Darren Nicholson and Jim Potter – who seem to have a
wealth of experience in running these group trips – gave us a briefing on the
day ahead and on the basic rules for the week regarding health and camp
hygiene. Also with Discover Adventure is
our doctor for the trip, Tatyana Troll – a German lady with an interestingly
strange accent – having spent some years working in Manchester as a GP.
We were told that, apart
from emergencies, she will only see us during morning and evening surgery and
so, just like in the UK, if we didn’t make an appointment two weeks ago, then
tough luck!
We got on the coach and
started heading south-east out of Ouarzazate.
Picture:
Just before embarking on the coach taking us into the desert to our starting
point
* * *
Ouarzazate is situated
south of the Atlas mountain range and straddles the Draa Valley which itself
runs from the Atlas and Jbel Sarhro ranges to the north and the Jbel Bani
mountain range to the south.
As a town, it apparently
began as a base for the French Foreign Legion, who have left their mark in the
form of a Catholic church, which is still run by nuns to this day, despite the
main religion of the town – indeed the whole country – being Muslim.
Ouarzazate today, plays an
important role in Morocco’s film industry and boasts two film studios – which
although basic – are generally rented as base camps to the larger film studios
around the world. The surrounding area
has been used as a backdrop for many movies, including Lawrence of Arabia, Romancing
the Stone and, more recently, The Mummy.
As a result, the town
attracts tourists from all around the world.
Ouarzazate has cottoned onto this by building its own tourist industry
and has established hotels, stores and coffee bars to benefit from it.
The townships themselves
are made up of terracotta-coloured buildings of mainly one or two stories, with
flat roofs and castle-like turrets – all of which have satellite dishes on top
of them. These modern buildings with
their technology topped roofs contrast with the roads on which they are
situated – which are mainly sand and dust – and dust fills the air as it is
swept up by cars and motor scooters as they pass by.
It’s 8.30am and the sun is
breaking through fast.
* * *
As we head out of
Ouarzazate on a basic metalled road into the Jbel Sarhro mountains, the scenery
changes dramatically into a sort of mountainous desert (if that’s not a
contradiction in terms). The
reddish/brown landscape takes on different shades as the shadows of the
mountains cast their cloaks across the floor.
The shapes of these
mountains are strange and varied – more like giant rocks that have been
weathered by sun and sand over thousands of years, creating these carved
structures. Their feet are often lined
with electric pylons – which themselves have been battered by dust and have
taken on the rust-red appearance of their surroundings.
We are travelling more
southerly now, continuing on the road that runs through a valley, following the
route of the Oued (river) Draa towards the region of Western Sahara.
Picture:
View from our coach shortly after leaving Ouarzazate
About 50 minutes drive
later, we go through a small village where the pace of life appears so
beautifully slow. People are sitting
outside their houses, just watching the world go by. I waved to some children and saw women using
washboards to scrub clothes next to a watercourse. I also saw a few goats up on the hillside,
finding what pasture they could.
Two or three kilometres on,
with nothing around for miles, I noticed a man sitting by the side of the road
selling some trinkets. We didn’t stop.
10.45am and heading east
again, we pass through a series of villages that have cropped up along the
roadside – or should I say, along the route of the Oued Draa. With a plentiful supply of water, the
roadside is fringed with crops of date-palms.
The land near the villages
is irrigated and green with various crops, including reed beds, which are
harvested and mixed with mud to make building blocks.
Picture:
View of date palms from the coach
At twelve-noon we reach
Zagora and decide to stop for half an hour.
Some of our coach party head off to buy shamla – the traditional
head-gear, whilst others head off to the cafeterias to try out a traditional
mint tea – a glass filled with fresh mint sprigs and topped up with hot water –
all for 6 dirhams or 40p.
Having been on an
air-conditioned coach all morning, the heat of the midday sun hit us like a
wall as we stepped off.
As soon as we arrived, some
children came up trying to sell their wares – a toy bicycle or a toy animal
made from palm leaves. Because none of
us had any change (having only this morning exchanged our money) we couldn’t
buy anything. However, I watched
Patricia (Tricia) Manns and Emma Padley exchange the palm-leaf animal for a
couple of pens. Maybe the kids will use
the pens or maybe just sell them later for cash.
One of the children noticed
my watch and showed me his. I pointed
out to him that they were both Casio, which seemed to please him. He demonstrated that his could play a tune –
a very simple one-bar ditty. I told him
that mine couldn’t do that and he left looking proudly at his watch as he
walked away.
After finishing my mint
tea, I took a walk down the street and was soon accosted by a store-owner, who
shook my hand and led me into his store.
He sat down and gestured for me to join him as he proceeded to show me
his goods – rings, necklaces, carved wooden boxes and the like. I think the idea was that we would haggle.
I speak very little French
and really only enough to say yes, no, hello, goodbye, please, thank you, and
to ask for a coffee etc., so I pointed to my eyes and then to his shelves to
gesture that I was just looking. I then
indicated in my best sign language that I would fetch my friends. I went out, pointed out the store to a few of
my co-travellers and watched them go in.
I never saw them come out – although the head-count on the coach was
correct, so they must have made it – but probably not without buying something
first.
Another 90Km to go until we
reach our place for lunch and, more importantly, the start point for our 104Km
walk called The Sahara Challenge.
As we got well outside of
Zagora, heading south again, the land became more desert-like, although very
flat and still cloaked by the mountains.
There is still some vegetation and the ground is littered with rocks and
small bushes – which from the coach looked like tumbleweed. We then began to climb up through the
mountain wall and the landscape became very rocky.
From here I could see the
path the river takes when, at certain times of the year, water runs down into
the valley below and feeds Zagora. And,
for the first time since arriving in Morocco, we spot our first camels –
seemingly just mooching around. Up to
now all we had seen was donkeys, being used by the locals to carry them and/or
their harvest to wherever it was they were going.
1.45pm and we were up and
heading through the pass across the Jbel Bani mountains and towards our
starting point. Just over the pass, we
were stopped at a military road checkpoint.
I couldn’t help but notice earlier in Zagora, and again here, that most
of the uniformed officials seem to have obligatory moustaches. Anyway, one of them was smiling and waving,
whilst the other took the list of names of everyone on the coach. It turned out that this was, apparently, for
our own protection, in case we strayed over the Algerian border, only 20Km or
so to the south-east.
* * *
We arrived at our starting
point a few minutes later. The starting
point of our walk and our place of lunch today, was near a well on the edge of
the desert – just 100 metres from the main road.
Picture:
The starting point for our walk
Sitting waiting for us were
our Berber guides, along with our camels and the back-up Land Rover. The coach pulled up alongside them and our
luggage was off-loaded.
The landscape is fairly
flat now and the ground is made of hard, flat stone – rust red in appearance,
as had been the only case so far during our journey from Ouarzazate. We get our bags and sort ourselves out until
lunch is served.
Lunch is set out on tables
and we queue up and help ourselves to the buffet of pilchards and salad with
bread that (we are told) will get harder as the week goes on. The salad consisted of onions, olives,
sweetcorn and green pepper. Simple,
light and healthy.
Querida Williams – one of
our Macmillan hosts – told us this morning that the food would be quite
monotonous, but nobody is complaining at this kind of diet. She also told us that, if we are lucky, we
might actually get some meat later in the week.
After lunch we were
introduced to our first stretching exercises to warm up and, hopefully, stop us
from getting any strains during the coming afternoon of walking.
At 3pm we set off by foot,
having just topped up our water carriers.
The water we are using is all bottled to reduce the chance of anyone
getting a funny-tummy. During the whole
week, we will be walking in a region known as Hamada du Draa and, if all goes
to plan, will reach the Iriki Basin at the end of our journey.
After walking for about an
hour, we come across our first sand dunes and stopped for a few minutes to take
in the scenery. The majority of our
walking will be in a generally westerly direction, with the Jbel Bani mountain
range in the distance to the north and, therefore, to our right.
