Out in Niger’s Tenere desert, east of the Aïr mountains lies the isolated massif of Adrar Madet. About 2.5 kilometres directly west of the 20-km long massif’s northern tip, a perfect stone circle lies in the sand. The circle is about 20m in diametre and some 600m from the circle and more or less at each cardinal point is a small arrow. You can see all five points here on Bing. You won’t see them on Google.
I’ve not been there but have known about it for years. Some speculate that it could a sacred pre-historic marker associated with prime meridians and ancient Egyptian knowledge, marking the ‘middle of North Africa’ (left). It is a huge coincidence that the circle is – within a few kilometres – exactly halfway between the equator and Ras Angela near Bizerte in Tunisia, the northernmost point of Africa. And it’s nearly directly south (178.4°) of Ras Angela, too. (Fwiw, it’s 64km west to the actual point directly south of Ras Angela, just south of Arakao on the edge of the Aïr.)
I err more towards the idea of a much less ancient aviation landmark from the colonial era, one of many located in the Sahara and still being found, including less ambiguous examples where names of nearby outposts are stencilled inside the circles. Fellow Saharaholic, Yves Rohmer confirms this fact. Rubbish from that era: tin cans, bottles of Pastis and so on, littered the Madet site. A similar circle exists in nearby Fachi, with that name stencilled in it and close to an old airstrip. Another plausible explanation made in the discussion linked above was a drop zone for parachute or dummy bomb training.
Not so mysterious after all then, but you do wonder, with the distinctive and isolated 20-km-long Madet ridge angled NW/SE and the Aïr massif to the west, what value the tiny 20-m stone compass actually added to aerial navigation? And why put an airstrip there if anywhere flat in the Sahara can be an ’emergency airstrip’. And would they have spent days building a parachute or bomb drop zone circle when a ring of smoking oil drums would have sufficed?
Another possibility I like to entertain is of a playful or geographically inclined Colonel stationed in the Sahara. He’d spent his lovelorn honeymoon in Bizerte and, looking at his Michelin map one hot day, noticed Adrar Madet’s central position. He decided it would be a good morale-building (or time-killing) exercise to have the circle and cardinal points marked in the desert for posterity. But as Adrar Madet is far from any route or useful resource, the purpose and meaning of his enigmatic earth sculpture has been lost in the sands of time.
That’s as may be, but what about the other similar but smaller cobbled stone circles I’ve seen in the mountains of southern Algeria (below)? Neither could be described as aviation markers. ‘Tombs’ said the guides, but they’re not like the usual pre-Islamic tombs of the desert.
Here’s another curious circle, spotted by a mate in the remote wastes of Timetrine, northern Mali, coincidentally one place where AQIM kept European kidnap hostages up to a few years ago.
19.455065, -0.422889; It’s a lot clearer on Bing Maps than Google. According to the old 200k IGN map, this is actually the brackish (saumâtre) well of T-in Kar (wrongly positioned on Bing), so marking it for pilots may make sense for emergencies.
You will see four points a couple of hundred metres from the circle set in the middle of a distinctively rectangular clay pan covering about half a square kilometre. But they seem so vaguely positioned as to be pointless. Some have speculated the four points may mark the fringes of a smooth landing strip.
The clay pan is on a more-or-less direct line between Timbuktu and Tessalit where there is also a ‘TES’ marker by the current airfield (left). In those days (pre-War) they would have navigated as much by landmarks as a bearing. Since around 2013 this whole area has been a war zone between mostly French forces under Operation Barkhane, having it out with AQIM and the like. So far this intervention has been as successful as similar operations in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Crossing the Sahara desert had long been an ambition of ours. In autumn 2001 we bought a Toyota HJ60 and arranged to take some time off work to do the trip. We wanted to cross the desert north to south, tarmac to tarmac, but didn’t want to do too much backtracking. We settled on attempting to head south through Tunisia and Libya to Agadez in Niger, returning north through Tamanrasset and the Hoggar to Tunis. This route had the advantages of enabling us to fully explore Libya, a country only just opening up to tourism, cross the remote Ténéré and make a return crossing via one of the classic trans-Saharan routes, itself only recently considered safe after the Algerian civil war and Tuareg rebellion. On January 10th 2002 we left home. Our first challenge was to replace a Michelin XS tyre which blew out on the French autoroute. We found one in Lyon at a considerable discount to what we had paid for new ones in the UK – we should have bought them all in France which would have saved us money and reduced the risks involved in driving on sand tyres on wet winter roads through Europe. The CTN Ferry, the Carthage, to Tunis was much less eventful and we rolled off at 4pm and spent the first night in Hammamet, 60 kms southeast of Tunis. Hammamet seems a good stopping point for people heading south. We got good value accommodation at the Résidence Hammamet (22 TD a double ~£11), had a large beer at the bar overlooking the Medina followed by a splash-out meal at Les Trois Moutons, reputably rated one of Tunisia’s top dozen restaurants. We then spent an enjoyable few days meandering down the east of Tunisia visiting the Roman ruins at El Jem, the Berber towns of Matmata, Chenini and Tataouine, the fort at Ksar Ghilane and the island of Jerba. Leaving Tunisia was reasonably straightforward although customs made us sit around for half an hour for no apparent reason before letting us leave. All the local cars heading to Libya were being pushed to conserve the last drops of fuel before they reached cheap Libyan supplies.
