The Silk Route Motorcaravan Club.

Bulletin 105 (Part 2 of 4).

France to Burkino-Faso - 2003: Mauritania - Mali.

Chingetti.

120kms (tarmac and track) and Chingetti: overrated reputation. We only visit the El Bechir library, €2, 100 'old' books, maybe. Suitable for the enthusiast, otherwise not worth the detour.

And now for the great adventure. After having filled up (bread, 200 litres of fuel in jerry cans - relatively expensive), enough for several days, it was 13.00h when the group attacked the dunes towards Tidjikja. The strong wind and the sand does not make for easy progress, but anyway they manage 10kms before lunch in what the guide pompously calls a palm plantation (only one palm tree but it did provide a little hollow to shelter the snackers from the wind).

After the meal, off again. As usual Jacques is in front with the guide. One needs to go fast, but also to check that the others are following. Roger is following, but not Daniel (Why did I call him Roland in the previous instalment? Probably I did not know the novel's characters very well at that stage!) nor Michel. As soon as a bit of 'hard' sand appears, we stop. We wait a few minutes. Nothing in sight. They can't be very far away, surely? Khadouz goes off to look for them on foot and Jacques follows, leaving the vehicles and the women to Roger. It's very hot! The sun stings and lips stick together with a kind of sap. Eyes are burning in spite of wearing ski goggles. One, two, three dunes - still nothing. Eventually, there they are at the lunch stop having been unable to set off! We put the traction grids down and try to push - no good. Gallant palm tree! Only the one but it serves us well as we can use it to fasten the cable and use the winch. Off again. Meanwhile Roger had wanted to follow us but soon lost sight of the two silhouettes and a cameleer accompanied him to the vehicles.

Set off again. Forwards, left, forwards, right, forwards - with the limited visibility, it's no joke. What tension! Jacques loses his sense of direction - forwards, left, right, and instead of keeping straight on in the direction of the slope, he takes one dune sideways. And remains stuck, everything blocked, brakes and the lot! As the VW has no dahu, it adopts a terrible angle. Lucette wants to get out but the door opens faster than expected and she falls bottom first into the sand (unharmed this time). The sand, meeting a new obstacle, surreptitiously piles up and this also helps to push the vehicle in the wrong direction! Only Michel's winch will allow the Syncro to get out of this deadlock.

That night, camping among the dunes, three well-equipped tourists return from Tidjika. They had a lot of difficulty getting through and don't exactly offer much encouragement. The chances of going on are uncertain, better to give up. We go back towards Atar which we reach without further problem other than getting stuck in the sand a few times. The guide juggles the VW between sand-heaps and rocky surfaces, and the others follow.

In fact, if they had set off directly from Atar? The track seems better defined [from there], at least on the maps. I can't help them. In my day, you travelled everywhere on the back of a camel. At Atar, they do the accounts. The guide accepts their offer (three-sevenths of the expected sum: 3,600 ums, about €130) and departs.

Second passage to Nouakchott and the Road of Hope.

28 January. Back to Olivia's. We take advantage of this to do some cleaning-up (there is even an automatic machine to wash the vans) and some shopping (the alcohol-free beer is bursting!). When going into town for supplies, Jacques suddenly gets the feeling of something missing. Papers? No. Jerry cans? No. Steps? No. It was Lucette who had stood at the gate to help him get out of the camp! Roger and Maguy were following. It was they who rescued here and gave her back to her rightful owner!

Sand and dunes everywhere, but we travel on tarmac. Boutilmit is rather pleasant: night in the wild. Aleg, numerous villages, goats, donkeys, dromedaries, cows, some on the roadside looking like corpses. Either they are never removed or there really are a lot of accidents. The feeling of relief increases a bit approaching the Djouk pass on the foothills of Tagant. Very pretty scenery. Kiffa, third largest town in Mauritania. Market (no filming allowed) and town both disappointing. The going is flat again, but shrubs, rocks, beasts, villages with water points and houses with sloping roofs serve to break up the monotony of the landscape. The heat is overwhelming.

Ayoun el Atrous and Nema

The last important villages before Mali. A well-supplied and inexpensive market. Exit formalities are accomplished in a friendly manner on the first floor of the police post. The track is relatively easy, rocky but sandy with lovely ruts which are fatal for the VW. By majority agreement, the hiring of a guide is rejected. This causes a slight error of 30kms. The group is quickly set on the right track by the locals. A well, the village of Amourf (good points of reference) and we reach the border at Adel Bagrou. It's Sunday, no customs, we hurry on! 48kms of no-man's land, a few villages surrounded by earth walls, very different from the Mauritanians'.

