It was Jan 1st when we left the shores of GB for our long expedition to the Sahara. The journey to Genoa was much quicker than it would have been a week later, when France was covered in snow, according to the television in the Marhaba Hotel in Nefta. It was our first trip on the Carthage, as our last foray into the Sahara had been in 1993 on the old Habib ferry, just before the FIS warned all foreigners to keep out. But the Carthage exceeded our expectations and was a comfortable way to start an exciting journey across the equator and back again.
At the border we were excited to be driving in Algeria after such a long time away. But on arriving in El Golea we heard a horrible noise from the gearbox. This should not have happened, as it had been completely rebuilt in England, along with the engine. We returned to Ghardaia for repairs and ended up spending almost a week in the home of the uncle of our agent in Tamanrasset. The work was completed at 5 pm on the day before the twice-weekly convoy from El Golea to Tamanrasset, so we had to get moving that night. At 7 am the next day we were at the barrier outside El Golea, waiting and waiting for the gendarmes to arrive. All day we waited, without any concrete information from the police there. At 5 pm we gave up and returned to town. “Come back tomorrow, you will definitely go then,” they said.The next day we were there again in the darkness, eating breakfast at the police post and hoping. We gave one of the policemen an orange from the garden of the garage in Ghardaia; in return he gave us a bottle of Orangina from Algiers! And sure enough, at 8.23 am they let us go, but there was no sign of any convoy. Once we had left the barrier we were on our own. And then the rain started. All day long we had the windscreen wipers going.
We crossed raging rivers below the Tademait Plateau, past golden sand dunes surrounded by vivid pink flowers, into the muddy town of In Salah, where children played excitedly in the swimming pools that the streets had become.The following day we were at the In Salah barrier before dawn. We left at 7.23 am as the sun was rising, and were then on the road all day and almost all night it seemed, arriving at Tam at 9.30 pm. It’s a beautiful but at times rough potholed drive. The dramatic Arak Gorge is about half way. Then there are the dramatic outcrops between Moulay Hassan and In Ecker before the magical Hoggar Mountains appear near Tamanrasset. It was a surprise to see such a huge city, at least in comparison with any other settlements we had seen in the desert. But the architecture is still attractive and the city is buzzing with life, admittedly mostly male, in the tea shops around the square and on the street corners. The Hotel Tinhinane, although fairly primitive, is a friendly place where they are trying to install workable hot showers and already provide delicious fresh bakery produce for breakfast. We tried the campsites too, but they were all out of town, more expensive and empty.
Leaving Tamanrasset for Djanet a couple of days later, we were with our small group of British tourists, who had arrived just 15 hours after us. We headed first for the Assekrem hermitage high in the Hoggar Mountains, a wonderful place with stunning views across the mountain ranges. The journey across to Djanet was fun in convoy. We spent nearly a week trekking on the Tassili plateau, and came down to meet none other than Chris Scott and his motorbike team at the Djanet campsite.
The following week we travelled back to Tam with our six American clients, who had started out from Agadez, and been driven to Bilma, then on to Djado to meet us in Djanet. Quite a story in itself.
After our clients departed, we headed south on the main piste. Three local smugglers’ vehicles interrupted our sleep in the rocks near Gara Ecker; some heart-stopping and hair-raising moments as we froze on the roof of our vehicle while they got out a few hundred yards away and started to make lots of noise. They had surely seen us; they were so close. But luckily they left us alone and we had no further problems reaching In Guezzam.Border formalities over after some bakshish in Assamaka, we had a trouble-free run to Agadez. The road south to Zinder is still not tarmac for the middle 100 miles, but a good fun piste, with no traffic to speak of. We stayed with some British missionaries in Zinder; a great welcome, a touch of home cooking and a hot shower. They were stunned to see a British-registered vehicle driving through Zinder and came following us to see who we were and what on earth we were doing!
Entering Nigeria was a very polite affair but the road to Kano was guarded every couple of miles by different officials, police, customs, road safety officials, forestry patrols, first aid informers, random debt collectors, vehicle safety, road safety again and so on. All hoping for a tip, but none actually putting much effort into collecting. At the Kano State Tourist camp there were no other tourists but lots of willing helpers; Hussein could find black market diesel, since the fuel stations were shut by one of many frequent strikes. Others wished to clean the Land Rover, our clothes, our shoes, our mudguards and probably us if we’d asked.
Our route took us across sultry hot northern Nigeria to Maiduguri and then into Cameroon. After spectacular rocky outcrops and reasonable roads, we soon arrived in hilly Ngaoundere, a nice town. There was nowhere to camp, but we were able to park discretely outside the hotel and creep surreptitiously into the back of our vehicle, giving the gardener a shock in the morning when our legs swung out of the back! From here the road became reasonably acceptable dirt to Garoua Boulai at the border of the Central African Republic, where rebellions were in progress as usual. After Garoua Boulai we cruised along on a 150-mile section of fabulous brand new wide tarmac, with about two trucks an hour for company. We camped in the forest but didn’t sleep a lot, with so many unnerving noises in the undergrowth. Not long after Bertoua the new road suddenly came to an abrupt and very rough end. Barely 10 miles an hour was possible from here, over massive corrugations virtually all the way to Yaounde.
But we didn’t make it that far that evening, as night fell while we were still many miles away. We lay as we had done many times before on the open roof, until 3 am when it suddenly started to rain. Within minutes we were soaked by a torrential downpour, so we dashed hurriedly inside and started to move before the roads were closed by the rain barriers. But the road was so rough that the engine died, still in the blackness of the night, just as a great thunderous storm enveloped us on our lonely jungle track. It was a scary couple of hours sitting immobile in the dark (our torch of course chose this moment to fail), fiddling with fuel lines and everything else before finding a loose wire that took power to the ignition solenoid. This jungle was actually more remote in terms of outside help than the Sahara, even though there were a few villages. They of course were poor and had no power or mechanical facilities.
After Yaounde the road south was good all the way to the border town of Ambam. Then again the road ended suddenly and became a tiny narrow muddy track through dense forest to the Gabon border river. Some terrible rotten wood bridges almost barred our way as well. By the time we reached the river it was too late to cross, so we were invited by the Customs officials to spend the night outside their office. After a hassle-free ferry crossing the next morning we were in Gabon. Friendly border people again, but then decidedly unfriendly checkpost officials after Bitam. The road was excellent to begin with, but again gave way to terrible rutted corrugated dirt as the foreign aid dried up. Spectacular mountain jungle scenery though, with a great canopy of trees and cliffs. At Ndjole we stayed at a small auberge, which would have been just as much at home on the banks of the Loire as on the Oogue river. French expats obviously kept it going, though they all seemed to feel they would rather be somewhere else – “I’d rather be in Eritrea,” said one!
And so across the equator to our destination of Libreville, a hot sweaty melting pot, and the first Internet cafÈ we had seen since Ngaoundere. A ridiculously expensive hotel at a marina was full of expat yachts, but could we search any more at that time of night in that heat? With a new outbreak of Ebola and rebels in the Congo, no way could we contemplate going on in that direction (“I’d rather have AIDS than Ebola. At least with that you can take drugs to help you live longer, whereas with Ebola you’re dead in a week,” said a young man who came to watch Bob under the Land Rover doing his usual maintenance tricks). And we were unable to get the Sudan visa that would have allowed us to cross to Kenya as originally planned.
So all that remained now was to get back to Tunis in four weeks for the ferry. We turned back from Lambarene, our most southerly point, having visited the Schweitzer hospital. Taking a different route in Cameroon, we passed the volcano Mount Cameroon and drove through some picturesque forested hills on the way to Mamfe, on a mixed dirt and new tarmac route. Then via the Ekok border to Makurdi, Abuja and Kano, before returning to the desert. But that was yet another story.
SOME ADDITIONAL ROUTE NOTES
The tarmac south of Tam lasts about 20 miles before becoming broken and rough. Once into the sandy oued draining the southern Hoggar, the piste is much faster and widens out as the route passes between some isolated hills and outcrops. Although there are quite a number of balises, the more recent and well used tracks (and there are many, often kilometres apart) do not always stay within sight of these markers. For comfort we tried generally to keep within sight of the markers, but the clearer tracks often strayed away for an hour or more at times. After an open area south of the outcrops, the piste is fast and clear. Then one crosses a sandy region with small rocks and ancient eroded slate patches where getting stuck in deeper sand is just a possibility. Late in the day the route encounters the dramatic outcrops of the Tassili du Hoggar and here a new road is being built in various often discontinuous sections. About 80 km before In Guezzam are the dramatic rocky towers near Gara Ecker, which make for good camping places. Smugglers also use this area at night (we had some heart-stopping moments as three vehicles drove past us just a few metres away at 2 am), so plan to drive well out of sight of the road, but watch out for the deeper sand near the rocks. Road construction is going on just south of here and the last 15 km is tarmac to In Guezzam.
Fuel is sometimes available in In Guezzam, but don’t leave Tam expecting it. Leave In Guezzam by following the route south from the fuel station and turn left at the end here on a track that is sandy then climbs up on to a made-up embankment. Just before the customs immigration is an area of soft sand, where it may be necessary to lower tyre pressures. From the immigration the truck piste is fairly obvious to Assamaka. (When coming north from Assamaka, it’s best to ask the locals for the truck piste as it is not clear. There are hundreds of other well-defined tracks made by smugglers – yes, we got lost and stuck here for nearly 2 hours following clear tracks into a range of low hills. The truck piste is a bit east and then north from Assamaka, and is very clear after a kilometre or so from Assamaka.)
It’s pot luck at Assamaka whether the officials will ask for a lot of bakshish, a little or none. Continuing from Assamaka we took the obvious piste to Arlit. This piste goes east and does a turn to the southeast not far from Assamaka, with signs. There is virtually no traffic on this piste, just a couple a trucks each day or two, but it’s a fun piste. We camped about 50 km before Arlit on the south side of the piste in some scrub and low acacias, the only cover all the way. Arlit is a rather flyblown spot and we had to get the insurance here at the UGAN office, but not until after the manager had slaughtered his sheep for the Eid festival. We also visited the police for a stamp here, but nowhere else in Niger; it wasn’t too much hassle.
We found fuel in Arlit, but it may not always be available. Agadez still retains its great and colourful atmosphere, particularly if a festival is underway. The road south to Zinder is tarmac except for about a hundred and sixty kilometres before Tanout. For the main road to Kano follow the route via Matamey to Kongolam, not the one marked on the Michelin map, which is slower. The Kano State Tourist Camp is just about functioning and the locals are friendly. Ask Hussein for any mechanics or black market fuel if required.
We continued as far south as Libreville and Lambarene in Gabon, before turning around for home, having failed to get a Sudanese visa in London prior to the trip. We met a motorcyclist and some Austrians with visas who had already been, or were planning to go, via Chad to Sudan. Nigeria was memorable for hundreds of police checkposts and a complete lack of fuel; power cuts and hotels with only bucket water. Cameroon was generally pleasant, except for police in Yaounde, but a great swathe of the central areas still doesn’t have tarmac roads, just shockingly corrugated mud tracks. A new 200 kilometre section of empty tarmac road does exist between Garoua Boulai and Bertoua, with terrible roads north to Ngaoundere and south to Yaounde itself. South of Yaounde a good road runs to Amban, where one can go via a narrow swampy track in the forest to the border or via a new road towards Equatorial Guinea and then east to Bitam. Both routes involve ferry crossings of varying amounts of hassle. The eastern one is free and friendly, the other a big hassle and possibly expensive, depending on your patience levels and whether you arrive on a Sunday as we did, when the main ferry is out of action.
Once in Gabon the good road extends to Lalaya then becomes dirt and again very slow until near Ndjole. This section is however magnificent for its combination of forests and mountains. Police are again a big hassle at checkposts.
Perhaps one of the biggest problems we had on this trip was money. Not the cost of things, but actually changing hard currency into something usable! Travellers cheques were almost impossible to change anywhere, and cash dollars became harder and harder to do anything with as the threat of war increased. It is still likely to be much better to have cash Euros in the francophone areas and perhaps dollars and sterling pounds in Nigeria.
My mission this time: to hand over a desirable 80 series Land Cruiser to Mohamed in return for guiding and other duties on my forthcoming big Sahara crossing. He can’t buy the car in Algeria, even by shifty means – no one outside le pouvoir can. So it needed me the overseas owner, to drive it just over the border into Mali where it could get ringed and brought back into Algeria under some other Algerian documentation. Selling cars is an old game in West Africa, though not quite like this. I’d joined a similar run flogging old Mercedes in Mauritania a decade ago. With me along for the ride to Mali, Zander and Martin.
At Algiers port they were a bit bemused by a tourist car (we were the only foreigners on the boat), but despite 4-5 hours queuing, we got to In Salah the next afternoon and from there took a great run along the Old Hoggar piste east of the TS highway, past old Hassi el-Khenig to a camp and a splash at the lovely guelta of Tiguelguemine (right). Next morning a little scorpion ran out from under the mattress to be nabbed in seconds by a pair of moula moula birds.
Just down the track is Tadjemout fort and source, (left), a place I’d use to launch camel tours a few years later. Then on to Arak Gorge (below) where I got in trouble in 1984 and which now has a bridge or two over the creek. Down the TSH to Elephant Rock behind Tesnou then past In Ecker and into Tam.
We’d missed a whole lot of rain by a couple of days and only on one night among some Tanezrouft dunes did the night-time temperature drop below 24°C. Even though I expected a humdrum run along mostly known routes, as always the desert delivered and we saw many unusual things and had some interesting encounters.
We took the high route to Bordj BM out via Abalessa, through the still-muddy oued and out onto the wide open Tanezrouft, passing a pre-Islamic tomb (below) on an isolated hill. It’s funny how I can spot these easily now. On my first Sahara trips just hanging onto the bike was hard enough and I noticed nothing. The hot run out across the Tanezrouft unrolled, and a day later dusty Bordj didn’t seem to have changed much over the years. We checked out of Algeria. We’d be checking back in shortly, but – ahem… sans voiture.
A few clicks south of BBM, Ikhalil (In Kalil; El Khalil; not on any paper map) is home of the Ambassade, a chummy contrabanders compound – one of a few here in No Man’s Land which was then seemingly tolerated by the nearby towns. Goods pass in and out of here: fuel, cigs and other subsidised commodities from Algeria southwards. And from Mali goat meat and cloth comes north. As for the serious stuff, it seemed impolite to ask.
Ikhalil looked like a Van Damme movie set where, if you let your imagination off the leash, a dusty cover gets pulled back off a Merc truck to reveal a shiny Russian Vympel A-350 missile for sale to the highest bidder. The guys here were all Mohamed’s mates, Berabish traders from Timbuktu doing direct runs there and back, and even across to Zouerat (Mauritania) with cigs and other contraband. Their welcome was warm and we discussed my forthcoming crossing of northern Mali from Mauritania. To get bossman Bou on my side I’d brought him a nice solar panel and a couple of Thuraya sat phones – the ‘iPhones’ of the Sahara. He and his cohorts will prove to be a useful contacts if we got in trouble in Mali next month [we did and they were…] as well as being a source of much-needed fuel after our 2000-km crossing from Atar. Ikhalil 2010 – not so rosey
Tessalit (left) also looked the same after 15 years or more. Apparently it was ransacked and abandoned during the 1990s Tuareg rebellion and never really recovered. I let the guides sort out the laisser passez with the help of a big box of dates for the police chief. But up on the hill fort, the chef de poste could not wait to get his bite out of our cake and played all the usual power games once he clocked what was going on (flash car; quick sale).