Libya Getting Libyan visas had been a rather tortuous and expensive affair. We hooked up with two other travellers, met through the Sahara-overland forum, and got Jamal Fteis of Arkno Tours to send an invitation for the four of us to the Libyan Embassy in London (US$100 per visa). Having got template stamps for an Arabic translation of our passports at the Passport Office, we got Hamed Kalifa to do the translations and manage the process through the Libyan Embassy (£130 per person for an Express Service). We got the visas back within five days, and given one of these was New Year’s day, we were pretty happy. We also used Arkno to help us get into Libya at the Raj Adjar border (US$270 – ostensibly 120 for the guide and 150 for the cost of paperwork). Nabil, our guide was excellent. He met us just after we left Tunisan customs and we waited while he did all the paperwork for us. This is all in Arabic and given the border officials weren’t especially welcoming and spoke very little English or French we were glad of his help. We got Libyan number plates, a carnet de passage with insurance, a permit which we assume is similar to a permit de conduire in Tunisia and a copy of the Arkno Tours invitation as well as stamps in our passport. Having paid Jamal in advance we had no money to pay and therefore did not change any money at the border. Customs was straightforward – no currency declaration and we were asked only to open the car doors and confirm that we weren’t carrying alcohol. The whole process took a bit over an hour. We then followed Nabil to Zuara (60km towards Tripoli), had a coffee with him, changed some money and said our farewells. The currency black market in Libya seems to have dried up. We had ignored the swarms of money changers waving wads of Libyan dinars in Ben Guerdane on the Tunisian side of the border offering 1.3 for a dollar. We got 1.45 with the money changer in Zuara. In Tripoli the money changers in the Medina wouldn’t go above 1.5 so we changed at the bank in the al Kabir hotel for 1.53. Despite what we had heard, we were surprised by how easy it was to get around Libya on our own. We were waved through most checkpoints and when asked to stop, it was only for the routine name, profession, father’s name etc. The only bureaucratic pain we encountered was the need to re-register with the police within five days. We ended up doing it on our own in Tripoli because we weren’t staying long enough at our hotel (the Qasr Libya) for them to do it for us. We followed the Footprint guide recommendation and got a taxi to the passport office (the Jawazat) – it would be impossible to find on your own. It was quite a palaver given the language difficulties but we eventually worked it out. You need to get two copies of two forms from a hut at the front gate (1 LD), have the forms filled in by a translator who sits under a tree outside the main building (2 LD) and then have your passports stamped in the office up the stairs round the side of the large building (5 LD). You can also get the registration done in Ghadames if you are going straight there and probably in most other major towns which may be more straightforward. We had stopped at the Roman ruins of Sabratha on the way to Tripoli and were keen to continue on along the coast to Leptis Magna before heading back to Ghadames. Both sets of ruins are really remarkable and definitely worth the detour however keen you are to get into the dunes. On the way to Ghadames we explored the ksour in the Berber villages of Yefren, Kabao and Nalut. Nalut’s ksar is a particularly fine example and has had some restoration work done recently. The Nalut Hotel, overlooking the ksar, is currently closed for renovations but should be a great place when it’s finished. We tried to get the Café Nassen el Jebel to put us up but although they were very friendly, they weren’t keen. We therefore had no option but to stay at Funduq Nasim (10 LD pp), which was disgusting. In retrospect, we should have driven on and camped. After exploring Ghadames, we crossed the Hamada al Hamra from Derj to Idri. Apart from straying onto a newer more southerly piste soon after leaving the tarmac which required a bit of slow cross-country to get back to the old piste, navigation was straightforward. Traffic was light and we didn’t see another vehicle the first day and only a couple of local cars on the second. The army at the remote Uweinat Whin checkpoint were particularly friendly, especially as we were able to lend them a 12mm spanner which enabled them to get one of their Land Cruisers going again! After a night in Sebha, we went on to the Dawada lakes in the Erg Ubari. We should probably have taken a guide here as this was our first real session in the dunes. Our first day was pretty eventful with 3 hours of digging and we strayed into the wrong gassi while trying to get to Gabraoun al Jadid and ended up driving directly to Um al Ma. The upside was a night at Um al Ma lake, a magical place. We returned the following morning and got the right gassi and made it to Gabraoun without further problem. The tracks to the northern side of Um al Ma from Gabraoun had been covered over by the wind but we found the route after a walk and held our breath down the steep descents to the lake. When we finally got back to the Africa Tours campsite that night, we were exhausted but exhilarated at what had been a remarkable introduction to dune driving. The following day we went on to see the prehistoric rock art at the Wadi Mathendous. We asked the caretaker of the Germa museum about permits for the site and he sold us two tickets for 6 LD. The police at the Km 128 checkpoint didn’t recognise these and wanted us to have a permit from the Germa police but they let us through anyway. We shared the Wadi with a pair of howling jackals that night. We motored on to Ghat for a tour of the Jebel Akakus. The road to Ghat is very fast with the exception of the last 50 km which is broken up. The Akakus was the only place we used a guide in Libya. It is compulsory and would be very difficult to do solo given the numerous control posts in the mountains. We did a three day circuit with a guide from Awiss tours, based at Mohammed’s campsite in Ghat. Awiss Tours are a family of Tuareg who clearly know the area well and entertained us royally. Camel tours appear to be their specialty. The landscape was stunning and we think we saw most of the highlights but four days would have been more comfortable. Our only gripe was that our guide, Cheick, the youngest brother, wouldn’t stop talking and he became very irritating. We really enjoyed Libya. The desert scenery was fantastic. We felt perfectly safe driving on our own, camping where and when we wanted. The people were exceptionally friendly and despite the difficulty of getting visas and getting across the border, we didn’t feel the bureaucracy too stifling. The downsides are soulless hotels, a lack of vibrancy in the towns and difficulty in communicating in languages other than Arabic.