Mali.

2nd February 2003. Nara, the first village in Mali, a big pool at its entrance. Customs and police. Here, our travellers are at home. The proof: there is beer! A little shady restaurant welcomes them. (2,000 fcfa per person, including drinks), and this enables them to wait calmly for the customs officers' meal (see under 'Formalities' in a later bulletin).

Corrugated iron on the way to Didieni. Has the Sahel changed? We are indeed there but there are lots of goats and cows gathered round the wells, even a bit of greenery. We find a better track to reach Kolokani, a large village in green countryside (palms and roniers). Lots of people in the market on this lovely (!) Sunday afternoon.

Thereafter the road is tarred and excellent, or rather it is when you can use it because in fact it is under construction and access to numerous sections is blocked by rocks or tree trunks. You have a diversion sign and you find yourself on the wrong side of the road - sometimes right, sometimes left, wobbling as best you can, whilst a few metres away the tarmac is laughing at you! Sometimes they try force, but their happiness is short-lived and sometimes they have to retrace their steps to get back on the famous secondary track [B road? Ed].

Night near (but not too near) Bamako so that they can go into town the next day. Courtesy visit to the French consulate. Madame Tejaka, vice-consul, welcomes them warmly and helps them to find a place to camp for the night (see box).

Our 'nomads' have a few meals at the Mande Hotel. This is the least they can do to generate a little profit for the place, but for a change, they decide on a meal in town. The restaurant (recommended by the Routard guidebook which it shouldn't have been - it wasn't good) is chosen and they pile into two taxis. The first, taken by Jacques, Michel and Daniel, does not seem in good order - it has to be push-started. It sets off, followed by the second one, needless to say in better condition and containing Maggy, Roger and Lucette. Or at least it was supposed to be following. On arrival at the restaurant, the first group gets out and looks the place over, not with much enthusiasm - and waits, and waits. Nothing happens. They begin to get anxious, as does the restaurant owner as they were the only customers. 15 minutes, 20 minutes, a taxi arrives, but it isn't the one we saw as we left. But it is indeed these customers, one of whom, Roger, is in a filthy temper! He reproaches us for not having waited. But we had no reason to wait since the drivers knew the place. His anger is however justified because he was also very afraid. They had been unlucky enough to get a drugged driver, a complete brute who only had fuel for 500m. He bought it a litre at a time and wanted his passengers to get out and push. He drove like a madman. Lucette, in a panic, tried to get out in the middle of the road and just avoided being cut up by a 4x4. Roger only caught her just in time. Anyway, having been insulted, they were forced to change taxis - but this driver did not know the address! If only the meal had been good!! And this wasn't the worst of it.

During the day, they had noticed a certain buzz of activity around the hotel pool. Thirty or so tables had been set up for a dinner organised by the Mahgrebins of Mali. The preparations were tempting: flowers, well-filled ice-boxes. On their return from the evening in town, the last guests were leaving the hotel grounds and the remains of the banquet (nearly-whole sheep, French wines, spirits) were impressive. Next morning, at breakfast, the waiter came to speak to the group. "You didn't come then, last night? I had reserved you a table.". It's too, too much!

In town at all hours, lots of traffic, busy streets and markets, four kebab skewers for 1,000 or 1,500fcfa. Masses of vegetables, especially carrots. Why?

They had planned for two days' rest, but that was without taking into account the fantasies of the Syncro: a day was dedicated to the emptying and overhauling of the air-conditioning. And on the morning of the third day, just as we were about to set off, no starter motor. After a bit of encouragement, the engine turns at last but we dare not risk a breakdown out in the wilds. Another trip to the garage: it's the solenoid. Where are we going to find one in a town where the VW is virtually unknown? A mechanic thinks of getting one in the market - but tomorrow morning. The engine is upside-down. The Mahauts will therefore spend the night at the garage before re-joining everyone next morning once the repair is finished. I forgot to tell you that Jacques had taken advantage of this 'dead time' to have three stitches on the soles of his feet following an badly-calculated manoeuvre on the edge of the Hotel Mande's swimming pool. Thanks Dr. Diomande.

Segou, Djenne

The hotel owner pointed out a way to leave Bamako safely. Not only is it a quiet road, it is also very pretty and surprising because we cross the river (many meanders etc.) on a single-track road (with a garage here and there) and we leave the road at a power station.