So that nobody gets split
from the group, we’ve got strict rules about staying in sight of one another
and that we should let someone know if we intend to disappear behind a sand
dune for a pee. If push came to shove
and someone had to walk out, they would walk towards the mountains and find the
road – about a days walk at most.
However, the next rule was that if you do get split from the pack, sit
and wait for the help to come to you.
After all, we were walking along a set route, so there would be a very
good chance of getting rescued quickly, if you just sat and waited.
We moved over the dunes and
the sand swallowed our feet, step by step, but nothing compared to later in the
week. For ease, we settled on straddling
the peaks of the dunes and after fifteen minutes, we’re back on flat, stony
ground for the last hour of the first afternoon of walking.
Picture:
Our first sand dunes
The temperature during the
afternoon has dropped from 35°C (95°F) to just over 30°C (86°F) – but the heat from the sun is going fast as it drops lower in the
sky, so I can only assume that a lot of the heat is still coming up off the
desert floor.
Camp is in sight, but it
would take another 30-40 minutes to reach it.
Not bad I suppose, but it looked only fifteen minutes away at most.
Tonight’s camp is at Erg
Louidi and (as I suppose will be the same for the rest of the week) comprises
of an area approximately 35m x 70m, with 4 sleeping tents to the north-east on
the long side, the kitchen and trucks opposite, plus the large social tent to
the north-west on the short edge – leaving 3 toilet tents 70 metres away to the
south-east, each containing a hole in the ground, which will get very smelly. It will be one of the guides’ jobs in the
morning to fill in the holes and burn all of the used paper.
As you may have already
surmised, the orientation of the camp is determined by the direction of the
wind.
Picture:
The social tent as night falls
Darkness hit fast and by
6pm it is night. The social tent is the
only one lit and looks like a giant beacon in the dark that must be visible for
miles around. We all settled down for
the evening – some sorting their kit out in the sleeping tents, whilst others
gathered in the social tent waiting for dinner.
7.15pm and dinner is
served. Vegetable soup and bread – or so
I thought and so went back for seconds.
I would have been quite happy with a couple of bowls of soup, until Dave
Speck walked in with a mountain of meat and vegetables on his plate. How was I to know that the soup was just a
starter? Only out of politeness and not
wanting to upset our Berber chef, I had some – mutton, potatoes, carrots etc. –
and very nice too!
Oh, I forgot to mention the
wine. Twelve bottles ration a night (not
each, of course) at 60 dirhams – about £4 a bottle. Moroccan Bordeaux – made in Bordeaux and
bottled near Casablanca. Play it again
Sam. I’ll give the pudding of tinned
pears a miss.
It’s now 8.15pm and
thoughts of a bed for the night are starting to come to mind. Before I go I’ll sort through the thirty or
so digital photos I’ve taken and delete the ones that didn’t come out too well.
The idea tonight is to
sleep out under the stars. I will try to
describe what I see in the morning.
Until then, goodnight.
Monday 6th November 2000
By the time I had sorted
through the photos last night, it was 9.30 before I got to bed. As I looked up at the night sky, sleep
eventually took over.
I don’t think anyone slept
inside. Once the generator switched off,
all the noise of people talking around me quickly fell silent – either that, or
I simply fell asleep.
I woke up in the early
hours of the morning, shivering with the cold.
I don’t know what the temperature was, but my breath was steaming in the
night air and my three-season sleeping bag felt like it had passed its sell-by
date. Then I saw the night sky and
couldn’t believe it.
A blanket of stars covered
the whole sky and stretched to the horizon in every direction. I’ve never seen so many. It was as though someone had sprinkled
icing-sugar over the sky. I could see
clusters of stars, seemingly together, but most certainly millions of miles
apart and millions of miles away. Were
the ones that shone brightest larger, or closer to Earth? Were the dimmer stars, smaller, or further
away? It was impossible to say. However, there was a depth to the night sky
that I had never ever seen before and it was glorious.
I spotted what I thought
might be some planets too, although I’m not knowledgeable enough to name
them. I am told that stars flicker and
that some of the brightest ‘stars’ in the sky, which don’t flicker, are
actually planets that are merely reflecting the light from our own star – the
sun – in the same way that the moon does.
I also gather that it’s possible to spot satellites in a clear sky. I wish I had brought my binoculars!
I got myself comfortable
and went back to sleep.
I woke at 6am, again with
cold. The sky above me was becoming
blue, although very dark. I turned my
head to the east and saw the bright red line of morning coming up over the
horizon. There were a few people awake
now and sitting up in their sleeping bags watching it. I was still exhausted from the travelling and
decided that seeing the sunrise could wait another day. I went back to sleep.
* * *
I needed to catch up on my
sleep, having only been getting 5-6 hours a night for the past week and only 4
hours sleep the night before we left.
It’s been a case of sticking
in the hours at work in an effort to get ahead of the game. And going home early with a fever on the
Monday night of last week – sweating like crazy, but feeling freezing cold –
didn’t help me get ahead. Michelle had
brought me up a drink of hot chocolate, a stiff whiskey and a couple of aspirin
– the combination of which seemed to do the trick – as I was as right as rain
the following morning.
* * *
I woke up again at 6.45am
and the sun was already warming me up nicely.
I got out from my sleeping bag, packed it away and went into a tent for
some privacy so I could wash myself with wet-wipes and prepare my clothes and
rucksack for the day ahead. Before
putting the boots on, I gave them a bang and turned them upside down to see if
any scorpions dropped out of them. They
didn’t today. Ten minutes later I was
out and wondering around camp, brushing my teeth, using just enough water to
rinse my mouth and my brush. I then
finished packing my kit-bag for the camels to take later.
Breakfast was at 7am. A disgustingly salty porridge made with
water. A couple of spoonfuls of
strawberry jam made it almost palatable and I scoffed it down – as much for the
salt content as anything. I naturally
assume that we were being fed this horrid diet for a reason – as your bodily
salt levels are quickly sweated away during the hot day, leading to dehydration
and cramps.
After the porridge was an
egg omelette with some bread. I say egg
omelette because egg was the only ingredient.
No cheese, no mushrooms, no bacon.
Along with the food however, there was coffee, good coffee.
The whole group joined in
breaking camp and it was done in virtually no time. We then formed a circle and did our morning
series of stretching exercises.
By 8am we were heading
due-west. It was already 25°C (77°F) in the shade and the sun was getting stronger.
The first part of our walk
was across hard, sometimes stony, but flat ground and was pretty easy going –
although the pace was being kept purposely slow, so that everyone could warm-up
thoroughly and discover their own pace.
Picture:
The start of today’s walk, about 2Km from last night’s camp
Occasionally we would cross
over patches of exposed rocks and stones where flash floods had swept away the
sand on top.
There is rain here
reasonably frequently at this time of year, which is why we all had a
waterproof, fold-up jacket in our day-sacks.
When it does rain, it runs over the surface in places, sweeping away the
sand to expose rocks underneath. This is
when fossils are often exposed too, but all I saw was a non-prehistoric jawbone
from a camel.
An hour and a half later we
started to head over sand dunes and found a tree under which to shade and rest
for a while. We all filled our water
carriers and some checked their budding blisters – which had started to hit
some of the group. Viki Patey’s
Caterpillar boots had ripped shreds out of her feet and, so early on in the
trek, she was not happy about it!
We set off again over the
dunes, which proved harder going as our feet sank into the fine, soft
sand. After a while, we found a suitable
route, weaving in and out of the dunes and it started to get easier. The pace begins to quicken now and we head south-east
towards our spot for lunch.
Dotted around the dunes are
the odd bush – typically up to 3 feet high – and we also encounter some
vegetation that look like giant cabbage plants – the tallest I saw being over 7
feet high and with very thick leaves.
Pictures:
Examples of some of the vegetation as described above
The vegetation is often
concentrated where the flash floods occur in the event of rainfall. The smaller bushes have huge roots, their
fingers stretching for many metres around the bush and burying themselves just
below the surface, where they can absorb any surface moisture as efficiently as
possible.