“Ou est moncadeau!” he roared as he feigned an inspection of the back of the car. The nearest thing to hand was a jar of Bertolli sauce which he snatched disinterestedly. Back then Bertolli was good stuff, the Cirio of its day.
Back up on the terrace we sweated it out; it was a relief to leave most of the grubby negotiations to Omar who was taking the Tojo away to recondition its identity. In the end, despite a visit to the mayor, Tessalit proved too greedy for Omar to complete the transfer so I signed a bit of paper back up at the Ambassade next day and left it with Omar to take down to his home town of Gao to get re-registered. We turned back for Tam in his 600,000-km-old Tojo 60 which I soon christened Le Chien. And that was before I even drove it…
On the way back through Bordj, the Algerian police sort of knew what had gone on but could do nothing about it as my car had left Alg legitimately. As we waited, some shifty-looking foreign guys with beards turned up off a Timbuktu truck and put me in mind of a GSPC desert training camp, probably not so far fetched. Nearby, a week earlier some GSPC had reportedly been shot up by Malian Tuareg. These were the days when the Kel Iforghas Tuareg put up a fight against the incoming jihadists. Kidal continued to be tense after the events of the summer and now is a war zone. Of course the beardos at Bordj may have been nothing more than devout students coming back from some Koranic school, but these days this is how the mind whirs away on seeing bearded South Asians at an outback Saharan border post.
Out of Bordj we spent the night among the dunes near Ilafegh wells where we saw a huge camel train leaving after being watered. As always, Mohamed couldn’t resist his nomad’s instincts and chatted up the camel herders to see what and where and who. I never imagined camels out in the utterly barren Tanezrouft, but the recent rains (there were pools here and there) had driven the nomads down in anticipation of a feed. It was to be our only cool night and a real tonic after the unrelenting heat and associated locusts, mozzies, small scorpions and other irksome bugs. Hot days are fine I decided, but hot nights are a drag.
On the way up we came across an old M.A.N tanker and ever-chummy Mohamed got out for a chat, having run such a lorry himself back in the day. The shady guys were taking Algerian fuel down to Ikhalil or somewhere like that, and when I got out to stretch my legs and eye up the front of the truck, the edgy driver gunned the engine and slipped the clutch as a warning to clear off and get back in the car. We spent the next night among some granite hills near Abalessa where I finally got round to experimenting with making bread in preparation for SEQ. And for a first go it turned out pretty well, a very passable combination of burned dough cooked in a tin on the embers.
Next morning we visited a crater hill. Years ago I remember reading an article by Tom Sheppard about his quest to reach a curious crater formation he’d spotted northwest of Tam. ‘Journey to the Round Mountain‘ he called it, riding there on his XT600 Tenere. That was probably Adrar Tihaliouine to the northeast, and this similar crater reminded me of it. A good place to stash rustled camels!
In Abalessa Mohamed led us to the tomb on Queen Tin Hinan (left). Interesting little museum with the rocky tomb round the back, but only pics of the treasures remain; everything was pinched by Prorok and his cohorts in the 1920s (his book, Mysterious Sahara reviewed).
All that remained was a bone shaking ride back into Tam in the no-brakes, clockwise-only power steering Chien, followed by two days idling in the old Camping Dessine, the original campsite I used to use in the 1980s. It’s still home of the old Trans Saharienne bus (below), rusty away slowly by the reception.
We killed time by following the shade, watching our clothes dry before our eyes, waiting for Ramadan cafes to open up and cruising around town in the Chien, logging a GPS map for future use. Then, when the time came we flew up to Algiers, Europe and home.
October 2006. Some pics by Martin and Zander.
A round mountainLeaving MarseilleGhardaiaShopping in In SalahTiguelguemine GueltaOld French colonial sign Sahara shoe shopDeadly effelellah plantTadjemout oasisMuddy goingArak car washOn the piste to MaliHot lunch on the TanezrouftPre-Islamic tombQuick wash by the beachHot night on the TanezrouftHand showerIkhalil compoundDodgy dealingsScorpion camp at Tig gueltaChai at IkhalilPlanning the big crossingBou testing out his new ThurayaTessalitMore dodgy dealings at Ikhalil‘You can take a nomad out of the desert but…’Le ChienMohamedZan, me, MartinMohamed and Le ChienDesert Bake OffGranite camp neat AbalessaTin Hinan tombThe old bus at Camping DessineRound Mountain, Adrar Tihaliouine
Below, a series of French 1:200,000 maps of the Sahara – from Mauritania to the western frontier of Chad. Though the maps date from the 1950s, it’s very unlikely that Google Earth would reveal any more detail today. A couple of sheets from the central Mauritanian plateau and an eastern Algerian erg are included to show the mapmakers weren’t just being lazy – there really was nothing to show. Each map covers one square degree of the Earth’s surface, which in Saharan latitudes adds up to over 12,000 km2. Just two of these maps would cover Wales (right).
L’Universo is a journal of the Italian Istituto Geografico Militare in Florence and the current 160-page special edition features the 1933 expedition to Libya led by Captain Oreste Marchesi.
Sahara specialist Michele Soffiantini organised a special visit to the Uweinat area from the Libyan side in 2010 while researching the Marchesi expedition in detail. The journal includes an in-depth analysis of the mission’s objectives in reaching to the southernmost corner of Libya, most probably to gain a foothold at the strategic landmark of Jebel Uweinat mountain, beyond the oases of Kufra which itself had only been wrested from the Senussi by the Italians in 1931. The cartographical aspects of the survey are also described as well as a study of the mission’s surveying equipment.
It’s all in Italian of course, so I’m not much the wiser, but it’s interesting to parallel it with the better known explorations of around the same time by Ralph Bagnold from the Egyptian side, as well as Laszlo Almasy. The glossy journal reproduces some great archive photos by Giuseppe Tschon from the ground and the air, as well as some fine maps produced as a result of the expedition.
Uweinat expert Andras Zboray of FJ Expeditions was part of 2010 trip with Michele and describes their finds here, along with scores of great photos – some of which also appear in the journal. On that occasion Michele and a pal climbed the 1251-metre Cima Marchesi, a peak on the very western edge of the Jebel Uweinat massif (1934m) and therefore well inside Libya, then and now.
A short photo and video commentary of this trip appears on the Desert Driving dvd. Additional maps at the bottom of the post
Part of the occasional Sahara A to Z series Hang around long enough and you’ll get the full set
What sets the Libyan Desert apart is that it is ten times more arid than the rest of the Sahara: the Libyan Desert is the über Sahara. In an area the size of the UK through which we’d be travelling there is just one usable well and that single well outnumbers the permanent population. Looking out my window I can see more trees than we saw in two weeks and 2500km of travel. Even by Saharan standards, the Libyan Desert is extreme.
Abbreviated to ‘the Gilf’, the Egyptian part of the Libyan Desert is a mini Sahara in itself, encapsulating all the archetypal desert landforms. The Great Sand Sea lived up to its name, a dune field 200 kilometres wide and 600 long with dunes 200-feet high. It was here where the earliest experiments in driving cars on sand were made in the 1920s by the likes of Clayton and Bagnold (left). Its southern edge spilled over the massive Gilf Kebir plateau only discovered by Egyptian explorer Kemal el Din in 1925 using Citroen half-tracks.
South of the Gilf a sand sheet led to the isolated mountain of Jebel Uweinat which sits right across the borders of Egypt, Sudan and Libya. Our 2003-4 expedition was to last a fortnight and cover some 2500 kilometres. The plan was to pass down the east side of the Sand Sea to the Gilf, explore its eastern valleys and push on south to Uweinat mountain which we hoped to climb. From there we’d head back up to the southern cliffs of the Gilf, visiting the real Cave of the Swimmers made famous in the English Patient movie, and then skirt up the western edge of the plateau and plough through the heart of the Sand Sea for a couple of days to the oasis of Siwa, famed since the visit of Alexander the Great.
Our crack team of Saharaholics included photographer Toby Savage who co-presents my Desert Drivingdvd, Dr Kevin White who’d worked with Toby on the Fezzan Project in Libya over several seasons searching for prehistoric lake beds, and Oxford climatologist Richard Washington whose bedtime reading included Applied Principles of Arid Zone Aeoleonics, or ‘dust storms’ to you and me.
We’d all travelled in the Sahara with our own four-wheelers, but shipping them to Egypt was never an option: too far, too expensive and, for the three weeks we’d given ourselves, bureaucratically maddening. Better by far to get Toby’s Egyptian mate Mahmoud to lay on three vehicles for the 2500km trip. Mahmoud already had plenty of experience exploring the area himself in his old Series III. For all of us used to looking after ourselves on our own desert trips, being pampered in this way was a bit luxury. Normally navigation, the vehicle, cooking and everything else would be down to us; on this trip we could sit back, enjoy the desert scenery and let someone else carry the load for a change.
A week before Christmas, Mahmoud met us at Cairo airport in a suped-up minibus and whisked us off for lunch on the Nile before we set off for the 400-km slog south to Bahariya oasis where the vehicles awaited us. On the way we speculated as to what those machines might be because, as I knew myself from a recce tour three years earlier, the ‘Gilf’ was tough on cars. Six hundred litres of fuel – 130 gallons per vehicle – was a typical payload, let alone food and water for a fortnight. We’d expect to see no one during out travels, with only the wadis around Jebel Uweinat offering the chance to replenish the single resource: firewood.
Driving desert highways at night is always a spooky experience. Small dunes shone in the moonlight and up ahead a cluster of lights signalled a lonely roadhouse, surrounded by trucks and vans serving the towns of the Western Oases. We pulled over for a brew to find everyone on both sides of the counter huddled around a dusty TV screen, On it a hirsute and spaced-out Sadaam Hussein was getting his gums probed by Special Forces, having just been dragged out of his lair.
Next morning in Bahariya we met up with Mahmoud’s pumpkin-bellied mate Loutfi who ran a local hotel and tourist excursions into the desert and nearby hot springs. Mahmoud and the vehicles were down the road a way: he had left before dawn for Dakhla to pick up the military escort which every tour in the Gilf requires. So we bundled into Loutfi’s 60-series Land Cruiser for the drive south to Abu Mungar and a rendezvous with Mahmoud in the desert. All around us lay barren desert sands rimmed by the arching 600km escarpment that defines the Western Oases of Bahariya, Farafra Dakhla and Kharga.
In Pharaonic times what lay beyond was known as the Land of the Dead and even today, 5000 years later, the wilderness of dunes, sand sheet and rocky plateaux is still unpopulated, with just half a dozen towns of any size lay between ourselves and the Atlantic, 2000 miles to the west.
Loutfi’s 60 had just had an engine transplant, a grunty 12HT 4-litre turbo diesel, but by lunchtime it was getting distinctly hot. The needle was sitting in the red, there were burning rubber smells coming through the vents and the turbo was making an audible whine. Maybe this wasn’t the machine we’d be wanting in the Gilf after all. Our quartet of backseat drivers watched the needle and muttered, waiting for the turbo or head gasket to blow. Loutfi pulled over to let the machine cool down and, once satisfied the needle had backed off, headed on south. Again the Tojo was cooking itself but Loutfi then confounded us by pulling off the road into the desert. None of us knew quite what was going on, but heading solo off-road with overheating problems seemed unorthodox. We churned over a few sandy passes, stopped off at the famous White Desert chalk outcrops and then bundled on to who knows where.
Presently we got back to the highway where Loutfi seemed unsure whether to turn left or right. He drove down the road a bit, looking out west, then turned back north. He spoke no English so we had no idea what was going on; had he lost something? Then he turned round once more, looking hard out to the west. He slammed on the brakes and did a U-ey. Ah ha, there it was: a hooned-out sand circle, a small cairn and three sets of tracks leading out into the void. Following these, within a few clicks we came upon a desert camp, the cars locked in the customary Gilf ‘U’ formation against the northerly wind. Mahmoud was there to greet us with smiley Ibrahim in his Bedouin head-dress, our ‘guard’ Hamed in a snazzy maroon shellsuit, Faraq the mechanic and Aisa, a cool dude in a pair of knackered cowboy boots and matching hat who was to be our cook for the next fortnight.
The identity of our three desert machines was revealed: Mahmoud’s Series III-bodied Toyota, a 110 Land Rover, which also had a 3.5 litre Tojo bus engine and gearbox, and Loutfi’s other car, a red HJ45, the old squared-off Land Cruiser from the late Seventies, but also with a newer six-cylinder 12HT turbo engine crammed under the lid. With potentially the best engine, the 45 was the load carrier; inside it, three 200-litre drums of diesel were lashed down with rope while on the roofs of all cars were additional jerries of fuel which, with the full tanks, added up to 2000 litres, more than enough for as many kilometres over the next fortnight. But with no car running an original engine or less than two decades old, we could see that spannerman Faraq wasn’t going to have a holiday.
That evening, in the cozy shelter of the U-camp, Richard and I keyed in our sat phones with Mahmoud’s so we’d have some sort of comms if we got separated and things turned pear-shaped. Mahmoud outlined tomorrow’s route: we were in the very edge of a series of parallel dunes running north-south; crossing the dunes would be impossible with the cars in their current overloaded state, but we could hopefully run down the 500m-wide corridors between the dunes as far as possible and ease over any low passes to gain ground to the west.
Next morning, knowing that things would get off to a slow start, Toby, Wash and I set off for a wander into the dunes to let the cars catch us up. After an hour there was still so sign of them, so we sat down on a high dune and scanned to the east, ears primed. Finally about 10am they turned up, having had problems getting one of the engines to fire up. We all hopped in and set off down the nearest corridor to see how far we could get. I was in the white 110 which inside looked like it had been a prop in The Birds, with every surface pecked to bits and wires hanging off the dash like splashed spaghetti. Still, the engine sounded good and it carried its weight well.
It didn’t take long before one of the vehicles struck trouble: the 45 had brake problems, but whatever it was Faraq fixed it in a jiffy and we moved on until the next: Mahmoud’s ‘Lanyota’ could not shift into low range. Faraq crawled in and tightened up the linkage with a bit of wire. The rack was also sagging in the alloy roof gutters which, on Defenders, means you can’t open the doors. (You couldn’t anyway as the door handles were buggered.) And the air bags which were backing up the rear parabolic springs were squeezing out like bars of wet soap.
These were fixed as best they could be and we moved on. Even in dune corridors the sand can change imperceptibly; one minute you’re clawing along at a decent pace, next thing the car sinks like a stone – but if you’re fast with the shifting and accelerator you’ll get through it. Momentum is the key to dune driving; once you’ve lost it you may as well pull up and put the kettle on. All of the vehicles got mired in soft patches several times and we all got stuck into pushing the cars back out, the quickest way of getting going if the driver has stopped early enough.
Part of the problem was that the Toyota gearboxes in the two Land Rovers were not optimised to the Land Rover axles, creating gaps in the gear ratios big enough to frighten Evel Kineval. Mahmoud’s Land Rover had an even more alarming habit of getting on two wheels while cornering hard, something which Mahmoud tended to do with gusto; I sure was glad I wasn’t in his car. By comparison, Ibrahim in the white 110 was a steady and smooth driver, never taking risks while struggling with the same mixed-up gearing and, it turned out later, no power steering.