Al Gatrun to Agadez – the Marlboro Piste Throughout our time in Libya we had been trying to gather information on the safety of the border areas and routes south. It was difficult to get reliable information and we received a whole range of advice on the security of the Marlboro piste. We also had the option of crossing the border to Djanet in Algeria or, allegedly, even going directly to Agadez across the Northern Ténéré from Ghat. However, we resolved to stick to our plan and returned to Sebha before heading south to Murzuk. Turning off the main Murzuk-Timsah road, we knew we were heading into frontier territory. The tarmac roads in Libya are generally in good condition but this section is appalling and after a few kilometres we took to the sand to save our suspension – the eastern side of the road was easiest to drive on. It took us nearly 3 hours to get the 150 kms from the junction to Al Gatrun. We arrived in Al Gatrun to find there was no fuel there or further south in Tajarhi and no prospect of any arriving in the near future. Although we could have got a few jerries from truck drivers in the town, we decided to do a return trip the following day to Zuweila to get the additional 150 litres we required – another day on the road from hell. In Al Gatrun, we were soon directed to Mohammed Tager who lives in the old Italian fort on top of the hill in the centre of town. Mohammed has done a good job keeping the place in good repair and caters for the few tourists visiting the town. He put us up in the fort and charged us 17 LD per night (5 LD per person and 7 LD for the car). Mohammed also helped us with the exit formalities which were as convoluted as the entrance. We managed to negotiate three different sets of police, customs and immigration in about three hours. The Tourist police required two photocopies of our passport and visas (Libyan and Nigerienne) which we were able to do in town. We didn’t get our 50 LD deposit for the car number plates back from customs despite our protestations. We were even forced to sign forms to say we had received the money! Whilst in Al Gatrun we received a formal warning from the Tourist Police that we could have problems as a single vehicle, hardening our resolve to find a travelling companion. With very few tourists in Libya as a whole, let alone Al Gatrun, it quickly became apparent that going with a big Mercedes 6×6 truck was our only option. These huge trucks usually leave in the early evening as it takes them a whole day to unload, have their cargo inspected by customs, and reload. We introduced ourselves to the driver of one and he was very happy for us to join them as if it was the most natural thing in the world for two tourists in a TLC to want to travel with his truck. We rolled out of town at 4pm but didn’t get more than 10km before stopping. We waited until nightfall and then the lorry was repacked with further cargo loaded on, beyond the view of customs. Packing continued through the night and we eventually headed off the following morning to Tajarhi. The going was painfully slow. We averaged 30 kph as the Mercedes groaned under the weight of its load and the 75 returning immigrant workers perched precariously on the roof. The sand fields beyond Tajarhi were a graveyard for trucks. We passed four that had been broken down for days. The occupants of our truck enjoyed throwing cigarettes and dates to the stricken passengers and watching the ensuing scramble. We had to choose between driving in the firm truck tracks with the risk of bottoming out or making our own tracks in the sand and getting stuck. We used both methods and got through needing only two quick recoveries. Once through the sand fields we kept driving along a rockier piste before stopping at midnight for the night. We continued our slow progress the following day on a much more westerly route than the piste shown on the IGN map. By lunchtime we reached a Libyan military base with a temporary airstrip (N22° 47.8 E14° 01.3). Customs officers were in evidence and serious negotiations were required to prevent the Mercedes being unloaded for a further inspection. By early evening we reached a further Libyan army checkpoint right on the border (N22° 39.2 E14° 05.4) where we were warned of local bandit activity and were advised to stop for the night. We pulled up just off the piste within sight of the army base and were joined by a further Mercedes – other trucks however continued past us during the night. We finally reached Madama by lunchtime the following day and formally entered Niger a full three days after leaving Libya. In Madama, a convoy of five empty cigarette lorries and two military Toyota pickups had just left for Seguedine. We were keen to join this faster group and tried to get through the formalities as quickly as possible. Customs charged us 20,000 CFA for a laisser passer – with no exchange facilities, they let us pay US$30. The police gave us an arrival stamp and we ended up giving them US$10 in lieu of a random demand for 10,000 CFA so we could get away and catch up with the convoy which we did after a frantic 12km dash. The terrain here was much easier and the lorries charged south at high speed quickly losing the army escort after one of the Toyotas got a puncture. We regrouped at the Mabrous well and then it was the turn of the Toyotas to tear off, leaving us behind when we stopped to make repairs to one of the lorries. We were left wondering whether there was any logic to the escort at all. After a lengthy stop to fix an ailing lorry transmission, we kept going through the night to arrive at the Dao Timmi military base at 2am. The piste between Mabrous and Dao Timmi is rough and heavily rutted with lots of risks of bottoming out. The lorries were pushing on in terrain that was much easier for them. We narrowly escaped being shunted from behind by a brakeless lorry several times. We descended to the picturesque oasis at Seguedine, with small fort and saline, around lunchtime on the fifth day. There we were forced to employ a local Tubbu guide, Laouel Barka, in line with the current stipulation that all tourists should be accompanied by a guide when traveling in the Ténéré (15,000 CFA per day). Although initially exasperated by this demand, given we already had an escort and only wanted to continue for a further half day to Dirkou with the same convoy, we decided to use it as an opportunity to explore Djado and we waved goodbye to the trucks. The local army chief, Lieutenant Ahmoudou Bossi, who had tried to help us reach a compromise with Laouel, invited us to spend the night in his compound and arranged for us to do a day trip to Djado without obtaining the requisite “feuille” in Dirkou. The following day we set out with Laouel to Chirfa, Djado, Djaba and Orida. The hassle factor seemed high in Chirfa and we were glad of having a local guide. Even though Djado is the most famous sight, we thought it definitely worth the extra effort to make it to Djaba and Orida and were disappointed we could not spend more time here. The army say that this area is now free of rebel activity and the Tubu checkpoint before Orida has gone – they wanted to make sure we weren’t going up to the plateau though. We bought two jerries of diesel in Chirfa on the way back (US$26 in lieu of 17,000 CFA), continued on to Seguedine for another night with the Lieutenant, and on to Dirkou with Laouel. In Dirkou, we got a “feuille” to cover the rest of the journey to Agadez for 20,000 CFA – the price seems absolutely random. We stayed at Jerome the fuel seller’s compound. Jerome died in late 2001 and the place is now run by his son, Sergeant Boubacar Mohamed. We paid 65,000 CFA for a meal, a place to sleep and 200 litres of diesel. We thought this was generous as our friendly Libyan trucks had by now turned up in town and were willing to sell us a drum of diesel for 45,000 CFA. We also took the opportunity to grab a beer at Mariama’s Bar, our first for weeks. Laouel, who had turned out to be somewhat mercurial, decided he did not want to continue to Agadez and we were also happy to be rid of an unstable character. Sergeant Boubacar arranged a new guide for us and we visited Bilma and then continued to Agadez via Achegour and the Arbre (50,000 CFA for the guide for however long it took). We were taken on a route that followed the balises between Kafra and Achegour. The sand was pretty soft and the going was slow at high revs and high fuel consumption. 50km after the Achegour well we came across a broken-down truck with 70 people who had run out of water. In exchange for some diesel we did a return trip to the well and brought them 250 litres of water. After spending the night with the truck, we continued on to the surreal Arbre de Ténéré. The section between the dunes just southeast of Adrar Madet and the vegetation-covered dunes close to the Arbre was very fast on hard flat sand. We spent the final night at the small Tuareg settlement at Barghot. We had bought a gazelle during the day so feasted on gazelle stew, a great change from tuna pasta. Arriving in Agadez, it had taken us ten days to cover the 2200 kilometres from Al Gatrun with remarkable traveling companions and fantastic scenery. We were tired but triumphant.