This ribbon of immaculate tarmac now crosses villages with houses in banco, brown or red. At nightfall, we camp near the old village of Segou Koro which we visit the next morning. We pay 2,500 fcfa to the village chief and 1,000 to the guide but it's worth it. Sudanese-style mosque, tomb of the great Biton Mamary Coulibaly, a quiet visit.

In its wake, we take the road again as far as Segou. Hotel Delta (formerly a youth hostel). A huge ventilated hall (it's starting to get hot now) welcomes our travellers who order beers, water - and get out their food. After 'the soup', everyone relaxes on the armchairs and sofa (just as tired as the travellers) waiting for the time to embark for the river Niger, the visit to Bozo (fishermen, not much to see) and Kalabougou where women fire pots in grasses which make them somewhat black. With stagnant smoke rising, it is an almost unreal sight (photo printed in last bulletin). Normally we'd pay our tax to the chief but he's not there. The travellers pay the guide 25,000 fcfa for 6 and 3 hours approximately, this figure including a canoe. But it was quite a palaver to arrange the whole visit . At first we were asked for 30,000 and we agreed on 15,000. However, after Bozo, the boatman refused to continue. Eventually, a deal was made at the rate stated above. On the return trip, the boat meets up with a returning herd, crossing a ford on an arm of the Niger. On the banks, many market gardens. Segou is interesting for its numerous old buildings in Sudanese style.

More tarmac to Mopti and Sevare. Now we encounter lots of granaries, square and round, with pointed roofs of straw. The group leaves the main road to head for Djenne (tax at the crossroads 1,000 fcfa: in my day - for I knew this village well - we paid in cowrie shells!), ferry, five minute crossing, 3,000 per vehicle. Michel wants to go into town for the night, fearing that we won't be able to go in the next day because of the important market, but the others prefer the countryside and find, a km further on, to the left of the road to Djenne, a particularly quiet spot at the edge of a palm plantation. It is true that the so-called 'urban' roads, being unmetalled, are very narrow, but all of us will meet up in the morning in the tiny yard, enclosed by high walls, of the Baba hotel-restaurant.

Djenne is a town worth seeing. The guide (9,000 fcfa for 6) leads us through endless lanes to the very beautiful mosque (sadly not open to 'infidels'). The trip is picturesque but very evil-smelling. With the best of intentions, a few years ago a German from an NGO built a water tower at the top of the village on a little hill. A good thing. It allows all the inhabitants access to running water (there are even meters in the yards) - but unfortunately, no plans were made for drainage. The waste water flows quietly, at best in open gutters, at worst in the middle of the very narrow lanes, forcing visitors to walk in a line like ducks, and giving off a fetid stench. In the past the people went down to the river which surrounds the town and did everything in the one place.

The market is a sight in its own right, but contrary to popular opinion, it only livens up at the end of the morning. The meal at Baba's (2,800 pp, very average, there's no captain) affords a short rest under the fans. The heat is so overwhelming that, for the first and last time on the trip, the afternoon is spent playing cards!

At the end of the day, the three vehicles go back to their campsite from the previous night.

The next day, we catch the ferry again. It stops 20m away from the shore and the captain refuses to go any nearer. Roger and Daniel embark but there is some mud and Jacques waits for the next boat. This time, the ship's master makes an effort and all goes well, in spite of the rather impressive difference in levels.

Sevare, Mopti.

Tarmac road to Sevare where the group meet up again with Henri and Malou Denis at the Oasis hotel. Henri has been ill and rests whilst the others, Aufray and Di Giusto visit the neighbourhood. We meet their guide, Benjamin, whom they recommended to us. After a meal costing 2,000 fcfa in a little restaurant (the hotel's is expensive and not fantastic), a visit to Mopti, a banco mosque, old town, harbour (but they miss the sunset), teeming market, rather interesting.

Night in a 'free' campsite (costing 1,000 fcfa pp) 5kms away. The presence of a disco scares us a bit but the site is big and we park as far away as possible and, in the end, everyone sleeps comfortably.

Back to Sevare, essential shopping in local, Lebanese, supermarket, negotiations with Benjamin who will accompany the three vehicles to the Dogon Country for 30,000 fcfa per day. We take leave of the Denises: Henri seems to be in better health and will await the return of his team-mates. Return on tarmac to Bandiagara, a big village with many hotels. I think we may regard this little town as 'The Gateway to Dogon Country'.

To be continued.

Part 3 of 4.