At midday we find our
Berber friends setting out lunch under the shade of a large tree between the
dunes, where we all crashed out waiting for the food to be served. Lunch today was Spam, pilchards, cheese and
salad – followed by pomegranate.
Although I had seen
pomegranates in Sainsburys, I had never had one before and it was absolutely
delicious. The fruit inside its casing
needs prizing out of its internal structure.
The fruits themselves look like sweetcorn, but red in colour and, to me,
they tasted sort of like a cross between an apple and a pear.
After lunch, we all took
siesta. At one point a travelling Berber
and his boy came over to us to say hello.
The boy had with him a desert hedgehog – apparently rare to see – so we
all rewarded our luck with some photos of it.
But the hedgehog was very camera shy and didn’t want to show its face.
Picture:
Our shy desert hedgehog
It’s now 1.15pm, 29°C (84°F) in the shade and just over 40°C (104°F) out of it!
We set off due-west again
and walked over the dunes to the hamada.
It’s tough on the feet, walking on ground so stony – but we took our
time and after an hour or so, the terrain went back to sand – which was fortunately
quite solid.
We stopped under the shade
of a tree to rest, while some of our party caught up. Viki had opted for the camel ride because of
her blistered feet that, despite a field dressing, were too sore to walk on. I guess the doctor will patch her up properly
when we get to this evening’s base camp.
Picture:
Afternoon shade
We carried on west and
walked and walked and walked. The
terrain was fairly flat, but quite soft under foot. I would describe it as like walking on a
sandy beach after the tide has just gone out – the weight of the heel striking
the ground sinks in, then the rest of your stride pulls the heel out of the
hole as the weight moves to the ball of the foot and then onto the toes.
Just after 3.30pm we
spotted our campsite, situated at a place called L’oued L’autruche on the edge
of some dunes. For me, at least, it took
over an hour to get there, but I arrived at 4pm.
I quickly sorted my kit out
for the evening and filled up my water carrier, which I will use as a pillow
tonight. Who thought I would get a waterbed
in the Sahara!
There are some shower tents
on site tonight, but I’ve opted for the wet-wipes. As much as anything because there is a ration
on the water and, with a queue for the showers already formed, it would be just
my luck that the water would run out, just as I had soaped-up.
I went to the social tent
and had a kip for a while until 5pm. I
was woken to the sound of Dave Jordan, Robin Cooper and Chris Bulow – The Three
from Deal – reminiscing about the 60’s and 70’s and concerts they had been to –
such as The Kinks and The Who. Our
doctor piped up loudly, telling them that they sounded like an OAP’s meeting –
an accusation they rebuked vigorously, asking her in return, what groups had
come out of Germany. After mentioning
The Scorpions, the guys laughed and carried on with their memories. A moment later, Tatyana piped up again,
“There you go”, picking up on something they had said, “you must be pensioners,
that was over twenty years ago!” Then,
in her best German/Manchurian accent and having obviously seen the Fawlty
Towers sketch, she said, “You’ll be talking about the war soon, but I can’t
mention that!”
At around 6.30pm, with
everyone now in the social tent anticipating dinner, we were all asked to
introduce ourselves to the group. It started
well until Ben Haslam, at the end of his introduction, said that he was having
a great time. A heckler shouted, “So’s
your wife back in England”. The ice was
well and truly broken and the tone for the evening ahead was set.
Picture:
Inside the social tent
Dinner was served at
7pm. Soup for starters and couscous with
mutton and vegetables for main course.
Meat on two nights running! For
pudding, it was tinned pineapple rings and, of course, wine too.
I don’t want to give the
impression that we are being spoiled.
We’ve had a hard walk today and there are a lot of people with blisters
already – some quite serious. Besides,
there were no after dinner mints or anything.
Well, this is it, 8.15pm
and first dump of the trek. I’ll not be
writing about every bowel movement, but I wanted to share my first with
you. There are three toilet tents – male
and female, none of which were signed, so I opted for the middle one to be on
the safe side. Inside the 4ft x 4ft tent
was a big hole, a toilet roll hanging up to the right, a bag for used tissue to
the left and hundreds – no, thousands of flies – all enjoying the stench. It was not a nice experience and I think I’ll
stick to digging my own hole behind a sand dune from now on.
Obviously, washing your
hands afterwards is important, but it’s vital here. We are using soap and water, followed by an
anti-bacterial wash to finish. If one
person gets the runs here, the chances are that the whole camp would be
affected and it would almost certainly be down to poor hygiene.
Querida was telling me that
quite a few of last years group got ill.
Hygiene was one suspect, the other was the water – which is why, to be
on the safe side, we are drinking bottled water.
I ventured up onto the top
of the dunes near camp and saw a group of our Berber guides and the Cameleers,
sitting around a campfire, so I went over.
They started playing music – someone on a plastic jerry can, someone on
a plastic tub, another on a tin pot, with others clapping their hands. I got myself a couple of spoons and joined
in. One of the Berbers began singing and
I was later to find out that the song was about a Berber marsh man, whose love
was leaving the village to marry another man.
These songs translate into all languages.
We played and sang for half
an hour or so, and then I took my leave – thanking my newfound friends for
their hospitality and for looking after us all so well.
Picture:
Berber camp – music playing
I sat on top of a small
sand dune, just outside camp and began writing my journal for the day. The Berbers having decided to take their
music to the social tent.
These are magical times
that I shall never forget.
All in all, a good day and
even better night. The social tent
filled with the sound of Berber music, punctuated by reciprocal Beatles
songs. At around 10.30pm, people were
beginning to head off to their various places of sleep – mainly around, rather
than inside the perimeter of the camp.
I opted for a perch on top
of the first dune to the west, but not before joining a group of lads on the
other side for a chat. I’ve been
nicknamed Lawrence – taking the rise out of the trousers that I had brought
with me especially for this trek. They
are working wonders – keeping me cool by day and warm by night – thanks to the
sister of my work colleague, Haq, for making them for me.
It’s 11.15pm and I can see
the glow of another camp a couple of kilometres away to the south – perhaps the
Berbers we had seen earlier in the day, or maybe some likeminded Europeans.
125 degrees
east-south-east, about 25Km or so away, I can see the dim glow of a town, I
later discovered to be called Mhamid – after the Islamic prophet. The Algerian border is about another 30Km on
in the same direction.
Time to say goodnight.
Having put on an extra
layer of clothing, plus hat and gloves, I still woke up several times in the
night shivering with cold.
Sleeping outside again
probably didn’t help, especially with a quite strong breeze coming in from the
north-east. My perch on the top of a
sand dune also left me somewhat exposed to the cold, but also gave me a
guaranteed front-seat for the morning sunrise.
I woke up properly at
Ten minutes later, the
eastern horizon was pink and red. I
checked my thermometer and it was 8°C (46°F) – although even sitting wrapped up in my sleeping bag, it felt much
colder. By
At 6.40am it did just that
and the smallest glimmer of bright sunlight coming over the horizon immediately
brightened the sky, making the land beneath it seem momentarily darker and the
contrasting colours in the sky, brighter.
Reds, yellows and blues of every shade imaginable
spreading across the sky to create what we call sunrise.
Picture:
A couple of minutes after the sun had peeped over the horizon
To the left of me I could
see the silhouettes of the Berbers in their camp, getting up and seemingly
stretching. From a squatting position,
one of them stood up, squatted again, got onto his knees and stretched out in
front. It then dawned on me that the
Berbers were in prayer.
From what little I know of
the Muslim faith, I think it is custom to pray in the direction of
It was getting on for
Porridge again, but without
the salt this time – phew!
I ate my breakfast in the
social tent. Chris Bulow was dressing a
blister with Compeed – another victim of yesterdays fast pace. Thankfully, I remained blister-free, but an achilles injury from a couple of years ago was feeling quite
tight. I shall have to warm-up well
today.