Agadez to Tunis We celebrated our successful desert crossing by booking into the Pension Tellit. This Italian-owned small hotel with only five rooms overlooking the Grande Mosque is beautiful and was a great escape from the stresses of travel – we paid 30,000 CFA per night for Room 4. The linked Restaurant Pillier is also excellent and equally expensive. We used our time in Agadez to rest up and prepare for the next leg. We were able to refill a Camping Gaz 907 cylinder in the market but the internet has yet to come to town – the tour agencies are supposedly trying to organise the establishment of a connection. We were aware of recent robberies, including the armed carjacking of a TLC from an Italian woman in the centre of Agadez in January, and felt nervous about security. There were unsavoury characters hanging around both the Hotel d’Aïr and Pension Tellit wanting to “buy” our car. The hotel organise a couple of policeman to sit outside to keep husslers away from their guests so they are also clearly concerned. We stored the car in the hotel’s secure compound on the outskirts of town. We also used the well-established French-run Dunes Voyages to get us a Tuareg guide for a two-and-a-half day trip in the Aïr through Timia and Iferouane, ending in Arlit (70,000 CFA including feuille) and left discretely early one morning. We were a little disappointed with the Aïr mountains. The driving was hard over slow rocky terrain – it took 8 hours to do the 235km to Timia. The mountains and irrigated gardens were beautiful however and maybe we were just tired. We were told of continued bandit activity in parts of the Aïr, but our guide, Issaka, was excellent and we felt fine – maybe we just got lucky though. We arrived in Arlit on the morning of the third day and didn’t stop. Entering town, we were hassled by a policemen because we hadn’t bought any insurance but the police in the centre were more friendly and let it pass given we were on our way out. We were now on our own again. The piste to the Assamaka border post was fast and easy to follow and we breezed through the exit formalities. There was one money changer selling Algerian dinar and euros. The border area here is annoyingly off the edge of the Agadez and Tamanrasset IGN maps and with no waypoint we just headed north following tracks. We ended up missing the border post and drove straight into In Guezzam unchallenged. With the help of a local we tracked back the 10 or so kms and found the checkpoint (N19° 28.9 E05° 47.5). Entering Algeria was easy with very friendly officials. We got the usual stamps, certificate and did a currency declaration. Customs asked us about cigarettes and “red” (whisky), but only wanted to check the chassis tied up with the number on our Vehicle Registration Certificate and didn’t do a full search. We were told to buy insurance in Tamanrasset which we subsequently did at CIAR near the Tourist Office (2,112 Algerian Dinar for 10 days). There was no fuel at In Guezzam but we could have got some at the police station if we needed it – this time we were prepared and had enough to get us to Tam. There is lots of evidence of roadbuilding between In Guezzam and Tam with three different companies working on different sections. We didn’t find any ready to drive on and used the piste until 40 kms before Tam. We found route finding and driving very easy and we did Arlit to Tam in under two days including a night on the piste in Algeria. In Tamanrasset we stayed at the Gite Saharienne run by the Bahedis. We had used their agency, Agence Tarahist, to get a certificate d’herbegement faxed to the Algerian Consultate in London so they would issue our visas. We had tried just a straight faxed reservation from a hotel but the Consulate wanted a certificate. Agence Tarahist charged us 330 CHF (205 Euros) for the invitations and a night’s dinner, bed and breakfast at the their lodge. This seems expensive in retrospect, but at the time, we were quite happy to pay for Agence Tarahist’s efficiency when we needed it. The lodge is also a great retreat and the food exceptional. There were long queues for diesel in town but we were ushered to the front, afterwards leaving to do the Assekrem circuit, up by the Afîlal guelta and down via Ilâmane. Sunset and sunrise at Assekrem was fantastic and we had to adjust to being part of a group of tourists for the first time on the trip. The way down was very slow on an atrocious track but it was just about manageable (5 hrs). One of our side bars broke off but we put it down to 3,500 km of piste. After a four hour delay waiting for diesel in Tam, we set off the next day on the easterly piste via Temékerest to Ideles. We got only a little beyond the Temékerest “waterfalls” before our exhaust began to give us major trouble, presumably another casualty of the return from Assekrem. Makeshift repairs the following morning didn’t last so we returned to Tam to get a new section brazed on. When we finally got going, we found the piste to Djanet very enjoyable. We passed through Ideles (diesel available, no petrol) and we spent a stunning evening by a small dune bank under Telertheba mountain. We made Djanet the following day via the Erg Admer. Driving in the erg was pretty easy but we were glad of 1.2 bar to get up the first ascent. We stayed in the Hotel Zeriba in Djanet (1,200 AD for double with breakfast). The place was full of tourists which seemed to reflect lack of alternatives rather than the quality of the accommodation. Short of time we got the Zeriba to organise a one day walk on the Tassili Plateau to Jabbaren, supposedly the second most important site of prehistoric rock art (5,700 AD for the two of us with a guide). The walk was beautiful and if you are time-constrained, there is a lot of art in a small area. One day was manageable – we left at 0600 and were back by 1730, tired but certainly not shattered. We didn’t want to spend another night at the Zeriba so camped in the dunes just outside Djanet. We then headed north via Illizi and the piste to HBG. Driving out of Illizi, we found it hard to locate the piste and found ourselves too close to the dunes which ended up in difficult terrain. We tracked back and once we found the piste the route was obvious all the way. We found the driving slow on day one but enjoyed the opportunity to spend more time in the dunes. We sped through the Gassi Touil and after a night in Hassi-Messaoud went on to the Tunisian border. Stone-throwing kids were well in evidence all the way from Touggourt to the border. We avoided damage through a combination of speed and screaming at kids about to hurl rocks. The police are well aware but don’t seem to want to do anything about it. Leaving Algeria was slow with incompetent immigration and customs officers but we made it through in an hour and were back to the comparative civility of Tunisia. We mosied back to Tunis and reflected on our travels at Restaurant Dar el-Jeld in the medina, a fittingly grand place to end what was a remarkable and unique journey.
Update 20 years later: no one’s been here for years and years
My fascination with the Tenere probably started after reading the alluringly sparse route descriptions in the old Sahara Handbook in the early 1980s.
Several stillborn attempts followed, resulting in a clearly inadequate description in my own Sahara Overland guidebook of 2000. I decided it was time to cough up two grand on a tour and enjoy a relaxed recce that wouldn’t put my own Toyota at risk (there was a high chance of losing your car in this area at the time).
No Brit operators covered this part of the Sahara and, looking at various itineraries and prices, I chose Suntours, a German operator long established in the region. I may have communicated better with a French-speaking group, but Suntours’ 22-day itinerary looked the most thorough, including the lost valley or Enneri Blaka deep in the Djado plateau, with its mysterious submarine formation. (Vintage helicopter video bottom of the page). I met the group in Paris and we flew straight down the Tanezrouft (no window seat, alas…), reaching Niamey at sunset where it transpired half of the group of nine’s baggage was missing. We had to hang around next day in the hope that the bags might turn up from Abidjan that evening. Like most sub-Sahara capitals, Niamey isn’t what you come to Africa for, but for 20p, the museum was a bargain, while brochettes at sunset on the terrace of the Grand Hotel is the done thing. That night a few more bags turned up and, with only three missing, it was decided to take the 1000-km drive to Agadez; the luggageless ones would have to make do. This long drive is a drag. Flying direct to Agadez from Paris would be ideal, though I can see why Suntours don’t trust the Le Pointe charters. The American tour that got robbed at Temet (more below) suffered a typical, late Le Pointe cancellation on the way out, then all had to pay up for a scheduled flight. Glad I missed that trip! As it happens, the night drive in two minibuses wasn’t so bad as most of us could stretch out on a bench seat and get some sleep. Leaving around midnight, we got to Agadez thirteen hours later for lunch at Ewaden Voyages’, the local partner of Suntours. Soon after, two old Sixty-series Land Cruisers and a Patrol were loaded up and we headed for the hills.