By late afternoon we needed to get west, but high dunes were blocking the way. Mahmoud was nosing about for a way through but the heavy vehicles were struggling in the corridors, let alone trying to get up the sand banks. At one point Mahmoud took an oblique blast at a low dune but his angle was all wrong: halfway up, the wheels on the low side hit a soft patch and the vehicle keeled over to within a couple of degrees of tipping (it’s the front cover of Desert Driving). I knew from personal experience that these sort of recoveries where very tricky. Loufti’s 45 blasted up the dune to help and got mired too, but Ibrahim managed to get the 110 into position to fix a rope on the high side of the Leaning Rover. By backing up, the Series III was heaved up to a less jaunty angle and then, after a bit of digging and with Ibrahim holding it in tension, Loufti pulled it back down onto level ground. Back on the flat, Mahmoud spun round for a good run up, this time getting the wheels a foot in the air, and made it over. Me, I was happy to be in the car with Ibrahim behind the wheel.
That evening we camped at the cairn of Regenfeld, built by the German explorer Gerhard Rholfs in 1872, the first European to venture west into the Libyan Desert. It was here that his party gave up and turned north with their camels, weeks later reaching Siwa by the skin of their teeth. Rholfs left a message in a bottle in the cairn, and since then it’s been the custom for the few passing travellers to do likewise. We left our regards to whoever came next and then spent the night by the dunes as Rholfs and his crew had done 140 years earlier.
Next morning we carried on south and emerged from the dune corridors into a sandy plain dotted with cone hills; outliers of a long-since eroded plateau. One of these cone hills was Abu Ballas, or Pottery Hill. In 1912 the British explorer, Dr John Ball, discovered a cache of smashed clay urns at the foot or the hill and the truth behind an ancient local myth was revealed. Legends had it that for centuries the people of Dakhla suffered raids from “the black raiders from the west” even though everyone knew that ‘west of Dakhla’ was a waterless sea of sand, well beyond the range of a camel caravan. One day the Dakhlans decided to follow their tormentors into the feared desert. They never caught them but their tracks led to Abu Ballas hill and the stash of water urns. They smashed all the urns, destroying the vital water cache, and the raiders never returned, probably dying of thirst on their next raid. Today the remains of urns still litter the base of the outcrop while on its flanks delicate engravings of Ancient Egyptian deities survive. Well out of the dunes by now, from Abu Ballas we turned west, following what might be called the only track in the Gilf, a braided network of ruts use by the occasional military patrols and exploratory tours like ours.
At one point we passed a perfectly straight line of 5-gallon Shell petrol tins, half a kilometre long. Marking a temporary WWII landing strip, these flimsy fuel containers date from the 1930s before the superior ‘jerrican’ was pinched from the Germans (hence “gerry can”) and adopted by the Eighth Army, LRDG and Halfords. Like the AK-47 or Douglas Dakota, the original jerrican is a functional design classic, unchanged and unimprovable.
Negotiating our way around low outcrops, isolated hills and small dunes ranges, our next destination was the Gilf Kebir plateau. By that evening we were close and camped in the lee of a dune close to Saviem Balise 22. Balise is French for marker post and in 1975 Saviem (later Renault) sponsored an expedition that tried to establish a new trans-Saharan route from the Atlantic to the Nile (see Sahara: West to East). About as useful as a fridge to an Eskimo, the Piste Saviem ‘from nowhere to nowhere’ was never used. All that remains today are the blue and white beacons they left to posterity along the way.
Leaving the lone marker post, we continued west and slowly, from the horizon’s haze, the low ramparts of the eastern Gilf began to rise. By mid-afternoon we were driving up Wadi Bakht, one of the three major valleys that drain their sands onto the plain. Six thousand years ago, during the brief humid phase before the Sahara reached its current state of desiccation, this valley was occupied by Neolithic hunter-gatherers, much like the Bushmen of the Kalahari. We camped that night at the site of a major Neolithic occupation, where we kicked up stone tools (above) and grinding stones (left) left by the ancestors of the pharaohs. It was a cold, windy night so Ibrahim grabbed an empty jerry and got a Bedouin singalong underway while we wrapped ourselves in everything we had and eyed-up Aisa’s bubbling stew longingly.
Having spent the previous night in one of the valleys winding into the Gilf Kebir plateau, we rounded a spur and powered up the sand banks to the dissected summit of the plateau. Some of the cars had trouble getting a good clear run and so to lighten the load we walked while they took a few runs. Approaching the plateau top required some hairy driving over nasty wavelets of sand and Mahmoud’s Land Rover was again getting on two wheels. We discussed what the cause might be and decided the vehicle was way over-sprung at the front. Throw in the more flexible parabolics plus a heavy roof load and it didn’t take much cornering force to get some air under the tyres.
We parked up near the summit where a cave looked out to the south like a gun emplacement. Inside, the ceiling was adorned with finely drawn beasts which would have grazed here 6000 years ago, something that was hard to imagine as we gazed out across the arid landscape of isolated hills and the distant sand sheet.
From the cave we descended the west side of the plateau and made our way south towards the Prince Kemal el Din Monument, a cairn built in 1932 by the real English Patient, the Hungarian explorer Laszlo Almasy, to honour this Egyptian royal who gave up the Egyptian throne for a life of freedom and desert exploration.
The monument is tricky to find, hidden among low hills, and as darkness encroached we blundered around looking for a way through. Suddenly our cars stopped; up ahead the drivers had spotted some lights below the cliffs that had gone out as soon as they saw our group.
The Sahara is still a wild enough place to be unnerved when you see other vehicles, and in places banditry prevails as it always did, but such encounters are unknown in the hyper remote Gilf. This lot appeared more nervous of us than we were of them; they were almost certainly smugglers. A lot of trafficking goes on between Libya and Sudan, avoiding the Libyan border posts around Uweinat by slipping through far to the south via Chad or around the Egyptian Gilf, as was happening here.
Mahmoud flashed his lights to draw them out and eventually a Toyota pick-up drew up out of the dark with a bunch of people perched on stack of drums in the back, wrapped up in blankets. Mahmoud had to coax them into talking as they were clearly edgy and wanted to press on, but once they realised we were just tourists and our military escort was packing nothing more than a notebook and a woolly hat, they relaxed a bit. The other two or three vehicles stayed out of sight. It transpired they were Sudanese guest workers taking a short cut home from Libya with more duty-free items than the transit lounge at Dubai airport. As soon as they could, they sped off into the dark to regroup with the other vehicles and moved on out of sight.
Kemal al Din cairn
Next morning Richard and I walked the few kilometres to the monument on a GPS bearing and got there just as the cars arrived. Inside, just as at Regenfeld, an old tin contains notes from passers-by, including one of the old promotional stickers for my Sahara guidebook. We turned southwest now for Jebel Uweinat, 150-km away, passing isolated volcanic craters poking out of the sand sheet like blisters. As we neared the mountain Mahmoud decided to skirt round the east side into Sudan to pay a visit to the Ain Murr well as our guard seemed OK about it. We spotted a long-abandoned border post right on 22°N, some old portacabins and other junk, and crawled through the rubble foothills until we were back on the sand sheet, with the fin-like outcrop of Jebel Kissu a few miles away. We turned west again and soon located the entrance to the shallow valley below the southern cliffs of Uweinat. As the valley narrowed and got stonier we passed some stone ruins and a stripped-out aeroplane fuselage. Once the cars could not continue, we walked on to discover the distinctly manky, algae-rimmed soak that was Ain Murr well – not a water source to rely on out here.
The bones of a dead Barbary sheep lay by the track and Ain Murr was the only place we heard the buzz of flies on the whole trip. Rubbish left by previous visitors underlined how much better it is to camp out in the wild desert. That night Aisa took even longer than usual to serve the meal, by which time some of us had turned in. But then again, he was up till 1am making his delicious flat breads, rolled out with a jack handle and fried on the lid of an old oil drum. Slow though he was some nights, Aisa managed to serve fresh food for the entire two-week trip, pulling it out from his various roof rack crates. I had endured awful food on my previous visit to the Gilf and Aisa’s far superior offerings reminded me that, just like an army, an expedition also travels on its stomach.
Near the camp we found a jerrican stamped ‘WD 1945’ and a pair of engine cowlings, probably part of the fuselage that later research revealed to be an Italian Savoia bomber sabotaged in 1942 during an LRDG raid when the place had been an Italian base.
We drove back round to the Egyptian side next day and into the much bigger valley of Karkur Talh. The valley is half blocked by a minefield, though why mine a dead-end valley with no water was anybody’s guess. Keeping a wide berth between us and the skull and crossbones signs, we powered over the sandy banks as Toby clung on in the back of the red Cruiser, doors flapping, to get some full-frontal action shots of the Rover-bodied cars.
Around here it rains about once a decade and the valley of Karkur Talh drains the entire eastern side of Uweinat mountain, the only haven of vegetation and talh or acacia trees in the entire arid expanse of the Libyan Desert. It wasn’t only us that appreciated it. Several thousand years ago Neolithic people grazed his animals here and, as at similar sites elsewhere in the Sahara, evidence of his life survives in the painted and engraved rock art on the cave walls and the odd stone tool.
A couple of us were hoping to have a crack at climbing to the 1932m-summit of Jebel Uweinat, a demanding two-day trek along whatever route the mountain offered. In a bit of a strop with his car, Mahmoud needed some persuading to continue up the valley far enough so we could have a shot at it, but as the sky lightened next morning, Richard and I strode up the dry creek bed with three bottles of water and a sleeping bag, soon followed by Toby and even Mahmoud who decided to come along too.
One of the big frustrations on this trip had been the slowness of the crew to pack up and get going in the morning. In the desert it’s customary to get up just after dawn and move off an hour or so later, parking up to enjoy some daylight before sunset. On this trip the drivers were still snoring away at 9am and, with regular problems getting one vehicle or another to fire up, it was always mid-morning before they set off. On Uweinat we were determined to seize the day!
This was all before the miracle of Google Earth so I carried a pixelated print of a sat photo showing a route taken a year or so earlier by another group which followed a likely looking valley up to the summit plateaux. Unfortunately I’d failed to lay an accurate long-lat grid onto this image and so, even with GPS, our position was just an estimate. In the end we started the day in Sudan, wandered north in to Egypt and, after an agonising late-afternoon up a boulder-filled valley, camped in Libya, about 500m below but still three kms direct from the summit – quite possibly the first people to camp there since the late Holocene. On the way up Mahmoud had discovered a new art site and our clearing even came with a bit of firewood. We were all knackered from staggering around all day on the rubble slopes and as the route onward was no less clear and would get much steeper, we returned to base next morning, getting back to the cars on the last dregs in our water bottles. The mountain would be there next time.
Uweinat was our southernmost point and from here it was north all the way, around the Gilf Kebir plateau to Siwa, still about 1000 miles away. We headed for the Gilf and the Wadi Sora cave, made famous as the ‘Cave of the Swimmers’ in the English Patient movie. As we neared the cave later that day we passed some clothes scattered in the sands, the remains of Somalian refugees who’d been dumped here by unscrupulous people traffickers while on their way to Benghazi and better opportunities in Europe. Loutfi had come across their bodies some months before. Besides the old favourites of guns and drugs, right across the Sahara it is now migrants from sub-Saharan Africa and Asia who made money for the smuggling mafias. I’d passed a similar group in Algeria a year earlier, dumped the night before on a plateau, 100km from the nearest town.
The famous ‘swimming’ figures in the cave at Wadi Sora are nothing special compared to the wonders in Karkur Talh, but the cove scooped into the south-facing escarpment of the Gilf made a great place to camp. It was Christmas Eve and from my suitcase I pulled out a pyramid of Ferrero Rocher chocolates to pass among the desert ambassadors settled around the fire.
Before I’d left the UK I’d been given a mysterious waypoint, said to be for an intriguing and at that time secret new rock art site discovered nearby, just a year earlier. Not knowing quite what to expect, we were amazed at what we found when we located the point: an overhanging shelter 30 feet wide covered in layers of rock paintings and engravings, both mundane and obscure, and all like nothing I’d seen before. We sat back in amazement, snapping away, again and again finding new detail and connections. Mysterious headless creatures shared the wall with handprints, rows of dancing figures and long-vanished beasts. Said to be the most significant rock art discovery in the Sahara in 40 years, it shows that the Sahara has many secrets to give up yet.
We were now heading around the west side of the Gilf, at times creeping over the Libyan border on to easier terrain, not that there was anyone there to stop us. Without the plateau’s protection, the north winds blew down on us and chilled the day, and next morning Mahmoud’s Land Rover was so groggy it needed a good session with the gas stove under the sump before being towed reluctantly into life.
We curved back east towards the edge of the Gilf and found ourselves on a trail of camel bones: the old raiding route from Kufra in Libya to Dakhla (via Abu Ballas, see above). By mid-afternoon the plateau receded and before us the pale dunes emerged: the final run through the Great Sand Sea to Siwa which, even with the now lightened cars, would be the most difficult part of the route.
We came upon a group of cairns marking an entry point to a northbound corridor which led to the so-called Libyan Desert Glass Field, discovered in the 1930s by one of Bagnold’s chums. At the time the origin of the pale green LDG (above) was still a mystery: the result of melted sand following an extra-terrestrial impact, or a more prosaic flint-like concretion of sediments? Kevin had his ideas as we strolled around the gravel corridor like beachcombers, unearthing fragments of glass. Even though no evidence of an actual crater has been found, since out visit shocked quartz has been detected in the bedrock of the LDG field. This supports the theory that it was indeed formed by a meteor impact some 28.5 million years ago, rather than an atmospheric airburst (passing airborne meteor) which can also melt the surface rocks. Similar green glass is found in heat-fused sand at nuclear bomb test sites.
Some bits had even been carved into Neolithic tools, and a few years ago it transpired that an emerald-like gem in a piece of Tutankamun’s jewellery (left) was in fact LDG, suggesting the pharaohs (or people they traded with) roamed further west of the Nile than was originally thought.
We left the glass field, with 500km of dune driving ahead of us. The Great Sand Sea is composed of dunes that run in parallel lines for hundreds of kilometres from the Siwa Depression to the Gilf Kebir in the south. But the further north you go the more confused the dunes become; the easy corridors close up so that by the time you near Siwa the dunes are in a complex, non-linear jumble that makes progress very slow and dangerous, even with our greatly reduced payloads. I’ve never been a fan of dune driving and was not looking forward to this section; besides the dangers, dune driving is hard on the cars and your nerves, and is not even that interesting. Although it’s exhilarating when you get it right, because of the need to maintain speeds or sink, it’s only a matter of time before you blow it.
It was my turn to be in Mahmoud’s car that morning and I wasn’t thrilled by the prospect. Over the previous few days, either the flexing body or the need to really slam the doors shut had cracked the windscreen which was now held together with stick-on shading. Then, when the back passenger door I was leaning on flew open as Mahmoud executed one of his signature swerving manoeuvres, I decided enough was enough – I would rather take my chances being brained by the oil drums in Loutfi’s Toyota than put up with Mahmoud’s erratic driving.
By the end of the day the gravel corridors closed up and filled with sand and we began to tackle the dune banks to reach the adjacent corridor leading north. We were all secretly pleased when Mahmoud decided against pushing on for the direct route to Siwa and instead chose to skirt around the less severe formations to the west, along the Libyan border. Even then, the cars regularly sank into unseen soft patches. We ended the day close to the Libyan border, knowing that tomorrow there was no choice and we’d have to head northeast, back into the Sand Sea, to reach Siwa.
A heavy dew covered us all the following morning, a sign that we were in the more humid Mediterranean climatic zone. The dune lines kept pushing us away as the drivers scanned for a low pass to make a hop to the east. At one point Mahmoud was on the very crest of a drop when a harsh gear change popped a half shaft – not surprising with a 3.5-litre bus engine turning the original Rover axle. In fact, it turned out to be only a stripped hub drive flange and was easily changed while we warmed ourselves in the sands over a quick brew.