Picture:
View from last nights perch – the other camp just visible in the distant right
After breaking camp, we did
our group warm-up. Today’s stretching
exercises were led by Michael Walton – one of us mere trekkers. I think we warmed up through belly laughter
more than we did through his routine, which was somewhat comical to say the
least.
We set off S.S.W. just
before
The initial ground was
quite tough going. Soft sand, well, more
very fine dust than sand – making it very heavy under foot. However, after about half an hour, we
ventured onto a large plain, dotted with 2ft-3ft high bushes as far as the eye
could see – and punctuated with patches of hamada, each about the size of a
football pitch.
The ground under foot is
now hard rock covered in a shallow layer of sand. Apart from having to weave a path between the
bushes, it was pretty easy going.
As the area has so much
vegetation, I can only surmise that the rock underneath traps pockets of water
when it rains.
We come across a small camp
in the middle of nowhere that was, we were told, home
to a desert hermit.
Picture:
Hermit camp nested between a couple of bushes
After a while we took a
short break to let the slower ones in the group catch up and I took the
opportunity to fill up my water carrier.
One of the Cameleers handed out some dates and roasted nuts, including
almonds, which were delicious.
A few minutes later, we
headed off again and at
Picture:
Taking it easy en-route to lunch
We got moving south-west
across hamada and zig-zagged our way through the desert, between the bushes for
an hour, until we found our lunchtime location.
It was
After another cracking
lunch of tomatoes, cucumber, beetroot, lettuce, green pepper, onion, pilchards
and cheese, we chilled out under the shade of a tree and listened to Michael
(Sunday league football manager extraordinaire) Walton, boasting about his team
selection and team tactical skills. Time to have a snooze.
It’s 31°C (88°F) in the shade and 44°C (111°F) out.
At
Getting up the dunes was an
art in itself and you slipped backwards, unless you walked at twice your
natural pace and forced yourself up. It
was like loads of Travellators from the TV programme, Gladiators – one after
the other, after the other. I found it
easier to walk in the footsteps of the person in front, where they had already
displaced the sand under foot, making the ground slightly firmer.
The dunes were punctuated
with ground, similar to that of this morning – except instead of surface sand, it was a soft clay-like material that created a dry,
honeycombed cushioned track.
Picture:
Honeycombed clay plates
Picture: Cross section of the ground
And, it was hot. 38°C (100°F)
with no shade or breeze and the sun beating down on my face as we headed west
towards it.
Then we hit more sand
dunes. We crossed them one by one, dune
by dune, getting hotter and hotter. The
pace at the front never slowed and I was just considering holding my pace back
when, fortunately, the dunes opened out and in the distance, across the plain,
we spotted a glimmer of light reflecting from a vehicle. It must be our camp and, after ten more
minutes of walking, it proved that it was.
Camp was about
half-an-hours walk away and – where on the previous days, it was on sight of
the camp when the going got tough, today was different. Having been such a hard day physically, the
elation of seeing camp raised my spirit and I was there in minutes, to be met
by hot drinks, biscuits and more roasted nuts.
It was
After washing and getting
some kit ready for Wednesday, I set up a clothesline and pegged up all of my
sponsorship t-shirts for a photo-shoot with Dave Chapman and myself. Dave had been given the nickname of Bono on
account of the green shamock and wrap-around sunglasses he had been wearing
today, making him look like the U2 star.
For the photo-shoot, we
enlisted the help of Ian Catley, of the Macmillan camp. Ian soon had us posing artistically – both
individually and together – in various poses around the makeshift
clothesline. He snapped away, like
Macmillan’s very own Lord Litchfield, giving us instructions to lift our heads,
look towards him, smile and so on.
Of the forty or so pictures
he took with my digital camera, I kept nine – but I guess that’s how the
professional model photographers work – and had nothing to do with the fact
that the camera was full of sand and kept taking pictures of everything except
what Ian was pointing at. Nothing a
quick clean didn’t cure.
Picture:
17 of 40
Then to
the social tent for aperitifs – or, in English, a couple of glasses of red wine
before dinner.
I’ll skip describing the
soup, which was neither better nor worse than any we’d had so far. No, I’m going to save all my gastronomic
praises of the Berbers efforts for serving us spaghetti bolognaise in the
middle of the
Then coffee and chat with
all and sundry, and just enjoying the general camaraderie that had been built
so far this week – including Perdy (Sporty Spice) Kirkland, telling us of her
flirtatious antics with the 17 year old Berber lad who, apparently, does a
great Michael Jackson impression. I
didn’t enquire further.
Then the Berbers, when
finished their evening chores, gave us another display of their improvised
musical talents of singing, clapping and playing on instruments of mess-tins,
plastic food containers – you name it.
Picture:
Entertainment, with Michael Jackson second from the left
I took a bottle of water
and sat just outside of camp on my own and, from a distance, watched and
listened to the sound of Berber folk music, reverberate around the camp. Time for bed.
I slept inside a tent last
night. As much to keep warm and to get a
good nights sleep, after yesterday’s slog. Besides, the night sky was cloudy and dark
with very few stars to see.
At
I grabbed breakfast –
porridge again – which, incidentally, is definitely getting better and the week
goes on. As usual, I followed the
porridge with an egg sandwich and a couple of cups of strong coffee.
After breakfast, it was a
case of getting washed (wet-wipes again), brushing teeth and generally getting
ready for the day.
Everyone is aching from
yesterday and actually looking forward to loosening up with their stretching
and warm-up exercises today. I wonder if
Wal will take the class again?
It’s 23°C (73°F) in the shade.
Then the wind picked up and
we were lashed with sand. It was like a
foggy day in the desert, but the fog was made from fine particles of sand that
got everywhere, no matter how hard you tried to stop it. I mean everywhere.
We set off due-west at
Picture:
Our view of the sand storm as we started walking
We were told before we set
off that visibility was 4 kilometres, but not long after we had set off, I
doubted it was possible to see much more than a kilometre.
This seems like a long way
and I can hear you say, “so what”, but in the desert,
visibility is often to the horizon 25-26Km away. On this basis, 1Km is not far and, if
visibility gets down to half of that, we will have to stop and sit it out.
At about
Ian Catley had decided to
take the camel ride, having been ill during the night. The general consensus is that he is probably
suffering from a touch of heatstroke from yesterdays
hard walk. Either that,
or the stress of the photo-shoot just got too much for him.
After a short water break,
we carried on and the terrain changed frequently between dunes and hamada,
before finally settling into a vast rolling plain of hamada. It reminded me of the Ystradfellte region of
the Brecon Beacons – a favourite walking haunt of mine back home – but instead
of peat, bracken, cold and wet; this was sand, stone, hot and dry. Either way, it had a very similar stark
barrenness to it and it wasn’t long before a great sense of desolation and
solitude was achieved.
Picture:
Hamada
At around
Because it was so windy,
lunch was served out of the side window of the Land Rover. Chris took the initiative and went up to the
window and asked for two large donner kebabs, but was served instead with the
Sahara Challenge traditional lunchtime salad – although tuna had replaced the pilchards
and we were treated to some French beans.
Picture:
Kebab van Picture: Location for lunch
We sat with our backs to
the wind, all facing west on the matting laid down for us, waiting for the next
gust of wind to pick us all up and carry us away, like a giant magic carpet.
I think we’ve all eaten and
breathed in more than a healthy share of sand today, but I am sure there is
more to come. I am looking forward to
getting a shower in camp tonight. Every
nook and cranny of my clothes and body have sand in them and it hurts your
eyes, something chronic - even if you are not walking into the wind.
Camels seem to have no
problem with the sand and dust – even walking into the wind. They have double rows of protective
eyelashes, hairy ear openings and the ability to close their nostrils – all of
which leave them somewhat more comfortable than I feel right now.
The camels we have with us
are the single hump Arabian camel, as opposed to the two-hump Bactrian
camel. They have evolved over 40 million
years into the perfect desert survivor.
A horse designed by a committee, it has been said; but the
characteristics I mentioned above, along with their other attributes, have
ensured their evolutionary survival.