AïR I’d been warned that I might find the Aïr a rough and dull drive – not the real Tenere. In fact, it was quite satisfying on the way out at least, when it was all new. Out here Tuareg dudes really do wander around from village to village on camels with their takouba swords by their side! I’ve never encountered the semi-sedentary Kel Aïr Tuareg before, but now realise how much Tuareg mythology might be based on the colourful culture of this accessible clan.
We camped in a oued (“never camp in a oued!”) where Ibrahim cooked the first of many spectacular meals. How long could this last I wondered, and sure enough, by the time we got to the Kaouar in the east, things got a bit plain, but his outstanding lunchtime salads were works of art, composed of fresh ingredients for much longer than you’d expect in fridge-free motoring. Another great aspect of this tour was letting us loose on foot while the morning (and sometimes lunchtime) camp was packed up by the crew. With a bit of luck you could get a quiet couple of miles under your soles before the cars caught up.
No one could have complained too much time was spent cooped up in the cars, although the constant attention the old dogs needed added frequent cig’ breaks. On the whole trip I doubt if we drove more than half an hour without one car stopping to fix something. That said, it was soon clear these drivers drove their vehicles with great care; a first for me in Africa. I was in the Patrol where Madougou treated the machine like his own. I’d have been happy for him to drive my car (and if you know most desert drivers, that’s quite an admission!). The southern Aïr is a Sahel of low reddish hills which darken and rise towards Timia and the volcanic extrusions thereabouts. Settlements and nomadic encampments focus round the gravely oueds, some with nearby gardens and enclosures. You’re never far from others in the Aïr.
With the frequent stops, I thought we were hung out to dry with the cadeau-crazed village kids a little too long for comfort, as if it was pre-arranged that we would crack and splash out on Tuaregobilia. By the time we got to Timia I sensed the group had had enough, and being sent off on a futile tour of this unremarkable village had us all pining for the desert.
“Do you know Alex Marr?” a young Timia boy asked me in French. Well, as it happened I did. I’ve never actually met him, Alex contributed to and was on the front cover of my fourth Adventure Motorcycling Handbook. He came through here on his way to Bilma in 1999, thinking he could ride from there to Lake Chad because of a black line on the Michelin map; not the first to make that mistake. (I noticed Alex also entered the Dakar Rally in 1988). I had the novel experience of receiving a cadeau to pass on to Alex. AMH4 While deflecting vendors’ parries I got talking with a French visitor to Timia and an elder Targui, and asked about the robbery at Temet dunes a couple of weeks earlier. Who were the culprits and had they been caught? The old Tuareg shyly slid behind his cheche at the mere mention of the event, while the French guy realised it was associated with the ‘Madame Tortoise’ (Turtle Tours) he’d heard so much about in the village. She used Dunes Voyages, an established Agadez agency, but you can see from that link, Irma Turtle’s customers were not a happy bunch, even when they weren’t being robbed. I’d already asked Hans our guide about it, but he’d pretended not to understood me. I never found out if the rest of our group knew of the raid (known chiefly to the Saharan online community), and if they were bothered about it. Two months later another tourist group like ours was turned over close to where we’d spoken.
The volcanic geology around Timia is interesting, including the cascade which reminded me of Mutujulu Springs running off Uluru (Ayers Rock). At this beauty spot an orderly line of vendors sat behind a line of rocks imposed by the European agencies on pain of dropping the stopover from their itineraries. Next day we visited the surprisingly substantial ruins of Assode, the old capital of the Aïr before Agadez became pre-eminent a few centuries ago. With that ticked off, by lunch time we watched the women watering their goats at Tchintoulous well, enjoying more relaxed shopping opportunities as they discreetly laid out their wares near us. Then, at the top end of the Zagado valley we spent out last night in the Aïr facing the Taghmert plateau (below).
ARAKAO TO THE TENERE TREE We were now traversing the Neolithic borderlands of the western Tenere and soon pre-Islamic tombs became discernible on the hillsides. Stops hereabouts revealed the usual Neolithic artefacts and at one point I found four grinding stones (left), their easily found milling stone (or moule) plates having long ago been grabbed by collectors. Some consider the collection of Stone Age artefacts tantamount to grave robbery, but to me they’re just non-degradable Neolithic relics that tell a story. Finding them is like beach combing and a lot more satisfying than haggling over a Tuareg cross. And it’s more acceptable that pinching Tuareg heirlooms like swords and camel saddles from impoverished villagers. But, although the collection of artefacts was not discouraged on our tour, I’ve changed my mind on this practice now. Leave these things in the desert. In many countries it has become illegal to remove them.
A tongue of jumbled dunes spill through the mouth of the cirque of Arakao (above), dividing the easily visited south side from the less accessible northern half. We camped on the crest of the dune cordon and spread out to explore. As one would expect, a sheltered site like Arakao was inhabited during Neolithic times and probably long before that. We visited several tombs in the southeast corner and kicked about for more artefacts, usually made from the distinctively green flint-like jasperite found in this region.
Hans, always energetically scanning the sands, found me an amazing rod of fulgarite in the dunes: a brittle, pencil-thin tube of petrified sand caused by a lightning strike. Since I first found some on the edge of Algeria’s Oriental Erg years ago (without then knowing what it was), this stuff has always amazed me: lightning turned into stone: a true wonder of nature. Walking back from a dune summit I found Hans’ spot and excavated another slender undisturbed twig over half a metre long. Who knows how deep it went.
Traditionally Ibrahim always baked a pizza at Arakao we were told, keeping up the circular theme. A thick and chewy Margarita the size of a Land Cruiser wheel is quite an achievement using just enamel trays and embers, and while we all gave him full marks for audacity and presentation, sadly the dough didn’t quite rise.
We cruised down the east side of the Aïr, stopping to admire the amazingly and bizarre engravings at OuedTanakom and Anakom, at times driving continuously over stones all fashioned into tools over the millennia. One can visualise the Neolithic settlements spread out by a long-gone river running out of the mountains, while wild game and herds grazed on the plains of the Tenere, now covered in sand. At ‘Long Stones Pass’ we could make out the mass of Adrar Madet and the Erg Brusset to the east, and later that afternoon finally shook off the Aïr’s margins and headed across the serir for the Tree.