With drive restored Tobe got into position to film the cars coming down the slope. Loutfi rolled down in the red Tojo then Mahmoud eased over the crest, but for some daft reason eased to the left where a slight hump pushed up the wheels and slowly tipped the top-heavy Land Rover on its side with a thump and a clatter.
For a few seconds the upside down engine turned over, sucking sand through the snorkel and oil into the cylinders. A few moments later it stalled and Mahmoud emerged from the capsized wagon unhurt and flopped down in the sand in shock, followed by Aisa and Faraq the mechanic. Luckily Mahmoud had had a cargo barrier fitted which had stopped gas bottles and the like bouncing off their heads, but the roof rack’s contents spilled down the side of the dune.
While these were collected, Ibrahim brought the white Rover down the dune with no drama and a rope was run from the fallen car to the powerful Tojo. The conspicuous silence from the crew made it clear that they too thought that Mahmoud had been an accident waiting to happen, though as it turned out it was his pride which received the biggest dent. Excuses that the parabolics sprang back and pushed him over were diplomatically dealt with as the car was dragged down the slope and pulled back onto its wheels (see video below). Faraq set about ejecting the oil from the cylinders and removed the sand-caked air filter which could be cleaned later. Just an hour after the tumble the Mahmoudmobile started with a puff of black smoke and settled down to a steady tickover.
Chastened by his experience, we continued cautiously northeast, now recce-ing possible passes on foot and easing gently down the slip faces, knowing that it wasn’t over until it was over. Limestone pavements protruded from the dunes and bits of vegetation popped up here and there. At one point we discovered some fulgarites (sand petrified by lightning into a glassy helix tube) as big as an arm. Our homesick crew could smell Siwa and were keen to press on, not least Ibrahim whose wife was expecting their seventh child any day. But by dusk we did the right thing and stopped a couple of hours out of Siwa on a chalky outcrop studded with fossilised sea-shells.
By mid-morning next day we’d worked our way through the dune maze and were looking down on the inky blue lake which led to Siwa, feeling like we’d finally come ashore from a long sea voyage. On his home turf now, Ibrahim led the way through the dunes to the hot spring of Bir Wahed (above) where were scrubbed off a fortnight of Saharan grime and ordered a string of Oranginas and crisps as if they were the very fruits of Eden.
Towards the end of Desert Riders in 2003, Jon and I met Rainer Bracht and his party in Tam (left), a couple of weeks before they were all abducted off the Graveyard Piste (Route A2 in the book) along with what eventually proved to be 27 other tourists.
Part of ‘Group 2’ who did the full six months and ended up in far northern Mali, Rainer co-wrote 177 Tage Angst with his wife Petra who waited in Germany for his release. At the time I considered having their book translated, but in 2004 was told by my German reader (a bike rider but not a Saharan) that is wasn’t so good.
The 6-month journey of Group 2
Then in 2015 I came across parts of their story archived on a German Motorrad (page now a 404) magazine’s website from 2004. Even reading it through Google translators helped fill in the many gaps in their baffling ordeal – not least how they got from a canyon near Illizi, right across Algeria to northern Mali as far as Taoudenni (see map above). In 2019 the links were no more (actually they got renamed) but I had the foresight to copy the translations and pictures which are a gallery at the bottom of the page. As you can read, I didn’t make any attempt to tidy up the translation. At this time I also came across this interesting article (now paywalled) in the New York Times, which includes video footage from the event.
Hostage drama in the Sahara, Part 1
The Nightmare
177 days of the Sahara driver Rainer Bracht was with 31 other hostages in the hands of Algerian terrorists. At home, his wife Petra experienced during its one of the most spectacular search and rescue operations in postwar history. In a multi-part documentary MOTORCYCLE now published the records of the two. What happens when a motorcycle vacation for inferno?
Sahara hostages
Petra: Tomorrow is Sunday, the 9th March Rainer’s birthday. Slowly, I am in great trouble. For a week of Rainer and the other three boys no sign of life from Algeria. On 7 they wanted to be on the ferry. Something’s not right. Yesterday called on Christian’s friend Esther, totally excited. Christian was overdue for a week. I reassured her still, he was sure stayed with Rainer, Martin and Arjen longer. But the latest from Genoa to Tunis or Rainer would have reported it! He has frequently called by this tour. Said that I’m missing him. Normally we always travel together, but due to a surgery I’m not going this time. In his penultimate call from Djanet he raved about the beautiful dunes that told how well run everything, the mopeds, the tour. From Illizi he reported yet, that they have abandoned the planned route over Tarat or Qued Imirhou – the Tarat-east route is only an unattractive junk slopes and Qued impassable after heavy rains. There go to the graves runway tomorrow. As much as I would like! As much as I love myself on a previous trip to Africa into this landscape, the red sand with black stones and green bushes. And then he added that he call back from Tunisia! And would never go on vacation without me, because that would somehow nothing! Thanks, Rainer. I am glad that he missed me! Arjen friend Marten ringing through. Where is Arjen? In the night I call the emergency number of the embassy in Algiers. Everything in me is terrified! I feel that something has happened. Petra Bracht senses instinctively that Rainer can not stop calling. However, they do not know that he is being held by Islamist militants for the past two weeks. Approximately 24 hours after the call from Illizi was the holiday of four desert rider with one blow to end.
Rainer: It is the evening of 23 February. We camp just before the well Ain el Hadjadj in the dunes. Suddenly bikes are heard. Really strange, because usually no one goes in the twilight. I look carefully and discover a convoy on the graves slopes. Several pick-ups with fitted with machine guns, a red Toyota Hiace and three bikes. Back top long-bearded passenger with Kalashnikovs slung. Does not look good. When I turn around, I discover my passengers are visible from afar on a dune. Damn! The convoy promptly turn off in our direction, the armed men grouped around us. Strangely, I have no fear. If it were fundamentalists of the GIA, it would not have taken the other, but equal murdered. As it turns out, they belong to a Salafist Group for Preaching and Combat, GSPC. We have nothing to fear, they assert. Once a few “little things” would be regulated, we could go again. But first we have to come. We pack and start each with a guard on the bike after a short runway graves to the south. These side slope is extremely difficult and the pillion-riding in the dark plus hairy. In a heavy rock passage Arjen crashes and hurts his shoulder. He can drive, but has a lot of pain. At least the shoulder is not dislocated. Completely exhausted we camp at daybreak in hiding. We are to eleventh. The Swiss Toyota crew Marco Hediger, Reto Walter, Sibylle Graf and Silja Stäheli and Frank Gottlöber, Jürgen Matheis and Sascha Notter with two KTM and a Africa Twin. They were taken the night before us. Under cover of darkness, the convoy sneaks into the next night on. We build on the desert slopes just 20 km until dawn. Three nights is the way until we reach the final hiding place. We must be about 90 kilometers southwest of Illizi.
Petra: On Monday, the 10th March Algiers confirmed that the four men did not leave the country. I totally messed up. What do you do now? The Foreign Office has been informed by Christian’s mother. The idea of going to the police, I reject. ‘m Afraid to hear my husband had grown up, and anyway, who go to Algeria would not be surprised. The sub-forum on the web! That are closer! Who has the four Endurists Martin Hainz, Christian Green, Rainer Bracht and the Dutchman Arjen Hilbers last? On the same day we put the members first demand the net. The Foreign Office to take the matter seriously, however, not really. They probably have their reasons, but at the moment I am almost mad. It will be better when we explain to assume the cost of cars and helicopters. Finally, the search begins. On the graves runway first. A friend of Tamanrasset reports by mail from previous heavy rains in the region. They may have difficulty getting by. Let there be progress but also bandits and raid possible. Esther thinks about flying to Illizi. She speaks fluent French and has a valid visa for Algeria. I ponder half the night: When the four a technical problem forced to stay in an unhappy place … We had Qued Imirhou years ago just such a situation. Nightmare! The idea of being surprised in the night by a half meter high mud avalanche … Meanwhile, more and more people are signing in forum Sahara give untold information. The nights I sit at the computer during the day often up to eleven hours on the phone. Can call, call: the information go back and forth. And Martin’s parents in Bad Tolz do not have an internet connection! I think they laboriously by phone to date. Martin was always of the view that the Internet is a waste of time killing machine. For me it has become the hub of the world.
Rainer: By day, our hiding place turns out to be a partially covered with stone slabs crevice in a canyon of Tamelrik plateau. Two meters wide and 20 to 30 feet long. ‘Hotel mujahedin’ as it is called by our guards. Since October live some of them here, even built the connection to the graves slopes and managed everything you need for a hostage-taking approach. Within sight of the guards we can move relatively freely in the canyon, build a stone seating set and table out of my tent over a solar sail. Loamy brown water, there are a few holes in the bottom of the gorge. Some of us are disgusted, but I decided to drink and eat everything that is there. In the morning there is bread as much as we like, noon and night lentils, beans, rice, pasta and cereal in various combinations. Marc conveniently, nor can save jam, cereal and other goodies from his Toyota before the car was left on the road with motorcycles. We were allowed to take our luggage. Some even still cheat by camera and film, while GPS, maps and guidebooks migrate to the kidnappers stocks. The one needed for the jihad, the Holy Krieg.
Petra: Search on the graves runway is terminated unsuccessfully! Meanwhile, the sub-forum announces another missed group: four Swiss Toyota driver, also overdue since the end of February. I’m in the greatest excitement. When the storm had passed through a disaster, but then you would have to find something! Garments, motorcycle parts, tents … something! One could certainly save themselves! It just can not be that all fall at the same time a mud avalanche victim. Arjen’s relatives say suddenly, our people had never arrived in Illizi! Arjen’ve only spoken of Tarat and Qued Imirhou and this is also stored in his computer. Ominously, provide neither tents nor sleep in Illizi proof of the group. Maybe the stupid registration forms were not merely been filled … I’m now almost crazy because it all depends on my memory of the last call. Rainer was Illizi – I’m sure. Repeatedly call people who were themselves in Algeria or tell me who might have seen her last. Including tour professionals like Gerhard Göttler, Axel Därr, Dieter Werner and Hoepfner Nöther. Especially they are important people! I do not know what I do without them würde.
Rainer: Soon we come with our guards talking and find out that their organization GSPC, an offshoot of the Islamic FIS party was, who won the early 90s, the elections in Algeria. However, this was subsequently annulled by the military, after which the GSPC moved against the regime in Algiers in underground fights. A motley group sits around us, from the farmer to the university graduates, only united by the belief that an Islamic society is the solution to all problems. The GSPC is organized into nine divisions, each comprising 40 to 50 fighters and a commanding Emir. We are prisoners of the 5th Division with the Emir Abd el Razak Amaria Abu Haidara – as a former paratrooper and Army deserter also called El Para. He is regarded as extremely ambitious, experienced in abductions and manages our action supposedly alone. The troupe was apparently been on his way to Niger to buy weapons. As they hit the slopes the graves, they came up with the brilliant idea to fund their arms purchases by kidnapping tourists who are traveling on the slopes.
Petra: A new motorcycle group is missing. Jürgen Matheis, Frank Gottlöber and Sascha Notter. They are not on the 14th for Booked ferry and arrived in March were also on the graves piste. In the opposite direction, from Bordj Omar Driss to Illizi. When I think of the German Embassy in Algiers by giving the new development Maas woman, she almost loses his composure. Now is finally clear that something very different is behind it as getting lost or mishaps.
Rainer: 9 March, today is my 46th Birthday. It’s pretty bad. Although Sibyl and Silja even muster a bouquet of desert flowers, I can not repress the thought of home. Normally, I would come home today, and we would have celebrated. Petra is now final for a certainty that something bad must have happened. I hope she keeps it by. The next day the Mudjahs appear with four other hostages. Accidentally discovered by our guards, as they sought an escape route for road Illizi Fort Gardel. A path through the deep canyons they did not, but the four Augsburger, who made their all-wheel Iveco’s on a guelta, a water point, pause. With Kurt and Erna Schuster and Michaela Spitzer and Witek Mitko we are now to the fifteenth. It is tight in the Felsspalte.
Petra: To limit the search area, we ask Ms. Maas on scanned again that our people may have entered at a military outpost in Hassi Bel Guebbour, El Adeb or Larache In Amenas. The thing now seems to be taken more seriously. Zermürbenderweise are the Dutchman Arjen records unchanged for the view that our group had never arrived in Illizi! The chaos in my head is continually increasing. Why I remembered the last phone call not accurate? But who would ever have guessed how important this would not? The search is directed to the opposite direction. Esther has now finally flown to Algiers. Messed with the nerves she called. I do not get it right what she wants. Just that it is now looking even. With Mr. Zegri, the campground operator of Illizi, she drives two days long from the Tarat-piste, while helicopters and search there on Qued Imirhou from the air. Mr. Rainer Zegri knows, and I put all hopes on him. But the search has no result, after two days they returned with ruined tires back from driving too fast on the crummy tracks. So also on the route Tarat nothing. I am driven by the fear that we are looking in the wrong place. I express the Foreign Office to assume that they may have been arrested by the military near the Libyan border. Could not be, it is from Berlin, an incident should be reported within three days of the German authorities! Well, the good man has never been outside Europas.
Rainer: With a small radio we hear German wave. Thus we learn that we are at least missing. Apparently, there are suspicions that we had lost our way, as the Americans would eventually shut off the GPS because of the early Iraq war. Or be drowned in a wadi or left lying without gasoline. No word of a Bekennerschreiben.
Petra: In sub-forum, travelers who have obviously made the last picture of our boys report. It shows it on the afternoon of 21 February on the Tin Taradjelli Pass. Tragically, the pass is before the crucial bifurcation Tarat track or Illizi. So the key question remains open. Now all three groups. All disappeared between 23 and 25 February and must have been in the area of the dunes along the Oued Samene. Arjen’s members have taken leave and research team. I find it even more difficult for alone, either friends or traveling far away. Finally I will make with our brothers and sisters the “free table everyday crisis.” We try to give each other and Rainer Kraft.
Rainer: Finally! With the disappearance of the Augsburg seems to be clear that a crime exists. Algerian army helicopters circling suddenly over the region. We must now crevice day no longer leave. First, we are totally euphoric, try to enter characters, painting at night SOS in the sand. But they circle and circle, turn off again. They need to see us! Eventually, they stay away. Frustrated, we slump back into the now adopted lethargy. Almost a month it is now already. Up the smokes tobacco, read everything readable, already played the homemade card games list x times. Some shimmy from day to day, hoping constantly new, I’m trying rather to adjust to the situation. Worst of all, never to be alone. As the source dries up under the rock with the beginning of the summer, I volunteer to fetch water at a guelta. An hour way. Easy. But it’s a change of pace. But when others then wash with the high difficulty towed water hair or feet, it is difficult to remain friendly. X. will tablets. We have a few, but ration them for really severe pain. X. is depressed, it was probably before. An attempt to break the journey, which now went completely wrong. I do not know how you have to be built to endure this eternal waiting. Unstable anyway nicht.
Petra: In sub-forum offer all people who wanted to continue for now to Algeria, their help! We ask them to warn other tourists, because so far hardly anyone knows about the matter. They distribute leaflets with messages Search on the ferry, beat them on the campsites in Tunisia and Algeria. However, in Algeria they disappear immediately. On 17 March brings PICTURE first little article. The beginning of an avalanche!