They have wide-spreading
soft feet, which have evolved for walking upon sand. It is certainly noticeable from their
footprints that their feet distribute their weight very evenly, so they don’t
sink into the sand – which in itself is very energy efficient. And, they can maintain a speed of around 15Km
per hour for up to 18 hours without rest – partly due to them being able to
lose as much as 25% of their weight by dehydration without any ill effects. Incredible.
Picture: Sketch of an Arabian camel, courtesy of Ian Catley.
When we’ve stopped for a
break, the camels have been feeding on some quite coarse vegetation – even
thorny! Although, I am sure they would
not be averse to something more nourishing if it were available.
My water intake has been a
little less today than most days so far.
Partly due to it being cooler and partly to do with me
getting a gob full of sand every time I take my scarf from around my face to
drink. Generally though, we’ve
each been drinking about ten pints of water each day.
It is of obvious importance
to stay hydrated in these conditions and our expedition leaders have been great
in instilling that importance into us.
Basically, if you cover up to avoid direct sunlight onto your head and
the back of your neck, and by drinking plenty of water, it is possible – as we
are proving, to walk 15-20Km a day without too many adverse affects.
The acid test of hydration
(not literally) is to have clear urine.
To achieve this, it is important to take regular sips of water instead
of large gulps, so that it stays in your system and doesn’t go straight through
you. In survival conditions, the balance
would be about taking in the optimum amount of water, versus, expelling too
much and ensuring what you do expel remains reasonably clear.
It’s 1.10pm, 26°C (79°F) in the shade – time to siesta and listen to the Berbers working away
and singing contently in the background of my snoozing thoughts.
The storm is passing. At
We set off again and the
group began to spread out. I decided to
take it slow and enjoy the scenery more – my Brecon Beacons in the
I was now in between the
front and back groups with approximately 200 metres distance between each group
and me. After twenty minutes or so, the
leading group disappeared over a rise and I looked behind to see that the
distance to the rear group had doubled to near half a kilometre.
I climbed the hamada rise
and thought that I had lost the leading group – only to see that they had
beared-off left towards camp, which I could see a couple of kilometres away
through the haze of sand still present in the air.
Picture:
More hamada
Another couple of
kilometres behind our camp, due-west and contrasting against the hazy blue sky,
I could see the silhouette of Chgaga – the giant sand dune that will be our
challenge for tomorrow.
Content with my own company
in this beautiful setting, I sat down to scribble my thoughts and waited for
the stragglers to catch up – which they did far too quickly. As they wondered by, Mohammed (one of the
Moroccan guides and a professor of geology), came up to greet me. We walked to camp together and chatted
away. En route, we picked up a few
fossils and I found a piece of rough quartz about 2cm x 3cm in size.
It was
Tonight’s camp, at Chgaga
Erg, had been set out so that the wind wouldn’t blow sand in through the
doors. Hot drinks were served inside the
social tent – although most took their drinks back to their sleeping tents,
where they chatted cheerfully.
Sharing in my tent tonight
are Trica Manns, a fifty-something lady with a great sense of humour, life and
adventure – Sporty Spice – Dave from Peterborough, aka Bono – Emma (Zola)
Padley, who is always at the front of the food queue, eats like a sumo wrestler
and is as thin as a rake – Viki (blister) Patey, who is a technical illustrator
– and Marcea Goodman.
As soon as I had the
privacy, I got out of the days clothes and attempted a wet-wipe wash, as the
anticipated showers just weren’t there.
Trying to get clean with wet-wipes when you are caked from head to toe
in dust is impossible. Nevertheless,
just spreading it over evenly with the wipes felt better. I then put on my desert evening-wear
(consisting of track-suit bottoms, t-shirt, sandals and head-torch), sorted out my kit for the following day and headed off to
the social tent.
It’s
Bono managed to get a
bottle and shared it with me whilst we waited for dinner.
Starter today was minestrone
soup – well, actually, spaghetti soup, made with last night’s leftovers. I can’t believe it is possible for the food
to get better as the week goes on, but it does.
Tonight’s main course was a Berber speciality – a tajine of vegetable
and egg – a bit like a vegetable omelette with a bias on the vegetables –
potatoes, carrots, courgettes, peas and tomatoes. Spicy, absolutely delicious
and, with a splash of chilli sauce, out of this world.
Of course, as with all
groups, there is always opposition to such an opinion. Those who don’t like eggs and, therefore,
have some more soup and bread – and those who don’t like any of that funny
foreign food and, therefore, have a pot noodle – chow mien flavour! I kid you not.
* * *
The Berbers appear to have
split their duties two ways. There are
those who run the camp and those who carry it.
Whilst we are eating and being generally looked after, the Cameleers sit
by their campfire, sing songs and talk.
Of course, earlier in the day, whilst the Cameleers were cameleering,
the other Berbers were driving to, setting up and preparing the camp for our
arrival – including preparing dinner. In
the morning, the duty of everyone (including us trekkers) is to break camp
before the whole process starts again.
A similar routine seems to
happen with the food. The main course is
served with a wire-net ladle, which gives us enough juice for our meal, but
leaves enough in the pot to make the following night’s starter. Last night’s main course and today’s starter
are a good example – spaghetti. It’s
probably why we all recognised the first nights starter as being Heinz
Vegetable.
* * *
After dinner, the social
tent fragmented into several social groups.
I sat drinking coffee with Trica and we both enjoyed simply listening to
the varying degrees of banter going on around us. We would even join in the laughter, when the
humour deteriorated to a suitably low level.
Bit by bit, people grabbed
a mattress and made a move to the tents or the dunes. It’s time to say goodnight again.
STOP PRESS… SOMEONE HAS
JUST ANNOUNCED THAT THERE IS A GOAT IN THEIR TENT – LITERALLY!
Well, the goat kept the
camp awake for some time after lights out – making rather loud goat noises – as
goats do. I was sort of hoping that one
of the Berbers would finish it off, so that we could have fresh meat for dinner
tonight – but no such luck.
I awoke at
The winds of yesterday have
completely died off. Just as well. My throat is raw and really sore from
breathing in lung-fulls of sand and dust.
As for yesterday’s nosebleed, it seems that a lot of people had them – a
normal reaction of the body to breathing in all that sand.
I had some water, went back
to bed and slept until nearly
The encampment was bustling
with everyone getting their preparations done for the day. I dragged myself out from my sleeping bag,
washed and got dressed.
Breakfast was the usual
porridge followed by egg sandwiches.
Bono and I went over to a
nearby well to take some opportune pictures for one of my t-shirt
sponsors. On arriving back at camp,
everyone was in the throws of breaking it down, so we joined in. I then did my stretching and warm-up in
advance, so that I could scribble the morning’s notes before we set off.
A quick application of sun
cream and we’re about ready to go. It’s
I noticed a small goatherd
boy watching us, so I went to greet him and asked if I could take his
photo. He agreed and I gave him a pen to
say thanks. It was nice that he never
asked for anything – unlike most of the Berber children we’ve come across so
far.
Picture:
Goatherd boy
We set off towards the
giant dune and it took us about thirty minutes to get to its base. Whilst we were waiting for everyone to catch
up, some children appeared from a Berber encampment a few hundred metres away –
begging for whatever they could get.
Good or bad, I gave them a
couple of dirhams. Some of our group
gave them sweets, but it said in the literature not to, because they can’t
afford the resulting dental treatment required when their teeth rot. Nevertheless, you can’t help but want to give
something.
Picture:
Going up the 1000 ft sand dune
Then we set up the
dune. Half an hour later we were there –
and what a prize! To the south we could
see the hamada that we had walked across yesterday, stretching to the Jebl Bani
mountains. To
the north and west it was stereotypical desert as far as the eye could see.
Picture:
Chgaga – the highest point of the trek
There were rounds of
rapturous applause as each person reached the top to claim their prize. When everyone was up, we all gathered
together and had a group photo taken with the Macmillan banner. It was, in more ways than one, the pinnacle
of the week.
