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I flew to Algiers to try out a new agency, do a recce and indulge in a bit of a 1980s Desert Travels nostalgia tour (left; 1982). Among other things, I was curious to see if there really was a road all the way from Tam to Djanet.
Fog delayed our London flight by a day which meant we missed our twice weekly connection to In Salah. Me, Rob and JT were the only non-Algerians on the plane and on arrival found a VoA was not the quick payment and passport stamp I’d expected. Expect at least an hour’s wait – significant if catching an onward flight from the adjacent terminal.
Once through, buying black market money was straightforward. So was getting a local SIM (rates and prices here). Last minute, Fouad from Tadjemout Travel had organised a spacious people carrier to take us the 400km to Ghardaia, a run I first did in 1982 and last in 2006 in the MAN.

It took an hour to get clear of dreary, gridlocked Algiers until near Blida where a three-lane highway curved south and up into the Atlas, through a tunnel and onto the rainy high plains (above). We passed Medea, Djelfa and Ain Oussera – all places evoking deeply etched memories and miseries of my 1980s travels here.
After years in Morocco, I was shocked by the crumbiness of the roadside facilities and the endless checkpoints. This being New Year’s Eve, our driver explained the gendarmerie were doing the seasonal shake down for individuals transporting booze and other intoxicants. A couple of days later we watched the morning news in In Salah, showing cops revealing slabs of beer hidden under blankets in car boots.

It got dark and just before Laghouat one unusually arsey soldier wouldn’t let us pass (he may have been drunk), insisting there were no gendarmerie to escort us onward and we would have to spend the night in the local barracks. There was something dodgy about him, especially when suggested with a sly grin that we pay him 4000D (£30) to continue. In my experience as a tourist in Algeria, this sort of opportunistic bribery has never happened, and with a pointed finger I assertively spelled this out to matey.
‘Did that work?’ I asked Rob.
Another off-stage conflab with our driver and it seems it did. We moved on and arrived at the Caravanserail auberge in a corner of Ghardaia (below) around 11pm which, while an interesting compound, with the meagre breakfast was fairly pricey at 75,000DA each, even at the best black market rate.

Our Tadjemout Travels driver in a 105 Land Cruiser was slow to turn up next morning and after a tour around Ghardaia, we weren’t southbound on the TSH till noon. This is where the proper though as yet uninspiring desert starts: the turn off east for Ouargla for the road through the Grand Erg to Djanet, or straight down the TSH for El Menia, a few miles after the dunes which caught my eye back in 1982. This time they looked a bit flat. Maybe it had rained.

Either I dozed off through El Menia (El Golea) or I didn’t recognise anything after what might be 40 years. Up ahead lay the Tademait plateau which was a rubble track shocker in ’82 and now was little better. About a dozen diversions took to the dirt just as decades ago, making for slow progress – expect 8 hours for this 400-km stage. This is Algeria’s Highway 1 and they’ve let it deteriorate to this state. There’s talk of extending the railway from Laghouat 1500-km down to Tam.
Night fell on the Tademait and the impressive decent to the desert plain passed unseen. In sight of In Salah there was a more serious checkpoint, right down to logging our mothers’ maiden names on a piece of scrap paper. Sometimes I wonder if it’s just the pedantry of the individual manning the barrier. He seemed agreeable enough, just doing his job. With a bit more banter – a key skill to hone at these CPs – we managed to avoid a pointless escort the few km into town. Around 10pm we arrived at the unusually modern Hotel Tidikelt (85,000DA; another basic breakfast) where Fouad from Tadjemout met us to sell more money at 20% better than the airport, plus had a warm meal left waiting in our rooms.

Next day we learned that the gendarmes had over-ruled the rules and imposed a two-car escort on our two cars for the 550-km to In Amguel. We where now in another 105 with Sidi Ali, with a rear diff that didn’t whine deafeningly, but whose electric windows didn’t work. Roll cages on both suggested they were ex-oil exploration cars. Fixed windows would prove to be an irritation for us, but most agency cars in Algeria are clapped-out bangers. Good 4x4s are restricted or hard and expensive to come by. But despite a few hesitations, our 105s got us round, covering about 3000km.