Rainer: On the fiftieth day a helicopter lands near and burns down a pick-up of fundamentalists. They see us in the rugged terrain not? We must immediately leave the hideout and pull 500 meters into a cave.
Petra: On 19 March flies Maas woman from the embassy with a Swiss colleague itself to Illizi. You rent cars at all, which can roll and provide Mr. Zegri commissioned to conduct the search operation. Weird is how I learn later that all search teams, 17 against clock every day back. Strange in the size of the area. I often wonder which side of the Algerians are actually. It was decided to send out a camel caravan that was to scour the area for two weeks. So you would see more than cars, they say. Luckily, the Swiss have money there. The people down there so far, all expenses on their cap. Sometimes I am speechless. On 24 March breaks up the caravan. Parallel to this increase helicopter with thermal imaging cameras. And by the night when Illizi there is still no evidence.
Rainer: On 30 April 19th is our Wedding day. A day that we hardly register at home. Here it feel quite different. To me it goes bad, and I’m afraid Petra also. I think a lot of sie.Vor some time, the Emir has disappeared with 20 fighters, only runs via radio contact. Finally, the message is that this squad has taken 17 other tourists as hostages. Now there are 32 prisoners, but not claiming responsibility. Meanwhile, food is scarce, rationed the bread and the water content in the soup steadily larger. Christian tries to speed up negotiations by our release. As a result, our leader Osama comes to such useful things like new shoes, otherwise nothing will change. In my opinion we do not negotiate, but other than us. With this view I am quite alone. That would probably beyond my horizon of “wait and see”, they say. I hate illusions. But I’m pretty patient and keep good relations with ordinary warriors more important. Like Osama, who regularly zusteckt us something, or Abu Hafsa, who sometimes secretly bread for us backt.
Petra: More and more tourists are reported missing! Now the authorities are wide awake, so many well-equipped teams can not just disappear. On 1 April is the Foreign Office a crisis. Slowly all understand what happened. But if it’s a kidnapping – why is there no demands? Police report, I must now make a missing persons report. Note Rainer’s personal information. And take fingerprints and hair for DNA analysis … I hope that you will not ever need. I know they live!
The hostage drama in the Sahara, Part 2
The Wait
In the second diary part of the 177 days’ duration abduction by the mujaheddin Rainer Bracht depicts the liberation of the hostages and the first subsequent gruelling run through the Algerian desert. Meanwhile, his wife Petra followed the increasingly complex rescue attempts by the German government. And both try to survive the months of anxiety and waiting. He in Algeria, they in Detmold.
Rainer: For nearly three months, we are now sitting in the holes of the rocks Tamelrik Mountains, and nothing moves. The search helicopter not come for a long time, the food is scarce and nothing more depressing. We just doze off in front of us. The Constitution in our group is different. I, by nature, more patient, it is quite good, the other is our captivity to pretty. Some are depressed. The heat is more extreme. It’s almost May soon as the summer begins. Some time ago, the boss of the kidnappers has gone to a second group hostage, holding only by radio contact.
Petra: The matter has now reached the highest levels. Foreign Minister Joschka Fischer and Schily were in Algiers, Chief Federal Prosecutor Kay participants initiated an investigation against an unknown terrorist organization, GSG 9 is located in Algiers on standby as well as officials from the Federal Criminal Police Office and Interpol. No one would have ever expected such a thing! One suspects a daunting logistics behind it all. There are now 31 people disappeared, including vehicles. 15 German, ten Austrians, four Swiss, a Swede and a Dutchman. And to hide and care for them is not so easy in the Sahara. It is now convinced that the disappeared live. But there is still no claim of responsibility.
Rainer: On 5/13/03 added a radio and a radio message saying our guards into euphoria: the other 17 hostages were free. They congratulate us, in three to four days was safe for us all over. Our group is in high spirits. Only Martin and I remain skeptical. We believe that only if the Mudjas without us disappear on the horizon, we are truly free. The hiding place we have to evacuate in haste and join the rest of the remaining troops. After four days of runway wild ride we meet the emir (commander) in Erg Issouane, north slope of the graves. What we learn is disillusioning: Non negotiations had our fellow redeemed, but the Algerian military. The hostages were unharmed, but some of it Mudjas to-come. Now there’s danger, the kidnappers are now on the run. Spread over several pick-ups, a new hiding is searched.
Petra: Meanwhile, the detectives take care of the matter in Germany. Twice a week they come over, are quite touching. With them, everything will be better. I finally contact. The previously competent Foreign Office moved out voluntarily not a syllable. The officials also help me as mundane things like Rainer’s work situation, to regulate the health insurance and pensions. The absences are always longer, and besides, no one knows what state he comes back … Thank god Rainer employer behaves extremely fair.
Rainer: After a few days we find a small and steep dunes boiler, which is available only from the air. By radio Mudjas order the food and spare parts that a little later – brought – presumably by members of the base of supporters. The kidnappers are well organized. Already on the way here we passed depots with fuel and food. We remain five days to repair the dilapidated and battered car accidents. Since Arabs only screws, if properly what is broken, there are regular periods. To pass the time we help. Missing a hole somewhere, it is promptly shot into the Kalashnikov. The heat is bad. We only have one side attached to one of Toyota’s plans, under which we crowded together like sardines squat. The water is transported in 200 liter barrels that previously fuel, oil or chemicals contained, thus affecting the taste impact is not always positive. One of the women prisoners, the question arises whether it is possible for the drink, but it was a health hazard. Leave it, I tell her, then you’re thirsty tomorrow, or drink it, then you might get in 30 years Krebs.
Petra: We have an appointment at the Foreign Office! He-wait, I was not too much of it. However, I’m getting ready for the day as much as possible. We learn to work with the Algerians course good, everyone give his best. But it was a lot of tact necessary in order not to bite on granite. Even if we had trained hostage rescue teams like the GSG 9th From the family circle, I’m the only one who was ever in Algeria and can not imagine working with African authorities halfway.
Rainer: Finally we leave, head north-west through the erg, again crossing the graves in the north runway and pass the dunes of Erg Tifernine. From there it goes through the slopes of Bordj Omar Driss to Amguid, direction Arak. Sometimes we are on the go 36 hours without a break, the day in the meantime mercilessly scorching sun. The pace is grueling, often we can just cling to the open shop space. Multiple roll over the pick-ups, but miraculously no one is seriously injured. It is really bad when the Mudjas see gazelles. Gazelle meat tastes delicious, like deer. With up to 100 km / h then rush yourself otherwise level-headed driver with us through the terrain, firing wildly until the animal killed ist.
Petra: The press has finally added weather and reporters stationed in Illizi. As they get little information as soon circulate more audacious speculation. In general I can put away the things. But if in local stations now and leaves strangers any bullshit about Rainer tell me sometimes go through the nerves. On 5/16/03 we are in-vited to Berlin again. The atmosphere is more relaxed than last time I trust gradually, that everything possible is being done to rauszuholen our people there. In the evening I write a letter to the Algerian President Abdelaziz Bouteflika, thank him for his cooperation with Germany, hit him my trust and hope from. Maybe it helps. Meanwhile, another German is still missing. Klaus Bockelmann, Archaeologist. I ver-seeking, endure with Arab peace. Oddly enough, I am convinced that the hostages are not abused. As past kidnappings in Yemen have shown that. I know Rainer is alive and strong in crisis situations. This also makes me strong! He is with me every second, we are one.
Rainer: After a few days we will reach a water point in the Mouydir mountains, north of Arak. But all around is Kamelkot, the water is contaminated by urine. Hassan, with 72 of the elders assured, the Qur’an says, camel urine is healthy … Maybe rub the warts, but to drink? Two days later, we prefer to walk another hour to three beautiful lakes. Paradise we call this place, where we will stay for three weeks. There are water without end, we can even swim. In addition, we are out of sight of Mudjas and may move freely. Only at mealtimes, we come together to see about three months finally almost like privacy. How we have longed for it! Each dozing in a corner, up to 16 hours a day. However, there are poisonous vipers horn. Their tracks are visible in the morning sometimes 20 to 30 inches from the head end of the sleeping bag. In three weeks, we killed nine pieces. But since we are not on the menu for the Vipers, only danger is when one enters or proposes to one. But probably not affect us anyway too viel.
Petra: On 13/05/03 logs suddenly by 21 clock the Cid Bielefeld. There had been a hostage rescue in Algeria. But not all are free. Whether they are still likely to come over? Course. Keep calm! It does not feel as if it would be Rainer. Confirm it when they arrive. There were two groups, and one had been freed by the military. All the hostages alive. One officer stayed here. No one knows what will happen in the next few hours. As of now, there is a news blackout – no info, even to close family members no longer. The next morning, it’s the top news on the radio, the freed Austrian ex-hostages texteten it euphoric in the mics at the airport, all are free. Unfortunately, only all Austrians. The phone is ringing is hot – endless calls and congratulations I must reject, no, Rainer is not there. Despite a news blackout, I now inform the next of kin.
Rainer: The Mudjas were shopping. In addition to clothing and food they bring a large bottle of perfume for each of the women. Touching! In the ver-western clothes we suspect that it is the “estate” of the freed hostages. A camel is killed, which greatly improved the supply situation again. Only our vegetarian feels weak because he refuses even pasta and rice that have been cooked with the meat. Poorly comprehensible principles. As an avowed hater now I would eat carrots and carrots.
Petra: 05/15/03. The Austrian newspaper Krone sold the expedition leader Gerhard winter dish exclusively the terrible experiences of the ten Austrian hostages under the scorching desert sun, Michaela and Andrew Joubert Kiehlechner also report on the weeks in the hands of the Mujahideen and their happy deliverance. It is almost unbearable. At 16.5. We are once again loaded into the Foreign Office. The relatives of the freed hostages no more. Foreign Minister Joschka Fischer talks about his recent visit to Algiers and a long conversation with President Abdelaziz Bouteflika. Again, they emphasize the loading hutsamkeit, which must be negotiated with. The following Sunday, I write one more time to Bouteflika, but also to Joschka Fischer, Gerhard Schröder and Schily. I am now convinced that everything conceivable is done to bring back the remaining hostages unharmed. Wait, wait again. I grit my teeth. The rest I can do also, definitely. I have to stay strong! Rainer will take me when he comes back. In the evening, I ask the police to talk to Rainer’s parents. I think she does not trust me anymore. The cops can something beruhigen.
Rainer: On 06/25/03 our guards shoot a video and write a letter of confession with our help. Addressed to the Swiss and the German Embassy. Arjen gets nothing because his Dutch representative is not in the guide. When we read that the Emir calls for 45 million euros for us, we are horrified. His confidants reassure us. Firstly, three million per person would be clear, on the other hand it was indeed only the basis for negotiation. Originally, he had wanted to extort 150 million and the release of Algerian GSPC members from custody. Of which they would have dissuaded him. We also have the opportunity to write a personal letter. Sybille my translated into French, so that it can be controlled. I report that we have no worries, because our “tour guide” takes care of everything. Even the weather was good, no one would freeze. With such stupid jokes Petra will notice that I hale and hearty bin.
Petra: On Monday, 05/19/03, chaos breaks out again! The remaining hostages were on their way home, it trumpeted from all channels. The phone is not standing still. But again, it’s not true. An unconfirmed report, many of which could be carried away. Even Claudia Roth announced that four Augsburg were on their way home. It is their constituency. The children have decorated the apartment. A day later we can see in “Beckmann” Family Bleckmann in the ARD. At 21.5. Family Rupping on ZDF in “Johannes B. Kerner.” Day after, there is a major earthquake in the near Algiers. But I’m sure the hostages are far enough away. On Friday, 5/23/03, there are 90 days! I am getting tired, which is not to describe. The moment at which we can take us back into the arms will come. And only ours. Our 19 Wedding day! Somehow I pack also. Send love letters friends.
Rainer: When the written letter of confession and our belongings stowed in the car, nor will quickly patched the tire, then we leave. Add up to 48-hour marathon stages we race towards southwest. To Mali, as we suspect. The water supplies are replenished way. In a former French nuclear test site. No problem, the secretary of the Emir claiming radioactivity is washable.
Petra: Gerhard Schröder and Joschka Fischer Schily have meanwhile written back. I have read several times Mr. Schilys letter. It is very personal and helps me badly. Meanwhile, soon is Pentecost. With the Africa Festival in Lißberg to which we have been going for many years. Since I can not away, I pray, read a message. Also, in the Sahara Club and the “DÄRR ‘meeting. There they even want to take a minute of silence for the hostages. I can not put into words how I am pleased that! Thank you that it is people like you! Soon available on my second hip replacement surgery. I’m afraid not to be there at the crucial moment and have to force myself not to cancel the surgery. Today is the 113th Day since the last time we talked. We have not seen us already four and a half months. At that time there was snow. The almond tree that Rainer so like, he did not see bloom. Meanwhile, we already harvest the cherries.
Rainer: The Sahara summer is upon us, and the heat becomes increasingly worse. Often prevail loose 50 degrees in the shade. It exists only rarely. With us on the open shop space, the kidnappers chase through the south Algerian desert. As the water points are far apart, they ration the water. Sometimes two litres per day. I share it in, every hour a sip, the chewing and long in the mouth for. It is gross.
Petra: On 17.6.03 I have to go to the hospital. A serious way. I explain the situation in which I am, and it shields me, as much as possible. The operation runs smoothly, and I’m recovering surprisingly quickly. One less problem! The last day I treat myself to a visit to the hairdresser. It is glorious. After two weeks, I’m back home with crutches. Everyday life is arduous. I learn that a member wishes to be self initiative now, with an Austrian expedition and without professional police force. I hold my breath, people do not know this country. The parents of Martin and Arjen put him gently back against it. It should go well and it will turn out good, everything possible is being done – I leave no other thoughts. And I am convinced Rainer also nicht.
Rainer: The 29.6.03 is one of those unbearably hot days. On an ongoing basis wältigen me obsessions of cold drinks – beer, water, milk shakes. Afternoon we rest scattered in sparse shade of acacia and tamarisk. Suddenly, someone hears a scream. Sascha, paramedic by profession, Michaela found before in a coma. Together with Abd el Aziz, the chef and physician, they give her a bag of saline infusion. More is not there. To save them, two to three liters would have been necessary. After an hour she dies, having obtained without consciousness. We buried her at night in the headlights of Iveco. It is awful. The Mudjas affected. Even completely exhausted, comes to me for the first time, the idea that our abduction could take a bad end. Not by violence of the fundamentalists, but I do not know how long we the heat and still withstand inhuman driving around. Not death scares me, Michaela died peacefully and without pain, but not afford to let alone the feeling of Petra. I feel that she needs me, waiting for me. Charged me very much that I could not help her with her surgery. The next day we reach a What-serstelle. So we could have had enough reserves to prevent Michaela’s death. Sasha is not about long hinweg.
Petra: In Berlin letters have been received! The abductees re-port that they go well and they were well treated. I am infinitely glad Rainer buy new shoes. At 26.7. notify the police with me, there was a call. In Esther, Green Christian friend: all are healthy, have reported on a French. Not more. But it is enough. The police is preparing for further calls. The 155 Day. I have completely retired. Think of experiences that Rainer and I had together. Also funny that I have to laugh again. Presumably, they tell each other stories in the desert also. Three days later, on 7/29/03, the police shows up again. Michaela Spitzer was dead apparently died of heat stroke before some time. I’m as stunned. The rumor of a death already circulated a while. Christian Schuster, the son of the elderly couple Augsburg is, almost by-shot it. I have said repeatedly, without confirmation, I do not believe it. Now it is there. I’m hard to get over. Once again I call the family to free daily crisis table together. I would love to scream so loud that they can hear it to the Sahara: Stop finally on! It is enough to come to an end
Rainer: We race on towards Mali. The kidnappers hoped to better negotiate there, the government is more cooperative. On the radio I get the message, the Algerian military would consider a corridor open to allow our passage to the neighboring country. Someone caught a glimpse of a GPS – we are located 35 kilometers south of Timiaouine. We did it, we are on Malian territory.