Then it was down. One by one, or sometimes in groups, we legged
it down. Running was almost easier than
walking – when with each step your feet sank deep into the sand, well over your
boots. At least running, the downward
momentum helped pull your trailing leg from behind – the trick being to propel
it forward quickly enough, or else!
Picture:
Down at speed – photo courtesy of Robin Cooper
At the bottom most took off
their boots and socks to empty them of sand.
So much sand came out from some people’s boots,
I was surprised they’d had room for their feet!
I had anticipated the problem in advance and had started the day using a
double-sock system that, although hot, had stopped any sand from going into my
boots.
The double-sock system is
simply that you put on two pairs of long socks.
When on, the top pair roll down over the top of the boot and the bottom
pair roll just over the edge of the top pair.
This basically creates the effect of a higher, skin-tight boot, so the
sand can’t go into them.
Once we had regrouped and
got our breath, we headed north-east with a view to boxing around the main
large dunes. Nevertheless, we still had
to go over plenty of smaller ones, whose fingers stretched far into the bush to
the east. We gradually headed north and
then the north-west, going around the main dunes.
The wind was beginning to
stir up some sand and dust in the air, which made it feel very hot and dry –
despite the temperature today being only 33°C (91°F).
We didn’t reach our place
of lunch until
The place of lunch was
right around to the north-west, along the route of a wadi (dry river bed). As a result, we didn’t get any advance
warning of how far away our place of lunch was – we just had to keep walking
and walking in a giant north-east to north-west arc, until it suddenly appeared.
Everyone collapsed onto the
mats and made noises about what a pig this morning’s trek had been. However, after another delicious lunch – the
usual, except lentils were the staple ingredient – everyone was refreshed. Except, it seemed, me.
At
It’s not a race, I know,
but psychologically, it is beneficial to be at the front of the midway point in
the line. The benefits of being up front
are that; a). you get a longer break when one is
called; b). you get to camp first and, therefore a
shower before the water runs out, and; c). you get the
biscuits. The downside of being at the
back is that you don’t get any of the above and you dwell on it – especially in
the last hour before getting into camp, which makes the last hour seem like an
eternity when you are hot, tired and hurting.
At around
By
I realised that I was
probably a bit dehydrated also and, at least, needed some salt to stop the
cramps from hitting. It would be my
first priority when I got to camp to take a couple of rehydrate sachets – which
sort out your fluid and sodium levels.
In the meantime I could see tonight’s camp about 5Km away – an hour tops
at the earlier pace of the week, but at least two hours of torture now.
I was speaking with Tricia
later in the evening and explaining that I would have felt a burden on the
guides to have had them wait with me for half an hour whilst I got my act
together. Tricia rightly pointed out
that it’s what they got paid for.
Nevertheless, when I looked behind, those who had taken the earlier
camel ride were coming up fast. It was
time for a camel ride of my own.
Picture:
Camel rides
Shortly after
I was disappointed with
myself in having to take the camel – especially as the final 2Km was across
fairly flat plains. What I do know is
that I pushed myself too hard both up and down this morning’s dune.
I really pushed my pace on
the way up and enjoyed the feeling of my lungs and legs burning with
effort. The same goes for getting down
and I enjoyed the challenge of getting a magnificent speed and momentum going,
without going arse about face. Or maybe
I was just showing off!
The elation of the morning
had gotten to me emotionally and I never recovered from it physically, which
put a bit of a downer on the day. Either way, it was definitely a hard day and everyone agreed
it was the hardest, but most rewarding so far.
We all managed to get
showered tonight. Darren and Jim were, I
think, a little embarrassed that we’d run out of water the other night and so
made super-human effort taking the Land Rover back and forth to the well for
refills.
Picture:
Queue for the showers – not many takers for the toilets to the left
There was a constant queue
of 6-7 bods for the three showers that were available. Getting clean – properly clean – after four
days of sand and dust was just heaven.
I’ll not say much about the
camel ride, only to say that it is an experience and one you must try sometime.
Dinner was served at
As you can perhaps tell, my
writing is getting tired and I think there will be a few of us up for an early
night tonight. Tomorrow’s trek is,
apparently, across flat, open salt-pans, so I’ll need all the energy I can get.
Friday 10th November 2000
I was awoken at 5am by the
sound of a cockerel from a nearby Berber encampment, but managed to get back to
sleep. It had apparently crowed all
night through until sunrise when it went to sleep. Typical.
I re-awoke at 6.45am in a
very good mood following yesterday’s downer, which was as much tiredness as
anything. Before I knew it, I was up and
dressed, had breakfast and was prepared for the day.
Today is the last official
day of walking and I think everyone is more than a little sad that the week –
although very hard in places – is coming to an end so soon. It looks like everyone is going to finish the
challenge, despite the varying degrees of blistering, dehydration, heatstroke,
sickness and/or the squirts. The mood in
camp is good.
After breaking camp, Wal
took his morning warm-up/aerobics class, which included a particularly special
rendition of the Hokey Cokey. It’s
8.30am, 16°C (61°F) in the shade and 26°C (79°F) in the open.
Our guides gave us our
brief for the day and advised that it is going to be a hot day without any
shade and to take plenty of water. We’ve
got 17Km ahead of us, over a section of the flat, open Iriki salt-pan.
We set off in a
south-westerly direction and walked across a combination of hamada, bush and
over the last fingers of dunes that were stretching out from the south. After an hour, we stopped for a rest and
water refill. Everyone took the
opportunity to use up some film from their cameras.
Flies from camp had
piggy-backed a lift with us and had been on everyone’s backpacks during this
mornings walk. Once we stopped, they
swarmed around, trying to figure out who tasted best.
We’ve all watched the
scenes on TV where children in the third-world hot countries have flies
crawling all over them and how we think it’s disgusting. However, as the days pass by, you become more
used to them and now think nothing of them crawling on your face and buzzing in
your ears.
Picture:
Water break
Jim handed out some boiled
sweets and we prepared to head off again for the next stretch. We carried on south-west and before long we
could see our lunch tent in the far distance.
Distance is a strange thing
in the desert and very difficult to judge.
It was 10am when we spotted our lunchtime target, which looked about 45
minutes to an hour away. However, we don’t
typically have lunch until around midday, so it must be getting on for two
hours walk away.
The terrain we are on now
is flat salt-pan – baked, hard sand – flat enough in places for an aircraft to
land.
Picture:
Salt-pan with view of our lunchtime target in the distance
As the sun got higher in
the sky, mirages begin to appear towards the horizon and they made very
convincing lakes – particularly as the ground we were walking on had patches of
dark sand, which looked wet. Of course,
they were not.
Seeing shelter from the
burning sun gave everyone a spurt of energy and we reached our lunchtime spot
for 11.45am. It was 31°C (88°F) in the shade and the shade was created by the roof section of our
former social-tent that the Berbers had erected in the middle of this vast,
desolate place.
We had just done 10Km in
two and a half hours, including our water break. Not bad considering the searing temperature
and the deteriorated health of some of the group. Only another seven elating kilometres to go to
complete our challenge. Most of us had
packed a Macmillan t-shirt into our day sacks and we put them on in
anticipation of getting to the end.
Lunch today was – wait for
it – pasta, cheese and a very spicy vegetable casserole. Personally, I really enjoyed it – as I have
with all the Berber dishes so far. There
were a few groans at getting hot food in the middle of the burning day and
someone pointed out their concern that the flies weren’t landing in today’s
dish.
I just reckon that with the
food being hot (temperature) and hot (spicy) enough to burn my mouth, the flies
would simply burn their backsides and, therefore, decided instead to check-out
some festering blisters.
Picture:
Lunchtime oasis
After lunch we siesta’d in
the shade as the hottest part of the day, an outside temperature of 45°C (113°F), passed by. I fell asleep in
the shade, but it was still seriously hot!
Just after 1.30pm we
prepared to move out and all topped up our water bottles with water and our
skin with sun lotion. A few stayed
snoozing and seemed unwilling to move. I
think partly exhaustion and partly knowing that to get moving meant shortly
ending this marathon trek.