THROUGH THE ERG TO BILMA To finally see the Arbre du Tenere after reading about it over the years was quite a buzz. These days there’s a lot more there than just a bad well and the old metal tree (the original is in Niamey Museum looking as interesting as a bag of crisps). Some Japanese recently built a wacky pylon, and there’s the usual litter, other structures and a water tank. There are even a couple of new trees (“tropical species, pah!” exhorted our biologist guide, Hans) which you’re asked to water when you are there. As Tony Gastel reported in 2000, the water is far from ‘tres mauvais’ as the Michelin map states, but it is very deep, taking three men to haul up the bucket nearly 150 feet. While they watered the cars, we had a chance to wash and then headed along the dune corridors towards Fachi.
At first we drove over irritating tussocks and I had the impression we were going south. A lunchtime GPS check validated my preternatural sense of direction; Abdullai the local guide having deliberately dropped a few parallel corridors to pick one which lead directly to Fachi.
Soon the vegetation disappeared and we were passing among the low, pale yellow dunes of the northern Tenere Erg with very few tracks and no balises. To me, sat in the passenger seat, the driving and navigation of this famous route appeared relatively easy, with the odd bogging easily reversed. Occasionally we came across an old azelai camp with masses of camel dung and other rubbish, and a little later some abandoned kantus (salt pillars) with the dead camel nearby. But we encountered no actual caravans as Tony had last October: the azelai season.
Some gravel pans in the corridors harbour the odd patch of Neolithic chippings,. We found tiny arrowheads, something I thought all but impossible with casual fossicking. The fine craftsmanship and variety of these centimetre-long spikes is nothing short of amazing. They may only be a century old of course, but are probably much older. I imagine like moules, they were found and reused for centuries and centuries.
We camped in the lee of a dune. Next morning we approached Fachi – lovely in Jean Luc Manaud’s famous image, but well camouflaged below the Agram escarpment. The sand-filled streets and tamarisk trees give Fachi a nice, ex-colonial appearance. This was Kanuri country, not Tuareg, though Hans suggested that Kanuri are merely Tubus of the Kaouar region of eastern Niger. I have read that Kanuri (‘from Kano’) like to deny this. We got watered at the well, checked in with the sultan who was entertaining a Spanish TV crew, and then went for a look around the old town escorted by the sulky sultan’s son. Although I find old ksars as emblematic of the Sahara’s romance as anyone, the giant urns inside the old fort was about as interesting as Old Fachi got.
Back by the cars, we were left to stew among the cadeau kids until nice and tender. I went for a wander up a street, looked down an avenue and got spotted whereupon a tidal wave of kids surged towards me. I wouldn’t be surprised if each of us was asked 50-100 times for bics or whatever. It’s all part of being a tourist in Africa, but what was the delay? Having had a quiet time since Timia a few days ago, it was clear that the group was getting irritated by this.
After a visit to the salt evaporation pits (salines) round the back, and lunch in the palms north of town, we headed up a sandy pass in the Agram escarpment where the sand softened noticeably. All the cars struggled and Kaiou’s red HJ60 – which at the best of times smoked like a Ukrainian steelworks – started frying its clutch. We could smell it burning from our car, but he kept pushing and eventually it disintegrated down to bare metal. Luckily Abdullai has a spare and, with the aid of ropes, two jacks and some legs, Kaiou’s Cruiser was running again four hours later.
The cars drove in strict formation. Abdullai up front, Madougou with us in the Patrol and Kaiou last. But Madougou was a bit slow and sometimes Kaiou got ahead, belching his unburned black puke all over us. Sensing our latest irritation, they halfheartedly tried to fix it later, but the car ran so what’s the matter? Worn diesel injector pumps are a problem in the Sahara, and the mixture on his car was far too rich. Kaiou ran out of fuel before Bilma. With the ridge of the Kaouar behind it, Bilma is easy to spot. I had the impression that crossing from the Tree was relatively easy. The corridors line up just right and in good visibility you can’t miss the Agram or Kaouar escarpments. Finding the Tree without GPS if coming from the east would not be so easy, but even then, grasses and converging tracks would be a clue that you’re close. Hans described Bilma as a dead town and I find Tony’s figures of 12,000 population rather unlikely (for the massive Bilma district, maybe). We stopped at a garage for water. An HJ75 was getting fresh oil and a 109 Land Rover waited outside: thwo classic Saharan cars. On this side of the Tenere you also find plenty of Nigerians washed up on the road to Libya and so English is spoken, but as in much of West Africa, everyone speaks several languages. Our guides chatted in a mixture of Tamachek, Arabic, French, Djerma, Hausa and Tuburi (or ‘Kanuri’). With the jerries full, we drove round to the fort to hand in our passports and pay the provincial tax. Out here you officially need stamps in Bilma, Dirkou and Chirfa which takes up a good page or two of your passport. Near the fort are a couple of market stalls full of Nigerian goods and junk sold by Hausas who I get the impression, are the ‘trading Moors’ of this side of the Sahara. Knowing this, it made sense to learn that the famous Bilma salt caravans or azelais are organised and managed by Hausa or Peul, not Tuareg, though Tuareg camels and guides are hired for the job. And the good news is that these caravans are far from the dying tradition many think. Tony’s reports of seeing several caravans was no fluke.
DIRKOU TO DJADO AND ORIDA Next day we hit Dirkou, a thriving frontier town that’s the true capital of the Kaouar. Nigerians and other desperadoes head north on top of Mercedes lorries to a life of slavery in Libya, only to get sent back following one of Gaddafi’s purges, sat on the piles of subsidised or stolen goods on the same Mercedes gros porteurs that pass daily through Dirkou.
By the compound where Andy and Richard spent their Dirkou detention, is a Tubu technical shot to smithereens and left as a reminder that the government won that rebellion. Passports handed in, I had a choice to go see Jerome or check out the town. Lively though Dirkou looked (and free of hassle, I was told later), I went to pay my respects to the late Diesel Prince of the Tenere, finding a friendly old man instead of the money grabbing Shylock I’d expected. He can afford to smile, selling Libyan fuel at a 1000% mark up, but still a tad less than the official Nigerien price. A big Mercedes was unloading and I got talking with the driver who originally came from Djelfa in northern Algeria, while his two boys bounced oil drums off their heads, Tubu daggers tucked in their belts. He was full of praise for ‘Le System Mercedes’ but didn’t have much to say about the run down from Sebha that I could understand; some diesel may have seeped into our brains over the years.