The hostage drama in the Sahara, Part 3 (archive version)
The exemption
In the last diary of the nearly six-month kidnapping by Algerian terrorists Rainer Bracht portrays the grueling escape through Mali. Petra Bracht persecuted under which the struggle of the German Government to a breakthrough in the negotiations. As on 17th August finally the saving “You are free,” sparks through the airwaves, it can no longer really believe.
Rainer: Finally we have crossed the border to Mali and may a few days to rest near a fountain. For weeks we have been in the now red-hot South Algeria with our kidnappers on the run. At the well succeeds Sascha, unnoticed to make a Tuaregs attention to our situation. In fact, the message a little later reached the mayor of Tessalit. There comes a radio message that we should contact you. But not as hoped by the German authorities, but the mayor of Illizi in Algeria. The kidnappers are now back on his feet! Way immediately! The limit is still too close to prevent access to the Algerian army.
Petra: On 29 7 03, the 158 Day at 20.30 clock calls to the police. I would have the opportunity to write a letter Rainer. In half an hour they would fax it to Berlin. In my mind, chaos breaks out – there’s so much to ask and tell. And now find the right words in a hurry …. Actually ringing half an hour later a police officer to pick up the letter. Shortly after, it occurs to me that I have not even thought about kissing mitzuschicken!
Rainer: A grueling long-distance journeys further phase begins. Up to 36 hours we will be shaken up in the SUV without a break. After a few days we arrive exhausted a dry river bed, where we stayed for some time. Fighters of 9 Rebel Division are with us for a while. You should support the action because they know here and allegedly have connections in Mali. Eventually a young Tuaregs marched boldly with his camel through our warehouse. Only when he has all greeted with a handshake, discover the Mudjas him and send him away.
Petra: Only a day later he receives a letter from Rainer. It is overwhelming! Amazingly, he is exactly the questions that I have answered yesterday. I call on parents and siblings and I read each and every one before the letter. Our parents come immediately want to see the list with your own eyes. He reassures her, even if he spent five weeks old ist.
Rainer: The kidnappers turn again a video. First a group shot, then everyone should greet his family. In a written statement, they explain that Michaela Spitzer’s death was a tragic accident bedauerter by themselves and we were well treated. We must all sign. We fervently hope that Michaela’s death was at least the sense to clarify the seriousness of our situation. As the kidnappers set we now all hopes for the Malian government. It is regarded as cooperative as the Algerian and could finally get things moving. Even I am cautiously optimistic. The next day, the emir (commander) breaks up with a squad to negotiate. Our fellow Christian Green take them with you. He and his girlfriend in Berlin fluent in French, so that the Mudjas hope to establish direct contact with the German government.
Petra: On 31 7 03 announces the police a video of the hijackers. I am extremely anxious and drum up the rest of the family together. Nobody knows what to expect. How will they look like? I’m afraid. By 18 clock are all there. Also the police. We can not imagine the band would leaked to the media. It was eleven days old, all the hostages are to see it, and everyone says a short sentence. »Rainer Bracht, Allemagne, many greetings to the family and to Petra,” Then said Christian, that they needed medication, the extreme heat and the food supply are problematic and they mourn Michaela Spitzer’s death. And hoped for a speedy end. You see relatively good, are neatly dressed and not emaciated. But tired and annoyed. When the family is away, I am a completely hedgehogs, need rest, absolutely. My thoughts are with Rainer.
Rainer: is brought to Bamako Even during the film to the German Embassy, we set off. 36 hours non-stop, it goes in the northwest Mali. A total of 600 miles. For the first time it starts to rain and we have water in abundance can swim and even do laundry. P
etra: On Friday, the first 8 03, an interview with me, which I have never been displayed in the “world.” I think you can not sink deeper in journalism. Over the weekend I try to find my energy and patience again. I succeed, but there is also no other way. Hopefully Rainer and the others have not yet lost their. In Heiligenkirchen a memorial service for the hostages will be held, and a lady of a sect called already for the third time. You have written poems and wanted to help with the proceeds of the hostages … In the evening, the PC crashes. Diagnosis: disk is destroyed and all data gone. So start from scratch and re-enter everything. On Tuesday, the computer has made so far that you can work on it. My navel to the world. A day after another goes by, and I fall into a depression for a week, want to talk to anyone because I just constantly erupting into tears. Feel empty, tired and beaten. I mobilize all forces to get out of the hole. The only one who could comfort me, sits in Mali.
Rainer: After two weeks of popping a few faithful of the Emir on again. Together with the SUV of the Malian government. Now what really seems to move. We are almost euphoric. They not only medicines and bottled mineral water, but letters from home! Petra! She answered my questions. How they survived the operation, which make the family and especially my ailing grandmother, as my pay comes without ends meet and so on. Only much later did I learn that at that time they had not even my letter. They just knew what would move me. I’m happy how close we stehen.
Petra: On 9 8 03 held another meeting at the Foreign Office. Since I am handicapped by the operation, it sent me home a summary of the conversation. This finally the persistent rumor is denied, some hostages were sick. Only sciatic pain from a few hard chairs seem to plague, otherwise all are ok. Furthermore, Christian Green has apparently made telephone contact between the kidnappers and the German government, and the negotiations that have been conducted, a Tuareg leader named Iyad Ag Agaly, now governs the governor of Gao. A military action may not be remembered in Mali in order not to endanger the life of the 14th I sometimes think that Rainer and this fate will never leave me.
Rainer: The Islamists are now as excited as we constantly have the radio on the ear, so not to miss a message. Partial several times daily sparked with the Emir. However, I am now experiencing the only threatening the entire hostage situation that emanated from the kidnappers themselves: When we want to look during the rain in one of the SUVs protection as agreed, trying to stop us because a fighter. Angrily, I reminded him of our agreement, which he in turn uses a Kalashnikov furiously and loaded by in front of me. Fortunately, his colleagues overwhelm him in time. What had happened? Amazingly, they believe my statement and apologize for their quick-tempered buddy. Why I was not afraid? With a joke I Wiegele the thing ab.
Petra: State Chrobog flies on 12 8 03 to Algiers and then on to Malian President Amadou Toumani Toure in Bamako. The talks take hours, but then Chrobog expressed very optimistic. It will not be long. A few weeks, maybe even days. I hangele me from one branch to another. Chrobog send a postcard with the image of a rusty padlock. Feel the need to thank him.
Rainer: After two weeks, we set off again, roaring back in a southwesterly direction. Something seems to have changed, because the kidnappers not to hide, but to use for the first time normal slopes. However, they continue until a fatigued driver overlooks a wave and the car almost rolls over. Only then slept. And then repaired the Toyota. Mostly it would go faster if they drive a little slower, but that contrary to Arab mindset.
Petra: The 175 Day I suddenly feel that something is happening. And my feeling has always been the most reliable indicator. I know Chrobog get the thing out. How difficult the negotiations must be, can be only guessed. In Algeria, the government could be dissuaded with difficulty by a second military operation. Then – as should all arrive intact to Mali? And there will be rebuilt trust between kidnappers and negotiating partners? As a transfer can take place without the kidnappers fear of being shot immediately? The Algerian military had reluctantly an escape corridor for terrorists held open – but they are still on the Mali border on the lookout. I’m afraid that in the end even use weapons is commanded. But I was assured that just should not happen …
Rainer: We stock at an agreed meeting point, wait for the Emir. It is the same place where we had parted from him two weeks ago. A good sign. I just bring in the Mudjas to eat, sounds as motor noise. They immediately jump into their battle vests and shoot into the air. Intended for professional reception Emir Abd El Razak, who returns with his negotiating team. Personally, he appears to us prisoners, and solemnly declares that everything is regulated, we would be free!
Petra: On Saturday evening, 16 8 03, a journalist friend informs me that the release was at hand, probably in the night from Sunday to Monday. It would be nice, but for me, it’s just THE call. The police asked me to now be available continuously. I can feel it tingle formally. Then it happens, on 17 8 03 calls to the CID at 22.37 clock – they are free! Berlin just have it officially confirmed. I weep with happiness.
Rainer: We have to pack up and merged a few miles away with a group of Malian military and Tuareg. Including Ag Agaly, a legendary leader of the Tuareg rebellion in the early nineties. They had taken over the role of mediator, and to them we are now passing. It’s really over. Most fundamentalists say goodbye with Arab courtesy and friendly pats on the back from us, invite us even like to come back to Algeria, nothing would happen to us. However, other travelers threaten our fate, they emphasize the same time. Express, the driver with lenses like glass blocks, thinking about my health and forcefully admonished me not to smoke and to avoid pork and alcohol in the future. I promise to do my best, but suspect that I will not succeed. Recently, the Emir still want my email address to let them know, if they had recovered my BMW, if the Algerian military to take care not drum. The situation is grotesque. I’m not even angry them – they probably do not even know what they did to us haben.
Petra: at 22.45 clock, it comes in the news. I stare numbly at the screen where Chrobogs is to see happy face in front of the cameras – he has really come, the moment. After 177 days and nights. I just celebrate a little with Andrew and Steffi from our house, as once again the phone is ringing at midnight. Who is calling now for? “Hello,” “Hello, it’s me, Rainer” In my mind there is complete emptiness? “Rainer, which Rainer” “Yes, Rainer, your husband,” Then I break into tears, immediately followed by croaking connection together!. He was, THE call. And I do not even know Rainer vote! Incredible! When he calls shortly afterwards a second time, I am aggregated. He says that he’s fine, if they had just eaten and went to sleep right now. For some reason, I wonder if he still had his sleeping bag. No, long gone. They slept so in the sand. Out of sheer noise I understand very little, but it’s overwhelming.
Rainer: With the onset of darkness, we set off on our last trip. Around midnight stop the Tuaregs at a water point with dry wood to make tea. By satellite phone we can call home. Petra’s turn, but stunned, probably did not expect me. But it is wonderful to hear them.
Petra: A little later, the first journalist to dive in front of the house, there’s no dodging, “How do you feel, how’s your man, you already had contact” day they assail Steffi in going for shopping right at the seventh?. She takes with Andreas incessantly bimmelnde the phone that can not be stopped because of possible further calls by Rainer. The next morning, the aircraft is expected to arrive in Cologne. Two CID officers want to go with me. I am pleased when I hear who it is: it all started with these two, they had made contact with me and helped more than once, to prevent the worst.
Rainer: At dawn we set off, to Gao is 500 kilometers to go. Lunch will be served up in a village tea, milk and cookies, then it goes on as soon as possible. At dusk we reach the city and a little later the governor’s palace. After several speeches, during which I yearn mainly after a beer, it goes on by plane to the president in the capital, Bamako. He was instrumental in our release, as I hear from people mitfliegenden by the Foreign Office in Berlin. They tell me of Petra, what great job they made in Germany, how much optimism and replaced it had spread. Petra! Thankfully, I lean back. My worry about them falling off with talents seriousness, I am happy and a little proud. She seems to have moved a lot for us.
Petra: With a pocket full of clothes, pipes, gummy bears, chocolate and the shoes that I had bought a few weeks ago, we set off at dawn to the airport. When we arrive, there is still enough time, and I watch the window, as the machine from Bamako lands. Now there are no search images on TV, now it’s reality. The moment when Rainer comes through the door, finally overwhelmed me. Very narrow and deep brown, he has become, has trained as a marathon runner. A mattress and a bag he still has one left not left of his possessions. Therein some clothes that never belonged to him, two stones from the desert, half a bangle and a small fossilized spine … When I take him in the arm, I still smell the dust and the dry air of the Sahara. “Finally,” I do not bring out more. I will never forget is his happy laughter at this moment. It is vorbei.
Rainer: Now it’s finally back home to Germany. Of sleep is not to think of many conversations the night passes literally flew by. Suddenly a final conflict among us surges 14 – one of the Swiss do not want to pass on to the police, the coordinates of Michaela’s grave. Only needs to be discussed in the group what to do with it. My God! I am infinitely glad that it is over. But before I can really upset me, I discover Petra. And everything else faded to nothingness. I have arrived.
Conclusions
It is my great desire to thank all the people and agencies whose work ultimately led to our rescue. I’m overwhelmed by solidarity and support that Petra has received from the Sahara Club, the company Därr and countless private individuals members. If I had all of this would be even suspected, I liked my odyssey easier. Is difficult to accept, however, that local agencies and tour guides, months before the kidnapping of “peculiar people” did to the graves runway, but did not pass on the information. In addition, the Algerian military ignored the Tuareg messages in Tamelrik plateau camps would create. And despite great gratitude that there later everything possible was done for us – the Federal Foreign Office travel warning for southern Algeria was definitely too late. The Sahara Club had already on 19 3 03 pointed out some missing. Rainer Bracht
Some attractive cards featuring Saharan themes dating from around the middle of the 20th century. They’re being sold inexpensively by euro-cards on ebay. I have to say on the bottom one it looks like they have have got their tribal categories mixed up, but the Dutch ones (5 and 6) are especially attractive to an ex Tintin/Look & Learn fan.
We left Marseille on 10 December ferry to Tunis. The ferry was only about 1/3 full making the loading in Marseille uneventful compared with our trip a week closer to Christmas in 1999. The ship docked in Tunis at noon with clearance through Tunisian immigration and customs taking a mere 30 minutes (compared to 5 hours in 1999) allowing us to reach the salt pan of Chott El Jerid near Nefta (Algerian frontier) shortly after dark. We camped on the salt pan, leaving early for the border crossing the next morning.
Algeria
Clearance out of Tunisia took about 30 minutes but entry into Algeria just over 4 hours. In that time the officials processed only 3 cars, two of which were Algerian. The officials were nevertheless friendly. Two German bikers were crossing into Tunisia as we were leaving. They had ridden a loop from El Oued to Djanet then onto Tam and back along main route through In Salah (which included a convoy).
The Algerian border formalities correspond exactly with those described elsewhere on this website (immigration, customs, compulsory money change and car insurance). The only problem we had was with customs insisting on us filling in the form to reflect ‘Landrover’ as the type of car but ‘Toyota’ as the make. I guess this finally signifies the death of the British automotive legend, in this part of North Africa at least. [It was the same story with one of the LRs on my tour too, but caused no probs. CS]
From the Algerian border we headed on towards El Oued. There seemed to be few camping possibilities along this stretch given the awkward hummocky dunes lining the road and the proximity of villages. About 20 or 30km from El Oued, while entering one of the small villages, a group of youngsters aged less than 10, stoned the Landrover. No windows were broken but a bit more topography was added to the body work – never a serious issue in a 30-year-old vehicle with an aluminium body. We were welcomed into El Oued by the police and local businessmen alike. El Oued was calm and the streets clean and quite empty. We changed money at one of the banks.