Nevertheless, at just
before 2pm we started walking again. It
had cooled to 39°C (102°F) outside and the hottest part of the day had passed us by.
To help ensure that we all
crossed the finishing line together, we budgeted two hours walking. Darren had taken a lift in the truck to go
ahead and set up the finishing post and was very deceitful in choosing the camp
site for tonight – just tucked around a bend in the foothills of the Jebl
Bani’s so we couldn’t see it until only ten minutes walk away.
This made this afternoons
walking quite an emotional strain as our eyes strained to find the finishing
line. It was a jubilant moment when it
was spotted.
Picture:
Waiting for the stragglers
We all held up to wait for
the camels that had been carrying our water and for Jane Graham, who had been
on a camel for the past couple of days due to some really bad blistering on her
feet. However, Jane had got off her
camel and had bravely decided to walk the last few kilometres to the finishing
line – which she did to shouts and cheers of approval, elation and joy. She crossed the finishing line at 3.57pm.
We spent the next fifteen
minutes taking photos with every camera there was this side of the Jebl Bani
mountains. Every possible combination of
people was photographed to record the friendships forged over the past six
days.
Picture:
Group finish
It was what we had all come
here for and it was more than a touch sad that it was now as good as over.
* * *
I ran up to the top of one
of the foothills to catch the sunset and to view the salt-pan we had just
walked over. The sunset over the
mountains to the west was beautiful and I got a magnificent view of our camp to
the east and the salt-pan that stretched to the, now, near-dark horizon.
As I was coming down, I met
Tricia, Bono, Cath and Gorgeous George, who had also been up to see the
sunset. Bono went on ahead with Cath,
but the rest of us decided to say thank-you to the Cameleers in their camp,
just outside ours.
Picture:
Last sunset
They had constructed
themselves a bunker made from the camel packs to protect themselves from the
wind, and were making themselves some mint tea.
Their nature and hospitality put us all to shame, as their first
instinct was to offer us their freshly made tea, which we drank with humility,
thanked them and went back to camp.
At 6.45pm we were treated
to a glass of champagne to celebrate our efforts and a toast was raised to The
Sahara Challenge on behalf of Macmillan Cancer Relief. As everyone celebrated and congratulated each
other further, I volunteered a song in dedication to all those who had
struggled over the week’s walk. It was a
Willie Nelson number:
I’ve
been too sick to pray Lord,
it’s
why we ain’t talked in a while.
It’s
been some of them days,
I
thought I was on my last mile.
Well,
I’m feeling OK Lord,
and
I’m glad that I called you today.
Never
needed you more,
I
would have called you before,
but
I’ve been too sick to pray.
It’s words obviously struck
a note, as I was greeted with great applause at its end. Fortunately, before I could get too
embarrassed, dinner was served.
Picture:
Cheese!
Vegetable soup with very,
very, very hard bread – which, incidentally, made very good croutons. And, for main course, would you believe it…
chicken and chips. Brilliant!
A couple of flasks came
around, one with Jack Daniels, the other with what Tricia and I identified as
an Islay malt – pretty easy with its peaty after-taste.
Bono came in and announced
that there is a ring around the moon.
Ian told him to put his trousers back on. And Emma (Zola) Padley – having been first in
the food queue all week, had not only served the Berbers tonight by way of
thanks, but with Pauline Stewart, actually done the washing-up too.
Jim asked for a show of
hands for those who wanted to get up early and start walking, rather than take
the bumpy and dusty truck ride the rest of us would have to endure. There was a healthy show of hands, but this evenings
festivities may reduce the numbers.
At 9pm the Berbers came
into the social tent and Pauline thanked them in beautifully fluent French for
their hospitality and especially for their music.
Picture:
Speeches
In return, Moha spoke in
French on behalf of the Berbers and Pauline roughly translated as follows:
Really happy to meet and
serve you all week. It is, frankly,
everyone who has helped them and we thank you all very much. Again, we are really happy to meet you and
you are all really nice people and welcome back to Morocco any time.
It was very humbling.
After the speeches, we
enjoyed an auction of the last two bottles of wine, with the proceeds going to
Macmillan. I must have scratched my head
at the wrong time because I got the first bottle for £25 which I shared with
anyone who fancied a sip. Ray got the
second bottle.
Many of us then took our
mattresses and headed out to the fire that had been built for us in the middle
of camp and sat around singing Scout songs – starting with Ging Gang Goo –
followed by a Berber song.
The Berbers sang and danced
around, proud to show off their heritage and custom – which made ‘Ging Gang
Goo’ and ‘I am the Music Man’, feel very embarrassing – but I loved every
moment.
Just when we thought it was
safe to sit by the campfire, someone decided to show the Berbers the Hokey
Cokey. I think the Berbers struggled
with the actions, but they soon got the hang of the ‘oh, hokey, cokey, cokey’
bit and raced towards the middle without hesitation. The air filled with dust and the campfire
glowed in the fog.
I decided it was time for
my bed. It’s 10.30pm.
I grabbed my mattress,
gathered my sleeping bag and found a spot on the salt pan, about 100 metres
east in the direction we had come from today.
I settled down to the sound of the camp and the Berber music and slipped
gently into sleep – totally content with the week, the desert, the hardships
and the sounds around me. A perfect end
to a perfect week.
I woke up for a pee at
12.30am to the sound of the camp still trying to party, but now beginning to
fade – although I gather some went back to their sleeping tents and carried on
drinking into the early hours.
I went back to sleep and
woke again at
I drank some coffee and
pulled up a mattress to the east side of camp and waited for the dawn.
Picture:
Final sunrise
She came in with a blaze of
glory at around
We now had another truck
with us that I hadn’t noticed last night.
I know it was cold, but I was gob-smacked when, to get the truck warmed
up enough to start, the driver had lit a fire underneath it! It was our transport for the day.
I ate breakfast and helped
reluctantly to break camp for the last time.
I think everybody is ready to go home now, but see the journey required
to get there as a chore.
Picture:
Breaking last camp. The truck on the
left was now warmed up
A small consolation of the
journey home is that at least I can phone home to let my family know I’m OK and
that we’ve done it!
I don’t think Chris got
anything up by sat-phone during the week.
I just hope all the families back home have been comfortable enough
working on the basis that no news is good news.
We shall have a good party
at the hotel tonight, but try to remember that we’ve got a
Picture:
Sketch of our transport, courtesy of Ian Catley
Having said our goodbyes to
the Cameleers, we got up onto the back of the trucks, standing on the mattresses
that had been loaded on before us. It
was now time to say goodbye to the desert and we waved goodbye to it and the
Cameleers as we headed off to find the advance party who had set off on foot
before dawn. The Land Rover raced ahead,
followed by the freight truck, followed by us – herded like cattle, standing up
in the back of the truck and holding on for dear life.
The advance party got the
best of both worlds, but, despite previous warnings, I recommend the truck
ride. It was the white-knuckle ride of a
lifetime – a hot, dusty, desert roller-coaster, throwing us up, down and around
in every direction possible. All without
a harness! The trick was to keep your
knees slightly bent to absorb each impact as the truck abused its suspension
system at every opportunity. I think my
legs got as good a workout during the following couple of hours as they’d had
all week.
After an hour or so,
travelling along a dirt track through the desert, we were stopped at a military
checkpoint and our papers were examined once more. A few minutes drive later, we found the
advance party – examining rocks for fossils.
They loaded up and we
carried on until
* * *
It’s nice being back on the
coach with its smooth drive, comfy seats and air conditioning. There were many comments about the awaiting
showers at the hotel. We were all pretty
dirty and dusty and were looking forward to getting properly clean.
We drove back through the
small villages and the villagers were still sitting around and watching the
world go by. The camels we saw were soon
replaced by donkeys. Our driver occasionally
beeped his horn to get the kids and men with their loaded donkeys out of our
road and soon the palm trees reappeared.
We were back in civilization and it felt good.