Although 75 years old, Jerome was lucid and delighted to meet a Brit, claiming to have fought for Monty at El Alamein and all the rest. He rolled off a string of generals’ names and dates which sounded plausible, but later Hans suggested had I been German it would have been the same story under Rommel. In fact, a mate who has since met Jerome found out he is indeed an Anglophile, proudly showing an old WWII photo of himself in a Brit uniform. Gerbert van Der Aa, another S-Files Tenere contributor, interviewed Jerome for a Dutch paper a year or two ago before he died in 2003. Back with the group, Luggageless Erich had bought himself a Hausa outfit, complete with hat. Erich was not all there following a bungled operation in his early forties, and was quite a laugh in a subversive, boyish way. Vendors zoned in on his naïveté and he ended the trip, grinning and draped in Nomadobilia.
The landscape of the Kaouar was a bit grubby for my liking. We dropped into the salt works north of Dirkou where natron salt was mined. I noticed Madougou took some with his chewing tobacco, as they do in these parts. By the time we got to Yeguebba – the northern end of the Kaouar escarpment – the colour of the sand was a pleasingly orange again. We stopped to collect some firewood (there’s plenty of firewood here and masses in the Aïr) and drove across the soak where the last car mired. What a mess, the quicksands wobbled like jelly and it makes you appreciate how easy and clean dry desert sand is to get out of. But with sand plates and a tow, the car was out and we spent the night nearby in the rocks where a fennec (desert fox, sort of) popped in for a visit. Since Bilma it had become clear our drivers were getting tired and probably anxious at being out on the far side of the Tenere in their old bangers. Their banter became restrained and you could see they longed to be back in their own territory. We were having an easy time of course, waited on hand and foot and with nothing to worry about other than, for some, grabbing the best camp spot for the night. I couldn’t join in the evening chatter but it didn’t bother me, though I can now say ‘schpoon’ in German. Anyway, with time to myself I had a fresh batch of hare-brained schemes to nurture through their delicate development stage. Years ago, I recall reading in the Sahara Handbook about the importance of finding Pic Zumri to get to Seguedine from the north and now, there it was and the village laid out in the dip below. Here, the Adadez truck piste from Achegour splits, heading northeast behind the Djado plateau for Tumu and Libya or even east for Chad – a long closed route. Following a visit to Seguedine’s checkpoints, multi-coloured salines, and some gentle bartering with the wily Tubu women, we set off northwest across stony plains, passing petrified wood, the landmark of Oleki peak, and stopping for lunch at Sara ‘oasis‘. A hot wind was blowing from the southwest today, hazing the sky and raising the temperature to the high 30s. But lunch with Suntours was never less than a shady two-hour siesta, finished off with three glasses of ‘chai’. On this occasion Abdullai resoldered his burst radiator on the fire. Earlier, I noticed he’d tried to use clay dust as we’d done in Algeria years ago. I can report that bodge is no less effective at the hands of a wizened Tuareg desert driver than in mine… Hans was a great guide and had a good way of melting the ice at checkpoints by bringing photos from previous visits. At the Chirfa control post, where the guys in their football kit always have a gun close by, the photos caused much delight, as they did in Chirfa village where we picked up some water and veggies from the garden. All through this trip it was clear that Suntours has developed a close rapport with many communities and individuals over the years. At many places Hans discreetly handed over medicaments to the village pharmacy (eye drops and aspirins were much in demand).
I’d been urged to make sure our tour visited Old Chirfa (aka ‘Tebeza’) a short distance from Chirfa village, and sure enough, it was on our itinerary. The old citadel is part of a string of medieval fortified towns that run up from Seguedine and maybe once even Bilma and further south, tracing a defunct trading route which explorers Clapperton and Oudney followed in the 1820s down to Lake Chad, later followed by Hans Vischer in 1906 (see Shadows Across the Sahara). Strolling around Old Chirfa was thrilling but for me the true highlight of the trip, as expected, was Djado, the following morning.
Djado (photo Klaus W.) is a huge complex which must have housed thousands a few centuries ago. In winter it’s surrounded by a lake of brackish water which I’m old oddly, disappears in the rainy season. In autumn the whole of Chirfa moves here to harvest the dates from the many palms; their zeriba huts ring the ancient ruins. Exploring the crumbling town was incredible, every corner revealed a stunning view of distant escarpment, desert sands and waving date palms. My camera had passed out in Fachi, but luckily Klaus had a bag full of lenses and film and agreed to keep shooting for me. Hans poured scorn on the theory of pseudo archeologist Uwe George in Geo magazine. He’s discovered a room with a cross relief (now called the ‘eglise’) and who went on to claim that Christians migrated here from Ethiopia in the first millennium. I’m all for interesting theories but it does indeed sound implausible if not an outright publicity stunt which some publicity-savvy academics are fond of pulling off.
We were about to enter a region controlled [at that time] by unreconstructed Tubu outlaws – an anomaly tolerated by the Niger government who let them have the remote Djado plateau to themselves (and maybe pull off the odd tourist and car robbery on the edge of the Aïr?). No longer did our guides stop to chat with every passing car, mumbling a string of greetings. Now it was just ‘get out of my way’ crabbiness you’ll find in any city. We crossed a sandy ridge near the no less photogenic ksar of Djaba and stopped at a Tubu checkpoint where Abdullai gruffly handed over a 5000 CFA tax without so much as a “Sallam alei…
Ahead of us rose the massive monolith of Orida prominent since yesterday, and behind it the arch and the forbidden rim of the Djado plateau beyond. The landscape and warm colours evoke the tassilis of the Ajjer and Akakus with which the Djado plateau is contiguous. Most Ewaden guides would not come this far into Tubu territory, let alone reach out towards the intriguing Enneri Blaka (which was on our itinerary but we didn’t visit). Lunch was under the palms near Djaba. Some Tubu girls parked up and set up their trinkets on a mat. This sort of ‘silent trading’ was much more agreeable and relaxed than the bombardment we got in the Aïr villages. But it works both ways: Tuareg tend to make more agreeable company than grouchy Tubu.
We returned to Chirfa to pick up more water and our passports and then headed out along the Djanet track to the Col de Chandeliers (aka ‘Pass de Orida‘). A cozy camp was set up among the sun-warmed rocks while to the west, the plain of the Tenere du Tafassasset spread out like a becalmed ocean. It’s a corny simile for the desert I know, but this is the first place I’ve seen in the Sahara where it was appropriate. This was the real Tenere – a word usually used to describe the whole of northeast Niger and the Tamachek translation of the Arabic ‘Sah’ra’ or empty quarter.