That night we slept on the south side of the road 60km short of Hassi Messaoud. A strong north-easterly was drifting sand in a conveyor about 1m deep so we were looking for shelter behind south-facing hills. There is a small escarpment out of view of the road (N32° 10′ 37” E5° 52′ 23”) which served the purpose on a stretch that offered few alternatives. We arrived in Hassi shortly after 8am the next day. Here the military checkpoint issued our laissez passer in about 20 minutes. It was valid for a month. We were waved through the south side of Hassi en route to Hassi Bel Guebbour. The next check point was at Gassi Touil. Here the military spoke very little French, but seemed to want us to return 3km and wait at the side of the road. We went back, found nothing at the road side and so returned to the checkpoint. After a bit of discussion amongst themselves we were eventually waved through. We now know that a convoy operates on this stretch and may entail a delay of several hours until the convoy leaves.
If you have ever looked out of the window of a 747 on a night time trans Africa flight and seen two tiny pin pricks of light in the insanely massive blackness of the Sahara, the chances are that you are looking at somewhere like Hassi Bel Guebbour – with the two lights shared between the fuel station and the shop, this being the first fuel after Hassi M. It has a great sense of isolation and the interdune corridor that the tarmac follows south from Gassi is stunning.
Some 50km east of Bel Guebbour (28 36′ 10”N, 7 5′ 27”E) we passed large pools of water in an otherwise dry river bed. Although it was fairly early in the day we couldn’t pass the opportunity by and so set up a pleasant camp a few kms clear of the road out of the still strong north-easterly. A piste runs south to Bordj Omar Driss which starts parallel to the road [I have been told to avoid this piste – plenty of oilfield security].
The next day we called in at In Amenas (the bakery was selling awesome custard slices) and headed south through the huge dune field which seems to be the far western limb of the Ubari sand sea, eventually camping off the road in a sand field in the lee of a shady glade of trees (N26° 56′ 23″ E8° 41′ 54″). Firewood was plentiful. From our campsite we drove early the next day to Illizi for fuel and then on across the Fadnoun Plateau. The new road is a bonus but twists sharply without warning. It is rather like a pub video game where a blind rise could be followed by a sharp left, u-turn or a stranded truck jack-knifed across the road. The whole route from Illizi to Djanet is beautiful. We camped about 100km short of Djanet in a large dry river bed (N24° 54′ 56″, E8° 45′ 87î”). It was a stunning setting and well worth a few weeks stay. In Djanet we had a pleasant stay at Hotel Zeribas, camping in the far corner under the reed shelters. Djanet offered a great selection of fresh veggies, telephones which work given a bit of patience and pleasant temperatures. South of Djanet the daily temperatures were well over 30 degrees.
Whilst settling down for a quiet brew of tea in our campsite at Hotel Zeribas, Andy Pag drew up in a blast of diesel from the old Datsun he had brought down from Belgium. By this stage he was travelling alone and therefore keen to join us across the Northern Tenere to Chirfa and Dirkou. This was the planned next leg of the trip. We were glad for his company because the piste from Djanet to Dirkou is a lonely 850km stretch (we passed no traffic on this entire route).
Although our time in Algeria was much shorter than planned (for reasons explained later), we found the country calm and enjoyable to travel in. The only military checks we passed through were at Hassi M, Gassi Touil, and Hassi Bel Guebbour. Apart from this stretch, we were free to come and go as we pleased. Whenever we encountered police we found them very helpful and accommodating. From a tourist perspective, everything is in place for Algeria’s recovery – all that is missing are tourists. We saw none between the Tunisian border and Agadez (about 5000km) except for Andy in Djanet.
After some time to rest and check out Djanet, we took off for Niger, leaving by the piste to Libya (a left turn off the new airport road past the old aerodrome). We turned off this mildly corrugated piste about 35km from Djanet, taking tracks through a gap in the mountains towards Mount Tiska. Once the tracks join, the piste is surprisingly well formed. After about an hour (roughly 40km) the piste turned east of Mount Tiska. The area is very beautiful with just about every spot a perfect campsite. We spent the night here with Andy cooking up a great veg stew. During the night we saw three vehicles approaching the Mount Tiska foothills some 10km to the south. They stopped when in view of our fire although we couldn’t be sure they saw us. They set off again well after midnight once the moon was up, passing within a few kilometres of us with their lights off. This all seemed to point to smugglers bringing Marlboro cigarettes into Algeria, possibly via a piste through the Djado plateau.
We continued on the well-formed piste the next day. Within an hour it was obvious that the piste would pass well east of the Adrar Mariaou. The piste is not marked on the Michelin or the TPC maps. Since we wanted to hook up with the balise line across the northern Tenere (which lies west of Adrar Mariaou) we left what seems to be a smugglers’ piste, taking a drainage line out onto the flat northern Tenere. The surface was better than any tarmac we had driven since France. While the route sounds complicated, the desert is very open with the Mount Tiska and Adrar Mariaou mountains clearly visible all the time. All the driving was easy. Within an hour we had gained the Tenere and found the first balise. There we several old (and a little indistinct) tracks along the balise line. Our GPS position showed us to be on the eastern most of the two pistes entering the Tenere which are marked on the TPC J 3B map. As the balise line piste appeared to be the western most piste on this map, we seemed to be on the wrong line, and so headed south-west to see if we intersected any other piste (although we were sure that there was only one balise line across the Tenere and that the TPC marked piste was wrong – but the check was easy to make and the surface pretty hard). It turned out that the piste marked on the TPC is wrong.
Balises on the Tiska–Chirfa stage. You can just see the next one, 500m in the distance.
After about half an hour four Toyota Land Cruiser pick-ups could be seen driving straight at us from the northern base of the Adrar Mariaou mountains. They were travelling at speeds up to 160km/hr. The group turned out to be the Algerian police. After making their AK-47s clear to us and checking our papers (carte de grise, visas, insurance etc) they waved us on cheerfully. We should point out that it is not possible to leave Algeria officially along the northern Tenere route south of Djanet. While the police don’t mind, the Algerian customs do not permit official exit.
The northern Tenere is simply awesome. It is difficult to put words to the vastness of the place. It is impossible at times to tell whether you can see 50m, 500m or 50km off the piste. There are three wrecks on the balise line, two from the 1988 Paris-Dakar race. The shot-blasted dark silver chassis gleaming in the bleached light. For the most part the northern Tenere is very easy driving. The first few hundred kilometres out of Djanet were softer, the Landrover not being powerful enough to plane over the surface. Immediately south of Berliet balise 21 the sand becomes deep and powdery. It was the only time between Djanet and Agadez that we needed low range. The soft sand persists for 40km south of Berliet Balise 21. In a newish Toyota the northern Tenere could probably be crossed in a day. We took two days of driving, but three days altogether.
Sahara Handbook route description from 1987
Niger
The exit from the northern Tenere to Chirfa is clearly marked – nearly all the balises are in place across the orthern Tenere. On arrival in Chirfa we drove directly to the military checkpoint. They stamped our passports while looking over the vehicles, asking if we had any sat phones, short wave transmitters as so on. We helped the commander with his GPS as he had no manual for it. We left our passports with the military overnight, thinking that this was routine practice in Niger. We drove through the village and checked out the impressive Djado ruins. The next day we returned to the military post for our passports. By then the mood had changed and we were ordered to drive directly to Dirkou, not to leave the piste and to arrive there no later than 4pm. As it was already getting on to 10am it was a tall ask in our old vehicles. We assumed Dirkou was the first official border post (as marked on the Michelin map) on this route and hence the requirement that we shouldn’t linger on the piste. We found the piste south of Seguedine very sandy. Again it would be very difficult to get lost on this route – in fact we hardly bothered with the GPS. We arrived in Dirkou a little after 4pm, handed over our passports (which were again kept overnight), met with Jerome [the fuel trader] and drove off to town for the night. The military checkpoint was pretty chaotic as several 10-wheel-drive Merc trucks loaded to the hilt were about to leave for Libya.
We returned to the military post early the next day, waited around before asking for and being given back our passports (they now had stamps from both Dirkou and Chirfa). From there we headed up the hill to refuel (we had used about 220 L of petrol since Djanet; that’s 3.7kpl or 10.4mpg) at Jerome’s fuel dump. Make sure you take your own pipe / 12V pump as Jerome’s assistants seem to have sucked too much fuel through their brains over the years. They are several sandwiches short of a picnic!
Whilst we were refueling the military drove up in a Landcruiser and took back our passports and vehicle papers. Once we had finished refueling the military impounded our vehicles. We now had no passports, no vehicles and no vehicle papers. Things weren’t looking good. No explanation was given but we were told to wait until 3:30pm. We waited in a barbed wire area between the passport shack and the military base. This is a stinking hot, dusty, shadeless area surrounded by feche feche that we grew to hate over the next few days. At 5pm were we told that there was a problem and that we would have to wait until 9am the next morning. We later found out that the Minister of Defence in Niamey had already phoned the French Ambassador in Niamey to say that European nationals were being held in the north. The French Embassy in Niger deals with all European nationals in Niger.
The next morning we were told to wait until 3:30 pm as the commander of the military base in Dirkou was waiting for instructions from Niamey. Most of our dealings had been with the Chef de Transit at the passport shack on the outskirts of the military base. He had been telling us all sorts of lies about why we were being held and when we would be released. He was a very difficult person to deal with – at one point gesturing to me that he would tear up my passports if we didn’t leave him alone. Our main effort at this stage was to speak to the Military commander of Dirkou. Of course we could get nowhere near his office. Our vehicle papers, passports and visas were all in order and we wanted to know what we were being held for.
The commander finally agreed to see us late that afternoon. It was rather like meeting Kurtz. We were shown into this darkened, blue room with padded doors. The commander greeted us and asked what our problem was as he had heard we were anxious! We explained that our vehicle papers, passports and visas were in good order and that we were uncertain what the problem was. He explained that the situation in the north is difficult, that tourists coming into Niger from the north were a problem and that the only way to enter this region was through Agadez where all the necessary paper work was available and where guides could be hired. He assured us that he was working on a solution for us. We asked if it was possible to simply deport us from Niger and we would leave immediately back to Djanet the way we had come (this had been our plan all along).
Fortunately we had managed to get permission to be taken to Bilma (45km to the south) to phone our embassies. With our vehicles still impounded we had to find a way of getting there. The distinction between who was military and who was a tour operator was extremely blurred. We were charged 30 quid one way for the trip although we returned with a tour operator anxious for our business. They were an unpleasant mafia-like gang and things turned sour shortly after they dropped us off. Interestingly, we were taken to the military commanders office in the military base in the same tour operator’s Landcruiser. In Bilma we managed to call the German consulate in Niamey (there is only an unofficial representative for British nationals who is a businessmen in Niamey – he didn’t want to know our case!). I managed to get a line out to my wife who was in Cape Town at the time. Megan phoned the German and British Embassies in South Africa as well as the German Consulate in Niamey, eventually being put on to the French Embassy in Niamey. This helped our case enormously, although we had no way of knowing she had achieved all this until our problems were nearly over.
Early in the afternoon of our fourth day in Dirkou we were told that we were being taken to Agadez. Remembering that the Commander of the military camp in Dirkou had told us that Agadez had all the services necessary to help us, we were relieved that the problems from their side seemed to be coming to an end. This soon changed when a Land Cruiser with a machine gun and live ammo chain mounted on the back rolled up. They were our escorts, so at least we didn’t have to take a guide! Our passports were still being held, so it was clear we were simply being transferred to Agadez. We protested that our 30-year-old series 2A was not up to the Dirkou to Agadez crossing of the Tenere, but we were told that there was no option: take the vehicle or leave it behind. It was do or die time for the 1950s transmission.
We left Dirkou at about 4pm. Although there was still problems to come, it was good to leave that stinking hot, dust riddled, barbed wire camp. The military Land Cruiser drove in front but waved us past in frustration at our pace. We drove on to the wells at Achegour which we reached by about 7:30 pm. It was amazing to be crossing the central Tenere although it was a pity it was not in circumstances of our own choosing. We drove through the night, following a star but basically heading west south-west. Again we didn’t bother with a GPS. With no sign of the military we decided to savour our freedom and drove on into the morning light taking a dune corridor about 30km north of Arbre de Tenere (make sure you are in the correct corridor if you want to see this place otherwise you need to back track about 30km). The going in the central Tenere is much softer than the northern Tenere. Our consumption dropped to about 3km per litre [8mpg]. We hardly ever got out of second gear although we didn’t ever get stuck. Where the sand is very soft all the truck tracks merge. Apart from a very high median strip the going is OK on the tracks.
We emerged from the sandy desert at about noon the next day to find the military waiting for us. The piste is up to 50km wide in the Tenere so they must have passed us in the night. We drove on to Agadez arriving in the early evening. The commander of the military camp in Agadez then met with us. He simply said that after a day’s rest we would be taken on to Niamey 900km away. This was probably the low point of the trip! After a few days we had another military escort down to Niamey. We left on Christmas day at 9am and arrived in Niamey at about 8pm. We had a young soldier in our Land Rover but separated from the others over the distance. We were held at the outskirts of Niamey as our passport were in the other vehicle. Then we decided enough was enough and I negotiated for a passport substitute, giving them some paper with work letter heads. From there we basically made a run for the French Embassy – the soldier protesting from the back of the Land Rover while we made out we didn’t know what he wanted us to do. We arrived at the French Embassy at 11:30 pm Christmas night and were greeted by the French Ambassador, the head of the French Military attache in Niger and the Head of the Internationale Police in Niger. They were all amazingly helpful. Details began to emerge that we were suspected spies/gun runners. The piste from Djanet to Chirfa is never crossed from north to south these days and so our arrival out of the northern Tenere had aroused much suspicion. There was also a suggestion that we had been picked up by a military patrol in the Northern Tenere. This might have been the commander at Chirfa trying to win himself a promotion, but it was certainly not how it happened as we had driven directly to the military checkpoint at Chirfa and found them all lazing about in the sun.
A meeting was set up with the Niger Chief of Police for the next day. The arrangements were made from the French Embassy shortly after midnight. We were very surprised when the meeting went ahead as it was taking place at lunchtime on the Islamic equivalent of Christmas day. It was at that meeting that our passports were returned. We had been held for nine days and had been required to drive about 2000km for the ceremony. The Chief of Police of Niger pointed out to us that he didn’t know why we were being held by the Military.
From Niamey we took the shortest route out of Niger – to Ouagadougou in Burkina Faso.
So if you want a trip across the Tenere from Dirkou to Agadez without the official guide, then just cross the northern Tenere from Djanet to Chrifa and the military is bound to oblige. The downside is that the trip goes at their pace! Our original trip had been planned to take in Libya, Niger and Algeria, so crossing the northern Tenere from south to north. Others have done parts of this route. Although the Niger military clearly don’t like tourists in the northeast, they seem to tolerate the route this way round. Our plans had to change when the Libyans refused our visas.
Route Genoa – Tunis – Nefta – El Oued – Hassi Messaoud – Hassi bel Guebbour (HbG) – Quatre Chemins – Gara Khanfoussa – Ain el Hadjadj – Illizi – Iherir – Djanet – Tadrart (Oued In Djerane, T-in Merzouga) – Bordj el Haouas – Serenout – Ideles – Hirafok – Assekrem – Ideles – Tefedest east (Garet el Djenoun) – Erg Amguid west – HbG – El Oued – Tunis. About 2500km off-road
Vehicles Land Cruiser HJ61, Land Cruiser HDJ80, Discovery Tdi and three 110 Defenders.
The film of this tour, Algeria 2000 (as seen on Sky TV), is featured on the Desert Driving dvd.
Ferry and Tunisia It’s still the same story on the Carthage as described in the book, hours of queuing for forms. Not all of us got our Permit de Conduire before the ship docked, but they were quickly obtained from the Customs booths once in the port.