The desert landscape
gradually disappeared as we weaved back along the road and back through the
mountain pass. Inside the coach all fell
silent as tired trekkers slept.
About 75Km from Ouarzazate,
we pulled into a lay-by and were pleasantly surprised to see the Land Rover
there with the field kitchen all laid out with our customary lunchtime salad –
except this time we had fresh bread and the flies were few and far between.
Somehow though, for me at
least, it just wasn’t the same anymore and I didn’t know why. Like watching a live version of the cartoon,
Mr. Benn, all of the characters that had come out of our adventure changed back
into themselves again. Lord Litchfield
turned back into Ian; Sporty Spice into Perdy;
Sweet Cheeks turned into Isla; Chunk and Bono turned into their
respective Dave’s; Wal into Michael; and
The last field lunch, for
me anyway, signalled a definite end to this great adventure. By
* * *
I must have dozed off, but
when I woke it was
We checked in and went to
our rooms. I shared again with Dave
Chapman. He made a dash straight for the
shower whilst I just threw my bags on the bed and went back downstairs to catch
the coach leaving for town. I tried
phoning home whilst I was waiting, but there was no answer, so I phoned my Mum
and Mum-In-Law to let them know that we had all made it safe and well.
* * *
On arriving in Quarzazate
city centre, I got myself some cash from a cash-point and set off to find
myself some bargains. I wondered around
the town market which, apart from the odd tourist stall, was full of stalls
selling cloth, fresh spices, vegetables and fruit and I also witnessed a man
choosing a chicken from a cage which was immediately taken out and its neck
wrung. Very fresh chicken tonight for
his family!
It wasn’t until I got into
the main thoroughfare that I began to get hassled and soon learned to look like
I was simply walking down the street with a purpose.
However, I soon found a
store that I fancied and ventured inside.
It was dark, but soon a light came on and I was gestured towards the
back of the store where the storekeeper, his cousin and a friend were watching
African Nations soccer on the box – which made it very easy for us to break the
ice between us. Before long, David
Beckham and Manchester United were being mentioned. I always thought it fiction and a PR exercise
by MUFC when I had seen this scenario on TV, so was delighted at its
authenticity and strange surrealism.
After ten minutes of
watching the game, Aziz, the storekeeper, asked me to follow him further into
the store to look at some goods. He held
back a hanging rug and gestured for me to go through the door behind it, into a
dark room beyond. I was more than a bit
apprehensive, but then he put a light on and I saw that it was another
Aladdin’s cave of pots, trinkets, jewellery and daggers.
However, I was still
nervous about going into this hidden room.
I weighed up the situation and considered my size against the three
lads, decided what items in the room would make the best and most easily
accessible weapons and looked over my shoulder.
Aziz was following me in, but his cousin and friend were just sitting
watching the footie. I was being paranoid. I was, after all, in a place of business on
the main High Street and had obviously watched Pulp Fiction once too many
times. My adrenaline levels subsided and
Aziz took great delight in trying to sell me his wares.
I took my time and picked
several items – each time asking the price and frowning slightly more at Aziz
each time he answered me. By the end I
had a wool & silk carpet for hanging at home; a small woollen carpet in
pink with camels and things weaved into it – which I shall give to Sinéad and
try to convince her that it’s a magic, flying carpet that can only be used in
the desert when the going gets tough; a 45cm diameter shallow wooden bowl,
encrusted with decorative metal and stones; a leather sewn bag with highly
decorative embroidery on it – based on the traditional cameleers bag; and a
ceramic pair of tom-tom drums, that when played, took me straight back into the
desert. And, for good measure, Aziz
threw in a wooden flute.
We calculated it all to
3800 dirhams – about £250. I offered him
1200 dirhams and listened while he explained to me in broken English, that it
cost him nearly twice that! He offered
me five percent off his original quote.
I returned the gesture and laughed at him, explaining that I had very
little money to spend and that there were plenty of other shops on the same
street willing to take it. I upped my
offer to 1500 dirhams and told him he could keep his wooden flute. He retorted and explained that he lived far
away in a town called Mhamid – the town whose lights we had seen from the
desert the previous Monday evening – and that he had family there to
support. I explained in a disappointed
tone that I too had a family to support and that my wife would kill me if she
knew I was even considering spending so much money. And so it went on.
In the end, Aziz said he
wanted both of us to be happy and could I pay him 2150 dirhams. We shook hands on 1850 dirhams – about £120 –
and I kept the flute. I was happy, but
had to go again to the cash-point to get some dosh for tonight.
The coach had left and
returned to the hotel, so I stopped at a café and ordered myself a mint-tea in
my best French, which I sat and drank slowly as the world of Ouarzazate passed
by. I then caught a taxi back to the
hotel.
* * *
It was time to get
clean. The shower was heaven and I
washed out so much sand, dust, dirt and grime, I was surprised any of the
desert had been left behind. It took
three soapings before the water ran clear.
And I thought I had stayed reasonably clean out there!
I then dressed, packed for
the early morning start and headed for dinner.
Much more civilized. It’s
In the bar we enjoyed the
entertainment from the band and a belly-dancer.
Michael Walton joined into the spirit of it when asked to get up to
dance and soon had his belly on show. We
then headed into the restaurant, ate drank and made merry!
Picture:
My table for the evening.
Speaking with Dave Jordan
over dinner, sitting to the left of me, I was interested in him telling me that
in his experience of people management, when groups got together they went
through several stages – 1. Form (get together); 2.
Storm (find their place within the group); 3. Norm (normalise
and become comfortable with position/function); and finally, 3. Perform.
He was telling me that
groups have to go through these stages before they will perform as a team and
was fascinated that, in all his years of knowledge, ours was the first time he
had seen a group not go through the storming stage.
After dinner we headed back
into the bar, drank some more, chatted with our newfound friends and enjoyed
the night. At
The Sahara Challenge
in aid of
Macmillan Cancer
Relief
Saturday 4th–Sunday
A personal account by Andrew Whittaker
Introduction
Nearly everyone knows somebody who has, sadly, been the victim of Cancer. That’s why I took part in The Sahara Challenge – a 104Km (65 mile) walk across a section of the Sahara Desert in Morocco – to raise money for Macmillan Cancer Relief.
My personal sponsorship target was to raise £2000 but with the exceptional support and charity of all my sponsors, the total figure I raised was £5300. On behalf of Macmillan, thank you all very, very much.
This journal is an account of my own personal experience of the desert and The Sahara Challenge, which no doubt, will hold different memories to some of my co-travellers. Nevertheless, these are my memories.
The three-month training regime was hard, but rewarding. The first month concentrated on losing weight and sorting out a suitable, healthy diet. During the second month I worked on building my strength and fitness. The third month, October, was about building stamina and working hard on my cardio-vascular fitness. By the end of the regime, I had reduced from 16 stones to 14 stones in weight.
I have always been able to walk distances and regularly go hill-walking. What I couldn’t prepare for was walking in the heat of the desert with the sun beating down on me. My training, therefore, worked on the basis that, if I could comfortably run 5Km in this climate, I should be able to manage walking 12-15Km in hotter conditions. For someone who previously got puffed-out just running down the road, I was pleased with my efforts.
The logistics of such an
expedition must have been difficult to organise in a country such as
The Sahara itself is the largest
desert in the world and covers an area of over 9 million square kilometres,
stretching across the African continent from the Atlantic Ocean in the west to
the Red Sea in the east and from the Mediterranean in the north to the Sahel
region in the south – which separates the desert from the forests of middle
Africa. The
Our expedition took place on the
edge of the
To give you an idea of how difficult and challenging the trek was as a group; consider that we had one doctor for all forty of us and she held two full surgeries every day! The bond between us trekkers grew very strong as we pushed and supported each other through the heat and pain. As someone said; we started the expedition as forty strangers and we would have died for each other by the end.
My most lasting memories of the desert were its vastness and, when times allowed, its silence. It is a magical, even mystical place that draws you in like nothing I’ve ever before experienced.