To make up for lost days I ditched the Old TSH track plan via Tadjemout spring where the Amguid Crater camel treks used to start, and decided to stick to the main TSH. But add the late start and escorts, it became clear we’d be on the 4th late-night drive in a row.
I rather hoped Berbada roadhouse might be a good place for an overnight for future trips, but after stopping there I think I’ll take the open desert. The truckstop is like something from a Mad Max movie with a rough cafe selling 20 types of long life biscuits and as many deodorants; a was of keping ‘clean’ when there’s not much water around.
Our 105 wouldn’t turn over as if the battery was shagged, but a reverse jump start got it running. Didn’t know you could do that with a diesel. The battery was fine from then on but it didn’t bode well for the desert pistes and conked out inexplicably a few more times. We were picking up a sat phone in Arak, plus I’d borrowed an InReach2 sat messenger in case of trouble.

The hotel next door looked rough and might well be catering for the northbound migrants our driver pointed out on the TSH. The lucky ones were jammed 20-up in the back of crewcab Hiluxes (below), circumnavigating the more onerous checkpoints in towns. The rest were boldly walking along the highway with nothing more than a couple of water bottles swinging from their belts. Out here it’s 100s of kilometres between places. Clearly our gendarmerie escorts weren’t bothered, maybe because they know at some point, once some money had been made (and perhaps passed around), the migrants all get bused back to Point Zero on the Niger border, where some give up and some try again.

From Berbada truckstop we made our way south towards Arak in the Immidir ranges, taking occasional deviations onto the sands. After passing the huge pale dunes of the Erg Mehajabat, we entered the gorge then negotiated with the cops where we could eat our lunch. You can tell it’s a constant game with the locals to get their way or just get one over.

There was a gendarmerie change at Arak, luckily with minimal delay which is largely what can make these escorts irksome (apart from being chaperoned in the first place).
Once out of the Immidir and back in the open desert, I was on the look-out for the isolated massif of Sli Edrar which had captivated me in ’82, and which had been the lost goal of my ill-conceived ‘84 trip (left). It wasn’t till 2009 that we finally got to explore the massif which would be a landmark to aim for on the return leg of this recce.

Just down the road was the roadhouse (no fuel) at Moulay Lahcene, another rough joint which would frighten the horses and is not exactly an Aire de Repos. Migrants milled about, Tuaregs kept to themselves (below right) and old bangers littered the compound.

South of Moulay is the turn-off northeast for the Amguid piste which we’d pick up in a few days time from the east, then the sun set as we passed In Ecker mountain which the French accidentally nuked in the early Sixties, irradiating the area for miles around.

At In Amguel the gendarmes left us. The plan had been to turn east into the Hoggar for Hirafok and camp somewhere before looping the Tahifet road round to Tam. But by now it was too late to be camping and getting fed in the desert, so we carried on unescorted another 120 clicks to Tamanrasset where Sidi Ali sorted us out some lodgings at Camping Tuareg, a vast warren of non en-suite rooms under domed roofs and where our cook used the kitchen to bang out another late meal (above).
Next morning up on the roof I recognised the distinctive profile of Hardriane mountain and the volcanic plugs marking the way to Assekrem. A week or so later, a Spanish tourist in a local car with guides was kidnapped and taken towards Mali where his crew were released. It was the first such grab in Algeria in 10 years, carried out it’s said by locals responding to ISIS’ call to buy hostages for ransom. Very luckily for him, his abductors was intercepted by Tuareg separatists (not jihadists) before he was handed over, set free and returned to Algeria and home a few days later. Around the same time in Agadez, an old Austrian woman was not so lucky and nothing’s been heard of her since.

Even if much of it was in the dark, this was my first full transit of the TSH I’d done in 40 years. But apart from 4G cropping up near settlements which themselves have sprawled with migrants and refugees from the Sahelian insurgencies, the TSH was little changed. I’d had a plan for a cushy road bike tour but the escorts and deviations and scant lodgings would make it no better than my previous off-road tours. Plus the kidnapping didn’t help inspire confidence.

It’s never over till it’s over, but I’m sure for a first timer rolling down the TSH to Tam, then east to Djanet before heading back up for either Tunisia or the Algerian Med ports, this full 5000km loop would still be a big adventure, just as it was for me in the 1980s. All the better too, if you can dodge the highway gendarmes – easier in the east side and on a moto, it seems.