Before that, at the police booths in the first shed it helps not to imply you’re transiting Tunisia fast for Libya or Algeria. To keep them happy make out you’re spending some time (and money) in Tunisia too. One of our group got tricked on the exchange; led to a certain bureau de change by one of the orange boiler-suited guys. Be alert, they’ll get you if they can. And another was told to pay 10 dinars for his Permit de C. (it’s officially 1d or free on the boat).
Fuel prices in Tunisia: Diesel 41d, petrol about 70d.
We covered the 470km from Tunis to Nefta in about 8 hours and stayed at the Hotel Marhala in the zone touristique west of town, opposite the Caravanserai. Half board was around 40d for two people. It’s a clean new hotel with unusually good food (but what isn’t after the Amilcar in Carthage?).
The Border We set off at 8.30am hoping to get a good start into Algeria but the border still took most of the day. The Tunisian frontier at Haouza was pretty straightforward. At Taleb Larbi on the Algerian side things move slowly. You do police forms for you and your car (white and green forms), move on to the Customs declaration (currency and valuables like video cameras or whatever you profer/they find). I was aware of the binoculars (jumelles) ban but was careless in hiding them and so they were confiscated with a receipt and returned on the way out. The others hid their binoculars better.
Each car was searched with a few suggestive jokes about whisky, but bury it deep and they won’t find it because you don’t get taken apart as can happen to locals. With your carte gris (vehicle logbook) you then fill out a Titre de Passage en Douane (TPD) form which eventually gets printed out.
Next is money changing. This seems to be a problem at Taleb Larbi. As Yves found, they claim not to have enough in the office and there’s no bank at Taleb. In our case I got 400FF’s worth but the others got only enough to buy insurance (about 200FF) and the last lot had none. It then transpired that the guy in the insurance office (‘SAA’) took FF anyway. This is probably best paid out of your declared FFs, not your stash.
While I was waiting, taxis drivers just past the gates offered to buy clothes and exchange black market money, offering around 10-20% more. If you’ve arrived low on fuel and you have insufficient official dinars you may need to buy some black to move on. The fuel station is just down the road. We left Taleb round 3pm.
At some stage of course you must buy official dinars (it looks good on your declaration – keep receipts). We did this at the bank in Debila, the first main town after the border. It had just closed but the guy saw the ten of us and generously opened up again to do a quick change for us all.
Stone throwing kids I’d read about the stone throwing villages west of the border on sahara.info.ch and sadly the reports were true. For once I was spared but the Discovery at the back got hit hard two or three times. Most of the kids wave but the ones who throw mean business as the heavy dents in the Discovery’s door proved. Had it gone through a window and struck the driver it would have been nasty. The last car is usually the target because there are no following cars to see who throws it, I suppose.
Unless you’re lucky, trying to catch the culprits or going to the police is a waste of time, but I guess that some irate tourist with a smashed window will do this some day soon and hopefully something will be done. On the ferry back I spotted a tourist car with a smashed window and heard of serious stone throwing in Kufra (Libya) and even at a local guide’s car in Dakhla (Egypt).
Laisser Passer and Gassi Touil convoy We spent the first night in Algeria in the sands just south of Touggourt (although there is the Hotel Oasis in town somewhere).
At Square Bresson (just a junction) there are masses of sand roses laid out for display. Soon after, at a checkpoint just before Hassi Messaoud we had to get our permit for the south – about an hour of writing everyone’s details down in Arabic. But the laisser passer was only requested a couple of times in the Gassi Touil over the next day or two. No one bothered with it or even passport checks south of the oil zone.
We got caught up in a military escort at the Gassi Touil checkpoint, halfway between Hassi Messaoud and Hassi bel Guebbour (HbG). It meant waiting until 3pm (or 9am) for a 100 km drive to another checkpoint or base and continuing the next morning at 10am to HbG. We were told only ‘Toyotas and fuel tankers’ must join the convoy as these have been preyed on by bandits (from ‘Mali’ or course). But while waiting plenty of Toyotas and tankers went through so who knows… It delayed us by about half a day so schedule this into your plans or go via Deb Deb (Libyan border route).
Unlike many other towns in Algeria, HbG is still the one-camel truckstop it was ten years ago. Just a couple of cafes and a checkpoint. There was no problem with us heading down to Bordj Omar Driss (stopping for a wash at the warm spring 2km from Hassi).
On the piste at last We left the tarmac at Quatre Chemins (checkpoint) and headed west along the very rough Amguid track, leaving it early down a sandy ramp towards the Gara Khanfoussa dune crossing and the 410-km-run (fuel to fuel) to Illizi. Once you find the entry point for GK and the old piste rising up over the dunes, with 1.5 bar the crossing is very easy (in our case perhaps helped by the recent heavy rains). There are many recent tracks winding their way over the easiest dunes and by following them you encounter no dangerous crests to speak of. After the first section you drive into the Gara Khan clearing and then keep on the west side to head directly south (a mistake we made when I did it ten years ago). Beware of sharp ‘crests’ as you drive back onto the old orange built-up piste on the way out of the dunes.
Once in the valley we passed Tabelbalet well (good water at 6m), tried to drive along the dunes on the east side (as advised because of flood damage on the track). But the dune banks were tiresome and we found the track OK. Next day we passed Ain el Hadjadj (ruins, good water) and followed the track right to the point where you cross the strip of dunes at around N26 38′. It helps to walk these first to work out the way through. Once you know which way to go it can be done in 10 minutes. No one got stuck except me!
From here east to Illizi is one of the most beautiful pistes in these parts, with the rosey dunes of the Erg Issaouane glowing to the north, a clear track and plenty of nomads camelling around. Just when you think it’s all over there is a steep sand slope to ascend about an hour from Illizi (waiting for GPS info). You’ll need to degonflate to get up this one – watch out for the rocks on top.
If you’re heading south via HbG then this piste certainly beats the tarmac to Illizi.
Illizi to Djanet In Illizi we were lucky enough to get fuel, water, bread and even a restaurant lunch (250d each) without getting hauled in to the police and army as Yves reports on point 11. If they don’t ask don’t offer. From here it was tarmac all the way to Djanet, covering in two hours what took a gruelling day a decade ago. We visited the village of Iherir (basic camping at the north end of the settlement – introduce yourself to the teacher, Ibrahim Kadri). The road to this canyon oasis is much improved (30 mins) and may well be tarmaced by next year.
We did the Tuareg tea thing with Ibrahim that evening and next morning went for a walk with a guide up the valley to see the guelta, gardens, rock art and the old Turkish fort (700D for our group of ten). We also left some old clothes with Ibrahim for the villagers.
Down the road, Dider looks as lovely a lunch/camp spot as ever and there is now fuel at what has become the small refugee town of Bordj el Haouas (checkpoint). You could do Illizi – Djanet in a day.
Djanet The new tarmac makes a lovely drive into Djanet – now you can look around at the countryside instead of the piste. There was no checkpoint on entering Djanet (though there were frequent night time roadblocks) or need to get permits for fuel, as before. We stayed at the only place in town: Hotel Zeribas (250d to camp per person, cars free, basic rooms around 500d) right in the town centre next to the post office. I was told the place was dump a year ago but it looked fine to me, with hot water, plenty of shade and good security. They’ll try and rope you in for a cous-cous meal in their restaurant, nothing special and overpriced at 500d pp. There are restaurants just out the door. The Hotel Tenere, miles south out of town, appeared to be closed or waiting for the Xmas charters. There’s a shadeless campsite near it, but it looked deserted too.
Guided excursion to the Tadrart I organised a guide with Agence Essendilene for a tour of the Tadrart (SE of Djanet) and Alidemma arch. We were advised that my proposed route would take much longer than planned (although a friend did the full tour a year ago in 4 days). It was a guide’s ploy to get more days out of us (a new one me!). In the end we settled on 4 days, Tadrart only at 1200FF a day. We also paid 25d per person per day in the national park at the park office/museum in town. Once we got to the Tadrart it was clear the guides were stringing out the route to fill 4 days, crawling along at times at 10kph. We would have rather driven at a normal speeds and camped early to enjoy time out of the cars, which we later did.
I was looking forward to the Tadrart but to be honest I was disappointed. The sandy drive out towards Mt Tiska and following oueds south of the corrugated Ghat piste was great (and driven at normal speeds). But Oued In Djerane was very dusty and for the price I paid, the region did not quite have the edge over the very similar (and contiguous) Akakus in Libya. Of course, unlike the Akakus, the Tadrart has zero tourists. The ochre dunes at T-in Merzouga were the highlight. Our guides Ahmed and Slimane were a good bunch of guys and, with an email contact in Germany, I may hire them again directly, at a more normal price.
Unfortunately one of our group was injured an accident on Day 3 and we had to return directly to Djanet. Amazingly the Defender nearly made it back in 2WD, at which point the severely traumatised transmission finally gave up the ghost. The doctors at Djanet hospital were extremely helpful and confidence inspiring. The injured driver eventually flew back to the UK via Algiers, with the aid of his travel insurance and looks like making a full recovery. The car was a write-off. There are no modern Land Rovers in Algeria, only ancient Series IIIs. Recovery to the coast was not worthwhile and so it had its contents and components ‘optimised’ and was left with the Customs. Vehicles cannot be sold in Algeria. The Douane huffed and puffed a bit about parts missing from their new ‘present’ (what a nerve!), but once they realise it’s more wrecked than it looks they won’t be quite so thrilled.
Telephoning from Djanet Trying to organise the repatriation exposed the near impossibility of telephoning out of Djanet, even just to the next town. The problem seems to be many new private telephones but just one inadequate satellite/radio dish. I was on the verge of driving 400km to Illizi (linked by land lines and therefore much more reliable), but had one more go at sundown – Ramadan eating time when all goes quite. However the insurance never managed to call back. So despite what I say in the book on p.276, a sat phone would have been useful here. (incidentally the hypothetically described Medevac procedure on the opposite page – outlined to me by a Loss Assessor – proved to be pretty accurate. Getting to a town/phone/hospital is the key. However, the insurance insist on proof that the claimant cannot continue the tour as well as a doctor’s report to prove they are safe to fly. This is what cost us days and why we gave up in Djanet – they could not get through).
Not surprisingly, GSM mobiles don’t work in Algeria (they do in Tunisia), but I was told that next year they will, even down in the south.
Route A2 to the Hoggar With the injured driver slowly on the mend, two cars from the group offered to help assist his recovery to the UK while I continued with the VX and Discovery to the Hoggar. We managed to get diesel at Bordj el Haouas (Ramadan shuts everything down at 3pm) and then headed south along the chain of mountains that end in the landmark of Tazat (an interesting area to explore for another time I think). Mistakenly thinking we needed to move fast to catch up for lost time, we drove from Tazat almost to Assekrem in a long 400km-day. As described in the book the junction at ‘Borne’ is still confusing and we dithered around a bit before heading resolutely SSW over confusing tracks with another lost G-Wagen crossing out bows. Soon we found the crucial cairns and balises that lead into the valleys all the way to Serenout fort (quick passport check) and on past Telertheba. Despite what it says on p.397, the southern route from Serenout (as marked on the IGN) seems to be the main way and is a lovely drive with the 2455m Telertheba looming ever larger up ahead. The sandy sections mentioned on A2 in the book didn’t cause any problems – one wonders if a flat sandy track improves with little passing traffic.
There is diesel only at Ideles from where a corrugated track leads to Hirhafok. At Hirhafok we turned south for Assekrem.
I knew this piste would be washed-out, but the closer we got to Assekrem the worse it got, to the point where one could barely believe anything less tha a Unimog could drive it. The last 50kms took 4 hours in Low Range with extremely slow and rocky going up to and beyond the Tin Teratimt Pass. From here on it was so damaged one could hardly work out the original track among the many deviations.
We had Assekrem to ourselves but there is a whole menu of prices there: parking, parking more than an hour, breathing, etc. The ‘chatty’ guy in charge tried to charge us for camping, too… To be fair it can’t be cheap to run the place and the lovely lodge is well worth an overnight (even at nearly 1000ds demi-pension) so you can see dawn over the plugs.
Tefedest East We returned down the track from hell (not so bad this time but I doubt any local would use it), fuelled up at Ideles, getting caught up with the bored police opposite the pumps for a tiresome “what’s your job, address, mother and father’s name” check. Backtracking, the turn off north for Mertoutek is clear if you’re looking for it and the track unrolls clearly, passing through some lovely spots to a turn-off at a big green sign a few kilometres before Mertoutek (as marked on the TPC). From here twin ruts lead north to Dehine and continue all the way along the east flank of the Tefedest range past the distinctive peak of Garet el Djenoun at its northern end.
The Discovery’s rear radius arm broke, probably as a result of the exertions of the previous day, and with me taking on the car’s fuel and water payload, my 61’s rear main spring also snapped a day later. The flat helper springs had also snapped off I discovered, but the second spring sort of winds round the mount so I could carry on without much problem. The other rear main spring has since broken. I never rated these two-year-old Ironman rear springs for heavy load carrying (front are fine) and will be getting some heavy-duty OMEs.
We had a day off by Garet and then continued north along the west of the Amguid erg, through the pass and northwest back to HbG, a clear if corrugated track marked with oil drums much of the way.
This is a lovely way back north, easy to follow with no GPS needed – 710kms from Ideles to HbG. The last 150km are a flat and dull and after the final rise, the eastbound track back to 4 Chemins is very rough but can be avoided by going via Bordj Omar Driss, I’m told.
Back north We just about managed to wangle our way out of a return convoy north, and continued slowly with the four-wheel steering Discovery all the way from Gassi Touil to Nefta in one very long day. Getting out of Algeria took two hours with no searches or money checks (the same as years ago), just very slow-witted officials at Taleb. At Haouza they asked for Green Card insurance (a first) so those without had to buy a week’s worth for 10Td. After 1200km of hairy handling with just a winch cable and a chain holding the axle in place, the Discovery got its radius arm welded in Nefta and we met up with the rest of the group at La Goulette for the ferry back to Genoa.
Weather Following the severe October rains west of Illizi, we were blessed with no daytime wind and amazing clarity the like of which I’ve never seen in the Sahara. You just could not help staring in amazement at the crisp profiles of the ergs and the mountains. Temperatures were mild too, even at 1800m in the Hoggar it only dropped to 7C.
We also saw plenty of dorcas gazelles which I’d never noticed before and of course thriving Tuareg nomad activity here and there which, along with the famously diverse landscape, is what makes Algeria so special.
Conclusion While it was a shame not to be able to complete the tour with the whole group, Algeria is as good as I remembered: the desert has plenty of tracks, as easy or as hard as you want, and all without excessive hassles with guides or permits. I would not choose to visit the Tadrart again, instead I’d rather explore places like Erg Tifernine and Tihodaine, and the Tazat and Tefedest mountains, as well as more southern routes linking Djanet with Tam. This will be the basis of my 2001 tour.
The most tiresome element is, as always, border stuff on the Carthage and at Taleb, but then if it was easy everyone would go here! I met Gerhard Gottler on the ferry back, updating an old Algerian guide and preparing a new Sahara-wide guide (in German). He agreed the southeast of Algeria is the ‘fillet mignon’ of the Sahara. With one easily obtained visa you get a lot for your money in Algeria, and you can always spice things up by pushing further south to the Tenere in Niger.
While the north and the far west may be risky, security in the southeast was never an issue. The gendarmes bombing around in their green Land Cruisers (a cut above the average army and police) inspired confidence and greeted us warmly, as did everyone.
Sahara Overland 