ADRAR BOUS, TEMET AND CHIRIET The awe of this emptiness was lessened next day by the clear tracks running west to Arbre Perdu (which we rode to on bikes in 2003) and on to the isolated hills of Grein. But further on, beyond the northern outliers of Erg Capot Rey, even the tracks and wind-aligned ripples disappeared until it was hard to tell if we were moving at all, baring the drone of the engine as it hit a soft patch. Running at these high speeds caused a new set of problems for the aged Toyotas and while a puncture was fixed, Ibrahim prepared a quick lunch in the shade of the cars. We continued west through the void and in the late afternoon the profile of Adrar Bous mountain loomed out of the western haze.
Adrar Bous is well known as a locality of Neolithic knick-knacks, and we parked up by a Stone Age ‘chip pan’ and shuffled around for more arrowheads, then camped in a sheltered creek; an old Tuareg hide-out from the days of the rebellion. All of our crew were former rebels who’d fought in the bitter war of the early 1990s. Since then, the Tuareg of the Aïr have won some concessions on the organisation of tourism; the whole of Niger’s tourism depends on their kudos after all. But in the poor villages of the Aïr, aid still struggles to make much impact. All the better then is tourism like this where our money goes straight into the hills. From Adrar Bous we were back on the tramlines of the Tenere Loop which winds down the eastern side of the Aïr into the dunes of Temet where the Austrian and American groups had been robbed a couple of weeks earlier. I’ve since got the full story from one of the people involved (see link above) and it was no hit and run raid, but a thorough and thoroughly intimidating robbery of all involved, and in which the drivers of the American group from Dunes Voyages excelled themselves in stopping all the cars being taken. One hears it may have been renegade Mali Tuareg behind it; they’ve been behind most of the tourist (and rally) robberies over the last couple of years, though such events are always blamed on foreigners. I’ve since read the ‘leader has been caught’, hopefully not just any old Tuareg in the wrong place at the wrong time. We had lunch at the site of the robbery where I probed our drivers, but didn’t get much of a response so left it and walked up the huge dune with the rest of the group. Since then, there was another raid of a German group in Timia in March. A winding corridor led east out through the dunes and we spent the evening at Izouzadene, the striking outcrop of marble veined with cobalt salts known as the Blue Mountains. From a distance they do have a distinctive pale blue hue, but close up the grey veins look less impressive and the masses of tracks in the area could almost make it Morocco.
From here we drove south through the dunes to Adrar Chiriet, visible from the summits of Izouzadene, enjoying the classic east Aïr panoramas of dunes lapping against a backdrop of purple-grey plateaux. Driving into the massif, Ibrahim stopped to grab a bunch of wild grass to concoct a herbal infusion for later; a change from the endless Tuareg tea we drank daily. West of Chiriet, a rocky track led to Tchou-m Adegdeg well. Just on the other side of the Teghmert plateau was the point at the Zagado valley where we’d emerged from the Aïr nearly a fortnight ago. Here Tuareg nomads watered their herds and a camel sipped from the bowl in which my shirt stewed in detergent.
Between here and the nearby Tezerzik well is a lovely scenic drive through dunes featuring a distinctive lip below their crests. At Tezerzik the drivers bought a nomad’s sheep for a tenner and slung it on the roof. At the nearby camp in the dunes I watched them slaughter and butcher it with the same casual effortlessness they’d employed to repair the clutch a few days earlier. Interestingly, there’s not much blood when the throat is cut and once the hide has been peeled back the thing in hung on a stake, its ribs pulled apart and the innards removed for the drivers subsequent delectation; we got the tender meat in a cous-cous. Normally I find cous-cous an over-rated North African ‘must-eat’, but the way Ibrahim prepared it, both the millet and the sauce were as good as it gets.
BACK INTO THE AïR FOR AGADEZ From here the desert section of the tour was over and we had a dreary three-day drive back down through Iferouane and the main track via El Meki to Agadez. It was March now and the nights were irritatingly windy, but the drivers were brightening up, pleased to be on home turf. I had the feeling these last days to Agadez were strung out with unnecessary stops to fill the time. The third night in yet another creek full of thorns and dung, just a couple of clicks out of Agadez seemed unnecessarily stingy. In my experience a tour should end on an upbeat note if possible, not dribble away the final days. I gather the others also complained about this retracing through the Aïr – ‘for fresh vegetable’ they were told, but our last lunch in the bush was all tinned. Despite the day lost in Niamey, maybe we could have nipped out to Enneri Blaka, after all, but I know well you do need to keep a few days in hand, especially somewhere edgy like the Tenere. I’m sure Suntours have developed their itinerary carefully over the years, but leaving the desert at the very last minute – along the track from the Tree to Agadez for example, would have been more satisfying.
We had an option for a hotel in Agadez that night and, wanting to check the town out in my own time, I took up the offer with the two couples and spent the night the Hotel Tidene near the mosque. I checked out some other agencies but as advised, Agadez itself doesn’t have much to offer. Next day the tour regrouped and set off for the long hot slog back to Niamey, getting home by the skin of our teeth following an Air Afrique strike and cancelled flights. Should I return with my own vehicle I think I’d repeat the recent tour of an Italian friend: leave Djanet without checking out and with stacks of diesel and a Niger visa, then do my own thing in the northern Tenere around Grein, Adrar Bous and down as far as Chiriet maybe. If you get caught at least you have a visa and if you don’t, no one knows any better and you slip back into Algeria (as we did in 2003 on Desert Riders). If anything, doing it this way is less prone to getting hijacked than the local tours whose timetables and routes make them easy targets. But it’s a risk that will probably never go away (and within two years got very much worse).
SUMMARY This tour indeed proved to be a great recce of the famous Tenere I had long wanted to visit. I found the Aïr and its Tuareg life more interesting than I thought, and the run in both directions across the Tenere less impressive than I imagined. The whole Djado region is of course amazing, as are parts of the eastern Tenere bordering the Aïr, but the Tenere is no longer the wild Sahara of my imagination. TV crews and tours have put the place firmly on the map and, beautiful though it is in its entirety, getting off the tracks would have been more fun, something that you can only do yourself and in good vehicles.
I found this nice IGN half million map of the Air in Niamey. Dating from 1991, it’s a similar style to the Niger country map from IGN but I can’t say I’ve ever seen this one in Paris. In many ways it’s superior to the one million IGNs which are pretty old now and don’t show recent roads. Mine cost me 50FF, plus old paperback and a small argument from the side of the Grand Hotel.
I returned to the Tenere with my own tour for the Eclipse of 2006, and visited many of the same amazing places with another great crew (and ran into Abdullai in Chirfa). Our two-weeker was a perfect Saharan adventure.